A Case for Calamity (Twelve Brides of Christmas Book 8)

by Mackenzie Crowne

  Startled gasps and strong arms registered, but she wasn’t sure why as the blackness closed in.

  Chapter Six

  “She’s coming around.”

  A cool cloth pressed to Jane’s forehead, and she opened her eyes.

  “Welcome back, young lady.” Subtle shades of a Texas drawl echoed in Melanie Archer’s greeting.

  Jane’s foggy head cleared enough for horror to bloom. “Oh, God.” She groaned. “Oh God, Sophia?”

  “I’m here.” The chef leaned over Melanie’s shoulder. “Are you all right? You scared the life out of us.”

  “Oh, Soph, I’m so sorry.” Jane’s gaze jerked to Melanie. “I’ll replace everything. None of this is Sophia’s fault.” She bit her lip and winced. “Please, don’t blame Creative Cuisine for ruining your party. I don’t know how I’ll make it up to you, but I will. I swear. I’ll run errands. Do laundry. I’ll clean your bathrooms.”

  She attempted to sit up, but a large, male hand appeared from somewhere behind her, landing on her chest and pressing her back down. Recognizing those long fingers, she arched her head back to look up.

  “Stay put.” Gabe glared at her. “The paramedics are on their way.”

  “I don’t need paramedics.” She dropped her head, and her panicked gaze sliced back and forth between Sophia and Melanie. “Call them back and tell them never mind.”

  “Let them check you out first.” Melanie’s green gaze briefly flicked up at Gabe. She smiled. “I’ll admit, my grandson can be a little intimidating at times, but, to my knowledge, he’s never made anyone faint before.”

  “Grandson?” Her closing throat cut off her breath.

  Gabe spoke from behind her. “Jane, is it? Meet my grandmother, Melanie Archer.”

  And the hits just keep on coming.

  A sudden commotion behind Melanie cut off the bubble of hysterical laughter working its way up from Jane’s compressing lungs. Melanie rose from the couch, at Jane’s hip, and disappeared from view as four efficient members of NYFD closed in. They fired questions, ignoring Jane when Melanie chimed in to overrule her insistence she was fine.

  “Any nausea?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “When was the last time you ate?”

  “I had soup for lunch.”

  “Have you ever fainted before? What have you had to drink today?”

  On and on they pushed. Jane answered the rapid-fire demands while being poked and prodded.

  “My name is Susan.” The only female paramedic sat in Melanie’s place. “I need some contact information.” She requested Jane’s full name, birthdate, and past medical conditions while making notes on a pad of paper.

  Jane waved Susan closer as she attached a pinching clip to Jane’s finger and wrapped a blood pressure cuff around her arm. She leaned down, bringing her ear closer to Jane’s mouth.

  “Is he listening?”

  “Is who listening?”

  “The tall guy in the cowboy hat.” Jane tilted her head back in an attempt to discover Gabe’s position beyond the wide shoulders of the other paramedics.

  Susan looked around, then shook her head. “He’s talking to some people on the other side of the room.”

  “Good.” Jane spoke quietly. “Look, this really isn’t necessary. I fainted because”—she dropped her voice to a whisper—“I’m pregnant.”

  “How far along?”

  “Eight weeks.”

  “I see. Well, that may have something to do with the fainting, and you can refuse treatment if you want, but your blood pressure is pretty high.”

  Her nose scrunched up with her grimace. “Believe me, if you were in my place, your blood pressure would be high, too.”

  “How is she doing?” Melanie stepped close once more with Sophia at her side.

  The paramedic wrapped the coils of her stethoscope around her neck. “I recommend she be seen by a doctor, but I believe she wants to refuse transport. Is that right, Jane?”

  “Yes. No. I mean, I just want to go home, please.”

  “That’s your prerogative, but I recommend you see your obstetrician as soon as possible.”

  “Obstetrician! You’re pregnant?”

  Jane cringed at the volume of Sophie’s shocked question. If her blood pressure was high before, it spiked through the roof when Gabe’s face joined the others crowding the couch.

  “I’d like to hear the answer to that question myself.” His dark brows dipped together over piercing green eyes. “I think I deserve an answer. Don’t you, Jane Whitmore?”

  ****

  Gabe sliced the keycard through the lock. A twist of his wrist and he pushed open the door to his condo, stepped over the threshold, and spun around. He resisted slamming the door once Jane was inside, but it was close.

  “Is this private enough for you?” He needed a drink and, without waiting for her reply, headed for the wet bar to pour himself three fingers of his favorite malt.

  His throat burned as he downed half the contents of the glass in a single gulp. He glanced over and met her wary gaze. “One question. Who’s the father?”

  Her chin jutted stubbornly. “You.”

  Terror ripped at his gut. He threw back the rest of his drink before pinning her with an accusing stare. “I used a condom. Several condoms.”

  “Yeah, well, obviously they weren’t one hundred percent effective.”

  “Christ.” He slid his eyes shut.

  “I don’t blame you for being upset.”

  Gabe opened his eyes and slammed the glass down on the bar. Her flinch pleased him. “Upset is an understatement. First, you play me with that shell game you and Shae Austin dreamed up, then you disappear without a word. Now, you show up and announce a supposed pregnancy to my grandmother? You don’t know upset!”

  She stiffened, but held her ground. “I didn’t show up at your grandmother’s to announce anything. I was there because she hired Creative Cuisine.”

  “Right.” His disbelieving snort echoed in the silent apartment.

  Her chest expanded on a deep breath beneath her white caterer’s shirt, and her knuckles went white on the strap of her purse. She had the kind of eyes a man could drown in, but, at the moment, the storm in them would cause a man to rethink taking a dip.

  “Do you really think I was happy to discover Melanie Archer is the little old lady you told me about?” Fury flashed in her eyes. “The Garbinos are friends of mine. I don’t hurt my friends, and that scene I caused, trying to avoid a confrontation with you, hurt them more than you know. Not only have I probably lost my job, I’ve lost good friends.”

  “I wasn’t the one who pretended to be someone I wasn’t.”

  Her lips thinned in a dismissive smirk. “Give me a break. So, I showed up in Shae’s place. As I recall, you weren’t thrilled with Michael Austin’s matchmaking either, and in the end, you got your deal.”

  He’d gotten much more than that. He’d gotten it into his head he’d finally found the woman he might just be able to plan a life with, only to have her disappear. “I don’t like to be played.”

  Her shoulders slumped at his growled complaint. She dropped her head to stare at her feet. “I apologize for tricking you. Shae had something else going on that night, and I was there. I speak French; you needed an interpreter.” She shrugged a slim shoulder and lifted her gaze to his once more. “I should have told you the truth, right away, but switching places with Shae wasn’t done out of any kind of malice.”

  Either she was sincere or she’d missed her calling. A woman with her looks and that ability to offer an apology with the perfect mix of swallowed pride and regret would make a fortune in Hollywood. The temptation to believe her rankled.

  He crossed his arms and sneered. “And now, you’re supposedly pregnant, and I’m the father?”

  Surprising him, she matched his stance, crossing her arms. “Now, I am pregnant, and you are the father.”

  “Nice try.”

  Her arms dropped to her sides, a
nd damned if she didn’t look startled. “You don’t believe me?”

  “I believed you were Shae Austin.”

  Several seconds ticked off as she stared blankly at him. Then, he was startled when she started to laugh.

  “I’m sorry.” She shook her head and continued to chuckle. “I’ve been freaking out since discovering I’d gotten pregnant on a one-night stand with a man who didn’t know my name. It never dawned on me you wouldn’t believe the baby is yours.”

  “Why would I? You said your week in Paris was over that night. For all I know, I’m not the only man you and your friend scammed. Do you have six other meal tickets lined up in case your first choice doesn’t pan out?”

  The stunned humor in her eyes chilled into cold disdain. “Listen up, pal, because I’m going to say this once, and then, if I’m lucky, I’ll never lay eyes on you again. I had Shae set up that meeting with you for Sunday because I thought you deserved to be informed you had a child on the way.”

  His brows snapped together. “What meeting?”

  This time she sneered as if she didn’t believe him. “Oh, please.”

  “What meeting?” he demanded.

  “Check with your office manager. She confirmed with Shae’s father, so unless you plan to call him a liar…” Her delicate snort held dismissal. “It’s no skin off my back if you don’t believe me. In fact, I prefer it that way. Consider yourself informed. I’ll show myself out.”

  She spun around and stalked toward the exit.

  “I want a paternity test.”

  Fire spat from her narrowed gaze when she paused at the unopened door to look back over her shoulder. “Yeah, well, life is full of disappointments. Goodbye, Mr. Sutton.”

  He flew across the room before she could work the lock. Slapping his palm against the wood above her shoulder, he pinned her between his body and escape.

  Under his hand, the door remained shut despite her attempt to yank it open.

  She stiffened, but kept her gaze straight ahead. “Touch me and I’ll scream the building down.”

  “Hold on a second.”

  She twisted her head to fry him with stormy blue eyes. He studied her face. Embarrassed heat colored her cheeks, the skin stretched tight in a mask of fury. The sleek cat had fangs.

  “You’re telling the truth?” He tested the possibility on his tongue.

  “I would never lie about an innocent baby.”

  The breath whooshed from him as though he’d taken an angry fist straight to the gut. He dropped his hand and stepped back. “Shit.” The spit in his mouth dried up, and the rough bristle of beard scraped against his palm as he ran his hand down his face. “I need another drink.”

  He whirled away to return to the bar. The bottle of expensive scotch gurgled as he poured himself another glass. Christ. A baby. What the hell was he supposed to do now?

  She hadn’t moved when he faced her once more. Her chin jutted up defiantly. “Getting drunk won’t change the facts.”

  No, it wouldn’t, but tying one on might let him forget for a while. He tossed back the burning liquid in two gulping swallows. She claimed she’d set up a meeting to tell him about the pregnancy. He hadn’t called or stopped into the office upon returning from the Alaska junket, so he hadn’t picked up his messages. From the righteous anger on her face, he didn’t doubt he’d find the one of which she spoke.

  Clearly, Shae Austin and she were friends, which meant Jane had been fully aware he’d been searching for her. Considering how she’d been avoiding him, wanting to meet with him now made no sense.

  Unless she was telling the truth.

  His throat muscles contracted in a spasm with his painful swallow. He was going to be a father.

  He set aside the glass. “Come in and sit down. We obviously need to talk.”

  “Why?”

  Surprised at the question, he stared at her.

  Close to the door, she faced him completely, but didn’t venture back into the room as she pointed at the bottle on the bar. “It’s clear the idea of a baby is a problem for you.” Her arm dropped to her side. “It doesn’t have to be. I’m perfectly capable of raising my child. I don’t need or want anything from you.”

  “Is that right?”

  She nodded. “That’s right. So, you see, we have nothing to talk about. Now, if you don’t mind, it’s been a very long day. Long week, actually. I really am sorry about Paris.” She spun around, flipped the lock, and swung open the door.

  “Jane.”

  She glanced over her shoulder, her gaze wary.

  “We’ll talk tomorrow.”

  The door slammed shut with a thud behind her.

  Chapter Seven

  The thought of telling her parents about the baby made Jane so jittery she couldn’t sit still, but that didn’t mean her laundry wasn’t a priority, and her kitchen floor really did need a good scrubbing. She made good use of her morning off. By nine a.m. her flurry of frantic activity had left her tiny apartment shining. Staring at her kitchen cabinets, she was contemplating rearranging them when a knock on her door made her jump.

  She chewed her bottom lip. Her early morning caller wouldn’t be Keith. Out of town on business, her brother had promised to see her mid week when she called to tell him about the baby. Nor would the person knocking on her door be Gabe. He only learned her real name twelve hours ago. How could he have discovered where she lived this fast?

  Melanie Archer’s grandson has the kind of resources to discover anything he wants.

  Her stomach immediately began to roll. Gabe wasn’t just successful, he was loaded. His Park Avenue condo alone had to be worth millions. The grandson of the über rich Melanie Archer, for heaven’s sake! Why hadn’t Shae mentioned that important little gem?

  Compared to the Archer communications and real estate empire, Jane’s family’s considerable financial concerns looked more like a chain of corner hot dog stands. Not that her family’s money had anything to do with her. She’d long ago cut all financial ties with her parents. The Whitmore wallet came with too many strings—like a loveless marriage. And the troublesome, two-million-dollar bequest from her grandmother would be pocket change to someone of Gabe’s background.

  Last night’s parting shot indicated he wasn’t simply going to disappear as she’d prefer. Would he see their baby as an heir, or worse, a possession, while she already loved the little bundle of cells growing beneath her heart? What kind of chance would she have if he decided to fight her for custody?

  Squaring her shoulders, she marched to the door. He’d all but accused her of being a liar and a gold-digger. She didn’t give a damn about his money, but she would beg, steal, lie, and cheat to keep anyone from taking her child.

  An eye to the peephole confirmed her suspicion. She straightened and puffed out a breath. Barefoot and grubby wasn’t the proper armor for facing down enemy combatants, but his impatient pounding said her limp T-shirt and ratty jeans would have to do. Beneath shaking hands, the chains came off and the lock disengaged.

  She wrenched open the door. “What do you want?” Despite her attempt to block him, he brushed by her and seemed to bring the chill of the winter morning with him. She shut the door forcefully. “By all means, come right in.”

  He stopped several feet away, his arms akimbo. The ever-present Stetson dangled from the fingers of one hand and bumped against his hip. Casually dressed in crisp jeans and a heavy leather bomber jacket, he looked big, confident, and, she had to admit, gorgeous.

  “You claim to be pregnant with my child.”

  Her bare toes curled on the aged wooden floor, but she wasn’t about to back down. Possession was nine-tenths of the law, after all. You couldn’t get more possessive than carrying the point of contention within your body. “That’s not a claim. It’s a fact.”

  He nodded, ceding her the point. “Then you won’t mind proving it.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I want proof the child is mine.”

  Of course he w
ould. “As soon as that’s feasible, I’ll agree to testing. Now, are we done? I have things to do.”

  “No, we aren’t done. I’m not going anywhere until we’ve established you are pregnant and the pregnancy is at eight weeks as you claim.”

  She nodded toward the trash bag she’d gathered up during her cleaning spree. “The used pregnancy tests are right in there. Feel free to rummage through and find them, but they won’t tell you the date of conception.”

  He eyed the large, black bag. “Tests, as in plural?”

  “I wanted to be sure. I took three.”

  He arched a brow. “Law of averages?”

  “Something like that.”

  His lips twitched at her grumbled answer, as if he might be fighting a smile, but considering the situation, she couldn’t see what he could possibly find amusing.

  “I booked an appointment for an ultrasound at a local clinic at ten.” He checked his watch. “We’ll need to leave soon if we’re going to make it on time.”

  Her jaw dropped open. She snapped it shut. “You what?”

  “You say you’re carrying my child, and from your comments last night, I assume you’ve decided to keep it.”

  She ignored his doubt about the paternity, zeroing in on his second comment. “Of course I’m keeping it.”

  “Then I have some decisions to make as well. In order to do so reasonably, I need more information than, ‘Hi, Gabe. My name is Jane Whitmore. I’m having your baby.’”

  He had a point. And she could be reasonable, too, but on her own terms. “Fine. I have my first baby appointment next week. I’ll call and request an ultrasound and send you the results.”

  He shook his head. “Not good enough. I’ll come with you, today, and see the results for myself.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake.”

  “This isn’t negotiable, Jane. You dumped a pretty big bomb in my lap last night. I’m not letting you out of my sight until I have some answers.”

  “Then I’ll go with you tomorrow. I have to see my parents this morning. They don’t know about the baby yet, and believe me, working up the courage to tell them wasn’t easy.” Admitting to being anxious about the coming confrontation scraped at her pride, but she wanted him gone. If sympathy did the trick, so be it. “I can’t delay it any longer. The stress is killing me, and it isn’t good for the baby.”