“No way!” Lori retorted. “Let’s talk about something else.”
Jennifer examined the invitation, which involved an incredible number of envelopes and inserts. “I can’t believe how complicated this whole wedding business is.”
“Oh, I love it!” In the catalog spread before them, Lori indicated a glorious bouquet, along with smaller, coordinated arrangements for bridesmaids. “This is cool, don’t you think?”
“Absolutely,” Jennifer agreed.
“Anyway, a wedding may be complicated, but it doesn’t compare to adopting a baby.”
She had to smile. “They’re hardly the same thing.”
“It’s been a whole week,” Samantha observed. “Any second thoughts?”
“Not a one. But I’ll be glad when I’m done with the red tape.” Making long-term plans to keep Rosalie had involved details from figuring out how to add the baby to her medical insurance to finding an adoption lawyer, since Jennifer couldn’t expect Tony to handle all that.
Thank goodness for the baby equipment, which Ian had told her to keep. He’d e-mailed a couple of times and phoned on Wednesday to make sure she and Rosalie were doing well, but they hadn’t discussed anything personal.
Not that she had expected to. Whatever they’d shared would always remain a treasured moment and nothing more, no matter how often she awoke missing him or caught herself longing for a glimpse of his endearing smile.
She felt fortunate to have her friends, who’d stopped by frequently to offer support and give her a break while she ran errands. Samantha truly didn’t seem to harbor any ill feelings about being questioned. She’d said she was just glad they’d found the leak, and that Mark had agreed to let Judi continue volunteering.
“Motherhood is tough. I’d pick organizing a wedding any day.” Lori jotted down the number identifying the flower arrangement. Then, leaning over the carriage, she crooned to Rosalie, “Yes, you are adorable, and it’s fun to babysit you, but then I get to go home and play with Jared, and that’s even more fun.”
“But you like babies,” Samantha pointed out.
“In small doses.”
The pediatrician hesitated, but not for long. “Have you noticed that Jared likes babies, too? Sometimes he comes around the nursery and just watches them.”
“He’s a neonatologist,” Lori countered. “Of course he loves babies! But he doesn’t want one. He wants me.”
“He’s kind of young,” Jennifer ventured. “You don’t supposed in a few years he might change his mind?”
Instead of giving a direct answer, Lori riffled through the remaining pages in the catalog, scarcely glancing at the pictures. “Speaking of changing one’s mind, Esther doesn’t seem very interested in making preparations for her kid. All she talked about on the phone was Washington this and Washington that.”
“Whatever she’s up to, that little boy needs parents, and I feel kind of responsible,” Samantha admitted.
“Why on earth?” Jennifer asked.
“The surrogate mother is my hairdresser. I’m the one who connected them, in a way.”
Lori shut the catalog. “I can’t ethically join this discussion because the surrogate is Dr. Rayburn’s patient. Except to say that I really like her.”
“Still, it’s the Francos’ baby, right?” Jennifer said. “Once she gives birth, she’ll be out of the picture.”
Lori and Samantha exchanged glances. “It’s his baby,” the pediatrician said. “Esther wasn’t able to produce an egg.”
“You mean it’s the surrogate’s genetic child?” Jennifer said. “How could she give it up?”
“Kate liked the idea of helping an infertile couple,” Samantha replied. “She’d heard of another mom doing this and asked me about it, since I’m a doctor. I mentioned her to Tony.”
“Helping people is one thing, but having a baby for total strangers?” Jennifer couldn’t imagine doing that.
“It’s not just altruism. She’s a widow with a young son, and the Francos are paying a substantial amount. She mentioned wanting to establish a college fund.”
“Now, there’s one more thing I won’t have to worry about, since I’m not going to have kids.” The bride signaled to a clerk.
“What’s next on the agenda?” Jennifer asked.
“After I order the flowers, I want to check out a photographer.”
“Maybe I’ll schedule a portrait of Rosalie while we’re there,” Jennifer said. “Ian sent me some nice candid shots, but I’d like a picture suitable for framing.”
Samantha collected her purse. “I hope you guys will excuse me, but I have to bow out. That teen group I talked to begged me to come back. The girls have a lot of issues to discuss.”
“What you’re doing is wonderful,” Jennifer added.
“It’s a drop in the bucket. Well, see you later!”
A short time later, at the studio, Jennifer set an appointment for early the next afternoon. Then, while her friend met with the photographer, she pushed the baby carriage around the lobby, wistfully eyeing the glowing portraits of newlyweds, babies, recent graduates and families.
How handsome the fathers looked, dressed in dark suits, their sturdy presence anchoring the photos. When she was little, Jennifer used to long for a family like one of these with a real dad, not just Mimi’s latest squeeze. If she’d had a father to turn to, she doubted she’d have fallen for Frank. Her brother, Bob, might have gone to college instead of drifting through high school with barely passing grades, although he seemed to be finding himself in the army.
How ironic that Ian didn’t see himself fitting into one of these portraits. Jennifer’s chest tightened. She’d almost phoned him yesterday after someone at work pointed out the video of him challenging that oily judge. “It’s a father’s job to protect his family.”
He hadn’t merely been reciting a line to get a reaction. He’d lashed out in true outrage, blue eyes burning with passion, light hair flying in the breeze. Half the women on the planet had probably fallen in love with him.
Jennifer swallowed a lump in her throat. She wasn’t in love, but she’d skirted dangerously close. In any case, she was proud of Ian. It wasn’t often that men like Judge Wycliff who abused their position got called to account bluntly and publicly.
Lori joined her, carrying a sheaf of paperwork. “Thank goodness we got a lot done today,” the bride enthused. “Next weekend, once Esther gets back, we can decide on the cake and the rest of the menu.”
“Sounds good to me.”
At her car, Jennifer strapped Rosalie in the safety seat and folded the stroller away. “I’m glad I’ve got you,” she told the baby fiercely. “I’ll never let you down. I promise.”
The infant watched her intently, love evident in every sweet curve of her face and wriggle of her tiny body. What a precious gift.
Behind the wheel, Jennifer switched on the radio, tuned to an all-news station. Keeping abreast of events that might unexpectedly affect the hospital was part of her job.
After a commercial, the announcer’s deep voice proclaimed, “A spokesman at UCLA Medical Center says Judge Brandon Wycliff died today of a massive heart attack. The judge, who faced corruption charges for allegedly taking bribes, collapsed at his home during the night and was found this morning by a housekeeper.”
A chill ran through Jennifer. Despite her low opinion of the man, it bothered her that he’d died alone.
After pulling into her carport, she extracted Rosalie and wheeled her along a walkway toward their building. She scarcely noticed a blur of movement from a lounge chair in the common area until a man rushed toward her.
Her pulse rocketed. Almost at the same moment, to her relief, she recognized Ian. Far from the glamorous figure in the video, he had a coffee stain on his shirt and a strained redness to his eyes.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
“No.” He shoved both hands in his pockets. “No, I’m not sure I am.”
Jennifer hated seeing hi
m so distressed. Yet she was glad that, when he needed someone to turn to, he’d chosen her.
No matter where it led.
Chapter Thirteen
A call from the night editor at Flash News/Global had awakened Ian around 6:00 a.m. A local wire service that kept tabs on law enforcement and other emergency services was reporting Judge Wycliff’s death from a coronary.
Ian’s first thought had been, Why didn’t I tell him to see a doctor?
Because he wasn’t the man’s keeper, he’d reminded himself. Then he’d flown into action, racing to the bureau, leaving a message for Mrs. Wycliff requesting her reaction, and pushing until he managed to reach someone in the federal prosecutor’s office, who insisted the investigation would continue, focusing on those suspected of attempting to buy justice.
Eventually a spokeswoman had returned his call to read a statement saying that Mrs. Wycliff and her daughter wished to mourn privately. Funeral arrangements would be private.
Ian couldn’t stop thinking about the daughter. Despite Wycliff’s faults, he’d deserved a chance to reconcile with her, to apologize. If not for his own sake, then for hers.
Maybe if Ian hadn’t pressed so hard, he’d have lived long enough to get the chance.
You aren’t God. You don’t cause people to suffer heart failure. But he hadn’t done anything to help the man, either.
At his editor’s request, Ian had driven to the courthouse and stood in front to record a video segment about the judge’s demise. Then he’d returned to the bureau to update the written story as new information came in.
Through it all, a hard knot had formed in Ian’s gut. Coffee couldn’t wash it away, and hard work failed to dissolve it. He had to find a place where the people around him weren’t celebrating the story as if he’d scored some kind of coup. He had to talk to someone who might understand that a man’s death was a tragedy, no matter how unworthy a life he’d led.
Finally he’d signed out and driven to Safe Harbor. He supposed he should have called ahead, but he hadn’t wanted to risk a polite refusal. When he discovered that Jennifer was out, he’d simply tried her at her condo. She wasn’t at home, so he tumbled into the nearest lounge chair and waited.
Now that she’d finally arrived, the concern on her face nearly unraveled him. “Can we talk?” he choked out.
“Sure.” She didn’t ask what this was about. Maybe she’d already guessed.
Inside the condo, she settled on the couch. Ian remained on his feet, unable to stop pacing.
Hard to realize that little more than a week had passed since he’d first set foot in this place. It seemed so familiar now, as did the beautiful woman holding the baby in the crook of her arm. Ian felt as if months had passed—and as if he’d been away far too long.
“I’m sorry,” he blurted.
“For what?” As she adjusted the bottle for Rosalie, Jennifer radiated serenity.
The sight of them steadied him. “For barging in without calling. I needed to be around someone normal. Someone decent who doesn’t think having a judge drop dead is a terrific media event.”
“I feel bad for his family,” she said. “Especially his daughter.”
“I met her, just for a minute. She seemed so vulnerable.” Ian ran his fingers roughly through his hair, not caring how randomly it sprang back. “I could see he wasn’t well, but I kept grilling him. That’s the way you have to act in an ambush interview. Strike hard and startle them into saying something quotable.” He heard the scorn cutting through his words, scorn at his own behavior.
“You think your aggression caused his heart attack? Ian, that’s impossible,” Jennifer chided.
He tried to figure out why this bothered him so much. “I lost my objectivity,” he admitted. “I stopped being a reporter and became an advocate. Who the hell do I think I am? The person who deserved an advocate was Libby, and what did I do? Took away her father.”
“Stop,” Jennifer said.
He was being unfair in unloading on her. “I apologize, again. This isn’t your problem.”
Starting to lean forward, she accidentally jostled the baby, who let out a squeak of protest. Putting Rosalie to her shoulder, Jennifer patted the little one’s back. “I meant, stop beating up on yourself, Ian. You were magnificent.”
He stared at her blankly. “Magnificent at what?”
“On the video. You did a great job. He deserved to be confronted with the hard questions.”
“Those weren’t questions, it was a speech. Hardly the stuff of fair reporting.” Restlessly, he cut a trail around the carpet.
“What’s with you?” Jennifer asked quietly. “You don’t sound like the same man who stepped all over my toes the night we met.”
“Excuse me?”
“That interview in the hallway. You kept prodding me on my sore point, about whether I wanted a baby. All you cared about was making an impact on video.”
He recalled how determined he’d been to find a story, no matter what. Still, he hadn’t been that big a jerk. “Public relations is your job. You were fair game.”
“And Judge Wycliff wasn’t?”
Ian had to concede the point. “Well, sure.”
Jennifer resumed feeding the baby. “Why do you feel responsible for his daughter?”
The query startled him. “I guess it comes from being around Rosalie. She’s so helpless.”
“No more than any other infant.”
“That’s the point. Adults have an obligation to protect kids. All kids, and especially the ones who depend on them.”
Ian stopped pacing to study the tiny girl. He’d never worried about his nieces, probably because they were so far off and seemed secure. But he’d seen Sunny hand over Rosalie and heard the story of her uncaring, self-centered father. At a gut level, he felt as if she’d been entrusted to Jennifer and, in some ways, to him.
Why the hell am I thinking that?
“Here.” Jennifer tossed him a small blanket. “Put that on your shoulder.”
There was barely time to comply before she transferred the baby into his arms. Incredibly small, fragrant with baby powder and yet solid, Rosalie nestled against him with a contented sigh. “I think she recognizes me.”
“You’ve been around her a lot. Samantha says babies recognize their mothers’ odor, so why not yours?”
Ian winced. “I hate to think how I smell after a day at the bureau. Stale coffee, stress and old cigarette smoke.” That particular stench had seeped so deeply into the furniture that it lingered even though workplace smoking had been banned in California for years.
“She can tell it’s you under there,” Jennifer murmured. “Anyway, there’s nothing like holding a baby to reconnect you to what matters in life.”
What matters in life. Like becoming a father, as Viktor had. Suddenly, it struck Ian that he wanted that, too. Not right away, but someday. “I’ve heard of maternal instincts, but I didn’t know it happened to men.”
“Guess you were wrong.”
On the other hand, he didn’t mean to give the impression that he was about to chuck his dreams for some desk job. Concerned, he studied Jennifer’s face for any sign that she was making assumptions. Years ago, he’d dated a woman for a few months in London, when he was twenty-five and barely mature enough to keep track of his laundry. One day, she’d begun insisting they could save money by moving in together. After a new assignment came through, he was embarrassed to recall, he’d broken up with her by phone and caught the next plane out of England.
Now, however, Ian detected nothing more than amusement in Jennifer’s expression. For reasons he’d rather not think about, that gave him a twinge of disappointment.
“Tired?” she asked, apparently mistaking his silence for weariness.
“No. Just restless.”
“You could use a minivacation.”
“What did you have in mind?”
“Nothing beats lying on the sand listening to the waves.” She slanted him a grin.
“Now that school’s back in session, we should be able to find a parking space.”
“You, my lady, are a genius.”
“Not even close.”
“I beg to differ. I’ll bet you look brilliant in a bikini.”
“Let’s find out.”
It wasn’t only holding a baby that reconnected a man to what mattered, Ian reflected as he handed over Rosalie and went to fetch the swim trunks from his duffel bag. It was also being around a woman who understood what he needed even before he did.
Scary. But exhilarating, too.
JENNIFER DID HER BEST to fix that afternoon in her mind. The sparkle of sun on water as Ian cut through the waves, swimming out until she lost sight of him against the horizon, and then stroking his way back. The brightness in Rosalie’s cheeks as, protected by a beach umbrella, the well-wrapped baby lolled on an oversize towel. The tangy flavor of fried clams dipped in chili sauce, bought from a nearby seafood shop.
And later, the grit of sand beneath their feet as she and Ian showered together, and the slow build of passion as their water-slicked bodies came together. The sodden tangle of towels tossed aside, the rush to her bed, the longed-for coupling that drove out everything else in a burst of pure joy.
Afterward, curled against Ian, Jennifer was grateful that he’d come to her when he needed comfort. Was it really impossible to have a relationship with a man who spent most of his life on the road? They might never have more than moments like these, but wasn’t that better than nothing? She’d long ago recognized that the kind of man she craved would never, in the long run, turn out to be the kind of man she could lean on.
She’d have to be careful how she broached the subject, though. If only he felt the same way.
On Sunday morning, breakfast had become an almost familiar ritual, not taken for granted, yet comfortable. “We might even use up some of these jams and jellies,” she commented as they lingered over coffee.
“I could bring you more—” He broke off.
The Would-Be Mommy Page 12