Fletcher's Baby

by McAllister, Anne

  Josie gave him her best bright smile, hoping to change that, to coax one out of him. Sam, serious, did not bode well. He didn’t smile.

  He shoved himself away from the bookcase and strode across the room, hands in the pockets of his jeans, his head bent. When he got to the fireplace, he slanted her a glance. “You told me the other day you wanted this baby.”

  It wasn’t precisely a question. It was more of a challenge. Josie’s chin jutted. “That’s right.”

  “Then what you’ve been doing for the last few days wasn’t very smart, was it?”

  She felt her cheeks flush, but she bristled, too. “I didn’t know that, did I? I’d never deliberately do something to hurt my child!”

  “Our child.”

  Josie’s jaw tightened. She looked away. She did not want to see those deep brown eyes boring into hers. She did not want to feel Sam looking at her and finding her wanting. God, what would she do if the baby had eyes like Sam’s?

  “I would never do anything to hurt this child,” she said firmly. “You have to know that.”

  “Then why won’t you do what’s best for it?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  He turned and faced her squarely. “Marry me.”

  “We’ve been through that already, Sam.”

  “And I didn’t buy your answer then, either. You say you want this child, but you aren’t taking care of it. You—”

  “I beg your pardon!” She flung the toast on the plate in a fury. “How do you know what I do and don’t do? You’ve been here—what? A week!”

  “And I’ve seen you work yourself to the bone the whole time.”

  “I needed—”

  “You don’t need! You want! You want to be independent. You want to get rid of me. You want everything your own way. And you say that’s taking care of your child? Loving your child? Don’t make me laugh.”

  Josie had never seen Sam angry before. She pulled her knees up against her belly, as if they could somehow protect her from his onslaught. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Don’t I, though? I think I do. I think you need to stop reacting to me like you’re some sort of silly high school girl and start acting like an adult.”

  Stung, Josie glared. “Silly high school girl?” She could barely get the words out. How dared he?

  “Think about someone besides yourself for a change,” he snapped. “This isn’t about what you want anymore. It isn’t about what I want! It’s about what’s best for the child. Our child! Yours and mine. The baby can’t make those decisions. We have to. Both of us. Not just you.”

  “You’re trying to. Bossing me around. Bullying.”

  He snorted. “Bullying?” He looked at her in bed, then at the breakfast tray he’d brought her. His brow arched.

  Josie knew what he was thinking: some bully. She hugged her knees and didn’t look at him. She didn’t answer him, either. She couldn’t. It wasn’t fair, she thought. None of it was fair.

  She heard him come over to sit on the chair a few feet from the bed. Reluctantly she looked at him as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he looked at her. His chocolate-brown eyes were dark and intent.

  “Do you want this baby to survive?” he asked her.

  “Of course I do!”

  “Then you owe it its best chance. And you have to take it easy for that to happen. The doctor said so. He said you have to rest. Stay calm. Eat right. Sleep a lot. And you can’t do that while you’re playing innkeeper.”

  “I am not playing innkeeper!”

  “You aren’t giving the baby a fair chance if you don’t back off.”

  “So I’ll back off. I’ll take it easier. That doesn’t mean I have to marry you,” she said tightly.

  “It does if you want to keep your job.”

  She gaped at him. “You’d fire me?”

  “Yes! No!” He raked a hand through his hair. “Hell, I don’t know! No, I wouldn’t fire you. But I want you to see sense. I want—” he sighed “—I want my child to have my name.”

  They stared at each other. Then she said softly, “Why?”

  “Because he’s mine! I want my child to have my name. I don’t want him denied his birthright. He’s a Fletcher, damn it!”

  Josie stared, startled at his vehemence, at his insistence on wanting a child he’d never counted on. “Or she,” she said after a moment.

  “Or she,” Sam amended. “Whichever. I don’t care. I don’t want to be on the outside looking in—”

  “Like you’d know about that.”

  “I don’t know much about that, you’re right,” he said. “For the most part I haven’t ever had to do that. But you have. Did you like it?”

  “Of course I didn’t like it.”

  “Then why would you think I would? And why do you think our child will?”

  “Our child won’t! Our child will never go through what I went through! Our child will have a mother who loves it and cares for it all the days of her life!”

  Sam nodded slowly. His gaze dropped for a moment, then lifted and bored into hers. “Good. I want our child to know a father’s love, too.”

  The words were quiet, but the intensity behind them was clear.

  “You don’t want to stay married, we don’t have to stay married,” Sam said. “If you feel that strongly about it, after the baby’s born, we’ll get a divorce.”

  “What good will that do?” Josie demanded. She felt as if he was tearing her heart out. Marry him, then divorce him?

  “It will make him—or her,” Sam added before she could correct him, “legitimate. It will prove to him—or her—that I cared enough to want to make sure of that. And it will give me the right to have some say in his—or her—upbringing.”

  “I wasn’t going to deny you that right.”

  “Then don’t deny me the chance to be a lawful wedded husband and father. Please.” He was so close she could see the muscle tic in his jaw, could remember the rough whiskery feel of it against her skin when they’d made love.

  “I’ll make it worth your while,” he added when moments passed and she didn’t speak.

  “Worth my while?”

  “Hattie should have given the inn to you, not to me. She would have if she hadn’t wanted me to know about the child. Marry me and I’ll see that it’s yours.”

  Josie stared at him. “That’s like marrying for money. I won’t marry for money,” she said firmly. “I’d never marry for money!”

  Sam made an exasperated sound. “Then, don’t. Marry me because it’s the right thing to do. Marry me because you love our child.”

  Once upon a time Josie had daydreamed of marrying Sam.

  When she’d been young and foolish and innocent, when she’d still believed that all things were possible, she’d indulged that dream. She’d lain awake at night and imagined Sam Fletcher asking her to marry him.

  She’d envisioned him smiling at her, touching her gently, waiting hopefully. And when she’d said yes, she’d imagined the touch of his lips on hers.

  It was a good thing she had her imagination. Reality was nothing like it.

  “Think about it,” he said. And then he left her there.

  She thought about it. She thought that what he was urging was, if not exactly a business proposition, then something very like one. It was, as he said, the sensible, the logical, the proper thing to do. It was the best thing for their child.

  Josie couldn’t argue.

  She wanted to. She tried to. She sat in the library long after he’d left her and debated with herself. She thought of every argument, of every possible reason that he could be wrong.

  But he wasn’t wrong.

  Ultimately she had to admit that marrying Sam was—for the sake of their child—the right thing to do.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  IT was not going to be a hole-in-the-wall affair.

  Five or ten or fifteen years down the road, when his chi
ld asked about their wedding, Sam wanted to be able to tell him—or her, he amended in deference to Josie, that they’d done things right.

  Of course he got an argument from Josie.

  “Your mother?” She was aghast after she told him she’d marry him and he told her his plans. “You want to send for your mother?” The color rose, then drained from her face.

  “My mother would expect to be at my wedding,” he said flatly. “So would my aunt Caroline and my aunt Grace and my uncle Lloyd. My cousins, too,” he added. “Darcy and Catherine and Alexis.”

  “Why don’t we just invite the whole town while we’re at it?”

  “Go ahead. You can invite as many or as few as you want,” Sam said, ignoring her sarcasm. “Benjamin will come, of course. And Cletus. That goes without saying. Who else do you want?”

  Josie’s jaw was working. She turned away from him and stared blindly out the kitchen window. “Nobody! I don’t want any of them! Why are you making such a big deal of this?”

  “Because we’re getting married.” It seemed right. Appropriate. Important. As if they’d regret it later if they didn’t.

  “Some marriage,” she snorted.

  He shrugged. “It’s the only marriage we’ve got.”

  Josie didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t argue anymore. She just turned her back and went on putting together a wreath for one of the rooms. It was something she could do sitting at the counter, so Sam didn’t say anything more.

  She was already annoyed enough at him because he had insisted she stay downstairs and take it easy all day. He knew she was only marrying him because her common sense told her she ought to. He knew she didn’t love him.

  Hell, after what he’d done to her, she probably didn’t even like him anymore.

  Well, too bad.

  She could make the best of things, just as he was going to do.

  He was making her call a caterer. And a florist. A cellist. And a baker. He wanted a meal. Flowers. Music. He wanted a wedding cake!

  Josie told herself he was crazy. He couldn’t really intend to make a big deal out of their wedding, could he?

  Apparently he could. And was.

  Within hours of her having agreed to become his wife, their wedding plans were off the ground. By nightfall she had an even greater appreciation for his ability to bend the world to his will. She didn’t know what he told his mother or his uncle or his aunts about his precipitous marriage. She only knew his mother would be arriving on Wednesday.

  “The rest will come on Friday. And we can get married Sunday night. Is that all right?” he asked her, as if her opinion mattered.

  No, she wanted to scream. No. it’s not all right. But she’d made her decision to marry him. She given her agreement. She nodded her head.

  She felt awkward and foolish all the same. She felt as if the caterer could see right through her fumbled explanations. She felt as if, all the time they talked about daffodils and daisies, the florist was shaking his head. But she drew a breath, steadied herself, and plowed on, doggedly making the arrangements Sam suggested.

  And she knew that even though she was embarrassed, he was giving her memories.

  Someday memories would be all she’d have left.

  She tried not to think about that. She regained her equilibrium. She gave in, albeit not very gracefully, and allowed him to move her things into the library for the duration of her pregnancy. She dealt with the guests by smiling and chatting and not by racing up and down the steps fetching and carrying for them.

  “See?” Sam said one afternoon after she’d just given a group of guests sightseeing directions without ever leaving her parlor chair. “Even you can be a lady of leisure.” He grinned.

  Josie stuck her tongue out at him.

  What she wasn’t going to be able to do, she was positive, was face his mother with any amount of poise.

  How could she look Sam’s mother in the eye and pretend that this was just another wedding?

  “It’s not ‘just another wedding,”’ Sam said when she asked him that. “It’s ours. She won’t be expecting you to be blasé.”

  “She’ll hate me,” Josie said. “She’ll think I trapped you!”

  “She was a little surprised,” Sam admitted. “But she understands all about passion. She was passionate about my dad.”

  “It’s not the same thing!”

  “But she doesn’t know that.”

  His reassurance did very little to assuage Josie’s fears, though, for she was passionate about Sam. He just didn’t know it. And he certainly wasn’t passionate about her.

  So she waited with trepidation for Sam to bring his mother back from the airport Wednesday afternoon. She’d debated going with him, wondering if getting it over with out at the airport might not be smarter. But in the end she chose to stay home because there would be guests arriving.

  They had three couples coming in that afternoon. Sam had wanted her to call them and say that she’d made alternative arrangements for them. He’d wanted her to close the inn completely.

  She had refused. “It’s a business,” she’d argued. “You can’t close a business on a whim.”

  He’d looked as if he was going to argue with her. But then he’d clamped his mouth shut and given a jerky nod of the head. “Fine. Do what you want,” he’d said through his teeth. “It’ll be your inn soon enough.”

  That wasn’t why she had insisted, no matter what he thought. But she hadn’t said anything other than, “I’ll wait here for them to arrive.”

  Sam had gone to get his mother alone.

  Josie didn’t know what he’d told her. Not the truth, she was certain.

  If Sam had told her the truth, she was sure his mother wouldn’t have smiled at her quite so warmly when he brought her in and introduced them. She tried to smile warmly in return, but she felt so huge and awkward and, what was worse, phony. Sam’s mother ought to be meeting a woman he loved when she got to meet his bride-to-be. Not someone he’d got lumbered with because of scruples and bad luck.

  “This is Josie,” Sam said. Then he smiled encouragingly at Josie. “This is my mother, Amelia.”

  Josie never had trouble meeting guests. It was one of her gifts, making people feel at home. But she felt totally tongue-tied and inept now.

  “I’m so glad to meet you, Josie,” Amelia said, taking her hand and drawing her forward so she could lay a soft kiss on Josie’s heated cheek. Then, still holding her future daughter-in-law’s hand, she turned to Sam and smiled. “Now I know what a Josephine Nolan is,” she said. “And I understand completely why Hattie left her to you.”

  “My mother got the will first,” Sam explained. “She wondered.”

  I’ll bet she did, Josie thought, wanting more and more to sink through the floor. She was grateful at least that when Amelia had said that she understood her gaze had remained firmly on Josie’s face instead of dropping to her enormous belly. Sam had said his mother was possessed of exquisite tact. Josie believed him.

  “Go phone your secretary or bother the customs office,” Amelia said to Sam now, “and let me get acquainted with Josie.” When he hesitated, she made a shooing motion with her hand. “Go on. I won’t bite her. I promise.”

  Josie managed her best resilient smile. “We’ll be fine,” she assured him—and prayed it was the truth.

  The truth was that Amelia was every bit the capable dynamo that Sam was. She seemed to understand implicitly that Josie was not a girl whose background one inquired into too closely. But she didn’t make her feel uncomfortable because of it.

  She focused instead on the improvements Josie had made in the inn, allowing Josie to display her competence. And, once the younger woman was breathing a bit easier, she tackled the arrangements for the wedding.

  Josie was glad she’d done a thorough job and could report exactly what the caterer would be serving and how, exactly what flowers were being used and where, exactly which musical pieces were being played and when, exactly what ki
nd of cake she had ordered and how many layers. She thought she acquitted herself rather well.

  Then Amelia said, “May I see your dress?”

  “D-dress?” Josie choked on the word. The color drained from her face.

  Amelia looked momentarily as dismayed as Josie did. But then a soft smile lit her face. “You forgot your dress.” Just as if it was the most natural thing in the world!

  How Freudian is that? Josie asked herself.

  Where on earth would she ever find a wedding dress to fit an elephant? The answer was: she wouldn’t. Subconsciously she must have known it and therefore had failed to even think about looking.

  “I don’t need anything special,” she said quickly. “Nothing special would fit me. I’m hardly your average run-of-the-mill bride.” She looked down at her burgeoning belly and then at Sam’s mother with a wry smile.

  “No bride is ever run-of-the-mill,” Sam’s mother said gently. “All brides are special. And every bride deserves a special dress.”

  It was the most beautiful dress Josie had ever seen.

  And it was hers.

  Made for her by Sam’s incredibly talented mother in the few days they’d had left. Josie couldn’t believe it. She’d had to pinch herself every time she looked at it hanging in the wardrobe in the library. She’d had to blink whenever she saw the reflection of herself wearing it in the mirror.

  “There,” Amelia said now, through a mouthful of pins. She was sitting on the floor looking up with enormous satisfaction at Josie, who stood mesmerized by the sight of herself in such a wondrous creation. “That’ll do. Don’t you think?”

  “I think it’s wonderful,” Josie said—and meant every word. She’d been quite sure she’d end up being married in a flour sack or a pair of spandex maternity slacks and a smock. But Amelia had had other ideas.

  “Josie and I are off to the fabric shop,” she’d told Sam Wednesday afternoon.

  He’d frowned. “Josie’s supposed to be taking it easy.”

  “She will be,” his mother had assured him. “I’m the one who’s going to be doing all the work.”

  Josie hadn’t believed it at the time. She’d gone along, bemused, while Amelia had speculated aloud about the sort of dress required.