The Baby Track

by Barbara Boswell

  He was smiling, his good humor fully restored, Courtney noted thoughtfully. He’d been as grouchy as a bad-tempered grizzly when he’d been denied sex, but now that he thought it was imminent, based on her undisguised, unreserved response, his mood was as sunny as the afternoon sky. She suspected she’d just learned an age-old lesson about men, one that had been enacted between husbands and wives down through the centuries.

  She felt experienced and sophisticated and wise—for about a minute and a jpalf. Then reality, in the form of depression, set in. She was not a wife, and tonight, after Richard Tremaine informed Connor of their bogus marriage, any chance she might’ve ever had of legally becoming Connor’s wife would be gone in the wake of the deception. Her heart aching, she carried the picnic basket to the car, following in Connor’s wake. She watched him carefully remove little Sarah from the small bed he was carrying and secure her into the molded plastic safety seat in the front seat between them.

  Courtney’s eyes filled with tears. Connor was so good to Sarah, so loving and conscientious. The baby needed him as her daddy as much as she needed him as her husband. They were a family! But after tonight...

  Sarah! Courtney’s heart suddenly jumped into her throat, and a wave of anxiety, nauseating in its intensity, crashed over her. Until this moment, she’d been operating under the assumption that Sarah would remain hers, even when Connor left. Now it occurred to her that Richard Tremaine’s third call, after the first one to Nina McKay and the second to Connor, would be to his old pal Wilson Nollier.

  Of course Tremaine would tell the attorney that there was no marriage. Courtney’s breath seemed trapped in her chest, making both inhaling and exhaling nearly impossible feats. She saw two scenarios unfolding after that fateful call. In the first one, Connor kept Sarah as a single father; in the other, the baby was given to somebody else so that he could begin his exciting new life as a Tremaine unencumbered by the constant demands of a child. Neither outcome included Courtney; both were intolerable to her.

  She was so preoccupied on the brief drive back to Mrs. Mason’s house that she didn’t speak a single word. Connor was equally quiet, seemingly lost in his own thoughts. And by the pleased smile on his face and the way his green eyes flicked sexily over her, his thoughts involved an immediate trip to the bedroom, she noted grimly.

  If only it could be that easy and uncomplicated, Courtney railed inwardly. If only they really were married and heading home to passionately make love. But they weren’t, and wishing, no matter how fervently, wouldn’t make it so.

  She couldn’t have Connor. Though she hadn’t accepted the fact emotionally, she had absorbed it intellectually. It was the way her mind had worked from the time she’d been a child, then a teenager during her army-brat years, the way she’d handled separations from best friends and beloved teachers and youthful crushes. Her head knew it was over long before her heart had adjusted to the painful reality.

  And her head was telling her it was time to move on and get out of Shadyside Falls, even though her heart was breaking at the thought of leaving.

  Courtney glanced down at the baby, sleeping comfortably in the rear-facing car seat. Chances were good that Sarah would sleep another several hours before awakening and demanding to be fed. The fully-stocked canvas bag was in the back seat, crammed with diapers, creams, bottles of formula, flannel blankets and two complete changes of clothes. She had learned from their daily visits to the hospital that one packed for an outing with a baby the way an adult packed for a weekend trip.

  She fiddled with the zipper on her purse which lay in her lap. In it, she had money, credit cards, everything she needed for departure. Of course, her clothes and suitcases were still in Mrs. Mason’s house, but the landlady could forward them, provided she was adequately compensated for her trouble, of course.

  This was it, then. A wave of profound sadness swept over Courtney, and her heart seemed to turn to stone in her chest. There was no use prolonging the agony of goodbye, especially when doing so could cost her Sarah. The maternal bond she’d formed with the baby was unbreakable; she could never give her up.

  And Connor? Courtney choked back what felt like a lump of ground glass that had lodged in her throat. She didn’t want to give him up, either, but the choice was not hers to make. He was a Tremaine now, out of her reach, and in just a few hours he would learn the truth about their duplicitous marriage. She didn’t dare risk the cataclysm that revelation would engender, not with Sarah’s welfare at stake. Courtney admitted without shame that if it weren’t for the baby, she would gladly cast aside all pride and beg Connor to let her stay with him under any terms he cared to dictate.

  But a mother makes sacrifices for her child, a mother places her child’s interests above her own—and she was Sarah’s mother. She had to remove her baby from the threat of Wilson Nollier and the power of Richard Tremaine.

  And that meant leaving Connor. Now.

  Connor braked the rented car to a stop in front of Mrs. Mason’s house. “I’ll keep the key in my purse so we don’t lose it,” Courtney said, reaching to remove the key from the ignition.

  Connor, hot and primed and ready to take her upstairs to finish what they’d started in the park, failed to notice the nervous quaver in her voice or her ghastly forced smile. He got out of the car and walked around it, intending to open the door for her and to carry the baby, still sleeping in the safety seat, into the house.

  Before he could reach the door, Courtney hopped over the bulky car seat and took her place behind the wheel. Inserting the key in the ignition, she gunned the engine and took off, peeling away from the curb, tires screeching.

  She had a quick glimpse of Connor, standing on the sidewalk, a look of pure astonishment on his face. She didn’t dare let herself imagine what he must be thinking. He would be hurt and baffled and upset—at least until he heard from Richard Tremaine.

  And then he would hate her. Courtney swallowed the sob that welled up in her throat and blinked back the hot tears that burned her eyes. She didn’t dare allow herself the luxury of crying. After all, there was a child in the car for whom she was completely responsible. She had to drive, and driving meant keeping alert and emotionally in control, even though her heart felt as if it had been shattered into a million pieces.

  * * *

  The road sign indicated the turnoff for Washington, D.C., and Courtney was about to pull into the exit lane when she felt a chilling premonition of danger. If Connor had contacted Tremaine or Nollier, one or both might be waiting at her apartment building for her. Nollier knew she worked for NPB. A phone call to the office might yield her address. Her co-workers were trusting and accommodating and probably would respond to a plausible reason or request for the information. She didn’t dare take the chance.

  Courtney glanced down at Sarah, who, blessedly, was taking an extra-long nap today. Where could they go? Mark and Marianne lived in nearby Baltimore, but both Connor and Nollier knew about them and might trace her there. There was another, more poignant reason why she couldn’t seek refuge with her brother and sister-in-law, Courtney admitted sadly. She wasn’t quite ready to face them with her baby, not after their fruitless years’-long quest for a child of their own.

  She mentally ran down a list of possibilities, eliminating all friends, because this was a predicament that one should inflict only on family. Moving so often had strengthened her concept that friends were a temporary luxury, while family was permanently stuck with you no matter what.

  Her parents were far away in southern Florida, and her stepbrothers, career army officers, were currently stationed overseas with their families. If they had to stay on the run, she and Sarah might eventually land on their doorsteps, but all were out for the immediate present. Stepsister Cathy lived on the West Coast with her family, so the same applied to her.

  That left her sister Ashlinn, in New York City, and her stepsister Michelle, in Harrisburg. Both were within driving distance, both lived alone in their oln apartments.
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  But there was really no decision to make between those two. If she were to arrive at cool, sophisticated Ashlinn’s door with a baby and a story about a faux marriage, amnesia, and a long-lost father and son reunion, Ashlinn would probably try to have her committed to the nearest mental institution.

  Courtney headed for Harrisburg. Ashlinn might be her full-blooded sister, but she’d always been closer to sweet, understanding Michelle.

  Sarah awakened as they approached the city limits and began to fret. By the time Courtney pulled the car into the parking lot adjacent to Michelle’s apartment building, the baby was squalling with infant fury.

  “It’s all right, sweetheart,” Courtney soothed, carrying Sarah and the weighty diaper bag up the two flights of stairs to Michelle’s apartment. The building had an elevator, but Courtney wasn’t about to waste a second waiting for it. “Just one more minute till your dinner, Cookie.”

  Connor’s nickname for the baby came naturally to her lips and brought a swift rush of tears. Standing in the hallway of the building, holding the wailing infant, Courtney had never felt so lost and alone. She missed Connor with an intensity that bordered on actual physical pain.

  She pressed the doorbell, once, twice, three times, without response, then began to think of making alternate plans if Michelle was out for the evening. Just as she punched the bell one final time, the door swung open.

  “Michelle, thank God you’re here!” Courtney cried, pushing her way inside. And then she gasped.

  Michelle hadn’t opened the door, a man had. He stood staring at her and the crying baby with a look of incredulity, similar to the one Courtney was giving him.

  “Who are you?” Courtney was too disconcerted by the sight of the stranger to manage a polite social greeting. Her dark eyes swept critically over the man, whose shirt was unbuttoned and untucked from the waistband of his trousers, who was barefoot, and who was so stunningly good-looking that she was instantly wary of him.

  “I’m Steve Saraceni, a friend of Michelle’s.” The handsome stranger smiled, doubling, tripling, his attraction.

  “And I know who you are. You’re Courtney, Michelle’s sister. I’ve seen your picture around here.”

  So he was friendly and charming as well as drop-dead gorgeous? Courtney frowned. “Where’s Michelle?” she demanded.

  “She’ll join us in a moment,” Steve Saraceni said smoothly. “Here, let me take your bag.” He quickly divested her of the heavy diaper bag, enabling Courtney to shift the baby to a more comfortable position. But Sarah continued to howl.

  “She’s hungry and needs to be changed,” said Courtney, laying the baby down on a section of the U-shaped sofa.

  “How old is she? A couple weeks?” Steve asked affably, watching her tend to the baby. “My sister has a four-month-old son,” he added. “I remember his newborn days quite well.”

  “Courtney!” Michelle rushed into the room, her hair tousled, her pink silk blouse and fashionable pleated slacks so obviously swiftly thrown on, that Courtney winced. Her timing was the worst! Her arrival had clearly interrupted— something.

  “Michelle, I’m sorry for barging in like this—”

  “A baby?” Michelle interrupted. Her wide china blue eyes swept over Sarah with definite dismay. “Courtney, did you get that baby for Mark and Marianne from the crooked lawyer you told me about? Oh, this is just unbelievable! You’ve been away and out of touch. Of course, you couldn’t have heard the news.’ ’

  “What news?” asked Courtney. She was stalling for time, not quite ready to tell Michelle that Sarah was completely hers. She cuddled the baby in her arms, giving her a fresh bottle of infant formula.

  “The news about Mark and Marianne and the children they’ve adopted,” explained Michelle, sitting down on the sofa. “They received a call from the adoption agency last week, just after you left the city.”

  Though she was talking to Courtney, Michelle’s eyes remained riveted on Steve Saraceni, who was casually straightening and readjusting his clothing. “Three children—a four-year-old girl and two little boys, ages three and one, brothers and sister, were orphaned in a car accident last month. The agency wanted to place the children together, and Mark and Marianne immediately said they’d take all three. They’re picking them up the day after tomorrow.” Courtney gasped with surprised pleasure. “So they have their family at last! I know they’ll make wonderful parents for those poor little kids, Michelle.” She smiled tremulously. “I—I’m so happy for them I could cry.”

  And then she did begin to cry, rocking Sarah in her arms as the tears streamed down her cheeks. What might have begun as a joyfully tearful response to the good news swiftly changed into tears of longing and grief for her own loss. Michelle tried to comfort her, alternating soothing platitudes with tactful questions pertaining to Sarah.

  Steve Saraceni disappeared from the room, returning a short time later, fully dressed and impeccably groomed. “Michelle, I can see that you have your hands full here,” he said in that silky-soft tone of his. “Your sister needs you, so I’ll just say goodbye and—”

  “No, wait! Please don’t go, Steve!” Michelle jumped to her feet.

  Her desperation, so palpable, so totally undisguised, jarred Courtney from the depths of her own misery. Her heart went out to her stepsister, whose eyes were shining with love for this man whose eagerness to go was a unequi-vocable as Michelle’s desire to have him stay.

  Oh, Michelle, when it’s time to leave, all you can do is let go, Courtney urged silently, bleakly. She’d learned that bitterly hard lesson once again this afternoon.

  “None of us has had dinner yet,” Michelle continued breathlessly. “I have a whole pan of chicken enchiladas in the freezer. I can—”

  The sudden insistent sound of the doorbell interrupted her.

  “I’ll answer it,” Steve said quickly.

  Courtney half expected him to bolt out the door the moment he opened it. But he didn’t, for the doorway was blocked by two men, the older in a navy pinstripe suit, the younger in jeans and a green cotton sweater.

  Courtney smothered a cry and began to tremble. No, it couldn’t be! The color drained from her face. She was so sure she and Sarah could remain safely undetected in Michelle’s apartment.

  Steve Saraceni’s face lit with a beautific smile. “Why, you’re Richard Tremaine!” he exclaimed, addressing the older man. “I recognize you from your pictures on the financial pages,” he added reverently, thrusting out his hand to shake. “I’m Steve Saraceni. Terribly pleased to meet you.” He turned to face Michelle, his handsome face aglow with admiration. “Darling, I didn’t know you knew Richard Tremaine.”

  Michelle stared from Steve to Courtney to the two men standing in the doorway. “I don’t,” she said bewilderedly.

  Connor stepped forward, into the apartment. His eyes locked with Courtney’s, and she swiftly looked away, gazing fixedly at Sarah in her arms.

  “Uh, Richard, why don’t you take Michelle and—Steve here out to dinner while Courtney and I talk,” Connor said, his voice low and taut with a steely control that made Courtney shiver. Acting instinctively from a sense of sheer self-preservation, she stood up and began to slowly inch her way out of the living room.

  “Good idea!” Richard Tremaine seconded heartily. “Michelle, Steve, I’m sure you two can recommend a good restaurant.”

  “Yes, sir, I certainly can.” Steve Saraceni was beaming. “Name your choice of cuisine and I’ll name the best place for it. Michelle, come, sweet.” He extended his hand, and she hesitated for just a moment before taking it.

  “What brings you to our fair city, Mr. Tremaine?” Steve asked, turning the full force of his charming smile back to Richard Tremaine. “I hope you are enjoying your—”

  The three left the apartment, Saraceni keeping up a steady stream of conversation.

  Connor and Courtney were left alone. She continued her subtle progression out of the room, too unnerved by his presence to do anything else
.

  “Who is that silver-tongued smooth operator sucking up to my father?” Connor asked, moving slowly, purposefully, toward her.

  “I—I just met him here a short while ago.” Even to herself, Courtney’s voice sounded high and unnatural. “I think he’s involved with Michelle.”

  “Michelle may be involved with him, but he is involved only with himself,” Connor observed. “I know his type so well I can make an on-the-spot judgment call.”

  “How did you know I was here?” Courtney whispered, her heart in her throat.

  “Because I used to be his type.” Connor ignored her question and answered an entirely different one. “And sure, it’s cool, it’s fun. You’re completely free and answer to no one. You avoid obligations and responsibilities. Your money and your time is all your own. And then you find yourself at a certain age, at a certain time, when it all begins to pale. You realize that you have no friends you can really talk to or depend on, that there is no woman you can trust and feel close to. Suddenly not even sex has any real pleasure or meaning. It’s become just an exercise, a way to work out and work off tension.”

  “Connor,” Courtney cut in nervously.

  “Heard enough of my soul-searching soliloquy, huh?” He smiled without mirth.

  “You remember!” she exclaimed. Suddenly the pieces fell into place. Some of them, anyway. “You must have remembered me mentioning Michelle to track me here!”

  “Yes.” He nodded. She could read nothing in his enigmatic expression. “I remember everything, Gypsy.” Courtney felt hot, then cold. She didn’t understand and she didn’t dare to hope. “When?” she asked shakily.

  “Last night. It happened in stages. First it occurred to me that you couldn’t have stayed a virgin if we’d been married for the past five years.”

  She winced, and a slow hot blush turned her cheeks crimson.

  “But it wasn’t until we made love again, after the baby’s four-thirty feeding, that it all came back to me. Everything. The adoption story, our marriage ruse to fool Wilson. The only gap in my memory is the time following the collision until I awakened in the hospital.”