by Ann Evans
It was time, Mark decided, to put an end to this as gently as he could. He hated to burst this boy’s bubble, but he wasn’t looking for a wife. Certainly not one with kids. “Look, Peter,” he began, “I’d like to help you out, but don’t you think you should leave it to your mom to pick out a new husband?”
“She’ll never do it,” the boy said, sounding anxious now. “Grampa says getting Mom to do something she doesn’t really want to do is as hard as scratching your ear with your elbow. She’s too picky. And she works really hard. She doesn’t have time to look. That’s why we’re helping her.”
Mark wished suddenly that he’d never taken the call. How was he going to let these kids down easy? “What kind of work does your mother do?”
“Counting.”
“You mean, accounting?”
“Yeah. And she helps Aunt Vicky and Aunt Lauren with the magazine.”
“What magazine?”
“It’s about weddings. Stuff brides like.”
Mark scowled, draining the last of his drink. “Fairy Tale Weddings?”
“Uh-huh.”
His heart suddenly beat a lot faster. “What’s your mom’s name, Peter?”
“Mom.”
“No, her given name. The name other people call her.”
“Jenna.”
Mark sat upright in his chair so fast that the ice in his glass sloshed over the rim onto his lap. He was so stunned he hardly noticed its chilly discomfort. “You’re Jenna Rawlins’s son?” he managed to get out.
“Uh-huh. So is J.D.”
Blinking like a man just coming out of a trance, Mark set his empty glass down on his desk and began plucking ice cubes off his lap absently. In a million years he couldn’t have imagined Jenna’s boys tracking him down this way. They must have come across the magazine article somehow. Or had Jenna mentioned his name to them?
That seemed unlikely. Regardless, if she knew they were playing matchmaker, she’d probably ground them for a month. No, if she knew they’d called him, the poor little guys were looking at a life sentence.
He squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose. This was getting tougher by the moment. “Listen, Peter, it’s nice of you two to try to help your mom, but I don’t think she’d be interested in me as a husband. Maybe you’d better talk this idea over with her before you call anyone else.”
“We can’t talk to her,” Peter said, a note of annoyance in his voice. “I told you, she’s too busy right now.”
“Doing what?”
“Getting ready for the new baby.”
“What!” If his heart had been racing before, it almost burst out of his chest with that bit of news. “What new baby?”
“Hers. Our little brother or sister. She’s gonna have a baby.”
“That’s impossible!” he said sharply. No way. Not a chance in bloody hell. These kids were making crank calls, after all.
“It’s not impossible,” the boy argued back. “Grampa says—”
“Never mind what Grampa says.” Damn, he wanted to jam the old coot and his homespun truisms straight down a well. There were things Mark needed to know immediately, and still feeling stunned, he voiced his thoughts aloud. “How can your mother be pregnant?”
Some of his shock must have communicated itself to Peter, because when he spoke, the boy’s voice was rushed. “I don’t know how. No one tells us anything.”
“Okay,” Mark said more slowly. “Okay.” He scrubbed a hand over his face, trying to keep his voice calm, trying to hang on to some illusion of control. Whatever the true situation was or wasn’t, there was no point in scaring the hell out of these two boys. “I’m sorry,” he added when he could finally speak again. “When is your mother due, Peter?”
“Due for what?”
He ground his teeth. Patience. “When is she supposed to have the baby?”
“We don’t know that, either. She hasn’t even told us about it yet. But I heard Grampa say that by the Super-bowl she’s gonna look like she swallowed a football.”
Mark did a quick mental calculation. Oh, hell. It can’t be.
He heard a few seconds of whispered confusion between the two boys, words Mark couldn’t make out, in spite of straining to hear them. Then Peter said quickly, “I gotta go. I guess the answer’s no, huh?”
“Wait a minute,” Mark shot back, suddenly afraid the kid was going to hang up. “I didn’t say no. I need to think about it.”
“We can’t wait too long.”
“You won’t have to. I promise. Just don’t call anyone else right now. All right?”
“I guess,” the boy agreed. “You should meet Mom. Do you think you’ll want to come and see her?”
Mark took a deep breath, trying to hear over the pulse thrumming in his ears. “Peter,” he said, “there isn’t anything I’d like to do more.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
“I’LL CALL YOU tomorrow,” Jenna said, hoping she could keep that promise.
The real-estate agent, a friend of Vic’s named Kathy Bigelow, nodded as she gathered up the last of her paperwork from the kitchen table. “I’m sorry nothing we looked at this morning pleased you. I was sure one of them would.”
“I was hoping it would be easy, too. But I’ll know the right place when I see it.”
Kathy tilted her head at Jenna, looked hesitant for a moment, then seemed to come to a decision. “I hope you won’t mind me saying this, but…are you sure you really want to buy a house?”
That was the last thing Jenna expected the woman to say. “Absolutely. Why do you ask?”
“I’ve been in this business long enough to know the difference between serious buyers and Lucy Lookers. I also think I know what my customers want. But you seemed so ambivalent about everything we looked at today. Am I misreading you completely, or is it possible—”
“They were lovely houses,” Jenna said quickly. “It’s just…”
She trailed off, unsettled by the agent’s comments. She’d been about to say that none of the houses pleased her, but would that have been a lie? Was she finding fault with perfectly good homes because she didn’t really want to move out of her father’s house? Because of fear? Surely she’d beaten that monster to a pulp by now.
She wanted her own place. She needed her own place. And so did the boys. No. She wouldn’t let herself be filled with doubts anymore. The decision to move was a good one.
Kathy looked uncomfortable with the silence. Jenna gave her arm a friendly squeeze and rushed into speech, trying to put her at ease. “This is probably going to sound silly and dramatic, but the truth is, as lovely as those houses we looked at today were, none of them spoke to me. They didn’t feel like home. Whatever I choose, the boys and I are going to have to live in it a long time, so it has to be the right place. It doesn’t have to be fancy. But it has to feel right. And when it does, I’ll know it.” Jenna smiled at Kathy, hoping she didn’t write her off as a nutcase. “I hope that makes sense to you.”
“It makes perfect sense,” Kathy replied, nodding.
They talked for another minute or so, then Jenna led the woman to the front door. Kathy was just about to leave when she turned back in the doorway. “You know, there’s a great Victorian a few miles from here that’s been on the market for a while. It needs work, but since your family’s in the construction business, they may be able to give you the help you’d need.”
Jenna grimaced. “I’d like to keep my father and brothers out of this if at all possible.”
She caught Kathy’s surprised expression. A single mother on the verge of buying a new house? Who wouldn’t be delighted to have a couple of strong men to pitch in? And especially men who knew one end of a hammer from the other.
“They mean well, but they have a tendency to try to take over,” Jenna explained.
“I see,” Kathy said with a smile. “I only mention it because I think it’s the kind of place you’re looking for—plenty of trees, an established neighborhood, lots of charm. Because it needs
a facelift and the owners are eager to realize some quick cash, the price is in your range.”
“Then I suppose I should look at it.”
“Tell you what. The owners had to relocate to San Francisco for work, so the place is empty. Why don’t I drop off the key, and you can take a look at it in private. See if it sends out the right vibes.”
“Thanks for understanding. That sounds like a good idea.”
“Great!” With a wave of one manicured hand, Kathy left.
Jenna leaned against the closed door for a moment. She’d been fighting nausea throughout the appointment. Still, she was glad she’d insisted Kathy come to the house this morning when both boys were in school and her father was at his monthly veterans’ meeting. This was the first step toward what was bound to create additional tension in the family, but she was not going to back down.
The past few days since she’d told her father and brothers about the baby had been difficult. Had she hoped they’d get behind her one hundred percent? Fat chance. The men in her family were determined to show her that they were behind her two hundred percent.
They treated her as though she were made of spun glass. Her father watched her constantly, always ready to jump in and grab a heavy platter or reach for something she had to stretch for.
The family construction company was knocking down a used bookstore, and yesterday her brother Trent had brought home two boxes of maternity books he’d salvaged. Help for a new mother, he’d told her. Very thoughtful. Unfortunately Eisenhower had been in office when these moms were pregnant, and things had changed a bit since then.
Even Christopher, the brother she felt closest to, was driving her nuts. Last night he’d called her from the middle of a crime scene to tell her he’d met a well-known local obstetrician who would be happy to squeeze her into his office schedule. Without asking, Christopher had made an appointment for her. Considering her brother’s job, Jenna didn’t even want to guess how he’d met the man.
She supposed an outsider might have found their concern sweet and wonderfully supportive. It was. But it was also overwhelming, smothering and downright insulting to her intelligence. She suspected that, as her pregnancy developed, it would only get worse. She still had to get through tonight, when she’d sit the boys down and tell them. She couldn’t imagine how they would take the news.
Jenna realized rather abruptly that the doorbell was ringing. She was still leaning on the door, and she turned, swinging the door wide. “Did you forget something?” she asked.
Mark Bishop stood on the porch, looking just as handsome as she remembered him. He gave her a smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I didn’t forget a thing,” he said. “Did you?”
His gray eyes traveled over her from head to toe. Nothing in her clothing—a simple blouse and jeans—revealed her pregnancy; it was much too soon. But she felt self-conscious all the same.
“Mark,” she began, and discovered that her nerve endings were registering swift alarm. Whatever reason he’d come, it wasn’t a social call. Not after the unpleasantness of that last phone conversation. “What are you doing here?” she asked. “I’m surprised to see you.”
“I’m sure you are. May I come in?”
“That’s probably not a good idea.”
He tilted his head, and some trick of the sunlight suddenly made his features seem sharper than she remembered. “I think it is.”
“We don’t have anything to discuss.”
“Does that mean you weren’t planning to tell me about the baby?”
The base of her spine prickled. Her heart went into overdrive. So he knew. She stood there a moment, suspended. It didn’t matter how he’d found out. All that mattered now was what he was going to do about it.
She stepped aside so he could enter, then turned and went quietly into the kitchen. She heard the front door close and his footsteps as he followed her.
Desperate for some stall tactic, she reached for the coffeepot on the stove. “Would you like something to drink? Coffee? Or iced tea?”
How ridiculous it seemed, offering the conventional sustenance at such an unconventional and awkward moment. He didn’t sit down, but leaned against the counter, a dark, presence she couldn’t bear to face.
“No. I had my fill of coffee in the airport this morning. While I was mulling over all the different ways I could ask you.”
She looked at him then. He stood closer than she liked, no more than five feet away, watching her. His hands were slightly behind him, his fingers curled around the edge of the counter in a white-knuckled grip. He wore black slacks and an emerald-colored polo shirt, which covered a chest that she remembered was matted with dark, curling hair. In spite of his casual dress the overall effect was one of understated elegance.
Many times during the past few weeks she’d wondered how she would feel if she ever saw him again. She wasn’t prepared for the urge to simply go to him and lay her cheek against the place where his collarbones met, where she knew his pulse could pound like a thousand drums.
But he hadn’t come here for that. He hadn’t come here for anything but the truth. And in spite of the fact that she was beating down panic, she owed him that. “Yes,” she said softly. “I’m pregnant.”
His gaze held hers for a moment. Then, in a surprisingly gentle voice, he said, “That wasn’t the question I was struggling with.”
She didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “Yes,” she said again. “It’s yours.”
“I’m glad to see you’re going to skip any retreat into moral outrage,” he said in a voice that had a thin border of amusement.
“I know we used protection, but it’s never foolproof, I suppose.”
He tilted his head, frowning a little. “Foolproof. Is that what you think we were? Fools?”
“Foolish, maybe. I think we were two people who needed something that night. I’m not going to pretend I regretted a moment of it, so it’s not necessary for you to pretend it meant anything special.”
His frown deepened. “You think you know what I feel? All right. Want to tell me how I feel about discovering that you’re pregnant with my child?”
It took her less than five seconds to come up with the answer. “Shocked.”
“I think that’s a reasonable response.”
“Angry.”
He shrugged. “Perhaps at first.”
“Hoping that I’ll decide to…” She felt her cheeks redden and ducked her head. “That I’ll get…”
He moved closer to her suddenly, taking her chin in one hand so that she was forced to meet his eyes, and she felt something unknown and frightening zip through her veins. His lips carried the ghost of a smile. “I realize that we spent only a few hours together,” he said softly. “But I know you’ll keep this baby.”
She nodded.
“What else?” he asked, and his hand fell away from her face.
She moistened her lips. Might as well tell it all. “I think you’re wishing you could make this situation just disappear as if it never existed.”
His eyes, bright as diamonds, held hers in an unwavering scrutiny. Then he moved away from the counter without answering her. She watched him pace restlessly around the kitchen. He stopped at the refrigerator, where magnets and drawings and school photos made a ridiculously sentimental art gallery. Fingering a small photo of her sons, he looked back over his shoulder at her.
“Peter and J.D.?” he asked.
“Yes,” she replied in surprise. She didn’t remember telling him their names.
“They’re the ones who called to tell me you were pregnant.”
“What? That’s impossible.”
He told her about the telephone call the boys had made yesterday.
“I don’t understand,” Jenna said, shaking her head. “I’ve never mentioned you to them.”
“You didn’t have to. You evidently have some file you keep on eligible men?” His mouth quirked wryly. “Something connected with the magazine, I hope, and no
t your personal hit list.”
The file folder from work! It still lay on her bedside table. Remembering the conversation she’d had with Petey about it, everything started to make sense. “I brought the file home because I’m interviewing Rusty Delacruz from the list. He’s opening a new resort in the Bahamas.”
“I can’t tell you if your sons spoke to him or not. I do know that unfortunately I wasn’t the first one they tried to market you to.”
Mark supplied more of the details. At first she was horrified, then embarrassed, amused and finally worried. Obviously her sons were confused and anxious about the future. She shouldn’t have waited to tell them about the baby.
“Don’t be too hard on them,” Mark advised her. “As plans go, it was rather inventive, and you shouldn’t stifle creativity.” He crossed his arms and his face turned serious again. “The point is, they called. You didn’t. Why not? When were you going to get around to it?”
“I wasn’t,” she admitted.
“You were never going to tell me? You were just going to have the baby alone?”
“I’m not alone. I have a very supportive family.”
“That’s not the same thing, and you know it,” he said. He pointed a finger at her stomach. “That’s my child you’re carrying. So I guess the question comes down to, what are we going to do now?”
Jenna lifted her chin. She could feel the tension in the room escalating. “We’re not going to do anything. I’m going to have this baby in the spring. I’ll be a good mother—it really is one of the things I excel at, in spite of what you may think. You don’t need to worry about anything. I won’t make demands of you. I don’t expect you to have any involvement at all.”
His eyebrows rose in obvious displeasure. “Nice little speech. Only one problem. Suppose I say no?”
“You can’t say no.”
“Sorry, I think I can,” he said with a thin smile. “No.”
The sickening sensation of her life plunging downward weakened her knees. She pulled out one of the kitchen chairs and lowered herself into it. “What does that mean exactly?” she asked when she could catch her breath.