Building Dreams

by Ginna Gray

  For several seconds all they could hear was the roar of some sort of large truck rumbling by, then someone shouted Amanda's name. "Gotta go, Tess. I'll call when I get a chance."

  The connection broke and the answering machine clicked and whirred as the tape rewound. Then there was only silence.

  Tess exhaled a sigh, and Ryan watched her shoulders slump.

  She turned to him, trying to appear unconcerned but the attempt was a dismal failure. Worry shadowed the wide, whiskey-colored eyes and her wan smile wobbled, despite her determined effort to control it. She shrugged and spread her hands wide. ''Well... I guess—"

  "I'll be by tomorrow night at a quarter till seven to take you to class," he announced abruptly, and strode across the cozy living room toward the door.

  "No, Ryan, wait! I can't let you do that."

  He stopped and turned back, shifting his toolbox to his other hand. He made no effort to hide his impatience. "We're not going to have this discussion again, are we? Look, is there anyone else who can take you?"

  "Well...no, but—"

  "Then why are you arguing? You need someone to sub for Amanda. I'm volunteering. End of problem."

  "But... what if Amanda doesn't make it back in time?"

  "Don't borrow trouble. You said yourself that she'll be back." He frowned and studied her shape, and Tess's blush returned. ''When are you due?"

  "In six weeks. Around the end of August."

  "That's a long time. Amanda will most likely be back by then. But if it turns out that she isn't, we'll deal with it."

  She stared at him. "Why are you doing this, Ryan? You don't even like me."

  Ryan firmed his mouth, his impatience building. Dammit, why did women have to make a big deal out of everything? Why the hell couldn't she just accept his offer at face value and be done with it?

  He wasn't sure himself why he had made the offer. Except that for the past week he hadn't been able to stop thinking about Tess, especially about the marked difference between her attitude toward motherhood and Julia's.

  His ex-wife had hated being pregnant, had hated even more the idea of natural childbirth. She had just wanted the whole thing to be over as quickly and painlessly as possible so that she could return to her bridge parties and luncheons and tennis games at the country club.

  It bothered the hell out of Ryan that this woman, who was so obviously looking forward to giving birth and being a mother, should have to go through the whole thing alone, with only a woman friend—one she couldn't even count on to be there—to help and give her moral support.

  "Does it matter?" he snapped. "The point is, you need help and I'm available to give it."

  He swung around and reached the door in two long strides, but he paused with his hand on the doorknob. Jaw clenched, he stared straight ahead at the wooden panel.

  "I don't dislike you, Tess," he said at last, in a tight, almost resentful voice. " Maybe that was true in the beginning, but not now. Actually..." The words stuck in his throat. He swallowed hard and looked at her over his shoulder. "... I admire you for what you're doing."

  He snatched the door open and stalked out, carrying with him the image of her stunned expression.

  ❧

  The next evening Tess was putting the finishing touches on her makeup when the doorbell rang. She glanced at her watch. Ryan was early; it was only six-thirty. Aggravated, she gave her nose one last dusting of powder and headed for the entry as fast as she could waddle.

  "What are you— Oh!" Her frown turned to surprise when she opened the door and saw the postal carrier standing there. ''I'm sorry. I thought you were someone else."

  "I have a registered letter for Mrs. Tess Benson."

  "I'm Tess Benson." Who on earth could be sending her a registered letter? She signed the sheet the man thrust at her and took the envelope. Examining the return address, she closed the door and meandered into the living room, her expression puzzled. It was from the law firm of Talmadge and Sloan in Boston. "What in the world?"

  She split open the seal with her thumbnail and began to read. By the time she reached the sofa her face was pale and she sank down onto the cushions, shaking her head.

  She read the letter through again, hurriedly scanning down the page to the damning paragraph, unable to accept what her eyes were telling her.

  ... to inform you that in addition to a bona fide birth certificate, my clients Harold and Enid Benson, will require blood and DNA testing of said infant at the time of his or her birth, before they can acknowledge said child as the offspring of their deceased son, Thomas Geoffrey Benson, and their heir. Therefore, to that end...

  Tess stopped reading. She didn't know what kind of reaction she had expected when she had written to Tom's parents. She had imagined several different possibilities-anger because she had waited so long to inform them, joy in knowing that a part of Tom would live on in his child, subtle pressure to gain a measure of control over herself and the baby, perhaps even an out-and-out battle for custody. She had never once thought that they would doubt that Tom was the father of her child.

  It hurt—more than Tess had thought possible. They had insulted her deeply, impugning her character, her integrity, her honor and her morals. By inference, they were accusing her of loose behavior and trying to pass off another man's child as Tom's in order to get her hands on the Benson fortune.

  Tess looked up at the ceiling and widened her eyes to hold back the tears that filled them. "I won't cry," she vowed. "I won't." It didn't matter. They didn't matter.

  But it hurt. Oh, Lord, it hurt. She felt as though someone had kicked her in the stomach. Her chin quivered, and no matter how hard she fought to hold them in check, one by one, tears spilled over her lower eyelids and rolled down her cheeks. A sob rose in her throat. She fought it, but the pressure in her chest was too great, and when it broke free she flung herself down on the sofa and gave in to the tears of misery that came from her wounded soul.

  ❧

  She was still crying twenty minutes later when the doorbell rang again. She jumped at the sound and sat up, gulping back sobs, her blurry gaze zooming to the door. Ryan. Oh, Lord. She had forgotten all about him. She sniffed and struggled for control, her chest jerking with sharp little inhalations, the ragged remnant of spent tears. Getting to her feet, she headed for the door, hastily wiping her eyes and tear-stained cheeks with her fingertips. She opened the door a crack and peered out. "Ryan!"

  "What took you so long?" he demanded.

  "I'm sorry. I should have called you. I, uh. ..I've decided to skip the class tonight.''

  He frowned and narrowed his eyes. "Why?"

  "I'm ... I'm not feeling well."

  It was a mistake. She knew it the instant the words left her mouth. Ryan's expression immediately changed to one of concern, and he stepped forward, pushing the door open with the flat of his hand, giving her no choice but to let him in.

  "What's wrong. Is it the ba—" He squinted at her averted face, then he grasped her chin and turned her head around and tipped it up. "You've been crying."

  He made the statement sound almost like an accusation. "What's going on? Has something happened?"

  Tess pulled her chin free and turned away, surreptitiously swiping at her swollen eyes again as she walked back into the living room. "It's nothing. I—"

  "Don't give me that. You're not the type to bawl over nothing. So you might as well spit it out. I'm not leaving here until you do."

  She glanced at him over her shoulder and bit the inside of her lip. He meant it. Standing with his feet braced wide, his face set, he looked about as movable as a mountain.

  Sighing, Tess eased her bulk down onto the sofa, picked up the letter from where it had fallen and silently handed it to him.

  Ryan cocked one brow. He looked from the letter to Tess, then back again. She watched him as he started to lead. His face was set in that impassive mask he usually wore, but she knew the instant he reached the insulting paragraph. His eyes widened.<
br />
  " What the hell...?''

  He shot Tess a sharp look. Her eyes filled with fresh tears, and she looked down at her fingers. When he went back to reading she peeped at him every few seconds. The farther he read the more his jaw muscles worked and his mouth grew so tight a thin white line formed around it.

  When he finished, he slapped the letter against his thigh and singed the air with a string of curses that would have done a longshoreman proud. His sympathetic ire only made her chin wobble more, and she looked away, the painful knot in her throat nearly suffocating her.

  "What the hell kind of people are these?" he snarled. "How could they do this? I thought they were family."

  Tess shrugged and pressed her quivering lips together, the tears she had been straining to hold in check spilling over.

  "Oh, damn." Ryan sat down beside her so suddenly Tess jumped. He put his arm around her and pulled her close, and his other hand cupped the back of her head, pressing her face into his shoulder and holding her there. "I'm sorry, Tess. God, I'm sorry," he said in his peculiar gruff, gentle way. "This is my fault. I shouldn't have talked you into writing to them. I had no idea—"

  "It's all right," she mumbled into his shirt, sniffing, but she made no move to leave the comfort of his embrace. He was so big, so rock solid, so strong and warm. And it felt so good to lean on him...for just a little while. "You couldn't have known. Actually, I don't even know why I'm crying. It's not as though we were ever close."

  "You're crying because you've been insulted. And you have every right to. So go ahead and bawl. Get it out of your system."

  The brusque attempt at consoling filled her with warmth and raised her spirit, and she gave a watery chuckle. "I think I already have." Regretfully, she pulled out of his embrace and sat up, wiping her cheeks with the backs of her hands. "Anyway, it doesn't do any good.''

  "Oh, I don't know. It made you feel better, didn't it?"

  "I suppose." Tess squared her shoulders and thrust out her delicate chin. "But not nearly as good as I'm going to feel."

  "Why? What're you going to do?"

  "I'll tell you what I'm going to do. I'm going to write a blistering reply that will bum the pants right off Mr. Roland P. Rutledge, Attorney at Law, and hopefully his clients as well. I'm going to tell Harold and Enid Benson exactly what I think of them and what they can do with their stinking money."

  Ryan grinned—a full-fledged, unrestrained, heart-stopping, hundred mega-watt grin that made her heart give a httle bump and stunned her into silence. "Atta girl. Give 'em hell, honey."

  Tess blinked and pulled her scattered wits together. Bolstered by his support and encouragement, her determination grew and she struggled to get to her feet. Chuckling, Ryan stood and pulled her up off the sofa, but when she headed for the slant-top desk in the corner of the living room, he grasped her shoulders.

  "Whoa. Not so fast. The letter can wait. Right now we've got a class to attend. If you don't get a move on we're going to be late."

  "I can't go to class Uke this," Tess protested. She cupped her face with both hands. "My eyes are swollen and my nose is red. And I know whenever I cry my face gets all blotchy."

  "Go splash cold water on your face and powder your nose and you'll be fine."

  "I must look a fright."

  "You look adorable." He put his forefinger under her chin, tipped her face up, and kissed the tip of her nose. He drew back a few inches and his eyes crinkled at her at close range. Tess stared back, her own eyes big as saucers. "Now hurry up and make yourself presentable. You know how crabby Cathy gets when anyone is late." He turned her around, pointed her toward the bedroom and gave her a little shove.

  Dazed, Tess went, docile as a lamb.

  Chapter 6

  If someone had told Tess that she would end up with Ryan McCall as her Lamaze coach she would have laughed in their face. If they had said that she would grow accustomed to the taciturn man, even grow to like him and feel comfortable around him, she would have thought they were crazy. Yet, she had.

  She wasn't quite sure how it had happened. Her expression bemused, Tess gazed at the television, barely aware of the game show on the screen as she pondered the matter. The rocking chair continued to move at a steady, placid rhythm that matched the clack of her knitting needles.

  It had been a month since Ryan had declared his intention of taking over for Amanda. At first they had been stiff and ill at ease with each other, but once the class started, they forgot about everything but the baby and the awkwardness disappeared. There was no time for self-consciousness when you were working together to bring a new life into the world, even if you were merely rehearsing the event.

  With each succeeding day Ryan had seemed less angry, more approachable, and she had realized finally that he was making an effort to establish a rapport between them. True, he had remained reserved and wary, and at times he was still shockingly abrupt, but the tension between them had faded. So much so that Tess had even risked another dinner invitation.

  "I only want to thank you," she had tacked on anxiously before he could misinterpret. "You're doing so much for me. At least let me repay you with a home-cooked meal."

  He had not responded with cutting insults, but he'd still been reluctant to accept.

  "You shouldn't be standing on your feet cooking a big meal," he said, scowling at her. "That's too much work for someone in your condition."

  "Don't be silly. I'm in perfect health. It may take me longer to do things these days, but I'm not an invalid. Actually, you'd be doing me a favor. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to cook for one? And to tell you the truth, I get tired of eating alone."

  At the last, understanding and empathy flashed in his eyes for a fraction of a second, and for the first time Tess wondered if Ryan was as lonely as she was. Whatever, the tack proved to be the right one.

  Delighted to have someone to cook for, she outdid herself that night. Ryan and his son enjoyed the meal so much that after that she had no difficulty getting him to accept a dinner invitation, provided she allowed him to purchase the groceries for the meal. Soon, much to Mike's delight, the three of them were eating together two or three times a week.

  The dinners had helped to ease the tension between them, but the real breakthrough in the relationship had occurred two weeks ago when she had entered her ninth month.

  The knitting needles ceased their clicking, and Tess's hands fell idle in her lap atop the tiny half-finished garment, a wry smile tugging at her mouth at the memory of that morning.

  With a feeling of dread eating away at her, she had knocked on his door. Seconds later, he jerked it open, bristling with annoyance, but at the sight of her his scowl vanished and one brow arched.

  "Tess. What're you doing here so early?" His frown returned. "Is something wrong?"

  Tess didn't reply. She did not even hear him. All she could do was stare.

  Ryan was barefoot and bare-chested, his sole article of clothing a pair of unbuttoned jeans, which he had obviously pulled on in haste on his way to the door. He held a damp towel in his hands, using it to dab blobs of white foam off his face. He smelled of soap and shaving cream. Ringlets of wet hair hung across his forehead and beads of moisture clung to the dark curls on his chest.

  Tess stared helplessly at a droplet that trickled down through that silky pelt. Mesmerized, she tracked its darting path downward over his flat, muscle-ridged belly where, at last, it settled in his navel.

  Staring in that indentation with its surrounding swirl of dark hair, Tess tried to swallow, but her mouth was so dry it felt like cotton.

  "Dammit, Tess, answer me! What's wrong? Are you sick? Are you hurt?"

  She jumped, and her cheeks pinkened. She dragged her gaze away from his torso and forced herself to meet his glare. "N-no. No, I'm fine."

  "Then what the hell are you doing here at seven o'clock on Saturday morning?"

  "I...I wanted to catch you before you left. I, uh...I was wondering if I could get a rid
e with you to the grocery store today when you go?"

  His eyes narrowed. "All right. Out with it. What's wrong with your car this time?"

  "Nothing!"

  "Nothing, huh? Then why do you need a ride?"

  Her blush deepened. She did not want to tell him her reason, but he obviously would not be satisfied until she did. She looked away from that intense blue stare, only to encounter his bare chest again. Jerking her gaze to the side, she stared down the passageway. "There's nothing wrong with the car. I just can't drive it."

  "What the hell does that mean?"

  Tess sighed. She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, and her mouth turned down sourly. "It means I can't fit behind the wheel anymore. Not without pushing the seat all the way back. And when I do that I can't see over the darned hood."

  Ryan gaped at her. His gaze dropped to her now enormous belly, then returned to her sulky face. His lips began to twitch.

  Tess spotted the movement and gasped. "Don't you dare laugh!"

  The admonition had the opposite result. Ryan leaned weakly against the doorframe and let loose with a rich, full-throated laugh that sent goose bumps over her flesh.

  She was so startled by the sound coming from him and the transformation that laughter brought to his face, for an instant all she could do was gape. Recovering herself, she snapped her mouth shut, her shock turning to affront.

  "Oh! I should have known better than to come to you! Just forget it!" She spun on her heel and started to flounce off, but she had barely taken a step when he snagged her arm.