The Baby Gamble

by Tara Taylor Quinn

  Or what? A man who made such exquisite love that he brought tears to her eyes?

  Even though he never told her that he loved her.

  “And contracts are only as binding as a judge decides they are. Whatever judge is looking at them at the time the parties are in court. This guy might change his mind sometime down the road and sue for parenting rights. He could get a sympathetic judge, and then—”

  “Blake.” She couldn’t sit here and listen to this. “Don’t you think I’ve considered all the pros and cons of such a decision? A hundred times over?”

  He knew her. As did everyone else in the tiny town she’d been born and raised in. Annie Kincaid was careful about everything she did.

  When he remained silent, staring down at her as if she were a cross between a princess and a toad, she continued. “I don’t want you helping me out of guilt.”

  “I’m not the one who remarried. Or chose husband number two over husband number one.”

  She deserved that. At least in part. It wasn’t anything she hadn’t already said to herself at least once a day since his return.

  “I’m sorry.” He leaned against the doorjamb. “That was unfair and uncalled for.”

  “Cole’s crazy, Blake. And this idea of his was out of line. Just forget I ever asked. I’m going to tell my little brother to mind his own business and then I’ll get on with the business of living my own life.”

  She had no idea why she was holding her breath. She just needed Blake to go.

  “I can’t forget it.”

  “Why not?”

  “I have no idea.”

  She couldn’t get away from the honesty in his reply. “Okay.”

  “Okay.”

  Little fingers of some long forgotten feeling crept through Annie’s lower parts. Had they just decided to make a baby? Together?

  Flushed with heat, she wanted to jump up, move around, away. And instead, she couldn’t do anything but stare at him.

  And remember.

  Blake’s kiss, his taste had always been enough to unhinge her. His arms had offered her a unique mixture of strength and tenderness, providing a sense of safety, but never a feeling of confinement. And when his long legs were wrapped around hers…

  “I want to be very clear up front.”

  Annie glanced up, realizing that Blake had been talking to her. He’d shed his suit jacket sometime between his earlier visit and this one. Loosened his tie.

  He looked tired.

  And lonely?

  “Up front?” she asked, swallowing when the words got stuck in her throat.

  “I said I have a couple of stipulations.”

  So that’s what she’d missed. Annie nodded, listening. Trying to focus.

  “First, I’m not going to sign any contract that takes away my right to be a father to my own child.”

  Walls rose, and Annie found it hard to continue listening; managed to do so only by assuring herself that as soon as he finished talking she was going to tell him that there was no deal.

  “I’ll sign a contract that gives you custody of the child, that makes you the primary parent, but I want to be known to him or her, and to have visitation rights.”

  Not as bad as she’d first thought. He was peering over at her, as though waiting for a response. Her nod was jerky at best.

  “Second, it must be understood that this agreement in no way initiates any resurrection of a personal relationship between the two of us.”

  That one was easy. “I agree completely.”

  Head turned slightly, he gave her that assessing look that had always made her nervous.

  “I mean it, Annie.”

  Like she didn’t? “You’re the one who pointed out that I stayed with husband number two,” she blurted, before she had time to edit her words.

  “I’m not a demonstrative guy. Never have been. You need demonstrations of affection. Hand holding and romance and esoteric promises.”

  I love you would have been nice.

  “I hurt you once. And I’ll live with the regret for the rest of my life. I can’t risk doing that again.”

  “Blake…” She stood as she prepared to make her point. “You’re preaching to the converted here. The feelings I had for you died a long time ago. But even if they hadn’t, even if they somehow returned, I would never, ever go back to you.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  HE DIDN’T FLINCH. Didn’t even blink. Which was so Blake. And exactly why Annie knew with certainty that her decision was the right one. He’d just proved her point.

  “You’re a great person, Blake Smith. One of the very best. But I’ve done a lot of growing up these past six years. A lot of soul searching. I’ve engaged in some pretty brutally intense self-examination and I know myself a whole lot better than I did when I married you. My father’s suicide, my mother’s single-minded dedication to the church as a result, left their marks on me.”Annie looked Blake straight in the eye. It felt good to be telling him this. As if maybe she was helping him, freeing him of any responsibility he might have felt for the failures in their relationship.

  “I’m not going to live my life as a victim,” she continued, speaking straight from the heart. “I’m not going to blame my parents’ choices for any aspect of my own life. What I can do is offer myself understanding and acceptance, and change what I can and work with what I can’t.

  “I know that I need a lot of love and support. I need words and gestures and all the little moments of love. I need to be able to express my feelings openly and often. That’s who I’ve turned out to be. And I’m okay with that.”

  He was watching her, his hands in the pockets of his slacks, saying nothing. But the guarded look in his eyes was gentle.

  “You, on the other hand,” she continued, taking a step closer, “have been shaped by your own life. Your parents dying while you were so young…Being raised by a man who never told you how much he cared about you…”

  “He cared.”

  “I know he did. But Alan never once told you so. And that had an effect on you—you’re just like him, Blake. Reticent. Withdrawn, when it comes to anything dealing with emotion.”

  His “yeah” sounded almost like “so?” Annie’s heart fell, though there was no reason for it to have done so. She was only verbalizing the conclusion they’d both reached separately.

  “Your way of life makes me feel a little locked up, emotionally.”

  There. She’d said it. Clearly. Simply.

  “I know that,” Blake said, but the tone of his voice, or maybe the look in his eyes, left her feeling as if there was more to be said. Or rather, more that he wasn’t saying.

  Her first instinct was to call him on it. And then she gave herself a shake. Blake’s thoughts were his own affair. And an affair between the two of them was exactly what they didn’t need.

  “So those are your stipulations?” Her voice sounded loud, as if she’d blurted the words just to fill a silence.

  “I have one more.”

  Wrapping her arms around her chest, she waited.

  “I want this child conceived in the normal fashion.”

  The tendrils swirled through her stomach again—and lower. Bringing a physical warmth to places down there that hadn’t been fully active since the last time she’d made love with her first husband.

  Now was the moment to tell him that they didn’t have a deal. As soon as he’d finished speaking….

  “I’m okay with that,” she said instead. And almost melted onto the floor at the impact of that verbal commitment. She was going to make love with Blake Smith again.

  An event that, every single time, had been the best, most complete, magical and deepest experience of her life. And, in retrospect, had nearly killed her.

  “WHEN?” Sweat drenched the back of Blake’s shirt with the effort it took him to remain in the doorway of his ex-wife’s beautiful nursery.

  She glanced down and then back up, but her gaze skittered away from his. “I don’t know.
” Kicking at a bit of fuzz on the carpet with her bare toe, she suddenly seemed less sure of herself. “As soon as possible, I guess.”“Tonight?”

  That got her attention.

  Might as well get it over with. And maybe she’d think the shaking in the hands he had tucked in his pockets was the result of pent-up passion.

  If he got them on her, it probably would be.

  “Oh, um, by as soon as possible, I meant this month as opposed to next,” she said, her skin reddening. “I, want to give this the best shot at working first time out, and with the help of my doctor I’ve been tracking my, uh, ovulation schedule.”

  Schedules were all in a day’s work. Familiar. “Fine, just give me a date and time.”

  “It’s kind of hard to know ahead of time,” Annie said, looking so cute with her mixture of maturity and self-conscious embarrassment that it almost hurt him to watch her. “It goes by temperature readings and a couple of other…”

  “Do you take it in the morning or at night?”

  If she didn’t need anything more from him at that moment, he had to get out of there. Seeing her like this, reliving things he’d tried so hard to put out of his mind, was taking a toll. He recognized the signs.

  And he had to get home. He had to protect himself from the most debilitating effects of the post-traumatic stress syndrome that he might spend the rest of his life battling.

  “In the morning.”

  “Fine,” he said, backing out of the doorway before she could give him any more information than he was equipped to handle at present. “Give me a call when it’s time and I’ll clear my schedule for that evening.”

  Catching sight of her slightly bemused, slightly confused expression in his peripheral vision, Blake hurried outside.

  ON SATURDAY Becky came over to help with hanging the wallpaper. Most things Annie could do herself, but hanging gluey strips of border was a lot easier when she had someone to hold it for her while she climbed the ladder. And to feed the long sticky strips to her as she positioned them.

  They were mounting pastel-colored balloons to match the rainbow mural she’d commissioned, and Becky was making certain that Annie had a perfect match for every strip.Afterward, they went into San Antonio to do some shopping. Shane had an all-day football practice, to prepare for a playoff game, and the day was too nice to waste.

  As was the wine they’d purchased at a local winery on the way home. With a plate of Havarti, bread warm from the oven and apples and pears between them, they sat on big pillows on Annie’s living-room floor and toasted their day. Each other. The balmy weather.

  And motherhood.

  Annie faltered on that one. And Becky, bless her heart, noticed.

  “So when are you going to tell me?” the younger woman asked in her quiet yet compelling way.

  Annie sipped her wine, thinking about the fact that very soon she might be off the stuff.

  Not that she’d ever been on it, other than an occasional glass like the one she’d had the other night. Or a binge, once or twice a year, with her best friend. Which usually meant three or four glasses over the course of an evening instead of just one.

  “Annie?”

  “Tell you what?”

  “About Blake.”

  She’d been trying her hardest not to think about him. Had purposely steered away from his part of town when they’d been in San Antonio. And had issued firm reprimands to herself when she’d realized she was eyeing the backs of tall men everywhere they went.

  She’d get it under control. They just had to get the deed done. And then she’d be all right.

  Annie glanced over at her friend, unable to understand the wariness in her heart. Becky was her safe place. She trusted Becky with her life. What could Annie possibly have to be afraid of?

  “Who told you?” she asked, playing for a little time.

  Becky’s sweet smile comforted her even while it struck fear in her heart. “No one told me,” she said. “It’s the fact that you haven’t mentioned him once all day that told me.”

  And that’s why Annie was uneasy. Becky knew her too well. Saw too much.

  Suddenly, terrified about what else her friend might see, mostly those things that Annie couldn’t recognize herself, she said, “He’s going to do it,” as nonchalantly as possible.

  “What?” Becky tipped her wineglass, catching it just before the red liquid spilled out on the thick beige carpet.

  Annie nodded, liking the way the dimmed overhead lights glistened. Or at least appreciating the distraction of them.

  Becky’s mouth hung open. “What did you say?”

  “That I’d call when I’m fertile.”

  “You’re going to do it?”

  With a pained smile, Annie twirled her own wineglass between two fingers, staring at it. “Who knows?” she said, looking over and back very quickly. The wine blurred and Annie blinked. “It changes from second to second.”

  This was Becky. Annie couldn’t not be honest with her. Lying wouldn’t do her any good, anyway. Becky would see right through her and then pounce on the fact that she’d felt the need to hide behind a less-than-truthful position.

  Finally, facing her friend’s gaze head-on, Annie said, “I can’t think of a better man to father my child, you know?”

  Becky sipped slowly, watching her. The plate of food between them lay pretty much forgotten. “He does fit all of your criteria.”

  Except that he wanted to be a father to her child and not just the gene donor of one.

  “And Cole’s now completely gung-ho,” Annie added, thinking of the call she’d had from her brother early that morning. He’d just gotten off the phone with Blake, who, as best Annie could tell, had been thoroughly harassed by her well-meaning sibling until he’d obtained the information he’d been after.

  The fact that Cole had called Blake and not her rankled. But she didn’t have the energy to make an issue of it—inside herself or with Cole.

  “He offered to help with the nursery.”

  “He obviously hasn’t been here in a while.”

  “Not since Roger left. There’s no place for him to sit. We either go out or to Mom’s. Or to his place. He’s doing a great job on the house, and it’s kind of fun watching the progress.”

  “I care about Cole, Ann, but we’re not getting off track here.”

  “There really isn’t much else to say,” she told her friend, crunching on a wedge of apple that she didn’t want.

  “You said you’d call him when you’re fertile. What does he care when that is?”

  Annie couldn’t get any words out.

  “Annie?” Becky leaned forward until their eyes met. “Isn’t he just leaving the goods at the fertility clinic?”

  Annie didn’t move.

  “He’s not.”

  Still staring at her friend, Annie shook her head. Once. Slowly.

  “You’re going to make love with your ex-husband—a man who, if I remember your description correctly, made you utterly crazy just with the touch of his hand?”

  “What? You want to discuss positions or something?” Annie was ashamed of the comment as soon as it was out.

  “I want to talk about you.” Becky didn’t even acknowledge the rudeness. “About your heart, and how you’re going to do this without losing yourself again.”

  “I’m going into it with my eyes fully open,” Annie said emphatically, wanting very much to believe that she was right about that. “So the sex part might be good. What’s wrong with a little pleasure?”

  “Annie Kincaid. This is me you’re talking to. I can’t believe you didn’t tell him to visit the clinic.”

  “He made the old-fashioned method of conception a condition of his acceptance.” There. She’d said it. And the words were as painful, as frightening spoken out loud as they’d been when they were rattling around in her head all night.

  “He did.”

  “Yes,” she said, even more sharply. Challenging Becky to make something of it.


  When her friend said nothing at all, Annie drained her wineglass.

  THEY WERE HALFWAY THROUGH dinner when Annie heard a car door close out front. A common occurrence on this street, which was filled with middle-class families. Especially on a Saturday night. Tonight she couldn’t sit still. The sound reverberated in her brain like a gunshot. A prelude to something to come. A knock on her door? A visitor she didn’t want and couldn’t handle? Especially not with a glass of wine playing with her emotions.

  He was probably halfway up the walk by now. Jumping up, Annie approached the front window from the side, peeking through the sheers without being seen. She knew it wasn’t Blake. There would be a car out front of one of her neighbors’ homes. Blake had no reason to visit her. Ever.Except when she called him over to make a baby.

  The car out front wasn’t a Lincoln Continental. And it wasn’t on her side of the street, either. It was a Jeep. And…

  “Bec? Didn’t you say Shane was at Devin’s house, having pizza and watching a movie with some of the guys from the team?”

  “Yeah, that’s right. They’re watching that old Jim Carrey movie, Me, Myself and Irene. Shane’s seen it before but he thinks it hilarious.”

  Annie turned from the window, still holding the sheers so she could see out. “He’s not at Devin’s.”

  “What?” Glass in hand, Becky joined her at the window and glanced out.

  Standing with her best friend, Annie watched as fifteen-year-old Shane Howard, with occasional glances toward Annie’s house, leaned back against the Jeep parked in front of Katie Hollister’s house, pulled the eighteen-year-old between his spread legs and kissed her full on the lips.

  BLAKE AWOKE WITH A START. His bedroom door, which he’d shut and locked with the dead bolt he’d had installed before he’d moved in, had just creaked open. He tried to see through the darkness. Could only make out a thin sliver of light where the door was ajar.

  Someone was in the room. He had to get up. Wasn’t going to be taken captive lying down again. But his arms and legs wouldn’t move. He couldn’t turn his head. The covers trapped him and held him hostage. Sweating profusely, Blake struggled to break free, to move at all. He couldn’t see anything, couldn’t hear anyone. He didn’t have much time.And then…the blow came from nowhere, straight to his chest, a heavy weight crushing him, squeezing the air out of his lungs. He could see the creature. Could make out the large green puss-filled eyes. Could feel the thin, sharp fingers curling into his skin. It was a demon. Rank-smelling breath spewed forth, attacking Blake’s nostrils, while matted hair brushed his chin. He couldn’t breathe. He was going to die.