The Baby Bump

by Jennifer Greene

  “I want—”

  “I don’t much care what you want,” she said pleasantly.

  “Love doesn’t just die, Ginger—”

  “Oh, yeah, it does. The man I fell in love with didn’t exist. I saw qualities in you, character in you, that weren’t real. You’re smart. You’re a brilliant surgeon. There are lots of reasons why a child with your genes has every chance to turn into a terrific human being. But to love or trust you again? Never. You’ll cheat the first chance you get. No matter who you marry.”

  “That’s not fair.”

  “I’m not interested in fair. I’m not interested in having any more conversations with you. The only tough thing for me was deciding whether to call you and let you know about the pregnancy. I decided I had to. That you had the right to know. But I’ll never have a relationship again with you, Steve.”

  “We were good together,” he began.

  “We had pretty good sex—when it conveniently fit into your busy schedule. At the time, it never occurred to me that everything we did revolved around your needs, what you wanted—but you don’t have to hit me over the head with a bat twice. I got it.”

  “Losing you changed me. Changed how I thought about love and what I wanted in my life.”

  She refrained from a noisy, inelegant snort. But barely. “Are you losing your hearing? I don’t care.”

  Some of that rotten character he kept hidden so well finally showed through. “You think I’m going to pay child support without any say in the child’s upbringing? You’d better think again. I could sue you for full custody and get it.”

  She glanced down. “Pansy, did you smell a threat in the air? Or was that just gas?”

  “You’re not funny.”

  “Go home, Steve. We can have many civil conversations in the years ahead about the baby. But there’s nothing pleasant either of us has to say to each other today.”

  The charm, the coaxing and endearing expression on his face that she knew so well, slipped off. His eyes turned glacier. “I have more financial resources than you could in a lifetime, and more connections than you could ever dream of. If I want custody of the child, Ginger, don’t doubt for a minute that I can get it.”

  She’d been holding her own, feeling sure of herself until then. Nothing exactly changed. She’d figured out that he was a rat before this. But it still hurt...that someone she’d cared for had such an ugly side. That she hadn’t seen it before this. That she’d given freely of herself to someone who could turn around and treat her like dirt.

  Maybe it was a crazy moment to realize she’d fallen in love with Ike.

  The current mountain of trouble on her head...she’d never really doubted that she could claw her way to the top of it. She was strong. She’d always stood up on her own two feet. She’d never wanted to ask a man into her life out of need.

  But once all the trouble was sorted out—if that wildly crazy magic was still there with Ike—well then, she was likely to go after him with all she had.

  She hadn’t known that was the plan, the goal, her heart’s dream...until she lost it.

  Steve had put her down in a way that she’d never thought she could be put down. She’d chosen once upon a time to give her heart to him, a man with this much venom in him. A man with no respect for her, or respect for what she’d given him.

  A man who made her feel small.

  She felt like a flower that suddenly closed up tight to protect against frost.

  Chapter Eleven

  When Ike brought Cashner home, the first thing he noticed was that the black Eclipse was nowhere in sight. That wasn’t absolute proof the jerk was gone, but it seemed a good sign.

  He pulled up next to the porch, making it easier for Cashner to negotiate the path from his truck to the door, and then hustled around to the passenger side to help him out.

  “I want to check your blood pressure before going home,” he told Cashner.

  “You just want to see my granddaughter. And get your dog.”

  “Right on both counts, but we’re still going to do the BP.”

  “You’re a pain, Ike. I don’t know why I like you,” Cashner grumbled, but his cheeks were pink. The fresh air and outing had done him good.

  He stumbled getting out, but Ike was right there, and Cashner regained his balance almost immediately. Ike glanced around, not exactly looking for Ginger, but definitely expecting Pansy to give out a howl of a hello.

  Nothing. Nada. Not a sound. Once inside, he settled Cashner in a kitchen chair to check his pulse and blood pressure. Both numbers were good. Cashner wasn’t a spring chicken, but the only thing really wrong with him was a fading mind.

  “I think I’m going to hole up for a little rest, Ike.”

  “Good idea. I’ll track down Pansy, and then we’ll be on our way. You’re doing great. Let’s do another outing like that soon.”

  “You bet.”

  Cashner was already yawning as he waved a goodbye and ambled toward his room. Ike did a swift pivot, trying to figure out from the clues in the kitchen where Ginger was. A single sandwich plate sat on the counter, an opened bag of Oreos next to it. A water dish sat on the floor—with a place mat under it, forcing Ike to chuckle in spite of himself. His dog wasn’t exactly a tidy drinker, but he’d never thought of using a place mat to control the slobber.

  Ginger knew his dog. And his dog loved Ginger. But no clues he’d seen so far were enough.

  He hiked through the dining room, the hall, poked his head in the living room. It wasn’t as if he was worried about either one of them. He just wanted to find Ginger, preferably in the next three seconds. He needed to know how the powwow with her ex had gone. He wanted to know if Mr. Flake needed to be tracked down and given the punch in the jaw Ike had been playing and replaying in his head. He wanted to know if she was okay.

  Only by accident did he glance out a side window in the back hall. An old-fashioned hammock was tied between two tree limbs, swaying in a winsome breeze. It wasn’t hammock weather. It was jacket weather—and it had been damp this morning besides. But there was a foot hanging out of the hammock, with some kind of shoe that tied in a bow.

  And below the hammock was his dog. Pansy was sleeping, which was nothing unusual. But she seemed to be sleeping with—almost—her entire head in an empty ice cream container.

  No wonder the dog hadn’t roused when he got here. Pansy always had her priorities straight. Ice cream came above all else.

  He slipped outside, down the step, past the magnolia tree to the two oaks. This wasn’t the first time a hammock had been tied between the two trees—the hammock looked almost as old as they did. He crouched down to stroke Pansy’s head, which motivated the dog to immediately roll over to demand a tummy massage.

  Ike had an eye-level view of Ginger from that angle. She’d put a red blanket under her, zipped up an old white fleece jacket, brought out a poofy pillow for her head and pulled a light blue blanket over her. The foot sticking out was clad in an old-fashioned sneaker, a crazy green-and-yellow plaid with a bow for a fastener. She had a little foot. A delicate ankle. And in spite of the mounded blankets, she looked no bigger than two bits.

  His gaze wandered up...the humid air had made her hair curl up, making him think of a cinnamon-colored steel wool after being hit by lightning. Her face, skin that bruised far too easily, was lighter than cream and that soft mouth was beyond-temptation kissable...at least it was for two seconds. But then he realized she’d opened her eyes.

  “No,” she said.

  “Why are you saying no? I didn’t ask you a question.”

  “I’m just saying no, this isn’t fair. I am very, very tired of you always seeing me at my worst.”

  He cocked his head. “You don’t seem your worst to me. In fact, you’re looking pretty darned edible.”r />
  A vulnerable flush climbed her cheeks, but she was still sending out a Ginger scowl. “I meant your stopping by when Steve was here this morning. Your taking Gramps out so he wouldn’t hear an argument. Your saving me. Your thinking I needed saving. Your coming through.”

  “Damn. I can sure see why you’d be annoyed at me for that. Did you have a good nap?” He had to try changing the subject, since his being a nice guy and a good friend seemed to temporarily disgust her.

  “A great nap.”

  “I always sleep great after having ice cream, too. Who had more of that half gallon, you or Pansy?”

  “We didn’t eat a whole half gallon! There was only a third of a gallon in there! And we both needed ice cream. It was a stressful morning.”

  “I hope it was even more stressful for your visitor.” He added genially, “I was glad to get a look at him. Helped me get an idea what kind of guy appealed to you.”

  She pulled the blanket over her head. “Go away. I don’t want to talk to you any more today.”

  He tugged on the blanket, then gave the edge to Pansy, who was more than willing, always, to take a length of blanket and run with it. Once the thief had her loot, she sank yet again on the ground to snooze, leaving Ginger blanketless—although she still had on the white fleece jacket and old chinos. And those shoes.

  “You know who Steve reminded me of?” he asked.

  “I’m afraid you’re going to tell me.”

  “My parents.”

  “Say what?” She started to sit up, with the obvious intention of getting out of the hammock, but when Ike saw the empty space, he plopped down next to her.

  The hammock temporarily rocked precariously—there was a serious risk of both of them being dumped on the ground—but eventually it settled down. As far as Ike was concerned, his settling next to her was an ideal position, because their hips and shoulders were glued. A fair number of her body parts were trapped against him, just as a fair number of his were against her.

  Life was good.

  She shot him a look. Okay, so they weren’t exactly all that comfortable. But he was next to her. For a few minutes he needed her attention. So having her snuggled against him was still a bonus.

  “I know I already mentioned that my parents are both surgeons. If you met them, I know you’d like them. They’re not just brilliant at what they do, but they’re devoted to their patients, to saving lives. They make no end of sacrifices to save those lives.”

  She squirmed once, trying to find a less glued-on-him position, but really, the hammock had them trapped close. She lifted her head. “This may amaze you, but I don’t have a clue what your parents have to do with Steve, other than they’re all in the medical profession.”

  “But it’s what first drew you, I’m guessing. That he was a great doctor. The kind of person who sacrificed to save lives. And who does save lives, doesn’t just talk about it.”

  “Well...” She hesitated. “Yes, you’re right. I did admire him. Some doctors get a frosty reputation with other hospital staff, but Steve was decent to everyone. No temper tantrums. No arrogance on the surface. No God complex that anyone saw.”

  “I think,” Ike said carefully, “that high-powered people, driven people, the really seriously high-achiever people...just have some things in common.”

  “Like?”

  “Well, you can’t say a doctor’s selfish when he sacrifices so much for his patients and gives up so much of his personal time. But that skill becomes more important than anything else. More important than a spouse or kids or anyone else in their personal lives. Maybe...” He hesitated. “Maybe there’s some glory in being so special, so different from so-called normal people. I don’t know. But I do know they expected other people to cater to their needs.”

  He waited.

  And waited some more.

  She’d given up battling for distance, and instead, just leaned her head against his shoulder and gave in to the closeness. He couldn’t see her expression, but she was listening.

  “Well, that was very like Steve,” she said finally. “The glory thing. If he was in a hurry, he expected others to get out of the way. If he was a no-show, he expected others to understand. It didn’t seem egotistical to me...until I finally realized that’s how it always was. His life was more important than anyone else’s.” She added wryly, “I thought you’d be pretty disgusted by the four-hundred-dollar loafers and no socks.”

  “What? You think I’m that superficial that I’d give a damn what the guy looked like?”

  “No, no,” she said immediately.

  It’s not like he’d ever admit that Scuzzball’s whole look—and good looks—had given him a heart attack. Ike didn’t give a damn about appearance issues like that. But if they mattered to Ginger, well, it wouldn’t have been a good sign. “So,” he said, “somehow I suspect he showed up to talk you into going back with him.”

  “He did.”

  “Since he didn’t call you first, he must have been afraid you’d say no. He thought he was more likely to persuade you, if he saw you in person.”

  She hesitated, but then her response was quick enough. “Yup. You’re getting all the square pegs in the square holes.”

  “And...then what happened?”

  “In a nutshell...I said no, I wasn’t going back with him. He insulted me. I told him to leave. He threatened me. I lost my temper.” She shrugged. “Just your everyday melodrama.”

  She apparently wanted him to see the humor in it...but he didn’t. It just seemed like one more traumatic thing thrown at Ginger when she’d had a nonstop heap of them in the last month. “So...I’m guessing the subject of the baby came up?”

  “Oh, yeah. Which, I have to admit, threw me. Obviously he was unsettled when I first called and told him. But I just assumed there was no reason to have another conversation until after we both had time to consider all the implications. Instead...well, it didn’t take long for him to go on the attack. I mean...I told him upfront that he had a legal right to be part of the child’s life. But instead of being nice back, he seemed to get more angry. He threatened to sue me for total custody.”

  Ike had another mental picture of himself punching out the jerk. But he kept his voice even, not wanting Ginger to stop talking. “What happened after that?”

  “That was pretty much the end of it. He left, and Pansy and I galloped straight for the ice cream.”

  She fell silent after that. He wanted to know more, but she’d answered the one killing issue that had been rug-burning his nerves. She was over the hotshot doc. Maybe the breakup had been fairly recent, but Ike hadn’t heard a hint of warmth in her voice, seen any in her eyes.

  And since she’d gone limp on his chest, he relaxed, too, just let the hammock sway in a slow, lazy rock. The sun tipped past a cloud, warmed their heads in spite of the damp chill in the air. A bare breeze ruffled the grass, sifted the scents of wet leaves and somewhere, a brush pile burning. A dog barked in the distance, not loud enough to wake Pansy, just a canine greeting its owner from some other property down the road.

  “Ike?”

  “Hmm?”

  “I don’t want to say anything about your parents, because I’ve never met them. Or any more about Steve, because I’ve had more than enough of talking about him. But...” She hesitated. “I can see the other side of the fence. People who have the gift and the skill to save lives, to stand up for people who can’t help themselves...that’s a great thing, not a bad thing. But it also makes them different, whether they want to be or not.”

  “So what’s your point?”

  She put a palm on his chest. “The point isn’t about my ex-guy or your parents. It’s about you. You have those same issues. Your pager is always on. That’s who you are. It’s a good quality. Not a bad one.”

  “I’m nothing li
ke them. I’d never put my job over a spouse or kids.”

  “Yeah? Well, I’ve been with you these last few weeks. When the pager makes noise, you’re on your feet in two shakes. You go. You don’t think twice. You don’t need to. It’s just who you are.”

  “Ginger. It’s not the same thing. I’m a low achiever, not a driven type in any way.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Hey. My exam rooms don’t have clocks. I wear sandals in the office. The dog goes with me on house calls. Does that sound like someone with a high-stress gene?”

  She made a sound. He had a bad feeling it was a chuckle. “Ike, I don’t care whether you wear wing tips or sandals. You still run when someone needs you. You’re dedicated and you’re driven. That’s just the way it is.”

  The hammock quit rocking. “You know, you can be really annoying,” he mentioned.

  Instead of taking offense, she leaned forward and looked at him with an amused expression. “That’s the real problem, isn’t it? Because even when you’re annoyed...like now...you still want to kiss me.”

  “More than kiss you,” he immediately corrected her.

  Out of nowhere, she turned into an estrogen grenade. “Damn it, Ike! Did it never occur to you that that’s what I want, too? Only there’s a huge difference between what I want and what I can have! And you’re just making it harder!”

  She took off from the hammock and stomped to the house, going out of her way to let the screen door slam behind her. He stared after her, dumbfounded.

  He was the one who should be mad, not her. He was the one who’d been offended, not her. It bit like a steel trap that she’d compared him to Scuzzball Steve...and, for that matter, to his parents.

  “Pansy. Go truck.” He didn’t snarl, because he never snarled at his dog, but the dark, snarly mood followed him the whole rest of the week.

  Ginger thought he was driven? That he wore the “dedicated” halo that her egotistical ex did? Not. Never. He’d been called to medicine, yeah, but he didn’t have a driven bone in his body, and had done everything but stand on his head to avoid a pressure-cooker practice.