The Pregnancy Test

by Susan Gable

  The stairs creaked. Sloan looked up to find Jenna making her way down. The oversize clothes he’d given her last night—his Rangers jersey and a pair of his sweats—made her look vulnerable as she glanced over the railing to find the living room filled with his family. Her face went two shades lighter, and Sloan bolted up the stairs to take her by the arms. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  “Going home,” she whispered, leaning against him. “Brook’s locked in the bathroom. I need a bathroom.”

  “I’ll chase her out—”

  “I want to go home.” Jenna burst into tears, pressing her face against his chest.

  Sloan smiled weakly at his family. “Hormones.”

  Yeah, it was going to be a great day.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  SLOAN TOOK a long pull from the dark bottle in his hand. Legs sprawled over the arm of the chair, he watched his father eye him. “Go ahead, Dad, say whatever it is that you need to.”

  The day had at least provided some distractions. After he’d settled Jenna back in at her place, they’d gone on as planned. Rachel had taken the girls to the water park. He and his father had taken James to Bob’s Gun Shop and taught him to shoot, although Sloan had questioned the wisdom of cold steel in his own hands at first, given his state of mind. But the focus on something as mundane as target shooting had helped him loosen up a bit.

  Now his sister was upstairs, getting Molly ready to spend the night with Ashley. Jamey snoozed on a blanket on the floor. And his brother-in-law feigned patience, when Sloan could tell that all he wanted to do was get Rachel to the hotel room they’d booked for the weekend.

  “I’m still in shock,” the old man said, pointing his beer at his son. “Your girlfriend and your daughter. Hellfire, I’m gonna be a granddad again, and a great-granddad. That takes some getting used to.”

  “Tell me about it,” Sloan said.

  “You should,” James offered. “Tell us about it, I mean.”

  “I can’t. You and Dad are sitting on the couch.”

  “Couch jokes. Wow, there’s something a psychologist rarely hears.”

  Sloan shrugged, taking another drink of his beer. “I’m not in top form tonight.”

  “Have you thought about what you’re going to do? How you’re going to handle all this?”

  His father grunted. “He’s going to do the right thing, that’s what he’s going to do. He’s gonna marry that girl.”

  “The hell he is!” Rae’s voice came from the staircase. They all glanced over at her as she thundered down into the living room. “Unless he’s madly in love and was planning on marrying her already, that would be a huge mistake. I should have never let you bully Roman and me into getting married, Dad.”

  “You can’t blame me. The boy had a wandering eye.”

  “That’s exactly it, Dad. Roman wasn’t marriage material. Hell, he wasn’t even good boy-toy material. And I endured three-and-a-half years of trying to make something work that didn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell to start with. Always wondering why I didn’t measure up, why I couldn’t get it right.”

  James edged forward on the sofa to reach for Rachel’s hand, but she brushed him off, turning to face Sloan. “Daniel wasn’t ‘an accident,’ Sloan. You know I always said he was a surprise, not an accident, or a mistake. I cherish every moment I had with him. My marriage, however, was a mistake. A huge mistake. Don’t make the same one.”

  “Jeez, Rae, don’t hold back, tell us what you really think.” Sloan tightened his grip on the bottle.

  “There is such a thing as right and wrong,” the old man said. “He needs to make things right. A baby needs a mother and a father.”

  “The baby has a mother and a father, Dad,” Rae said. “Or else it wouldn’t exist right now.”

  Their father scowled. “I raised you kids with morals. What would your mother think?”

  Rae propped her fists on her hips.

  Uh-oh, Sloan thought. Here it comes. He’d never seen his kid sister stand up to the old man like this.

  “She’d probably think that you’re barking orders like you were still in the army. News flash, Dad. We are not, and never were, under your command. And you’re retired. Give it a rest.”

  Their father harrumphed. “You don’t ever retire from being a parent.”

  Rachel plucked Jamey’s snowsuit from the back of the couch, then knelt on the floor next to her sleeping son. “I know that, Dad. But you have to let us make our own decisions now.”

  James moved to retrieve their coats, held Rae’s out for her. She shrugged into it, then bent over and lifted Jamey into her arms. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, my husband and I have an appointment with a Jacuzzi tub.”

  A small growl rumbled in the old man’s throat and Rae chuckled. “I know, Dad. Too much information.”

  Sloan rose from his chair and accompanied them to the door. “Maybe you should go warm up the car first. It’s pretty cold out there.”

  James dangled a remote starter fob with a grin. “Already warm.” He stuffed the keys in his pocket, then took his sleeping son from Rachel. “Don’t keep me waiting too long, hon.” A blast of frigid air entered the house as he went out.

  “That was pretty impressive, Rae-Rae,” Sloan whispered. “Standing up to the old man like that. Wow.”

  She giggled. “Yeah. Didn’t know I had it in me, did you?”

  He shook his head.

  “Me, either.” Her face went somber again. “But seriously, Sloan, don’t compound the problems you’re facing. Look at me.”

  He locked his gaze with her blue eyes. It was like looking in a mirror.

  “Do you love her? Madly, truly love her?”

  Sloan lifted one shoulder. “I like her—a lot. She makes me laugh. I’ve enjoyed life more since being with her than I have in years. But love? That’s a strong word. A serious word. And what we’ve shared has been anything but serious. Until now.”

  “There you go. Take it slow. If you change your mind, there’s no rush. You can always marry her later. But divorce is messy.” Rachel reached up and patted his cheek. “I’ll be here for whatever you need. I love you.”

  He shuffled his feet. “Yeah,” he muttered. “Me, too.”

  She grinned. “Say it. I’m not leaving until you say it.”

  “Your husband’s waiting.”

  “And he’s going to be mad at you when he finds out it’s your fault.”

  He pulled his sister into a tight embrace. “I love you, brat,” he murmured into her hair. “Thanks.”

  “Lace your boots tighter and carry on, soldier.” The admonition had a long family history, going back to their father’s stint in Vietnam. Following a helo crash in the jungle, he’d laced his boots tighter over a pair of broken ankles and carried an injured buddy several days to safety.

  “Yes, ma’am.” And not only would he carry on, but he’d do the right thing. Just like his daddy had taught him. His sister would just have to get over it.

  “See you in the morning.”

  After she left, he went back to his father and beer in the living room. The comfortable old chair sighed beneath him as he threw himself back into it. “So,” he said, retrieving his bottle, “James has sure made a difference in our little Rachel, hasn’t he?”

  To his great surprise, the old man laughed. “I always knew that girl had it in her. She’s a strong woman. Just usually she’s quiet about it.”

  “She told me to lace my boots tighter and carry on.”

  “Exactly. But I still say she’s wrong about the big issue. You ought to marry that woman. This world’s difficult enough. A child needs two parents working as a team. Hell, Brook and Ashley could use a mother. I’ve been telling you that for years. Maybe if they’d had a mother…”

  “Are you trying to tell me that if I’d gotten married again and given my girls a mother, Brook wouldn’t be pregnant right now?”

  He shrugged. “Your sister got pregnant after we lost you
r mother. Maybe it’s like they’re looking for some kind of connection to replace what they lost.”

  “Wow, that’s deep, Dad. I’m sure James would be impressed. It’s also bullshit and you know it. Accidents—or as Rae would say, surprises—happen.”

  “Obviously.”

  Sloan jumped from the chair. “Look, I need to go check on Jenna. Can you stay a while and keep an ear open for the girls? Somehow, I don’t think James would appreciate me leaving Molly alone, even if Brook’s in the house and I’m only next door.”

  “Sure.”

  HE SLIPPED into Jenna’s apartment using Brook’s key—his key now, since after the morning’s ugly outburst, he figured confiscating it was only right. Besides, he needed it more.

  Sloan found Princess snoring on the sofa. After giving her a quick pat, he headed around the entertainment center to the bedroom portion of the apartment. The curved metal room screen’s collection of votive candles was unlit. He glanced over at Jenna’s bed. The rumpled covers indicated she’d been there at some point during the day.

  He rapped on the bathroom door. Water hissed, but Jenna didn’t answer him. Inside, steam spilled over the top of her oversize shower and hung thick around the high ceiling. “Jenna?”

  Approaching the fogged shower door, he got a strong whiff of her rose-scented body wash, which generated some pretty steamy images that had little to do with hot water. He tried to push the tantalizing memories of making love to her in this room, beneath those same showerheads, from his mind. Sex had gotten them into this mess, and the woman wasn’t exactly up to it, anyway.

  He fingered the fluffy yellow bath sheet draped over the towel warmer. “Jenna? Everything okay? How are you feeling? Obviously well enough to get a shower, so that’s good.”

  When she still didn’t respond, he pressed his nose against the glass to peer inside, but the coating of moisture made it impossible to see. “Jenna? If you don’t answer me, I’m opening this door and letting all your heat out.”

  “Go ’way.” Her weak voice was barely audible over the water, and came from—the bottom of the shower?

  “Nope. Tough cookies.” He yanked open the door, sending droplets of water all over the colorful bath mat. “What’s going on?”

  Jenna sat, legs drawn up to her chest, back pressed against the shower wall, water cascading over her.

  “Good gravy, Jenna, are you tryin’ to drown yourself or what?” He leaned inside and turned off the knobs.

  She glanced up at him, a bedraggled sight that just tore into his chest. Were some of those moisture tracks tears? “Can’t drown in a shower.”

  “Yes, you can, but let’s not test the theory, okay?” He grabbed the towel off the rack, eased her forward and wrapped it around her, then lifted her into his arms.

  “When I need rescuing, cowboy, I’ll let you know.” Despite her words, she settled against his shoulder, seeming content to let him carry her to the bedroom. “Water felt good. Made me forget I feel like hell.”

  “I’m sorry, sugar.”

  “You should be.”

  Shoving aside the mussed jade-colored bedspread, he set her on the edge of the bed, then returned to the bathroom for another towel. He dried off her hair, then eased her back against the gold-tasseled throw pillows. Starting with her toes, he worked his way up her calves to the edge of the huge bath sheet. “Mmm,” she purred, then sighed. “Too bad I’m not up to having you follow through on that. You do have the best hands, Tex.”

  “Thank you, ma’am. I do aim to please.”

  “Don’t I know it,” she murmured.

  “Yeah, well, I think I’d better leave the rest of the drying off to you, or we may find ourselves discovering if you really are up to it or not.” He certainly was. Or was well on the way to being up for it. A half-mast erection already strained toward the fly of his jeans.

  He dropped the second towel at her side and moved toward her dresser. “What do you need from here?” His own shirt clung to him as if he’d been caught in a sudden cloudburst. He peeled it away from his chest. The Texas Rangers jersey she’d worn home earlier lay on the floor nearby, and he scooped it up, quickly exchanging it for his wet garment.

  That was a mistake, because it smelled of roses.

  Of Jenna.

  “I’d like a pair of my flannel pj’s, please. Bottom drawer. And don’t forget the fresh undies. Top drawer on the left.”

  “Oh, Lordy.” He rummaged through the scraps of silky material, a peach thong here, creamy lace panties there. Red string bikinis. Black satin boxers. A bustier he had fond memories of. Her garter belt. “Why don’t you have any old granny underwear?” This wasn’t helping reduce the tightness in his pants. He settled on the black boxers.

  “This is more like it.” Down in the bottom drawer, blue fuzzy pants and a matching oversize shirt boasted black-and-white cows jumping over the moon. He offered them to her, then turned his back while she finished drying off. But not even boxer shorts or flannel pajamas could hide the fact that Jenna Quinn was one sexy woman.

  “Granny underwear,” she scoffed. “You’re the grandpa-to-be, pops.”

  “Thanks heaps.” His libido drained away like the final dregs of dishwater circling the drain. “For a moment there, I almost forgot that my fifteen-year-old is pregnant.”

  “Sorry. Misery loves company.”

  He faced her. “Are you miserable, sugar?”

  The cows on her shoulders shifted upward. “Yeah. I feel queasy every minute.”

  “That’s God’s way of getting you ready for parenthood, ’cause trust me, sweetheart, it doesn’t get any easier. In fact, queasy is one of the milder sensations of parenthood.”

  “Thanks heaps.” She replicated his drawl as well as his words. “If I wasn’t sold on parenthood before, I sure am now.”

  He ignored the sarcasm and the jolt of panic that raced through him at her comment. Stupid. He was supposed to be convincing her that parenthood was going to be great, not giving her more ammunition to consider an abortion.

  “So, what have you had to drink today?” He wandered out to her living room and checked the coffee table. A white wrapper and a wooden Popsicle stick sat next to a nearly full sleeve of crackers and a half can of soda. He swirled the soft drink around as Jenna crawled onto the couch. “Please tell me this is the second or third can you started today.”

  She pulled the blanket over her, then shifted back to make room for Princess, who jumped up next to her. “Uh, okay.”

  “Jenna,” he scolded. “You need plenty of liquids if nothing else.”

  “Tell that to my stomach.”

  “Did the ice pop work better? Stay down easier?”

  She nodded. He glanced over at her kitchen, then snapped his fingers. “I’ve got an idea. You just kick back, relax, and let me take care of you.”

  The concept actually appealed to her. Jenna settled deeper into the sofa cushions, absentmindedly running her fingers through the dog’s long hair. Sloan clattered around the island, opening cabinets, the fridge and freezer.

  “What are you up to?”

  “It’s a surprise.” A few minutes later, the whir of the smoothie machine grinding up ice filled the loft. The clink of a spoon followed. Sloan eased into the chair beside her. He extended a margarita glass.

  “You know I can’t drink.”

  “It’s virgin. I’ll push liquids into you in whatever form it takes. I figured the cold helps. You can just take small sips and let it melt in your mouth.”

  The frosty glass chilled her fingers. She rolled the icy drink over her tongue. Fortunately, it had little odor. She’d discovered her condition made her extremely sensitive to strong smells—like her favorite body wash, which had triggered her slide to the floor of the shower. Or Brook’s peanut-butter sandwich.

  Jenna tried not to gag at the thought, but ended up coughing.

  “You okay?” Sloan’s eyes widened.

  “Yeah.” She returned the green-stemmed glass to
him. “That’s enough for now.” Princess jumped from the sofa to the floor so she could paw Sloan’s knees. He scooped her onto his lap, and sharp, irrational jealousy pierced Jenna. She cleared her throat. “How did it go with your family today?”

  “Oh, we all walked around like a cowboy with a heat rash along the chaps line.”

  “Stiff, huh?”

  “Pricklier than a cactus doesn’t begin to describe it.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Not exactly your fault, is it now? As I recall, we were both fully engaged in what brought this about. Although I dare say Margo might want to steer clear of me for a while.” He shook his head. “You know, the whole expecting-a-baby-and-a-grandbaby-at-the-same-time was a damn sight funnier when it happened to Steve Martin in that movie. ’Course, his daughter was at least married.” He lifted the glass he still held in his hand, took a swallow, then looked at it with surprise. He leaned forward and put it on the table. “Speaking of married…” He rose, set the dog back on the floor, then came over to the sofa and sank down on one knee.

  A quick flash of panic tightened Jenna’s throat. “Oh, you’re not—”

  “Jenna Quinn, will you marry me?”

  “M-marry you?”

  He nodded. “Yes. Marry me. I meant it this morning when I said I hadn’t had a chance to ask you yet.”

  “Why?”

  “Why what?”

  “Why do you want to marry me?”

  “Because you’re carrying my baby and it’s the right thing to do.”

  “Oh.” Jenna swallowed her disappointment. Of course, he was doing the right thing. She had no right to feel slighted in the least. Their dessert-only relationship had gotten a whole lot more serious than either of them had expected.

  Ugh. Food metaphors had to go, given the state of her stomach. “I— I think I’d like to sleep on it, okay? Maybe for more than one night. I mean, this is like the biggest decision of my life.” After deciding to actually have their baby, that was. “I don’t want to rush into anything as important as marriage.”

  “You mean, like you’re not rushing into parenthood?” He raised his eyebrows. “Besides, tell me one thing in your life that you haven’t rushed into.”