His Miracle Baby

by Karen Sandler

  Rachael answered the front door, squealing with delight and grabbing Shani into a Heimlich-strength hug. “You don’t look the least bit pregnant.”

  “Almost twelve weeks,” Shani told her.

  Her gaze roved over the familiar cozy living room. A fire burned in the woodstove, its heat permeating the comfortable space. Shani had grown up in this room—watching television sprawled on that same worn recliner, doing her homework at the antique desk in the corner, daydreaming in the bay window. Her mother had replaced the sofa in the past few years, but much of the other furniture Shani remembered from childhood. She wondered if she would still be able to read hers and Rachael’s initials on the underside of the coffee table.

  Her mother’s embrace was more gentle than Rachael’s, then Shani was passed along to Aunt Helen, Uncle Dave and their two young boys. She introduced Logan around. He offered handshakes to everyone, including her six- and eight-year-old cousins, Aaron and Ben. Her mother ignored his hand and gave him the same affectionate hug she’d given Shani.

  Logan looked startled, but he smiled as he drew away from Shani’s mother. “I see where Shani gets her beauty, Mrs. Jacoby,” he said.

  The compliment completely caught Shani’s mother off guard. She laughed and fluttered her hands at Logan. “Call me Barbara. Dave, help Logan with the suitcases. I’ll go get supper on the table.”

  They gathered in the dining room, where her mother had set out the good china for the adults and the everyday for the two boys. They passed around brisket, roast potatoes and a green salad the boys refused to eat until they saw Logan pile it high on his plate.

  Logan held his own in the clamor of conversation around the table, he and Uncle Dave comparing notes on the differences in the business climate in California and Iowa. Shani was pleasantly surprised with how he interacted with her two awestruck cousins, asking them about school, whether or not they liked sports. When he promised them each a soccer ball, set of cleats and a carry bag with a Hawkeyes logo, their jaws dropped in admiration.

  Again and again, his gaze drifted across the table to Shani, as if he was assuring himself she was still there. Each brief glance set off a glow within her, filled her with a gladness that she’d brought him home with her.

  At one point, Logan smiled at something one of her mischievous cousins said, then lifted his gaze to Shani. She smiled back, a spark of connection shooting between them. Only an instant, then she tore her gaze away.

  And caught her mother watching her. Mrs. Jacoby raised one brow in query. Shani shook her head and focused back on her brisket. She didn’t want to know what her mother might have made of Shani’s incautious smile.

  After dinner, as Shani’s mother served up apple cobbler à la mode, she told Logan, “I’ve made up Shani’s old room for you.”

  “That’s not necessary,” he said as he took a dish of warm dessert from Ben. “I have a reservation at a motel in Coralville.”

  “Shani will be sleeping in Rachael’s room,” Mrs. Jacoby said. “Why stay at a motel when I have the space?”

  Logan looked over at Shani. “I appreciate the hospitality.”

  After they’d finished the cobbler and her aunt and uncle left with their two sleepy boys, Shani took Logan aside in the living room. “You don’t have to stay.”

  “I don’t mind.” He held his hands out to the fire’s warmth.

  “I could tell her you need the quiet to do some work.”

  He turned to her. “You don’t want me here?”

  “I’m glad you’re here.” As soon as she said the words out loud, she realized he might misinterpret them. “I mean, I’m glad you’re not spending the holiday alone. I just wasn’t sure if you’d be comfortable.”

  He stared down at the orange flames glowing through the glass of the woodstove. “I don’t know if I’ve ever been as comfortable as I’ve been tonight.”

  Logan soon learned that the gregarious dinner on the eve of Thanksgiving was just a warm-up for the main event. Family started arriving at eleven—aunts, uncles, cousins. Shani’s paternal grandmother, Ida—apparently still involved with the extended family even though her absent son no longer was—showed up in the early afternoon. They installed the old woman by the fire, her walker at hand, where she commandeered the youngest children, including a baby girl.

  Although he’d always had a talent for remembering names, Logan gave up the effort to remember who was who after the introduction of what must have been the twentieth second cousin. It didn’t seem to matter with the Jacobys and Beckensteins. They pulled him into their conversations, anyway, into their impromptu football games on the front lawn, their cutthroat games of Oh, Hell. Deprived nearly all his life of family, Logan felt as if he’d been tossed into an ocean of loving affection.

  When it was finally time to sit down to the meal, whose aroma had been tantalizing them all day, they had to rearrange the living room and split into three groups—kids in the kitchen, ten around the dining room table and the rest around rented tables in the living room. Logan sat opposite Grandma Ida’s spot by the fire, with Shani directly to his right. He’d only gotten glimpses of her during the day as she helped her mother in the kitchen. He was grateful to have a few moments with her.

  She leaned close to be heard over the noise of a dozen voices. “Ready to run screaming into the night?”

  He should have been. Families like Shani’s were entirely out of his experience. Even Arianna had only a few living relatives who were involved in her life.

  “They’re good people,” Logan said.

  The corners of her mouth turned up. “Uncle Wallace hasn’t brought out his accordion yet.”

  He couldn’t help himself—he laughed, the sound carrying to the far end of the table where Shani’s Uncle Dave sat with his wife. “You shouldn’t be telling Logan those naughty jokes, Grandma Ida.”

  Laughter rippled around the table at that, and Logan felt himself even more tightly bound up with this family, with Shani. But he wasn’t truly a part of this warm, raucous group. Despite their acceptance, his presence in their lives was temporary. Once Shani gave birth to his child, they’d be gone just as she would be.

  He ignored the ache that centered in his chest at the thought. He’d find a way to create a family for his son or daughter. Although he’d lost touch with Arianna’s sister, Corinna, and their parents when Arianna died, Corinna had seemed happy when he told her about the baby. They all lived back east, so they wouldn’t likely see the child much, but at least there’d be some family.

  Yet another issue he hadn’t fully thought through. He felt overwhelmed by failure before his child was even born.

  Without conscious thought, he reached for Shani’s hand, folding his fingers around hers under the table. She looked up at him, brow furrowed slightly, lips parting as if to ask why he’d made contact. He couldn’t answer, couldn’t have put into words why he needed her so desperately in that moment.

  Shani must have seen something in his face because she squeezed his hand and asked, “What?”

  He shook his head slowly and returned his hand to his own lap where it belonged. He had no answer for her, didn’t understand himself the maelstrom inside him. As he grappled with the unfamiliar emotions, his attention strayed down the table to where Barbara Jacoby sat.

  She stared at him, her expression thoughtful, troubled. She couldn’t have seen him take Shani’s hand under the table, couldn’t have read the thoughts in his mind. But somehow, she knew.

  After the meal came cleanup, a community project involving a conga line of kids carrying dinner plates, bowls and platters, and a group of young adults taking charge of packaging leftovers for family members to take home with them. The kids cleared and the men washed the dishes, Dave at the sink, Logan and Wallace drying and stacking. Shani helped her mother put the finishing touches on dessert, her radiant face filling Logan with an unfamiliar contentment.

  After chocolate pecan pie and pumpkin cake, they gathered around the clear
ed tables for hands of hearts and Russian rummy. Shani organized the kids around the coffee table for Go Fish and Old Maid and quickly had them in stitches. She was irresistible, not only for the youngsters, but for Logan. He bowed out of the adults’ card games to join her, stretching his long legs clear to the other side of the table, where Shani’s nine-month-old cousin sprawled on his ankles.

  Eventually everyone filtered out, the parents of the youngest first, as their charges grew tired and cranky. Then the oldsters, Ida, Uncle Wallace and Great-Aunt Maude. Dave and Helen were the last to leave after helping Logan fold up the rented tables.

  All during the evening, Logan could sense Shani’s mother’s focus on him. Unless he planned to hide in the guest room until he and Shani left on Saturday, he couldn’t avoid the private talk she obviously wanted.

  So when Shani went to Rachael’s room to get ready for bed, Logan hung back, picking up a few last glasses and dessert plates that had been left behind in the living room. He found Mrs. Jacoby in the kitchen, nursing a cup of coffee.

  “Would you like some?” she asked. “I think there’s one more cup in the pot.”

  “Sure,” he said, although he’d had his fill.

  She poured the dark brew into a mug, then passed him the creamer and a spoon. She’d remembered how he liked his coffee, her attentiveness reminding him of Shani.

  She gazed at him over her cup. “You’re not at all what I expected.”

  He took a sip. “Is that good or bad?”

  “Shani hasn’t mentioned you often over the years.” Her direct gaze didn’t leave his face. “But when she did, she was never flattering.”

  He laughed softly. “I’m not surprised.”

  “I didn’t think you’d be an ogre. I just thought you’d be sitting in a corner somewhere, pounding on a computer keyboard.”

  “Did you know my wife?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “Shani invited her out here more than once. She never accepted the invitation.”

  Mrs. Jacoby leaned a hip against the tile counter as she eyed him. Slender as her daughter, she was shorter, more diminutive. Even still, under her scrutiny, Logan felt a bit like a small boy called on the carpet.

  She delivered the volley he’d been expecting. “What’s going on between you and Shani?”

  “She’s gestational carrier for my baby. Nothing beyond that.”

  “That’s a load of hooey. I’ve seen the way you two look at each other.” Her gaze narrowed. “Are you and she—”

  “No!” He felt his face heat. It crossed his mind to tell her it was none of her business, but he knew that gambit wouldn’t fly with the protective Mrs. Jacoby. “We’re not in any kind of relationship.”

  “Except you are,” she said softly. “She’s nurturing your baby inside her, giving you a gift beyond price. There will always be a relationship between the two of you.”

  She’d spelled out what he hadn’t wanted to acknowledge—that no matter how hard he tried to make his interaction with Shani businesslike and professional, the reality was different. They were connected in the most intimate way, even if he never touched Shani again, never kissed her. He and she would always be a part of each other.

  The realization staggered him, so much so that he was completely unprepared for Mrs. Jacoby’s bombshell. “It’s going to kill her to give up this child.”

  “She’s known from the start—”

  “It doesn’t matter,” she said. “Her head might have persuaded her she could handle this, but it will break her heart.”

  Even as he sensed the truth of what she said, Logan felt helpless to change the inevitable. “She agreed” was all he could think to say.

  She nodded. “There is one way to change things. Except I’m not so sure it would be right.”

  “It wouldn’t,” he told her, guessing what she was suggesting.

  “Maybe not,” she acknowledged. “But I can see you do feel something for her already.”

  But he didn’t. Even if he did, Shani didn’t feel anything for him. “We’re just friends.” And barely even that.

  “Still, what would it hurt, Logan?” Mrs. Jacoby said quietly, thoughtfully. “What would it hurt if you married her?”

  Rachael was already asleep by the time Shani returned from her shower, warm and cozy in flannel pajamas. Her sister had left a small light burning on the bedside table, so Shani could curl up in bed and read a bit before she went to sleep. After the activity of the day, and her constant awareness of Logan’s nearness, she needed to find a way to unwind.

  But she’d finished the book she’d brought on the plane and hadn’t remembered to bring another. No doubt her mother would have a book or magazine Shani could borrow.

  As she started down the hall to her mother’s room, she heard voices from the kitchen. She peered far enough around the corner to spot Logan and her mother. Ducking back in the hallway so they wouldn’t see her, Shani wondered what kind of motherly talk Logan had been roped into.

  She considered just returning to Rachael’s room and turning out the light, but curiosity over Logan’s and her mother’s discussion only ratcheted up Shani’s tension. Moving quickly past the open doorway, she hurried to her old room at the other end of the hall. She’d left behind a stack of well-loved novels in the corner of her closet. She’d go grab an old favorite and be out of there again before Logan showed up.

  Her mother had moved her sewing machine into Shani’s old bedroom and had replaced Shani’s large dresser with a smaller one tucked into the corner. The feminine bed with its white wrought-iron bedstead and frilly comforter hadn’t changed, though. Seeing the lacy spread brought back a rush of memories of her teenage years, when Shani lay on that bed and dreamed of what her life might be.

  It took her a few moments to find the books—her mother had packed them in a box and slid them under the bed. Sitting cross-legged on the floor, she’d just made a selection from the box and was about to return the books under the bed when Logan entered the room.

  She tried to get her feet under her, to rise quickly from the floor, but her changing body thwarted her. She banged an elbow on the nightstand, swayed and might have fallen over if Logan hadn’t covered the distance between them in two long strides.

  He caught her by the elbows, holding her until she was steady. Her heart hammered in her ears as he towered over her, his expression serious, heat rolling off him in waves. She took a breath, heard it rasping in her ears.

  She had to think of something besides the touch of his hands, the way his mouth would feel on hers. “What were you and Mom talking about?”

  He shook his head, the movement nearly imperceptible. Then he let her go and disappointment dropped like a weight inside her.

  Until he shut the door, turned off the light and walked slowly back to her side.

  Chapter Ten

  “Logan,” she whispered as he pulled her toward him.

  He didn’t answer. He fitted her against him, bent his head down to her. Pressed his mouth against hers as he cupped the back of her head with his hand. She slipped her arms around him, reveled in the feel of his muscular back.

  The darkness of the room enfolded her like a blanket as he slanted his mouth across hers. She wanted to think that they were suspended in time, in space, touched by magic. That anything could happen here, anything permitted. Wanted to pretend there would be no consequences, that she could abandon free will and let Logan take control.

  She knew better. Knew that she should stop him now, before his touch overwhelmed her senses. Before pleasure crowded out conscious thought. But after years of constraining herself, years of denying herself intimate human contact, didn’t she deserve this moment? Despite the consequences, despite the perilous certainty that she would only be drawn that much closer to Logan.

  He shifted, easing himself to the edge of the bed and her into his lap. His hand dove under the pajama top, resting lightly at her waist, moving incrementally slowly up her side. He’d begun to
play her mouth with his clever tongue, dipping inside, drawing back, leaving her aching for the wet contact.

  She still had time to stop him. As drugging as his kisses were, as breath-stealing as his touch was, she needed only to pull back, to tense her body the slightest bit. He would release her, let her slide from his lap and gain her feet. She could walk out of this room. Yet she relaxed even further into his arms.

  His thumb stroked along the underside of her breast, along its curve, the slowness of the motion stealing her breath. Her nipples ached for that same caress, but he continued to tease her, moving just close enough but still out of reach.

  The flannel top, which felt so cozy minutes before, now felt hot and constricting. Squirming, she got one hand on the hem and pulled it up. Logan helped her, taking the garment over her head and tossing it to the floor. She welcomed the cool air against her skin, relished the contrast with Logan’s searing touch.

  She felt him hard and ready against her hip, wanted desperately to feel him inside her. He shifted again, yanking back the covers and pressing her onto the bed. Grabbing a handful of his sweater, she tried to push it up out of the way, but he took her hands and held them loosely above her head. He kissed her again, scalding her with his lips, his tongue.

  He trailed his mouth along her jaw, her throat, her collarbone. His tongue blazed a path centered between her breasts, leaving them aching for attention. The fingers of his free hand curled into the elastic waistband of her bottoms, stripping them and her panties off.

  Straddling her on his knees, he arched down, his mouth closing finally around her nipple, his tongue laving it. Shani moaned low in her throat at the hot wetness against her sensitive flesh. She thought she’d burst out of her skin at the sensation as it shot from her breast to between her legs, a taut cord of fire.

  He tasted her other breast as well, then moved on, along her rib cage, over the slight mound of her belly, to the triangle of curls between her legs. The first puff of his breath against the tender skin of her inner thigh had her squirming on the bed. Devon had never touched her this way, put his mouth anywhere but against her lips or breast. He rarely touched her at all below the waist, except to part her legs to enter her.