Expecting a Bolton Baby

by Sarah M. Anderson

  Ben went on, his voice quiet but menacing. “Did you stop and think, huh? Do you ever stop and think? What if Caine decided he wanted out of the deal—but didn’t want to pay the penalty? What if he put her up to this to get you out?”

  “No,” Bobby replied without hesitation, even as he wondered. “I don’t believe that. She can’t lie to me.”

  “Does that include not telling you who she was?”

  Bobby glared at his older brother. It wasn’t his place to tell Ben that the only reason she’d been at the party had been because she’d hoped to see her father for the first time in years. There was no way in hell that Bobby believed that Stella would do anything her father asked—including having sex in the back of a car. That wasn’t her. He knew it. To think otherwise...no. It just wasn’t possible.

  “You watch your mouth,” he repeated. “She says she’s pregnant. She says I’m the father. I’m going to make sure that everything she says is true and then, when your wife and daughter aren’t here, I’m going to come back and break your nose.”

  Ben had the nerve to almost smile at him. “That a threat?” He cracked the knuckles on his hands, one at a time.

  Intimidation didn’t work on him—he knew all the tricks, used them himself.

  “That’s a promise.”

  Ben changed tactics on him. Suddenly, his tone was almost apologetic. “Okay, say for the sake of argument that this is all just one giant, amazing coincidence. What are you going to do when Caine finds out you’re screwing his daughter, huh?” Then, like a viper, he hit again. “Because you still can’t keep your pants zipped, can you?”

  Everything in Bobby’s body wanted to come up with a denial—but he couldn’t. There was a reason he was here—the same reason that Ben had been the one he’d called first. The only one he’d called. He needed his brother more than he’d ever needed him before. Ben was cool and logical and unrelenting. If he could get Ben on his side, he might have a shot in hell at figuring out what he was going to do.

  Not that Ben was on his side yet.

  “Yeah, thought so,” his brother said. “That damn show you signed the whole family up for is going to disappear and take all of that funding with it and you and I and Billy are never going to see our money again. And if you think I’m pissed off, well,” he said with a shrug, “you should think about what Billy’s going to do to you when you tell him.”

  “I can fix this,” Bobby said, his voice so quiet it was almost a whisper.

  “How?”

  “I asked her to marry me.”

  That set Ben back on his heels. “Really?”

  “If we’re married, then her father is a nonissue and the baby is a Bolton. Problems solved.”

  Ben seemed impressed with this plan—for twelve seconds. “And she said yes?”

  She’d said no. Twice, no less.

  There was no way Bobby would admit that to his brother, though. Just because Stella wasn’t exactly jumping to get married didn’t mean it wouldn’t happen.

  “We’re going to wait on the test results.” Not a lie. Just not the whole truth.

  Ben snorted, but he didn’t call Bobby out on this evasion. Bobby drained the rest of his beer as he looked toward the front of the loft. The damn place was so huge that he could barely make out Josey and Stella sitting on couches almost half a football field away.

  “And then?”

  And then...what? Then Stella would be three months pregnant and back in New York and he’d be in Sturgis, building a resort.

  Unless he could persuade her that marrying him was what was best for both her and the baby.

  Best for all of them.

  “Then we get married.”

  He wished he’d managed to say that with a little more confidence. But it had come out...hesitant. Unsure.

  Things Bobby hated.

  “Look, let’s just say that the deal might go south, okay? What do we need to do to keep the company safe?” This was Ben’s specialty—the worst-case scenario.

  Ben looked as if he wanted to hit Bobby. “Is that the royal we? You screw up, I have to fix it—that we?”

  Bobby bit his tongue to keep from cursing. “I can fix this. But...just in case.”

  “You’re a piece of work, you know that?” Ben gave him one of those looks that let Bobby know he wasn’t fooling anyone, least of all his know-it-all older brother. “I’ll run some numbers.”

  Ben turned to go, but Bobby grabbed him by the shoulder, knowing damn good and well he could get decked for it. “Wait.”

  Ben tensed, but didn’t come up swinging. “What?”

  “Just promise me this—don’t scare her, okay? She’s...” He struggled to come up with the right word. “She’s vulnerable right now. I know Billy will scare the hell out of her and there’s nothing I can do about that, but could you just try not to terrorize her? For me?”

  Ben shot him a look that Bobby couldn’t make out. It almost looked as if he approved. “Not for you,” he said. “But Josey’ll kill me otherwise.”

  Bobby took that. It was as good as it was going to get.

  * * *

  Stella followed Josey away from the two brothers. Everything felt wrong. Her stomach was wriggling around in nerves and nausea again. She sipped her ginger ale as Josey finally stopped at a seating area only ten feet from the lift.

  “This is a lovely space,” Stella said, wondering how to break the ice after that awkward introduction.

  “Thanks—but you’ll have to tell Gina and Patrice when they get here. They designed it.” Josey stretched her neck, as if the slumbering baby was hurting her back.

  Truthfully, Stella had no idea what to do with a child. But she was going to be a mum soon enough. There was no time like the present to start learning. “Would you like me to hold her?”

  Josey regarded her for a moment. “That’d be wonderful,” she finally admitted, looking tired. “Why don’t you sit there,” she said, motioning toward the leather sofa with the cushioned arms. “She needs to be upright—it keeps the pressure off her ears, so hold her like this.” She nodded to the way Callie’s face was tucked into her neck.

  “All right.” Stella sat and Josey handed over the baby. Callie was much heavier than she expected—heavy and warm and, now that Stella was holding her, she could hear how the baby girl whistled gently as she breathed. She felt perfect.

  “There, you’ve got it.”

  “Right, then,” Stella replied, afraid to move lest the baby flop away from her.

  Josey took up residence on the closest sofa—close enough that, should something go awry, she could snatch the child out of Stella’s arms. If Stella had any clue what she was doing, she’d be insulted. As it was, she was comforted by the proximity.

  “So,” Josey began with another measured look. “Tell me about yourself.”

  “Bobby covered all the basics—fashion designer, model, daughter of David Caine. What else would you like to know?”

  Josey took a deep breath. “Look, I’m going to level with you. The Boltons are...an unusual group of men. They were raised to believe that family comes first—family is everything. But within that unbreakable law, they fight like starving dogs.” Josey glanced over her shoulder to where Ben and Bobby were standing in the distance. Stella followed her gaze. At the moment, they didn’t appear to be fighting.

  “Oh.” She’d always had this vision of a family being perfect, gathered around the table in harmony. She could almost see a younger Bobby getting into scrapes, tussling with his brothers—but nothing that came close to starving dogs. The image scared her. “What will they do—as a family?”

  Josey sighed, as if she’d had more than her fill of conflict. “More than likely, Bruce—that’s their father—will order Bobby to marry you. Immediately. Billy will probably b
ack him up.”

  “Oh.”

  Of course, Bobby had already offered marriage—and she’d said no.

  There’s no way my family would let me.

  Bobby’s words from that morning came back to her. He’d been joking—hadn’t he? He’d made it sound light and humorous—but what if it hadn’t been? What if he’d been serious?

  Is that why he’d asked her? Because he knew that his family would force him to do it sooner or later?

  Against her chest, Callie sighed in her sleep. God, how Stella wanted a family—but not one that was forced. Not because some angry men—men who weren’t even her father, for heaven’s sake—demanded it.

  She wanted Bobby to want their family. She didn’t want him to do anything so permanent as to marry her because he thought he had to.

  “And your husband? What will he do?”

  At this, Josey started chewing her lip. “He’ll try to keep the peace. He always does. He doesn’t always succeed, you understand.”

  “Of course.” Not that she understood anything.

  “So, before you get inducted into this family any more than you already are, why don’t you tell me about yourself. And not the stuff that will come up on an internet search.”

  Stella let her eyes drift shut as she felt the little puffs of air the baby exhaled on her neck. This woman was on her side—she thought. If Stella could win over Josey, Josey might win over her husband, and that would even the odds against some frightful elder Bolton demanding a marriage for the sake of a baby.

  Callie made a little mewing noise that made Stella’s chest clench again. Soon enough—seven months, perhaps—Stella would be holding her own baby. Whatever happened here today—or didn’t happen, such as it were—nothing was going to change that. She’d get her family one way or the other.

  “My mum died when I was eight. I haven’t seen my father in two years, not since he escorted me to the royal wedding—against his wishes.”

  A little color drained out of Josey’s face. “Do you have any other family?”

  “Only Mickey, my father’s childhood friend. He’s my security, I guess.” He’d always been there for her, even when he didn’t have any idea what he was doing. That had made her just secure enough.

  “That’s it?”

  Stella nodded, trying not to hear the pity in Josey’s voice. Her words dried up. For a moment, it felt as if all she could do was hold the baby a bit tighter. “I want my baby. I didn’t plan on this, I didn’t choose it, but I want my baby. More than anything.”

  “I see.” Josey gave her a warm smile. It was exceptionally reassuring. “What decisions have you and Bobby come to?”

  Stella swallowed. “He’s been quite lovely about the whole thing. He’s promised to call and write, visits for birthdays and holidays. Even agreed that later, when the child has a summer holiday, she could come stay with him. That’s why he suggested the family lawyer—get it down in writing.”

  Josey appeared to think on that for a few moments, something like doubt on her face. “Is that what you want?”

  Oh, this was painful. It had been bad enough having this conversation with Bobby—a man she barely knew but a man she was bound to, nonetheless. But she didn’t know Josey at all.

  Plus, this conversation was downright pleasant compared to how it would go with her father. Aside from Mickey, this was the friendliest audience Stella had. She needed to make the most of it.

  “I want a family. I don’t want my baby to be used as a bargaining chip in some sort of power struggle. I want her to know she is loved and wanted.” Being loved and wanted herself? Well, she was used to disappointment.

  “And Bobby?”

  “Bobby.” She looked back at the two brothers again. They were having a heated conversation, that much she could tell, but at least they were doing so quietly. “I don’t want anyone making us get married, not if he doesn’t want to.”

  “I see.” Josey thought on that for a moment, but whatever else she might have said was interrupted by the clatter of the lift.

  Just hearing that sound made Stella’s stomach turn. She managed another sip of her ginger ale without waking up the baby. Perhaps she could do this, with practice.

  “Oh, the girls.” Josey shot her an apologetic look.

  Before she could follow up on that worrisome sentiment, the gate opened. Out stepped two young women. The first woman had reddish hair, a tutu skirt and a skull-and-crossbones tee, all accented by a leather jacket and combat boots.

  “We’re here. Sorry we’re late,” she began as she hauled out a huge storage tub. “Trying to find good fabric in this town is murder, I tell you!”

  Then she saw Stella and froze, causing the second woman, wearing all black, who was also hefting a storage tub, to run straight into her.

  “Babe,” the second woman growled.

  “Ohmygod—you really are Stella Caine,” the redhead said in a rush.

  “You know her?” Josey sounded bewildered.

  “Are you kidding me? She’s an awesome designer!” The redhead turned back to Stella, her words spilling out faster than coffee from an overturned cup. “You’re an awesome designer! That dress you wore to the royal wedding? That was brilliant!”

  “You saw the dress?”

  “Saw it? It was perfect! Made that thing Victoria Beckam wore look like a sack.”

  “She was pregnant,” Stella reminded her.

  The redhead continued unabated. “I read you made the lace yourself?”

  “I did.” Stella suddenly felt shy. She’d never had anyone go quite so fangirl on her before.

  “We’ve got a bet on that dress,” the redhead said as the darker woman continued to gape. “Patrice said the lace was tiny skulls, but I said you wouldn’t dare wear skulls to a royal wedding.”

  “Patrice, is it?” When the black-haired woman nodded, Stella went on. “Patrice was correct. Tiny skulls. No one noticed.” Except her father. And Bobby.

  “Pay up,” Patrice said with a grin that could only be described as wicked.

  “Later, babe,” the redhead replied, seemingly not offended by losing the bet. In fact, she swatted Patrice on the backside before she pulled her into a hug.

  Ah. They were a couple.

  Josey stood. “Stella, this is Gina Cobbler and Patrice Harmon, the artists who live on the second floor. They designed the apartment and did the art in here.”

  “We cook, too!” Gina added, looking proud of herself.

  “The space is amazing,” Stella said, wondering if she should stand and how she might do that without losing her grip on the baby.

  “You like it? Ben let us do whatever we wanted. We helped Bobby with his apartment, too, but he had very specific ideas.” Gina rolled her eyes. “No fun at all.”

  “I loved Bobby’s flat—a real SoHo sensibility.”

  Both women looked pleased.

  “So how long are you going to be in town?”

  “A few weeks, perhaps.” Then she made a gamble. “I appreciate you getting me some things to work with. If I find I need something else, can I call you? You could show me where the stores are.”

  “Really? That would be so cool! We should totally have a girls’ day out!”

  Then she looked up—they all did. Bobby and Ben Bolton had come forward.

  “She really is Stella Caine! I totally thought you were pulling one over on us!”

  “Good to see you, too, Gina. Patrice,” Bobby added with a nod of his head. “How are you lovely ladies today?”

  Now, that was charm. Smooth just poured off him. He shot her a wink—a small, hidden gesture just for her. He came to stand behind her, his hand resting on her shoulder.

  Unconsciously, she clutched the baby a little tighter—too tight. She star
tled and began to fuss again. “Oh, sorry,” she murmured as Josey swooped in.

  “Don’t worry about it—a little nap is better than no nap.”

  Stella supposed this was supposed to be comforting, but it wasn’t. She was starting to feel claustrophobic. Too many strangers standing over her, wondering what kind of girl she was. Distrust was plain in Ben’s eyes, less plain in Josey’s, but still there. Stella was an outsider who didn’t belong in this family. Even the odd pair of artists seemed better suited to this place than she did.

  But, as they were all looking at her, she couldn’t exactly slip away.

  It was Gina who saved her. “Okay!” she said with a firm clap of her hands. “So here’s what we got. The sewing machine is ours, but you may borrow it as long as you like—needle arts aren’t really our thing.” She pointed to a smaller case on wheels.

  “We paint,” Patrice said, gesturing with her chin to one of the huge wall-size canvases.

  “Amazing,” was all Stella could get out before Gina was off again.

  “So there’s the machine with the bobbins and stuff. Bobby said you needed yarn, but he didn’t say if you wanted knitting or crochet.”

  “What did you get?” Bobby prodded her. He seemed at ease. Stella was actually envious. She hadn’t been around this many people since, well, that night at the club.

  Patrice popped open a tub. “Black, white, pink—six skeins of each, plus a set of knitting needles and a crochet needle to gauge.” She pulled out a skein of white yarn. “Wool blend—is that okay?”

  Stella ran her hands over the yarn. “This is lovely.”

  Patrice popped open the other tub. “Fabric.”

  “Oh, yes—the fabric! So we had a little fun with this—a lot of remainders, a little velvet—and some sequins!” Gina pulled out a truly garish piece of cloth, emerald green with sequins covering the lot of it.

  The overhead light caught the whole thing, blinding her with the glow. “Oh, my.”

  Bobby gave her shoulder a squeeze. She reached up and squeezed back, wondering if she could telepathically communicate that she wanted to go home now. Or at least back to his place.