The Pregnancy Test

by Susan Gable

  But fun wasn’t always part of a father’s job description.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “THAT PENSIVE, sort of bemused expression on your face just screams man-problems.”

  Jenna dropped the earring and jumped in her chair, barely maintaining her grip on a little pair of needle-nose pliers. “Jeez, Margo, how many times do I have to tell you, don’t sneak up on me like that?” The office had a back door to Margo’s shop, and more than once Jenna had sworn she was going to install a bell on it like the one she had on Element-ry’s front door.

  “Uh-huh.” Margo brushed the pieces of red beach glass aside and perched on the edge of the desk. “I don’t hear you denying it. So what gives? Tell me all about your weekend. And the man who’s making you look like that.”

  “There’s no man.” Surely a special place existed in hell for a woman who lied so blatantly to her best girlfriend—a front-row seat, so to speak. She hadn’t been able to get Sloan and Friday night’s near-miss kiss out of her mind. For a moment there, a spark had flamed to life in his blue eyes, and she’d been certain he’d felt the same pull she did. But then it had gone out, and she hadn’t been sure if she’d imagined the whole thing.

  “Right. Which is why you’ve been mopey all day.”

  “There’s no man!” Might as well move her reserved seat directly in front of the brimstone fire. Better for roasting marshmallows.

  “Then maybe it’s time you get one again, girl, because you’re getting cranky. You need some fun. When’s the last time you went on a date?”

  “Umm…” The bowling didn’t count. Not with kids with them. Holy crow, she’d fallen into a rut. She couldn’t even remember.

  The front door chimed and they both looked toward the office entrance. Brook appeared in the opening, a dreamy expression on her face.

  “You’re not scheduled to work tonight, Brook,” Jenna said. Her other part-timer, Nicole, was in. “What’s up?”

  “I just had to tell somebody. Guess who drove me home from school?”

  “Pssst.” Margo poked Jenna in the side. “See that look on her face? You had the same one,” she whispered. “Guess a guy.”

  Jenna narrowed her eyes at her friend. “I did not.” She turned her attention back to Brook, who bounced on her feet. “Who?”

  “Come on, guess!”

  “Uh…some cute guy?”

  “Yes!” Brook squealed. “Dylan Burch! The track star who bought a pair of earrings for his mom’s birthday a week ago? Remember?”

  “I remember. See, I told you there’d be another guy in your life.”

  “See, I told you it was a guy.” Margo folded her arms and nodded. “I know these things.”

  “And he asked me out! Saturday night there’s a dance at school, and he asked me!”

  “That’s great, Brook.”

  The front door opened again. “Hello?” called a small voice.

  Brook turned around and groaned. “Ashley. What are you doing home from school? Why aren’t you at the aftercare program?”

  The little girl pushed aside her older sister and came into the office. “Dad has to work late tonight. To make up for being home this afternoon while they poured the new driveway.” Ashley sidled up to Jenna. “Can I feed the fish?”

  “Sure. You know where the food is.”

  “Yea!” She darted back into the shop.

  “Damn, I forgot Dad was working late tonight. Ugh. That means I’m stuck with the pest.”

  “New driveway? Is that why your dad asked if he could park on the side of my building for the next few days?”

  “I guess,” Brook said.

  Margo poked Jenna in the ribs again. “When did he ask that?”

  “This afternoon.”

  “Uh-huh. See, I know these things.” Margo pursed her lips. “Men.”

  Jenna straightened in her chair. “Wait a minute, did your sister say they poured a new driveway? As in cement?”

  Brook shrugged. “I guess. Why?”

  Jenna laughed, yanking open the top drawer of the desk and rummaging inside. “’Cause we’re going to have some fun and commemorate your new house, that’s why.”

  HIS NEW BOSS HAD SCORED bonus points with Sloan, telling him to forget about making up the time he’d taken off in the afternoon and just go home to his family. Sloan pulled the truck into a space near Jenna’s back door and tried not to think about her. About the near kiss.

  Too late.

  He toyed with the idea of going into her shop to thank her again for letting him use her parking lot while the new driveway set, but that probably wouldn’t be smart. The more time he spent in her company, the more he found himself drawn to her. And that wasn’t a good thing.

  He climbed from the truck. Best he got home and made sure Brook hadn’t reduced Ashley to tears over some stupid thing—or almost as bad, ignored her little sister completely.

  The leaves were starting to change color. Reds, oranges, brilliant golds. Maybe he was going to enjoy the change in seasons again. Then again, someone—namely him—was going to have to rake the leaves up when they fell. The breeze flapped the yellow tape strung across the end of the driveway. Sloan trudged up the front steps and into the house.

  Silence greeted him. “Girls?”

  Nothing. Not one blessed sound. The hair on his arms stood at attention. A rush of adrenaline pumped into his body. Where the hell could they be?

  He reconned the living room and kitchen. No signs of after-school snacks or anything, but a pair of backpacks on the floor near the fridge offered some reassurance. Opening the door to the back porch, he finally heard them. Shrill laughter filled the backyard. Relief flooded him, and he yanked open the screen door—then stopped in his tracks.

  Four female forms knelt in the grass by the garage, alongside the edge of the new driveway. He clenched his teeth.

  They were messing with his new driveway.

  Ashley glanced up at him. “Daddy! I’m a movie star!” She jumped up and raced toward him, throwing herself into his arms. He caught her reflexively.

  “Please don’t tell me that means what I think it means.”

  Brook rose, scowling. She turned to Jenna, who placed something in the formerly smooth concrete. “See, I told you he’d be mad.”

  “He’s not mad.” Jenna climbed to her feet, then offered a hand to Margo. “Are you?”

  “I did tell the girls they weren’t to write in the cement.” And he hadn’t wanted stray leaves, or stray cat paw prints, or anything else in there, either.

  “Well, there you go. We didn’t write in it. Not yet, anyway. We just put their handprints in it, and a brand-new penny to commemorate your new house. Besides, this isn’t vandalism, it’s art.” She crooked a finger at him. “I think you should put your handprint in there, too.”

  Brook snorted. “That’ll be the day.”

  “Yeah, Daddy, do it! We’re all a family and this is our new house. You have to put your hand in there, too.” Ashley cupped his face with her damp, clammy and slightly abrasive palms. “Please?”

  He sighed. Her little face looked so excited. Besides, he needed to prove his older daughter wrong. First it had been “my dad doesn’t dance” and now it was this. Not to mention Jenna’s faith—albeit somewhat misplaced—that he wouldn’t be mad about the whole thing, although he couldn’t understand why what she thought mattered to him.

  “All right. For you, Peach.”

  He set Ashley down and strode over to examine their handiwork. He laid his palm against the cool concrete, pressing in to make a firm indentation. Ashley clapped.

  “There, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” Jenna offered him a paper towel as he clambered to his feet.

  “I wanted nice smooth concrete,” he muttered. “It’s a guy thing.”

  “Smooth is overrated. This is much more interesting. I’ll make it up to you,” Jenna said, her approving smile making him feel as though he would run through the cement in his combat boots if it made her hap
py.

  If it made her smile at him like that.

  “You will? How?” he asked.

  “Um… I’ll take you to dinner,” she announced.

  “Dinner? You and me? You mean, like a date?” A date? Did he have cement in his head, or what?

  The brightness in her eyes faded a notch, and the wind-kissed roses in her cheeks deepened a shade. “A date? Well, I wouldn’t call it a date, exactly, um…”

  Brook stomped her foot. When Sloan glanced at his older daughter, she scowled at him, then flipped her hair and stormed onto the porch. Apparently, she didn’t think her father should be dating.

  And that irked him.

  “Why not?” he replied, loudly enough for his voice to carry to his sulking teen. “I’d love a date with you.”

  Margo chuckled, then coughed, covering her mouth.

  Ashley looked up at Sloan with round eyes. “A date?” Without waiting for an answer, she scurried toward the door.

  “What’s the rush, Peach?” Sloan called after her.

  “I gotta call Molly.”

  “For what?”

  “Never mind!” The screen door banged shut, followed by the inner door to the kitchen.

  “I really am sorry about the driveway—” Jenna started.

  “Don’t be. I haven’t heard Ashley so excited in a long time. Not to mention this is a wonderful way to commemorate our new home. I never would have thought of it.” He turned to face Jenna. “And I managed to get myself a date with the girl next door. I think I can stand handprints in my driveway for that.”

  Her green eyes widened, then she glanced away. Not what he had expected from the flirtatious woman.

  “Told you,” Margo muttered. “I know these things.”

  A CREAK IN THE HALLWAY was followed by the sound of his bedsprings squeaking. Sloan turned from the computer, expecting to find Ashley had crawled onto his bed. He tried to hide his shock when he discovered Brook sprawled across the navy-blue comforter instead. She never sought him out anymore.

  “Hey. Something on your mind, Snickerdoodle?”

  “God, Dad. Don’t call me that. Do I look like an infant to you?” She sat up, folding her legs beneath her. The pink long johns she wore as sleepwear reminded him of a set of flannel pj’s she’d had when she was about seven. Back when she’d loved him calling her Snickerdoodle, after her favorite cookie. Before their lives had gone to hell on a highway with Beth’s car accident.

  “You cannot go out with Jenna.”

  “Really? Why not?”

  “Because. She is so not your type. You’ll end up annoying her, and then she’ll get mad and break up with you and then she’ll hate me, too. And she’s my friend, not yours.”

  “Not my type, huh?” Actually, she’d hit that nail squarely on the head. “Why not?”

  Brook stared at the ceiling for a moment. “She’s fun and happy and impulsive. You…you’re…not.”

  “Impulsive leads to trouble. But I’m fun.”

  “Yeah, right, Dad. You’re about as much fun as a…hot tub full of old geezers. No, wait, your idea of fun is wiring a bunch of equipment and figuring out why it doesn’t work. Snore city. Face it, you’re a dud, Dad.”

  “Gee, thanks. Maybe I should apply for my rocking chair now.” Still, she had a point. His life, since losing Beth, had consisted of work and family. There had been a couple of disastrous blind dates and setups by well-meaning friends, but overall, fun hadn’t been in his vocabulary. He’d been far too busy raising his girls. “Jenna must see something in me if she wants to go out with me.”

  “Puhleeze. She probably meant she’d take us all out for dinner and you just misunderstood. Then she was too embarrassed to correct you.”

  Sloan thought about that night in her stairwell. True, he was out of practice, but a grown man didn’t mistake that look in a woman’s eyes. The parted lips. The…aw, hell, this wasn’t something he needed to be thinking about with his daughter in the same room.

  “I don’t think so, Brook. But, hey, don’t get the wrong impression. I’m not saying this is going to be anything serious. Just that maybe it’s time. Both you and Ashley are older now.”

  “So, you’re still going out with her?”

  He nodded.

  “Well, great, that sucks. If you ruin this for me, I’ll…”

  “What?”

  “I’ll never speak to you again!”

  I should be so lucky. Guilt flooded him, and he retracted the errant thought. He’d been trying to improve his relationship with Brook. Alienating her completely was the last thing he wanted.

  Brook launched herself from the bed, pausing in the doorway. “Oh yeah, and if you expect me to baby-sit the brat while you’re out messing up my friendship with Jenna, you’d better not plan on going out this Saturday. Because I have a date that night.” She vanished into the hallway.

  He shot from his chair and made it to her room in a flash, putting his palm flat against her bedroom door just as she went to shut it. “Not so fast, young lady.” He entered as she threw herself onto the bed with a loud huff. “You don’t just drop a bomb like that and then take off. That remark needs some explanation. Who is this boy? Where are you going? How are you getting there?”

  Brook rolled onto her back, draping her arm across her eyes. “He’s just a boy from school, Dad. We’re going to a dance at school, so yes, there will be chaperones.”

  “That’s good. What’s his name?”

  “What difference does it make? It’s not like you know him.”

  “I don’t know him yet,” he corrected. “But I will by the time you leave this house on Saturday.”

  She moaned her displeasure.

  Tough. It was his job to protect her and make sure she made wise decisions. Her track record for doing the right thing wasn’t the best. “I mean it, Brook. This boy arrives here to pick you up, and he submits to—”

  “The standard grilling and shakedown, with a side order of intimidation and threats. I know, I know.”

  “Okay. As long as we’re on the same wavelength here.”

  “Whatever. Just as long as you remember, I’ll baby-sit on Friday, but Saturday is my night.” She rolled over, facing the wall.

  “Fine.” Pretty damn bad when you were coordinating dating schedules with your teenager. Even worse…what if she was right about him and Jenna being a bad combination?

  Sloan returned to his own bedroom. The navy curtains stirred lightly, the cracked window letting in a refreshing bit of night air. Music came from Jenna’s apartment, muted, moody blues. He could just see the light outside her deck door.

  She was a puzzle. The bohemian clothing, the quick smile, the flirtatious nature.

  Not the serious, out-to-catch-a-husband type. Not the psycho-possessive or overly needy character. Nope. She’d understand casual dating. Jenna Quinn, the perfect kind of woman to ease him back into the dating pool.

  SEATED ON the bathroom floor next to the oversize whirlpool tub, Jenna dug through the plastic container of nail polish, searching for the right color to go with the turquoise, raspberry and silver broomstick skirt she planned to wear that night for her dinner with Sloan. When the phone rang, she rose and awkwardly hobbled—toe spreaders made it so hard to be graceful—to the counter to grab the portable. She sank back to the floor, phone propped between her ear and shoulder. “Hello?”

  “Hello, Jenna. I hope I’m not interrupting anything important.” Mallory Quinn’s cool, even voice made it clear that she really didn’t expect something important to take precedence over this phone call.

  “Mother. What a surprise to hear from you.” Jenna uncapped a bottle of pink polish and began to dab her big toe. “Actually, I’m in the midst of preparing for a very important meeting I have tonight.”

  “Business?” The catch of surprise in her mother’s voice irked Jenna.

  Pleasure, Jenna almost responded. But her mother wouldn’t even have the decency to be shocked by that answer, and Jenna did
n’t feel like hearing any of the stock lectures, like “When Are You Going to Grow Up and Settle Down?”, or her other personal favorite, “Stop Wasting Your Brains and Get a Real Job.” “Actually, yes, it is business. I don’t want to talk about it, though. Don’t want to jinx it, you know?”

  “Superstition is not what leads to business success, Jenna. You should know that by now. Goodness knows you’ve tried enough different approaches.”

  “What was it you called for, Mother?” Jenna recapped the polish, tossed it into the container and pulled out a bottle of blue, moving on to the next toe.

  “I realize Thanksgiving is over a month away, and that you tend to wait until the last minute to decide things, but I wanted to see if you’ve made plans already.”

  Jenna’s stomach clenched. Thanksgiving—in fact, all the holidays—had been Gram’s domain. “I— I hadn’t given it much thought.”

  “Wonderful. We’ll be having dinner at one o’clock, here at the house. Your father and I do hope you’ll be here.”

  “You’re doing Thanksgiving? But Meg’s off on the holidays. Are you cooking?” The one thing she’d admit to having in common with her mother was the fact that they both did takeout far better than anything else. Fortunately for her parents, they could afford a live-in housekeeper who was an excellent cook.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m having it catered by Dominique.”

  “That’s a relief,” Jenna muttered, changing colors again.

  “What did you say?”

  “I said, oh, that thief. Honestly, with the prices Dominique charges, we could feed the entire homeless population of Erie for less.”

  “You will be here, right? It will mean a lot to your father.”

  “Yes, Mother. I’ll be there.” For her father, who’d adored Gram as much as Jenna had, she’d go.

  “Wonderful. Dinner at one. Drinks at noon. Dress to impress, darling.” Her mother made a kissy-kiss sound into the phone. “Talk soon!” With that, she hung up.

  Dress to impress? Jenna stifled a groan as she clicked off the phone and set it on the edge of the tub. She looked down at her foot and smiled as she realized what she’d done. Four toes, four different colors.