“I called Dr. Manning. She recommended a non-invasive paternity test called an SNP microarray. She gave me the name of a DNA lab here in Sacramento that performs it and offered to call them to set up an appointment for us as soon as possible.”
“Just tell me when and where and I’ll be there.”
“I’ll call her before I leave. Maybe they can take us today.”She set her bottle on the table and recapped it with a quick twist of her fingers. “So when should I move in?”
“Whenever you want.”
“How about the Friday after Thanksgiving?”
“Works for me. What are you doing for Thanksgiving, by the way? Are you spending it with your family?” he asked, hoping to alleviate the underlying tension in the room.
“Yes.”
“Are you going to have enough time to pack your stuff?” he asked, surprised that she didn’t want to wait until the last possible moment to move in. “When I moved from the townhouse I rented into this house it took me almost a month.” He grinned. “As has been pointed out to me for most of my life, I didn’t inherit my mom’s knack for organization.”
Angie’s shoulders visibly relaxed as she cast him a smile—the first genuine one he’d seen since she’d arrived. “I’m very organized and efficient. You’ll find that out once I move in.”
“I did notice how neatly your kitchen cabinet was arranged.” J.T. said, remembering the precisely stacked pots, pans and bowls. “Your head may explode when you see mine.”
She glanced past him to the cabinets, still smiling. “Is that fair warning? When I open them, will stuff fall out and clobber me?”
“It might,” he said, enjoying their unexpected camaraderie. “You may need a hard hat.”
Angie’s lilting laugh ebbed as she returned her sparkling gaze to his and gave J.T. a glimpse of the warm, relaxed and sexy woman he’d made love to all those weeks ago. Would he see that woman again once they were married? He hoped so…or it was going to be a long two years.
A furrow appeared between her eyebrows. “Have you told your family yet?”
“No.”
“How do you think they’ll react?”
“They’ll be surprised, but supportive.” He inclined his head. “Yours?”
“My mother is already upset that Scott and I broke up. When she finds out I got pregnant by a ballplayer she’s going to freak.”
J.T. frowned. That wasn’t the first time he’d heard that disparaging tone in her voice. “Do you have a problem with what I do for a living?” he asked, folding his arms over his chest.
“Why do you ask that?”
“You worked for the Blaze, yet you don’t seem to think highly of professional athletes.”
“I don’t,” she said in a terse voice. “And I rarely interacted with the players. I mainly dealt with suppliers and vendors.”
“I’m curious. What do you have against ballplayers?”
Her eyes turned bleak. “I’d rather not say.”
Although curious about her negative attitude toward athletes, he changed the subject. It was obvious whatever her bias was she wasn’t inclined to discuss it. “If you’d like, I can be with you when you tell your mother about us.”
Angie shook her head. “Thank you, but I need to break it to her alone. Trust me. It’ll be much better for both of us if you’re not there.”
* * *
The day after her trip to Sacramento, Angie sat at the Formica table in her mother’s kitchen with a cup of chamomile tea in front of her. An hour had gone by but, as of yet, she’d been unable to summon the courage to tell her mother about the baby or her upcoming marriage.
Coward.
Yes. That’s exactly what she was and there was no denying it. If the baby she was carrying were Scott’s there would be no issue—her mother would be over the moon at the thought of her first grandchild. But it wasn’t Scott’s baby, and when Selena DeMarco realized that she would be—as Grandma Sophia used to say—madder than a wet hen.
“How’s your tea?” her mother asked as she returned to the kitchen from the adjoining laundry room where she’d disappeared to throw some clothes in the washing machine.
“It’s good. I like this new brand you bought.”
Angie observed her mother as she opened the dishwasher and began to unload it. Selena DeMarco had once been a beautiful woman, but time and heartache had taken its toll. Her dark hair was getting grayer by the day, and the lines on her face had deepened. Her mother was only forty-eight yet she looked at least a decade older. It killed Angie that she’d be reminding her mother of a past they’d both been trying to forget. But she couldn’t hide the pregnancy forever, nor could she pack up and move to Sacramento without a good explanation, so it had to be done. And it had to be done today.
“Mom, sit down. There’s something I need to tell you.”
Turning from an open cabinet, her mother studied her face with worried eyes and frowned. “You’re not sick, or anything, are you?”
“No.” Angie gave her a wan smile.
Her mother moved to the table and sat down opposite her. “Well, something’s wrong. You’re pale and you’ve been unnaturally quiet. You’ve barely spoken a sentence since you got here.” She leaned forward, her expression filled with concern. “Is it the job search? Are you feeling blue about the lack of responses to your applications?”
“It’s not that, Mom.” Angie took sip of tea to steady her nerves. She lowered the cup and met her mother’s anxious gaze. “I’m pregnant,” she said, and kept her fingers wrapped around the warm cup to keep them from trembling.
“Pregnant?” she echoed and then surprised Angie by smiling broadly. “Why, that’s wonderful news.” Her eyes lit with excitement. “Now you and Scott can get married. After all, you’re having his baby. I’m sure you two can work out whatever differences you have.”
“It’s not Scott’s baby,” Angie said softly and steeled herself for the inevitable.
“But…” As Selena’s smile faltered Angie squirmed in her chair. She knew exactly what was coming next. “You cheated on him?”
“It was before we got engaged.” Her stomach churned and her pulse began to race. Even now, her mother’s disapproval still had the power to affect her.
“You still cheated on him.” Her mother immobilized her with an accusing stare. “How could you, Angela? After what your father did to me? To this family? You know how I feel about infidelity and then you…you go and do this?”
“Mom, it was one time. I didn’t plan for it to happen. It…it just did.”
“Who is he?” Selena demanded harshly. “Who’s the father?”
“J.T. Sawyer. He plays for the Blaze,” she added, bracing for the mother of all blowbacks.
Her mother’s eyes widened with shock. “You got pregnant by a baseball player?”
Angie swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded. “Yes.”
Her mother visibly stiffened and crossed her arms over her chest. Her blue eyes had turned glacial and her mouth was pressed into a grim line. Angie took another sip of her tea. This was going exactly the way she’d expected—not well. And—wait for it—she hadn’t even gotten to the marriage part yet.
“Pregnant by a ballplayer.” Selena shook her head in disgust. “Angela Marie DeMarco, I’m very disappointed in you.”
Oh crap. Not only had her mother used “Angela,” she’d included the dreaded middle name as well. That was never a good thing.
Angie hesitated and then plunged ahead. In for a penny, in for a pound, as Grandma Sophia would say. “There’s more.”
Selena mouth twisted with an ugly grimace. “What could be worse than this?”
“J.T. and I are getting married.”
“Are you insane?” Her mother’s voice sharpened with brittle anger. “You’re marrying him? After everything we went through with your father, you’re marrying him?”
“Mom, I remember everything we went through and trust me when I say that I won’t be mar
ried to J.T. for long. If I still had my job I wouldn’t be doing this at all. But other than my unemployment check, I have no other income. My health insurance is about to lapse, and I can’t afford to stay in my apartment for much longer. I have to marry J.T., but it’s just for two years. After that, I’m gone.”
Selena regarded her with suspicion. “Do you have feelings for him?”
Angie looked down at her cup. “No,” she whispered, and hated that she was lying to her mother. She did feel something when she was with J.T. she just wasn’t sure what it was. But it wasn’t love, of that she was certain. “And I’ve told him it’s a marriage in name only. We’ll have separate bedrooms.”
“He’s agreed to that?” Selena asked incredulously.
“Yes.”
“I don’t get it. Why is he marrying you? Most men in his position would just pay you off.”
“He doesn’t want his child to be born out of wedlock.”
Her mother made a sound bordering on a snort.
“I’m not marrying J.T. because I love him, Mom. I’ll divorce him in two years and that will be the end of it.”
“That’s what you say now, but what if you fall for him?” Selena’s stony expression softened a fraction. “I never want you to go through the same misery your father put me through.”
“Don’t worry,” Angie said confidently. “That will never happen. I have no intention of falling in love with J.T. Sawyer. No intention at all.”
Chapter Seven
The day before Thanksgiving, J.T. had just finished raking and bagging the leaves in the front yard of his parent’s house when his father pulled his Jeep Cherokee into the driveway and eased into the open garage. J.T. scanned the now immaculate lawn and flower beds and, satisfied with his efforts, he crossed the yard to the garage and hung the rake on its designated peg as his parents got out of the Cherokee.
“Could you help with the groceries?” his mother asked as she moved toward the door that lead to the kitchen. “And be careful. I bought eggs.”
He met his father at the back of the black SUV. “Thanks for taking care of those leaves,” Joe said as he opened the tailgate. “That’s one more thing I can cross off that honey-do list your mother gave me.”
“How extensive is that list?” J.T. grabbed the handles of two of the cloth bags his mother insisted on using for shopping and waited while his father reached inside the cargo area for the two remaining bags. It was his ritual to come over to the house before Thanksgiving and help his parents get ready for the big feast. Usually, one or more of his brothers were also on hand but today it was just him.
His father’s brows knitted together as he squinted. “Let’s see. I’ve still got windows to wash, and I have to bring in the banquet table and folding chairs from the shed out back and set them up so we can seat everyone who’s coming for Thanksgiving.”
“I’ll help you with that.” J.T. grinned. “The tables and chairs, I mean. I don’t do windows.”
Joe laughed. “I’ll get Josh to help with that.”
“How’s he doing?” J.T. asked as they walked to the door.
“Better. He’s finally come out of his room, and he went to the movies last night with a few of his friends from high school. Before you got here he headed off to Jake’s to work out.”
“Has he talked to Cindy?”
“Not that I’m aware of.”
J.T. followed his father into the kitchen, which was filled with the welcoming aroma of cinnamon and other spices. His mother had been baking for the past two days. Several pies sat on the counter closest to the oven, covered with cloth towels. “It’ll be easier when he goes back to school.”
“Probably. He told me yesterday that Cindy wanted to break up before she left for Boston but he talked her out of it.”
“So it wasn’t a complete surprise.” J.T. set the bags on the counter.
“No.” His father hefted his bags onto the counter next to his. “But it still hit him hard.”
“That first break-up is rough. I couldn’t eat for a week after Susie Carpenter dumped me in tenth grade.”
His mother came up behind him and put her hand on his back. “I think that was the first and only time you’ve ever lost your appetite.” She chuckled. “You wouldn’t even eat your favorite dessert.”
“Speaking of which.” J.T. grinned. “Are you making it for Thanksgiving?”
“Of course.” She patted his back. “Don’t I always?”
An hour later, after he’d helped his dad set up the tables and chairs in the living room, J.T. wandered into the kitchen and found his mom sitting at the breakfast bar with a cookbook open in front of her. She looked up and flashed him a warm smile. She’d gotten her hair cut since he’d come home a few weeks ago. It was now much shorter—a bob she’d called it. Whatever that meant. Short hair was short hair.
“How’s your training going with Jake?”
“He’s kicking my ass, that’s how it’s going.” J.T. rounded the counter and slid onto a stool next to her. “Yesterday I was so sore I had to get in the hot tub.”
“I may need a good soak in that hot tub myself.” His father entered the kitchen and grinned. “Your mother’s honey-do list just might do me in.” He leaned on the counter across from them and let out an exaggerated sigh. “You’re going to be the death of me yet, woman.”
His mother let out an amused snort. “You don’t do half the stuff on that list. You always get the boys to do it, so don’t complain to me about sore muscles or the like.”
His father shot him a conspiratorial smile. “She’s on to me.”
“I’ve been on to you for years, Joe Sawyer.” Sharon gazed affectionately at her husband and closed the cookbook. “Have either of you heard from Justin? I’ve left him several messages but he hasn’t called me to let me know if he’s coming for Thanksgiving.”
“I texted him yesterday but he didn’t text me back,” J.T. said, noting the concern on her face. “He did say we might not hear from him in a while, remember?”
“I know, but I hate the thought of not having all my boys home for Thanksgiving.” A frown furrowed her brow. “I wish he’d chosen another line of work.”
“He loves being a cop.” J.T. put his arm around her slim shoulders. “I’m sure he’s being careful.” He wasn’t as confident as he sounded. Justin liked taking risks and had ever since they were kids. If his brother hadn’t become a cop, he’d more than likely have ended up in some other dangerous profession, like a firefighter, or—since he loved cars—a race car driver.
“We’ll hear from him.” Joe pushed up from the counter, moved to the refrigerator and opened it. “One way or another, he’ll get a message to us.”
“Dad’s right.” J.T. lowered his arm from his mother’s shoulders and cleared his throat. “I need to tell you both something.” He’d been trying to find the perfect opportunity to tell his parents about Angie and the baby and, with only a couple of days left before Angie moved into his house, this, apparently, was it.
Sharon shifted on her stool, her face a mask of concern. “Have you been traded?”
“No.”
His father closed the refrigerator door, popped the top of his cola and studied him with shrewd hazel eyes, much like his own. “I was wondering when you’d get around to it.”
“What do mean get around to it?”
“Son, do you think we don’t know you? Something’s been bothering you ever since you came home.” His parents exchanged a glance as Joe moved back to the counter. “We’ve been waiting for you to tell us what’s going on.”
“We thought the Blaze were about to trade you but you didn’t want to tell us.” His mother pinned him with a worried gaze. “But if that’s not it, then what is it?”
He blew out a breath. This was it—truth time. “I’m getting married.”
His mother’s surprised gasp filled the silence. “You’re what?”
“I’m getting married.”
“I didn’t
realize you were dating anyone.” His father set the can on the counter and folded his arms across his chest.
“It’s complicated.”
“What does that mean?” his mother asked, then her expression changed and she gave him a smug smile. “You didn’t believe me, did you?”
J.T. frowned. “Believe you about what?”
“Love at first sight.” She sighed. “The first time I saw your father I knew he was the one. And now the same thing’s happened to you.” Her eyes sparkled as she leaned forward and put her hand on his forearm. “Was it like a bolt of lightning? That’s how it was for me. I almost couldn’t breathe.”
“Sort of,” he said before he could stop himself. He wasn’t in love with Angie, but the first time he’d seen her he’d had a reaction similar to his mother’s. That wasn’t love, more like unadulterated lust. He was pretty damn sure he knew the difference.
“When did you meet this girl?” his father asked. “What’s her name?”
“Her name is Angie DeMarco. I met her when I signed with the Blaze.”
“So you’ve known her a couple of years.”
J.T. shifted uncomfortably under his father’s penetrating perusal. As usual, his father was able to tell when he was shading the truth. But he wasn’t lying—he had met Angie two years ago. She just hadn’t given him the time of day until the night of her softball game.
“Yes,” he said and didn’t elaborate. There was no need for his parents to know it had been a one-night stand. Especially since he was about to drop an even bigger bomb. “She’s pregnant.”
“Pregnant?” His mother lifted a hand to her chest and stared at him in stunned surprise.
“Yes. You’re going to be grandparents,” he added, taking in their shocked expressions as silence enveloped the room.
Once the shock wore off, his father gave him a measured look. One similar to the one Matt had given him a few weeks ago. “That’s why you’re marrying her, isn’t it? Because you got her pregnant?”
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