He couldn’t tell if his big brother was warning him off for his well-being or for Bailey’s; probably the latter, but either way he could take a hike. Callum had had a chance with Bailey and he’d blown it—if he hadn’t made her feel so alone and unloved, she wouldn’t have come crying to Quinn in the first place. But he had and she did.
Now Callum was with Chelsea, and Bailey was Quinn’s business—even if no one knew it yet.
“You worry too much,” Quinn said, reaching out and patting Callum patronizingly on the chest. Inside he didn’t feel so light and carefree, but he played the part expected of him. “You should be putting all your energies into your gorgeous future wife.”
The fight in Callum’s eyes dimmed at the mention of Chelsea, and Quinn took the chance to escape. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve got things to do.”
Callum opened his mouth as if to state his objections, but Quinn walked away, knowing that Callum would never make a scene when they had customers. “Bye, Sophie.” He waved as he headed for the door, then stepped out into the chilly morning air and strode over to his bike.
Next stop was his mom’s house, only a short distance from the actual distillery, also on their family’s estate. He’d lived there with his parents and all six of his siblings growing up, but now his dad was gone and only two of his brothers still lived at home. Lachlan had moved back in with his newborn son years ago when his wife had left them. Mom loved having her grandson under her roof, and Lachlan had been grateful for her help. Blair had moved home two years ago when he’d split with his wife, who’d also been his high school sweetheart. Although he kept making noises about moving into a place of his own, Quinn reckoned he liked Mom’s home cooking too much.
He parked his bike out front, hooked his helmet on the handlebars, walked the small distance to the house and let himself inside. The smell of blueberry pancakes hit him immediately, and his stomach growled in enthusiastic anticipation.
“Looks like I arrived just in time,” he said as he entered the big, country-style kitchen to find his mom laying the pancakes on the table. Lachlan and his son, Hamish, sat at the other end playing chess.
“Morning, sweetheart,” Nora said as Quinn hugged her. “Has your stomach got some kind of homing beacon on it?”
He laughed and then went over to ruffle Hamish’s hair. “Hey, dude, how’s it hanging?”
“Hi, Uncle Quinn.” Hamish’s words slurred slightly as usual. “I’m beating Dad at chess. Want a game?”
Quinn’s heart swelled with love and pride for his nephew, who, with cerebral palsy, hadn’t had an easy time in his short life but was always happy and positive. A lot of that was to do with his dad; none of the credit could go to his mother, who hadn’t been able to handle a special-needs child.
“Why not?” he said. “But I warn you, I’m worse than your father.”
“Hey!” Lachlan objected, a grin on his face. “Anyway, to what do we owe the pleasure?”
As his mom had turned back to the stove, Quinn moved closer to his brother and whispered, “I want to talk to you about Mom’s birthday. Where’s Blair?”
“In the shower, then I think he’s heading over to the distillery to run a tour.”
Quinn devoured four pancakes, chatted to his mom, brother and nephew about stuff Hamish was learning at school, lost a game of chess, and then stood and made his excuses. “I’ve got to head into Bend for a meeting. I’ll catch you all later.” He made eye contact with Lachlan, indicating he should see him out.
“You’ve got a meeting?” Nora asked.
He smiled at her. “Don’t sound so surprised.” Then he leaned down to kiss her on the forehead, before exiting the kitchen.
Lachlan followed. “I’ll see Quinn out,” he called over his shoulder.
Once they were safely outside, Quinn relayed his party plans.
“That’s a great idea,” Lachlan said, not making any comment about Bailey’s involvement. “And of course I’ll cater.” He had that gleam in his eyes he got whenever he was talking about food, and Quinn could tell he was already conjuring up a menu. “So that’s what your meeting is about? You’re seeing Bailey?”
Quinn nodded once and hoped Lachlan didn’t notice his Adam’s apple move slowly up and down. He felt bad lying to Lachlan, although technically he wasn’t. “Can you fill Blair in when you see him? I’ll try to catch Annabel this afternoon.”
“I’m glad you’re getting her involved.”
“Who? Annabel?” Of course he’d include their sister in any decisions.
“No, idiot. Bailey.”
“Ah. Right.”
“She’s been such a big part of the family for so long, even before she and Callum were together, that it seems wrong not to have her around anymore. Callum’s moved on and it was her decision to end things, so I’m just hoping everything won’t have to change too much. Hamish misses her, our families are so linked, and I think hiring Bailey to help is a good plan to fix any rifts caused by her breaking up with Callum. Is she cool with helping now Chelsea is on the scene?”
Quinn had no idea what Bailey thought of Callum’s new fiancée—their night had happened before all that and he’d steered clear of her since—but he guessed Chelsea was the least of her problems now. “Yes, seems to be. Bailey’s a professional.”
Lachlan nodded. “Yes, you’re right. She is.”
For a moment Quinn considered confiding in his brother—he and Lachlan had always been closer than he and Callum, and as Lachlan was a dad, he’d be more likely to understand the mixed feelings consuming Quinn right now. Panic, guilt, anger—he had them all. He wanted to ask how Lachlan had felt when he’d first discovered his ex-wife was pregnant. If he’d ever doubted his abilities as a father. If he instinctively knew what to do when his babies were first placed in his arms. If there was any parenting how-to book he absolutely should buy.
But he swallowed his questions, summoned a carefree grin onto his face and punched Lachlan playfully on the arm. “We’ll chat soon and Bailey will probably be in contact, as well.”
“Okay, I’ll look forward to it.”
As his brother slipped back inside the house, Quinn wondered how Bailey had managed to keep her pregnancy a secret so far, because he’d known less than twenty-four hours and was already desperate to confide in someone.
Chapter Three
Arriving early, Quinn paused outside the café in downtown Bend and peered in through the window, checking to see if Bailey had arrived yet. He immediately located her at a table in the corner, leaning over a newspaper as if it had the answers to world peace scrawled across the pages.
And man, she was beautiful. Her dark, shiny hair fell slightly across her eyes, and without the pajamas of last night, she was back to her immaculately dressed self—black leggings, knee-high boots to match a long knit sweater thing, bright chunky jewelry hanging around her neck. She looked together, refreshed and pregnant.
No one else might be able to tell, but to him the differences were obvious. Her skin definitely glowed, and even from this vantage point, he noted her breasts had increased at least a cup size. Quinn swallowed at the recollection of exactly how those breasts had felt in his hands, her nipples growing tight as he’d swiped his tongue over the top of them. He hadn’t had sex like that in a long time.
Quinn caught himself. Was this the way he should be thinking about the mother of his child? Despite the cool temperature of the day, a flush crawled up his neck at the thought. Then again, maybe this was exactly the way he should be thinking—it wouldn’t be a hardship getting serious with Bailey, as his libido was already a hundred percent behind the idea. He might not have planned on committing to anyone, but he’d make damn sure he never did to his child what his dad had done to him. And that meant doing right by the kid’s mother.
The door to the café
opened as a group of women emerged, giggling. He straightened as they all paused to give him the once-over. The two blondes, the brunette and the redhead were dressed as if they’d just come from a dance club or yoga class. Normally, presented with four hot women, he’d take a moment to flirt a little and get a phone number or two for his little black book, but today he barely gave them a second glance.
As they giggled off down the sidewalk, Quinn turned back to look at Bailey. She was still engrossed in the newspaper, but pretty soon she’d start wondering where he was. He couldn’t remember feeling nervous about anything in his life, but his stomach was churning and his palms sweating.
Nothing had ever mattered as much as this did. He couldn’t afford to mess it up.
Telling himself to get a grip, Quinn strode the few steps to the door and pulled it open. He made a beeline for Bailey, but she didn’t look up until his shadow fell across the table. He glanced down at the newspaper and saw exactly what had captured her attention.
“Hello, Bailey.”
“Oh. Hi, Quinn.” She looked up at him, slammed the paper shut and then shot him a guilty grin, as if she’d been caught in a criminal act. “Have a seat.”
She failed dismally in sounding professional and he smiled knowingly as he unwrapped his thick scarf from around his neck. He folded and placed it over the back of the vacant chair, then peeled off his leather jacket and did the same with it. He didn’t think much about the act of doing so, but Bailey’s eyes widened as if he were some stripper in a male revue and her cheeks grew pink when he caught her looking. It appeared the attraction was still very much present for both of them and the knowledge pleased him immensely.
If Bailey thought she could fight this kind of chemistry, she had another think coming. If she thought he wasn’t going to be involved in his kid’s life, she needed her pretty little head read.
“Sorry I’m late,” he said. I would have been early except I was outside giving myself a hard-on by looking in at you. How was it possible to be angry with and attracted to someone at the same time?
She shook her head. “You’re not. You’re right on time.” She sounded surprised by this fact and he had an urge to reach out and tuck the hair that had fallen across her face behind her ear. Then to swipe his thumb across her forehead and smooth her creased brow.
Instead, he gestured to the closed newspaper between them. “Was that Aunt Bossy you were reading?” he asked, casually picking it up. He opened it exactly to that page and smiled down at the caricature of an old woman that topped his popular column—the image about as unlike him as you could get.
Bailey’s face turned a pale shade of green. “You know about Aunt Bossy?”
He shrugged one shoulder slowly as he leaned back in his seat. “Of course. Who doesn’t? I read her column every week. She sounds like a very wise woman, offers top-notch advice in my opinion.” He shut his mouth before she got suspicious about his effusive praise.
Now, in addition to her sickly pallor, panic danced in her eyes. “Really?” she whispered.
Yes, Bailey, I read the column and so does almost everyone else in Jewell Rock and all the surrounding regions.
Really, what had she been thinking sending such a letter? Did she think no one would recognize their situation? Their illicit night together might still be secret, but with the other clues she’d sown, it wouldn’t be too hard for anyone who knew them both to put two and two together. Especially once she started to show. That was if he chose to write a public reply, something he hadn’t decided yet.
This would be the perfect moment to come clean. He could add flippantly that if Aunt Bossy replied to her letter (and she didn’t have time to reply to every one she got), the answer wouldn’t appear until next week’s edition at the earliest, and then he’d watch as realization dawned.
Maybe he should just tell her the truth. Take the high ground and demand she marry him. But there were two major problems with that scenario: one, she’d know he was Aunt Bossy, and two, she’d refuse his proposal on the grounds he didn’t love her, but would start calling the shots anyway. Bailey didn’t excel at event planning for no reason; she was born a control freak and he wasn’t about to be pushed about by anyone. Not when his baby was involved.
The way he was playing things might be untoward, but he needed Bailey to confide in him on her own terms, or at least think she was.
While he deliberated, she recovered her shock and said, “I thought you only opened the paper for the sports news.”
It was supposed to be an insult and he felt it twist inside him like barbed wire, but he refused to let his hurt show. “Just goes to show you don’t know everything about me, Bailey Sawyer,” he said, his tone half amused, half suggestive.
Her eyes widened, color darkened her cheeks and for a second there he thought she was going to confess, but before she could say anything, a waitress with a badge announcing her as Daphne appeared at their table.
“Hey, y’all.” She obviously didn’t come from around here. “What can I get for you?”
Quinn looked to Bailey; Bailey looked to the waitress. “Can you give us a few more moments?”
All smiles, Daphne nodded and retreated. Bailey picked up the menu and Quinn did the same. It took him all of two seconds to decide on the chicken gorgonzola sandwich, but Bailey deliberated longer than she usually did over anything. He watched her brow furrowed in serious contemplation and wondered what she was thinking? Was she trying to work out if there was anything on the menu pregnant women shouldn’t eat? Or was she feeling queasy?
He’d been up half the night researching pregnancy on the internet, so he could have helped her make an informed decision, but as he’d already established he wasn’t ready to come clean, he sat patiently waiting while she made her choice. The second she put down her menu, Daphne swooped back to the table and smiled again, her pen poised over her pad ready.
“I’ll have the veggie frittata, please, and a Diet Coke,” Bailey said.
“Good choice.” The waitress scribbled, then looked to Quinn.
Before he could give his order, Bailey spoke again. “Actually, scrap the Diet Coke, I’ll have a club soda instead.”
He smiled his approval. She was doing everything she could to protect their baby. Including keeping him at a distance. This last thought killed his smile.
“Okay. Sure.” The waitress looked to Quinn. “And what can I get for you?”
Quinn ordered his sandwich and was glad when the other woman retreated. “Thanks for agreeing to meet me today,” he said, “especially on a weekend.” He stretched his legs out, pretending the brush against Bailey’s legs was accidental.
“It’s a pleasure,” she said, snapping her legs away from his, her cheeks reddening again. “Now, shall we get started?” Without waiting for a reply, she got out her notebook, diary and a pink pen and got straight down to business. “First things first. Have you got a date in mind?”
“Well, her birthday is March fifteenth, so I guess a weekend either side of that. What works best for you?”
Bailey stuck her pen between her teeth as she flicked through the pages of her diary. “We’ve got Saturday the eleventh or Saturday the eighteenth? I’m free either. Have you checked with...with your brothers and sisters yet?”
“Yep—I’ve spoken to everyone this morning. They’re really excited. And happy that you’re going to be involved.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Really? All of them?”
He reached across the table and took her hand—he could tell the action surprised her, but he didn’t retreat and neither did she. Her skin felt soft and her hand fit perfectly in his. “Yes. We all consider you part of the family. No one wants the fact that you’ve broken up with Callum to change that.”
Or what happened between you and me.
He could tell by the way her g
aze met his and her cheeks turned slightly redder that she was also thinking about that night. She rubbed her lips one over the other and finally removed her hand. “Okay. Well, let’s go with the eleventh. If you want it to be a surprise, before the actual date is always better. She’s less likely to get suspicious or think you’ve all forgotten her birthday.”
Quinn chuckled. “I don’t think Mom would ever let us forget.”
The first smile of the day cracked across Bailey’s face. “No, Nora definitely wouldn’t let that happen. She’s going to be delighted by all this. I have a list of questions to ask you to give me a better idea of what you want. Ready?”
He nodded, although party plans were pretty low down on the list of things he’d like to be discussing with her right now.
“We’ve chosen a date, so next is the time of day. I’m guessing you’d prefer an evening event when the distillery has closed?”
Truthfully, he hadn’t given the finer details any thought, but he nodded all the same. He’d pretty much go along with whatever she suggested where the party was concerned, but he didn’t plan on being so obliging about their baby. “Sounds good. Say, about seven o’clock?”
Bailey scribbled that down. “You’ll have to work out how to get Nora out of the way for the afternoon while we set up.”
“I’ll put Annabel and Sophie in charge of that. They can invite her out for a late lunch or something.”
“Good thinking,” Bailey said as Daphne arrived with their drinks.
“Your meals won’t be long,” she promised, before turning back to the kitchen.
Bailey took a sip of her club soda and immediately returned to business. “Do you want a theme?”
“What? Like fancy dress?”
“I was thinking more like a special color or motif. You know, like butterflies, her favorite flower or something. But fancy dress could be fun.” She paused a few moments, then her eyes positively sparkled. “She was born in 1957, right? So let’s have a 1950s theme.”
Pregnant by Mr. Wrong Page 4