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by Kristina Weaver

  “Earl I—”

  “Now don’t argue, darlin’. It’s only a hundred, what I could sneak out of my sock drawer before the wicked witch could catch me, but it’s enough to keep you fed for a bit. Take it. Please.”

  I take it, not only because he feels bad about what’s happening and I don’t want to make him feel worse, but also because I have no other choice. Pride won’t keep me fed and off the streets, no matter how I wish it would.

  I need this money. I need a job. I need a place to stay. And I need to find a way to contact Robert Stone so that my kid can have more to look forward to than social welfare and a crappy start in life.

  “Thanks, Earl,” I say in a choked whisper. “And thanks for taking some of my stuff to storage. I’ll come back and get it as soon as I can.”

  “No worries, darling. Now you remember what I said and go find that man. I’m sure once he knows about the sprout, he won’t leave the mother of his child out on the streets.”

  I hold back the snort that threatens to escape and kiss him on the cheek before dragging my bags out onto the porch and starting down the road. No money means no cab, and it’s a long way to the subway from Mom’s crappy little shoe box.

  It starts drizzling about halfway to my destination, and I groan at the thought of going to St. Mary’s Shelter for Women in this state.

  I look bad, like really bad, since I’ve been sick most days and have lost a considerable amount of weight. Ironically, all of my clothes are too big for me, and I envision never having to buy any maternity gear if this keeps up.

  First time in my life that I’ve been bordering on skinny, and it’s not from a diet or any real effort on my part.

  I take the train all the way to the middle of downtown and then grab a bus. When I get to St. Mary’s, I get lucky and run into Sister Francine, a nun I’d known in those rare days that Mom would let me go to church on a Sunday instead of hanging around to cook for her flavor of the moment.

  “Oh, Shaw dear, you look…”

  “I know, Sister,” I say when she trails off and grabs my hand to drag me into her office.

  “What’s going on and don’t even mention that mother of yours because I’m a nun and I’d hate to blow my shot at the Pearly Gates for that…specimen,” she spits out, throwing a towel around my wet shoulders and bustling to her sideboard to get me a Styrofoam cup filled with weak, hot tea.

  “I did something really stupid, Sister. Like brain dead stupid. And now…I lost my job and my apartment and Mom kicked me out when she found out about…” I close my eyes and bite my lip. “I’m pregnant.”

  “Don’t cry. Please. Or I’ll drop this habit and go find your mother.”

  That makes me laugh, and I grin at her scowl around the rim of the cup.

  Sister Fran is one tough-talking, straight-shooting bride of the Church, and for some reason, she took a shine to Alec and I the few times we’d come to church.

  I’m not even Catholic, so you can understand how much this nun must like me to even consider me a good bet. A lot of Catholics think the rest of us are going to Hell just on principal, but to hear Sister Fran talk, a lot of her own flock is headed for the hellfire.

  At any rate, she’s my last hope.

  “Is there any room here at the shelter? I have some money, but nothing that’ll last me more than a few weeks if I’m frugal and…I need some time to track down the father, so I can’t start working just yet.”

  “I can give you a month before the new rotation starts. The program requires all of the women to make an effort to find employment and housing, but I can give you some work right here in my office while you’re trying to look for the man.”

  I thank her and finish my tea while she teaches me how to curse like a God-fearing nun. She’s creative about it, I’ll give her that, but nothing replaces a good “Fuck you!” or my personal favorite “Go fuck yourself!”—and that’s exactly what I’m planning to say to Robert when I finally find that bastard.

  Chapter Two

  Cam

  I’ve had about three hours’ worth of sleep in as many days, and I’m still nowhere near my goal when the jet finally touches down at the private airstrip near New York City.

  I’m pissed off and ready to start nailing heads to the wall by the time I disembark and the car takes off, getting ever closer to my destination.

  I don’t want to do this, not now when the pain and loss is so fresh, but I’d seen Mum crying for the umpteenth time yesterday, and it had gutted me enough that I’m willing to travel all the way across the ocean to check out this paternity issue that Shaw Mallory has brought to our attention.

  I remember that conversation so clearly; I feel a vague sense of discomfited guilt before I quash it and focus instead on what I must do.

  I don’t believe that Rob would have dropped his standards so low that he would consider taking Miss Mallory. My brother was a man of refined and very specific tastes, and Shaw Mallory in no way fits that image.

  She’s a little on the heavy side, her hair is an unremarkable shade of brown, and if it weren’t for her unique blue-purple eyes, I myself wouldn’t give the girl a second look.

  And now she wants me to believe that my playboy brother, the man who’d said the only shade worth seeing is blonde, has left her pregnant and stranded.

  I refuse to believe it, but Mum is so insistent about it that I’ve finally said screw it, and I’m investigating her claims. If she’s lying, I’ll make her suffer so terribly she’ll wish she never heard the name Stone.

  But what if she isn’t? What if, for some reason, God is blessing us with a final piece of the man we’d lost just last month?

  I can’t risk that being the case and turning my back on her, so I’m doing my best to keep an open mind while I get at the truth. It’s hard though. With Rob’s death still so fresh, it’s bloody hard to hear these accusations and not retaliate swiftly and brutally, as I am wont to do whenever anything threatens the security and happiness of my family.

  My conscience is a bloody bastard, and it keeps reminding me of the way I’d spoken to the woman when she’d finally managed to get through to my office. Helen, my secretary, had put her through after she’d gotten hysterical on the phone, and I’d answered only to hear the person capable of ruffling my usually stone-cold Helen.

  “Your deadbeat brother knocked me up and left me holding the bag. I need his number please.”

  To the point and matter of fact.

  “I beg your pardon.”

  “Look Mr. Stone. I’ve been trying to find Robert for three months now, and he’s nowhere to be found. His cell number isn’t working, and I think he’s ducking my calls. I need to tell him about the baby, and I need him to help me. I lost my job, and my mom kicked me out, and—”

  I put the phone down without batting an eye and went about my day the way I always did. Focused and unruffled. Unfortunately, she managed to get hold of Mum’s home number, and I’d arrived home to find her crying hysterically while my father stood scowling.

  “Do something about this. She won’t stop bloody blubbering!”

  Dad loves Mum. A lot. So her tears have the nasty effect of turning him into a raging lunatic, ready to trample anyone and anything that even remotely upsets the poor dear.

  “She’s lying. She must be.”

  I knew the minute the words left my mouth that I was only lying to myself. Rob, while being a great bloke and jolly good fun, is and has always been a cad of the first order.

  Dad joked that Rob must be blessed because he’s never knocked one up through all his fifteen years of philandering.

  Until now.

  If she’s to be believed.

  “We’re here, sir.”

  I look out of the window and grimace when the dreary stone façade of St. Mary’s stares back at me, the dark grey mortar giving the place a sad air of desperation.

  “I’ll be out shortly.”

  The inside is no better, having that classic poor light
ing that seems to make up such establishments.

  “Hey, you can’t come in here. Only women allowed.”

  I tower over the short, frumpy receptionist and glare for all I’m worth, silently crossing myself in case she’s a nun and raise a brow.

  “My name is Cameron Stone. I’m here for Shaw Mallory. She’s expecting me.”

  I grin when the little mouse scuttles away and comes back minutes later, followed by a short, thin corpse instead of the plump plain Jane I’m expecting.

  Shaw Mallory must be sick because no healthy person can carry that pallor and still be walking.

  “Mr. Stone?”

  Her voice is so relieved and hopeful that I tense and force myself not to react outwardly in any way. Never show them emotion and they won’t have weapons to use. It’s my creed and one that has served me well for the ten years since I’ve taken my family’s business—and not only saved it but turned it into one of Britain’s leading telecommunications firms.

  “Miss Mallory. We have a doctor’s appointment. Please collect your things and come with me.”

  Her eyes go wide at the command, and I see a spark of rebellion there before she squashes it and nods once.

  “I’m so glad you believe me. I only have two more days left here before I have to find another place to stay.”

  I don’t say a word until she’s collected her two bags and is seated beside me in the car.

  “I would like to inform you that if you are indeed lying about the paternity of this child for the purpose of extorting money from my family that I will personally end any semblance of a life that you have, Miss Mallory.”

  Her gasp gives me a short-lived spurt of satisfaction, and I thin my lips to keep from smiling.

  “The doctor will be doing tests which will either confirm that you are lying or that the child you carry is a Stone. If you’re telling the truth, I will make arrangements for your care. If not, I will be setting my legal team on you and believe me, that you do not want.”

  Those eerie lilac-blue eyes focus on me for the longest time before she turns her head away and stares out at the misty drizzle.

  “I’m not lying, but then it doesn’t seem as if that will matter much until you have your proof. I had a decent life before your brother. I had a good job and a chance at the life I worked hard to get. He fooled me into believing something that wasn’t true and then left me to deal with the fall out.”

  Her words are a shot of acid to the open wound in my chest, and I react poorly, pinching her chin between fingers that are too hard and too forceful against such delicate skin.

  “You will never speak of him that way again. Understand? You are nothing more than a down-on-her-luck con artist, and when I prove it, I am going to make you eat those words. Now shut up. We have nothing to say to each other till I have my proof.”

  If her wounded eyes tear the slightest bit, I refuse to notice, and if the dark circles under her eyes, coupled with the sunken hollows of her cheeks, make me feel like a brute attacking a weak, sickly female, I refuse to admit it.

  All I know is that this woman has made my already grieving mother insane with grief over a child that likely isn’t one of ours. If that is the case, I will finish her.

  Chapter Three

  Shaw

  It’s humiliating having to talk to the doctor about such private things like my period, vaginal discharge, and the sensitivity in my breasts. I’ve always been a super-private person, and I hate doctors with their feely hands and eagle eyes. But what’s making this experience worse, is the fact that Cameron Stone planted himself in a chair in the doctor’s office and refused to leave, his glare killing my protest halfway up my throat.

  This, I will not back down on though.

  The test they want to do is an invasive procedure. They’re going to stick a long freaking needle into my belly and take a “sample” from my baby. I don’t really have the right to care about the pain it’ll cause me,but what I will not do is risk my child—and I tell him so.

  “No. You heard the doc. This is not a test to be taken lightly. It could hurt him. I won’t do it, and you can’t make me.”

  “You will bloody do as I say or—”

  “What? You can’t force me, and you know it.”

  “You just don’t want the test because you’re a liar and a fraud.” He yells at me, standing to his feet to pace around the room in a jerky fit that reminds me of Robert to the point of madness.

  The words hurt, and I have to fight down the bile rising in my throat when he turns back to me and curses loudly.

  “This is not helping your case, Miss Mallory.”

  I know, and it makes me second-guess the instinctive need to protect the tiny life growing in my womb, but I can’t. I just can’t do anything to hurt him or her, and he needs to know that.

  “If Robert is truly gone—”

  “Why would I lie? The story was front-page news across the globe. His plane went down somewhere over Europe, with not only Robert, but also a very influential politician’s daughter on board. My brother is no longer with us, Miss Mallory, so if you’re thinking that you can use my mother’s grief to get your hands on our money, think again.”

  I hold my tongue and look over at the doctor, feeling even worse when I see the pity in his eyes. I knew the moment I contacted Cameron Stone that I would have a fight on my hands and that he wouldn’t believe me without proof.

  I’d steeled myself for this reaction and sworn that no matter how badly things went that I would swallow it all to ensure that my baby has everything he needs.

  I want to throw his words back in his face and tell him that I don’t want a goddamned thing, but I know I can’t. I’d be lying. I do want his money. I need it to keep myself off the cold, unforgiving streets, and I need it to ensure that I can start looking for a job so that when my baby does get here, I can tell them all to go to hell and leave me alone.

  The baby is not ideal, I’ll admit that, but I will never treat my kid the way my mom had treated Al and I after my dad took off. I will love him and protect him and make him feel safe every minute of every day.

  I just need his cold-hearted uncle to fork over enough money to live first.

  “You can keep screaming at me all day, and it won’t make a difference. I will not do this. Accept it, and let’s move on. Please.”

  He curses and stalks out, leaving me to follow behind at a dead run that makes my stomach heave violently. When I get to the car, he stands aside, his jaw ticking, and waits for me to get in.

  “You will, of course, be coming home with me until the child is born and tested.”

  “Okay,” I say quickly, peeking up at him only to look away quickly when he gives me a look that dares me to say anything.

  “You look awful—though I can’t say if that’s your natural state or if it’s the pregnancy.”

  I squirm when he leans forward and sniffs at me, cringing at the fact that I don’t smell my best. The showers at the shelter are crowded, and we’re only allowed to shower at night. I’d missed mine last night, and by the time I got to take one, the water was so cold I couldn’t force myself to do it.

  I already have a cold that won’t quit, and I’m terrified that the baby will get sick in there, too.

  “You will, of course, avail yourself of the shower on the jet if you don’t mind. Do you have a passport?”

  I’m floored at the mention of a jet and only a little aware that I’m shaking my head when we stop and a private jet registers.

  “Bloody hell. That’s fine. I’ll sort something out. Come.”

  “But…where are we going?” I squeak, digging my heels in when he takes my arm and starts dragging me behind him.

  “Home. England. The place where my family resides,” he barks, giving me a tug that’s bound to bruise my arm.

  “But, I can’t go…”

  “Would you prefer I leave you here and come back in six months, Miss Mallory?”

  I feel my shoulders s
lump in defeat and battle the tears misting my eyes. I can’t let him leave without me. I have nowhere to go, and in two days, I will be on the streets with winter fast approaching.

  “No.”

  “As I thought,” he says darkly, his mouth twisting in a sneer. “Don’t worry. You’ll be living in the lap of luxury soon enough. That should more than alleviate your fears. At the very least, we can do something about the pathetic state you’re in right now.”

  The put down hits its mark, and I feel myself blush, as I pull my ratty coat closer and pat at my frizzy hair.

  The dark circles and hollow expression I can’t do anything about, but I don’t think that matters when he smirks at my embarrassment and gestures toward the plane.

  This is all I have, and now I understand Grammy’s words all those years ago. When she’d said be careful what you wish for, I’d paid her no mind until now when I’d wished for anything to save me.

  I’ve gotten a nasty, sharp-tongued Brit for all my praying, and I don’t know if I’ll survive his scorn and come out whole on the other side.

  Chapter Four

  Shaw

  The drive is a short one, and I look up to see something that is, quite frankly, just breathtaking. It’s a castle, one of those places you see in those movies about the English aristocracy, and it is so huge I don’t think you could walk the place in a day.

  “Just remember what I told you.”

  I nod, because—as per instruction—I’m not assaulting his ears with my drivel and lies, but it’s not easy to remember everything he said and threatened me with if I don’t obey.

  First he’d insulted me and pointed me at the back of the plane to a small room and a shower the size of a broom cupboard, and then he’d spent an hour letting me know how he doesn’t believe his paragon of a brother would ever have given little old me a second glance.

  Of course, I’d cried at that, being the emotional idiot that I am. And then he’d given me such a dirty look that I’d been forced to look away and hide the hurt that his words had brought.