by Amy Fetzer
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Contents:
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12
Epilogue
© 1997
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One
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"It's too late, Chase."
"What do you mean?" he said into the phone, an edge to his voice. Lawyers had an annoying habit of dragging out the details, especially for their friends.
"The procedure took. Six months ago."
"What! You mean there's a woman walking around with my baby inside her and I've never laid eyes on her?"
"That about sums it up."
Chase Madison shielded his eyes from the sun blasting through his office window and rubbed his temples. Janis had done this. He just knew it. "God, if Janis wasn't already dead, I'd kill her."
"Oh, it gets better."
Chase closed his eyes, tamping down his temper. "Let's have it."
"She believes you're nothing but a sperm donor." Something nasty twisted inside Chase just then. "And she isn't going to let you near this child, nor give you the time of day."
"We'll just see about that."
Chase hung up the phone and sank into the nearest chair, cradling his aching head in his hands. A sperm donor. Wonderful. If his marriage alone wasn't the grand joke of the century, now he felt as if Janis were taking digs from the grave. Chase wasn't mourning her. He'd done that briefly months ago, after the accident, with whatever little feeling he had left for her. Now he felt only anger and resentment. She'd used her job at the fertility clinic to get back at him. She'd had access, and God knows she'd had motivation. But this, he thought, was beyond even her. This was vicious.
It always came back to kids. He wanted them. She couldn't have any. It hadn't mattered to him at the time. He just wanted to be a father. Anybody's father. He wanted to feel the sweet energy kids gave, their fascination for discovery, wanted to love them and feel loved. With secret dreams of his own son, he'd convinced Janis to go the adoption route—a seven-year wait for a newborn. But it was Janis, as administrator for the clinic, who'd introduced the possibility of a surrogate mother.
Chase hadn't liked the idea of a strange woman having his child by artificial insemination. Even the sound of it was clinically impersonal. And he couldn't imagine a woman going through pregnancy and childbirth only to relinquish her rights to her baby. But Janis had convinced him it was reasonable. Persuaded him with the fact that the child would at least have Chase's blood in his veins.
You let her convince you, his conscience niggled. He'd wanted a child that badly, yet still he'd dragged his heels. He remembered the humiliation of entering a little sterilized room, staring at the specimen cup in his hand, the leather office couch, the stack of video tapes on the TV/VCR. Then he'd dragged Janis in with him. She was very accommodating about assisting him, as he recalled.
Two weeks later his world fell apart. Or at least what he thought was his marriage. Hell. It had been over before that, he knew. Just as he knew having children was the wrong reason to hold a marriage together. Yet he'd felt cheated out of something precious and wonderful when he'd found the birth control pills tucked in the glove box of her car when he'd taken it to the shop. Janis wasn't infertile. She'd just never wanted children. Never wanted her career or her figure or her life interrupted. Let the baby machines do it, she'd said, unaware that he'd heard her bitter comments until he stepped around the edge of her office door. Oh, she'd stumbled through an explanation, but in that moment, he'd seen her for what she truly was. Selfish, heartless, a lousy example of impending motherhood. He'd told her to dump their files, their marriage and his donation.
Obviously she hadn't. He'd known she was bitter, but this? Manipulating files and specimens? Why?
For a baby.
His baby.
An incredible warmth crept into his chest, seeping out to his limbs. Chase sagged back into the leather chair and savored the feeling, knowing it wouldn't last, wouldn't stay. Had she intentionally allowed the surrogate-intended sperm to go to a woman who thought she was selecting only genes and chromosomes from a bank? Was she bitter enough to see the child he longed for created, only to keep the baby from his grasp? He hated to think anyone was that horrible.
Leaning forward, he scooted the pad of paper closer and read the name. The woman wasn't even one of the potential surrogates they'd interviewed.
Tessa Lightfoot.
She wanted a child, but didn't want the father. Well, Miss Lightfoot. You got both. And she couldn't dump him down the drain with the rest of the liquid papas.
Tessa gripped the phone, praying she'd heard wrong. "This can't be happening. Tell me it isn't."
"It is, Sis. Now stay calm."
"I am calm!"
"Oh, sure."
"Dia, please," Tessa moaned, blinking back fresh tears.
"As your counsel, I advise you to meet with him."
"No way." She plucked a tissue from a lace-covered box and blotted her eyes.
"Tessa, listen," Dia said in a calm tone that always soothed Tessa. One would think she was the elder sister. "He's not an ogre."
"Have you met him?" Warts and baldness immediately came to mind.
"No, just his lawyer."
"You guys run like a wolf pack, so that doesn't count."
"He has rights." Dia's voice was tight.
"No, he doesn't. This baby is mine, all mine. Selecting sperm from a bank was supposed to insure that. If I wanted a father around I would have gone the conventional route."
"And you selected his. Why?"
"Oh, that hardly matters now. It's the clinic's fault, let him sue them."
"He's not suing. He wants to be a part of his child's life."
Panic raced through Tessa. "Never. Do you hear me, Dia? Never!"
"Tessa, sit."
Tessa sat, a soft plop onto a stack of floor pillows.
"Most men get the hell scared out of them when it comes to pregnancy and babies." Like her ex, Tessa thought, flipping her braid back over her shoulder. "Perhaps he just wants to offer financial support?" Dia finished.
Tessa made a face, then glanced around her cozy little house. "I don't need it."
"I know, but give him the chance to do the right thing. If you don't, this could get ugly."
A judge, the media, she realized, her child given an initial like Baby M. "Okay, okay. I will, under protest. One meeting and that's it."
"Tomorrow morning at nine. My office."
Tessa's brows knitted softly. "You were so sure I'd say yes?"
"You pay me to know what you need before you need it."
"Living in the same house for twenty years didn't hurt either, huh?"
Dia's laughter filtered through the phone, making Tessa smile as she said goodbye. Flicking off the cordless phone and tossing it aside, Tessa sank deeper into the mound of pillows, spread-eagle. Toeing off her sandals, she stared at the bordered ceiling, smoothing her hands over her belly. The baby moved in a slow, rolling wave, and she touched every ripple, smiling to herself, gaining strength. She wasn't going to let this person, this entity she refused to give a face to, get to her. This baby was hers, extra special, extra loved and extra wanted, because when she was young and married to Ryan, she'd had her chance and lost it.
Her ex hadn't wanted to be a father, ever, and although he'd said often enough that she was all he needed, she chose not to believe him. Disillusionment and hard reality hit when her birth control failed and he gave her a choice—abort or divorce. The confrontation had ended her marriage and she realized her own naiveté had allowed it to happen. The foolishness of youth, she thought. But miscarrying in the middle of her divorce had devastated her the most. Tessa's eyes burned suddenly and she stroked her belly, taking deep calming bre
aths. Just thinking about how Ryan had come rushing back when he'd heard about the miscarriage still upset her. She'd lived on her anger then, focusing on her career, on becoming financially independent enough to afford a child, without a father. She'd almost waited too long.
But now, she was exactly where she wanted to be. And she'd fight this faceless enemy with everything she had before giving into the donor's arrogant demands to be a part of her baby's life.
"We'll get through this," she whispered to her unborn child.
This Chase Madison didn't know what he was up against when he faced a mother protecting her child.
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Two
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Chase stood near the office window, his back to his lawyer, Tigh McBain, and stared out the spotless glass, watching the traffic move on the streets below. His breath almost made frost, it was so cool in the long conference room, and he checked his watch for the third time. "She's late."
"Tessa's always late," a soft voice said, and he turned to see a small, slender young woman enter the conference room. She greeted Tigh politely, setting her briefcase on the long table as her secretary, a man for God's sake, followed her, placing a coffee service and a pitcher of water on the table.
"And you tolerate it?"
She met his gaze, and Chase saw the shark beneath the impeccably tailored attorney. "Sisters have a tendency to tolerate a lot from each other."
Sisters. Wonderful. Nothing like having her family forces joined against him.
"I'm Dia Lightfoot." Chase looked her over thoroughly, and she seemed to expect it, an odd smile crossing her lips. She was attractive, severe in appearance, businesslike in a fitted Chanel suit, black hair whipped tightly into a twist. Everything about Ms. Dia Lightfoot spoke of a professional hardness he saw too often in women climbing the corporate ladder. But to Chase, every lawyer was a shark, including Tigh. God, was this what awaited him? A woman so unable to spare a moment from her demanding career that she chose a sperm bank instead of taking the time for a relationship? His stomach knotted and he returned his gaze out the window, hands braced behind his back. He rocked on his heels, flinching when a buzzer sounded. He glanced back to see Ms. Lightfoot flip a cellular phone and speak softly, then click it off and drop it into her briefcase. "She's on her way up."
Chase didn't think his stomach could clench any tighter. He wasn't noticing the magnificent skyline, or his chilled skin. His imagination was too busy painting an unpleasant picture of Dia's sister. A duplicate of the shark in heels, he thought. Gritty. Clinical enough to breed her baby in a doctor's office.
A rap on the door sounded, and Chase turned as the secretary pushed open the heavy wood, then stepped aside.
Chase's brows rose high on his forehead as a very pregnant woman moved gracefully into the icy room. His conjured images were instantly destroyed as she seemed to float to her sister, hugging her. Not a brief touch of cheeks, but a real, loving hug. The temperature rose, warming the room. And Chase couldn't take his eyes off her or her rounded tummy. That's my baby in there, he thought, then brought his gaze to her face. He noticed the small straw hat first, the rolled brim, fanned back over one ear, her long black hair tucked behind and falling down her back. Her obviously pregnant body was clothed in a flowing cream silk and lace creation reaching mid-calf. The dress was shapeless, yet the simple garment draped her like a mystery, showing curves and showing nothing. Bet she never strapped herself into suits and heels, he thought, pleased and wary. His gaze immediately dropped to her legs as if whether or not she wore high heels would make a difference, yet he found matching opaque stockings and shoes that looked more like ballet slippers. Even her feet were delicate.
Tessa Lightfoot was femininity at its finest. And he was sunk.
How was he supposed to fight this? This ethereal image of motherhood.
She smiled, but he only caught half of it, her face turned away as her counsel introduced her to his. Tigh flashed her his easy grin, then offered her a chair, and she sat, clutching her tiny beaded handbag on her lap before she finally twisted a look at him.
Chase nodded.
Tessa nodded.
The air between them was charged with defiance before Tessa turned back to Dia, taking a calming breath. Oh, lord. Did he have to be so handsome? Where were the warts she spent half the night praying for? she wondered as his lawyer gestured to an empty chair and Chase rounded the back of the table, sliding in it. He adjusted his tie and let his gaze creep across the table and up to her face. She could feel it, like a fingertip under her chin, and she fought the urge to look at him. She kept her gaze locked on Dia.
Her lawyer racked papers and addressed Tigh. "Miss Lightfoot wants to know what rights you believe you're entitled to."
"I don't believe I am, I know."
Tessa looked at him sharply, briefly, and in a heartbeat, Chase was snagged in those vivid green eyes.
"Miss Lightfoot feels this is the clinic's problem."
Ignoring Tigh's prior warning to let him negotiate, Chase went on. "It's our problem. Because that's our baby. And does Miss Lightfoot," he growled, "even have a voice?"
Tessa cocked a look at him. "As a matter of fact I do, though not as loud as yours."
Chased stared, then grinned suddenly, and Tessa was startled, her cheeks warming. Dia and Tigh exchanged a glance.
"Surely your client will agree this is an unusual situation," Tigh said. "We would like to know how this mistake was discovered."
The lawyers exchanged copies of paperwork. "Lab techs were updating records, a periodic checking of log numbers against donors, making certain no donor is used more than once." Chase felt his skin tighten. "The donor's—" Dia cleared her throat, making Chase squirm "—Mr. Madison's—sperm was incorrectly listed."
"Then how do they know he's the one," Tigh asked, "if he was just a number in a registry?"
Dia glanced at Tessa and she nodded.
"When this matter arose, Miss Lightfoot underwent amniocentesis to be certain."
That she would go through such pain and risk told Chase more than he wanted to know and he leaned across the table, his gaze flicking between Dia and Tigh, then to Tessa.
"And?" His breath locked in his lungs.
Tessa knew this should come from her and lifted her gaze from her lap, her eyes glossed with unshed tears. She put just enough resentment into her tone as she said, "It was your donation, Mr. Madison."
The wind went out of Chase then. There had been the shadow, the sliver of a chance that this was just a mix-up in paperwork. But now that warm feeling came again, spreading to his fingers this time, seeping into his heart and burrowing deeper and stronger with each passing moment. A dad. He leaned back in the chair, so damned pleased. And he hoped it showed, hoped this woman realized that he wasn't giving up any rights to his child, without one hell of a fight.
But Tessa knew, by his expression, his eyes, warming to a wonderful cobalt blue. She looked away suddenly. Oh, God, what have I done? Acknowledging him offered him rights. Parental rights. No. He's just the donor, a test tube of defrosted fluid.
"The difficulty lies in how your sperm was even registered," Dia was saying. "As I understand it, you and your wife—" Tessa looked instantly horrified and Chase interrupted sharply.
"Ex-wife. Dead ex-wife." Bitter, a quick slap of fury before it was gone.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Madison," both women said, but Chase had eyes only for Tessa, his gaze burning over her golden skin as he stared and stared, until she lifted her eyes to his. A small smile curved his lips, half there, half not, and it made her wonder what was hatching in his brain.
"You were going to use a surrogate," Dia finished, and Tigh agreed for him. "Well, while Mr. Madison's specimen should have been destroyed at the termination of his marriage, my client was listed as a surrogate."
Tessa jerked her gaze to her sister. "That's impossible."
"Is it?" Chase interjected.
She turned on Chase. "Yes, I would
never have a child only to give it away, not for anyone." Her voice rose. "And Dr. Faraday knows this, knows exactly what I've been through!" Dia clasped her hand and Tessa fell into silence.
Chase's heart suddenly skittered. Was there a problem with the pregnancy? Though he wanted to know, needed to know, he didn't think she'd tell him if he asked.
"I will never give you my baby," she asserted, her beautiful eyes sparking with barely checked fury.
"Our baby," he countered across the table.
"No. Mine. The donor signed over rights when he donated sperm to the bank. That's why I chose it."
"Don't like men, do you?"
Tessa looked appalled and Chase had his answer.
"Regardless," their lawyers interrupted, sending their clients an I'm-supposed-to-do-the-talking look. Chase and Tessa settled back, stiff, their anger sizzling across the polished table.
"You both have rights. Suing the clinic will not change anything," came from Dia.
"I don't want to sue," Chase said.
"Then we can set up visitation rights when the child is born."
Chase's gaze jerked to her attorney's. "No way. I'm not visiting my own child. I want him."
Panic, absolute and undeniable, sent Tessa leaning forward, her hand gripping the table ledge. "I don't want you in my life, Mr. Madison, father or not!" She stood abruptly. "Possession is nine-tenths of the law, and until this child is born, you have no rights."
"I have the same as any father."
"Then go off and be anybody's father. We don't want you."
Dia rose and settled Tessa back into the chair, glaring at Chase. "It isn't wise to upset her," she remarked.
"Oh Dia, be serious," Tessa murmured under her breath. "I'm pregnant, not an invalid."
"Use any weapon you can," her sister whispered, and Tessa scowled.
"I think the court should decide this," Tigh suggested.
"No!" came from both parents, nearly bringing them out of their chairs.