The Baby Clause: A Christmas Romance

by Tara Wylde

  Unable to resist, I slip it out of the box and hold it up to the light for a better look. Engraved in an elegant script on the inside of the band, I read the words:

  Together, for the rest of time- Love, Paul

  It’s an engagement ring. And not the kind of ring Paul would have found in the first jewelry store he walked into. He went hunting for this, looking for something he knew I’d love because something this big is important.

  The rings slides smoothly onto my ring finger and feels completely natural there, which is strange because I rarely wear any kind of jewelry on my hands. I never want to take it off.

  Realization sucker punches me.

  I see the situation from his perspective. Here he is planning a future with me, and I refuse to tell him about something huge in my life. And even though it wasn’t my intention, he’s right; the way I’ve behaved does make it seem like he’s unimportant to me.

  I’m such an idiot.

  I need to find him. Tell him I’m sorry. Beg him to forgive me.

  Hopefully it’s not too late.

  I race down the stairs, nearly tripping over my feet in my haste to catch up with him. Not that much time has passed, so he can’t have gone too far. As long as he follows our usual course, making a left turn and cutting through that narrow alleyway between my building and the boutique next door rather than turning right and going someplace other than the dog park, I should be able to catch him.

  I dart through the Blind Pig and push open the door, barely taking time to reset the security system before running to the left.

  “Please have gone this way,” I say to no one in particular as I hit a fast jog, catching the attention of the late-night Christmas Eve shoppers. “Please don’t be so mad at me that you can’t forgive me.”

  I skid to a stop at the mouth of the alley. During the day, I don’t give a second thought to using it as a short cut, but now, the lack of illumination and deep, dark shadows gives me pause. My hand moves to my stomach, protecting my child, as I weigh my options. Run down a scary alley and maybe catch up with Paul, who might not have even gone this way, or take the long way around the boutique…

  In the months that I’ve been living in this area, I’ve talked to lots of people who use this alley as a shortcut and no one has ever mentioned anything bad happening in it, so surely, this one time, it’s okay to throw caution to the wind.

  Pulse jumping in my throat, I put my head down and run as fast as I can, positive I feel eyes following my every step as I race through the narrow space. With every step, I expect to feel someone’s hands close around my ponytail, yanking me backwards and off my feet.

  I burst out of the shadows and onto a well-lit sidewalk, nearly crying with relief. I never realized how reassuring street lights are.

  The foot traffic on this street is considerably lighter than on the other side of the alley. There’s only one or two people around. It only takes me a second to spot Atticus’s plumed tail and the tall man walking beside him.

  “Paul,” I yell.

  My boots click against the concrete as I run, my skirt whipping around my leg. Ahead of me, Paul keeps walking. Either he didn’t hear me, or he’s ignoring me.

  A black mini-van with the name of a lawn care service painted in big letters on the side rolls past me as I call out a second time. “Paul!”

  This time he hears me. As he and Atticus turn to face me, the mini-van glides toward him, the brake lights glowing bright red. It slams to a halt beside Paul. A door slides open and two men jump out.

  What the …

  Horrified, I watch as they grab Paul. He drops the dog leash and cocks his arm back, but before he manages a single blow, one of the goons drives a fist into his gut. The force of the blow doubles Paul over, making him fall to his knees. Using his sudden vulnerability to their advantage, the goons grab him by the arms and half lift, half drag him toward the van.

  They force him inside. I scream and force my legs to move even faster, knowing I’m too far away to stop them. Why isn’t anyone else around? Why isn’t anyone rushing to his rescue?

  I scream at the top of my lungs, begging them to let him go even as they force him into the van.

  Atticus leaps forward, his tiny feet barely touching the ground as he races toward the mini-van. He launches himself at the man, his mouth connecting with the back of the thug’s thigh.

  The goon throws back his head and howls, before reaching back and swatting my dog, breaking his connection to the thigh and sending his thin body careening to the cold concrete.

  The goons leap into the van just as its tires start to move. Atticus scrambles to his feet as they start to roll the sliding side door closed. He makes another leap and manages to get his body into the van a split second before the door slam shuts. Tires scream as the driver steps on the gas, sending the vehicle down the road in a crooked line.

  “No!” Screaming, I run after the van, not caring that I don’t have a prayer of catching it.

  34

  Paul

  I’m manhandled past a single bucket seat and into the van’s cargo area. A hard shove from behind sends me crashing to my knees. Before I can catch myself, I tip forward and slam my head, hard, into the van’s wall. Dark shadows appear at the edges of my vision and pain radiates across my skull.

  I collapse onto a I lie on top of a pile of hoses, rakes, and a broken bag of potting soil and focus on trying to catch my breath.

  I’d expected to spend tonight tucked in front of a pretty Christmas tree, sipping wine and watching an old Bing Crosby Christmas movie with Lara. I never dreamt my evening could possibly take such a funny turn.

  I would have sworn that fighting with Lara and learning how little I mattered to her would be the low point of my day, but nope. That has nothing on getting kidnapped with a hairless dog off a Chicago street on Christmas Eve.

  Atticus lies down beside me. His cold, moist nose touches my cheek.

  “I’m fine, buddy,” I whisper. Based on his swollen side and the way his breath is wheezing in and out, he’s in more serious trouble than I am.

  The woman driving the van, laughs manically, as the smaller of the two goons bends low and grabs a pair of garden sheers off the ground before approaching me.

  Atticus curls his lips, showing his sharp teeth, and growls.

  “Easy, Atticus,” I murmur, not liking the way the man is looking at him, or the way he’s holding the hedge clippers. Atticus stops growling, but beneath his parka, his body remains tense.

  “You little bastard, I’m going to kill you.”

  I don’t know if he’s talking to me or the dog.

  “Raymond.” The driver snaps a warning.

  His fingers flex on the clippers. “The little shit bit me.”

  “You’ll live. We’re lucky we got the damn dog. Gives us more leverage against her.”

  Her? They must be talking about Lara, meaning that these are the idiots who have been trying to bully her into giving up the Blind Pig, but why?

  “But Mom, we got him.” Raymond jerks his chin in my direction. “And that was more than we was hoping for. What do we need the damn dog for?”

  The van hits a pothole, sending my aching head into the wall for a second time. Raymond stumbles and scrambles for balance, but maintains his grip on the hedge clippers.

  “Just because she’s sleeping with him it don’t mean he’s important to her. But we know she loves the dog.”

  It’s a valid point. Raymond might not be the smartest guy, but even he gets it. But he’s not happy about it.

  Goon number two sits sideways in the passenger seat. “This was a bad idea.”

  “It was a good opportunity, James,” the driver retorts. “We would have been idiots if we hadn’t jumped on it. Nobody saw us but her, and since she saw us, she’ll know we’re not lying when we tell her that the only way she sees her love and her pet again is if she signs the building over to us.”

  “We are idiots,” James retorts.
<
br />   “Just call her and tell her our ransom conditions,” the woman demands. “Raymond, tie up our guest. We don’t want him getting any bright ideas and trying to escape before that bitch gives us the deed. There’s some twine floating around back there.”

  Raymond drops to his knees and picks at the flotsam of debris until he comes up with several lengths of twine. Without standing up, he moves towards me.

  Without taking my eyes off Raymond, I shift Atticus as far away as possible. I don’t trust the dog not to attack a second time, and if he does, his mother’s warning won’t be enough to stop Raymond from killing him. I refuse to have Atticus’s death on my consciences.

  The dog whines and flinches when I him pick up, cementing the idea that he’s really hurt. I need to think of some way of getting us out of this van and to a dog hospital as soon as possible.

  Raymond places the tip of the hedge clippers against my throat. Breath that smells like stale beer and cigarettes washes over my face. I struggle not to gag.

  “I might not be allowed to kill you,” he growls, “but if you give me any problems, I will maim you. Now put your hands behind your back.”

  Seeing no other option, I obey.

  Raymond presses clippers deeper into my flesh, the pressure against my trachea causing me to wince and cough. I feel a chill as a trickle of blood rolls down my throat.

  “Don’t try anything stupid,” Raymond warns before easing up on the pressure and placing the clippers on the floor. He leans around and quickly binds my wrists together. Atticus stays close to my side, but doesn’t bite or growl.

  An experimental tug reveals that not only am I not wiggling out of the restraints anytime soon, but I’ll be lucky if I don’t lose all circulation to both hands.

  “Shit,” the driver swears as Raymond straightens.

  “What?” James asks.

  “There. Do you see those?”

  “I told you this was a stupid idea.” Panic sends James’s voice up a full octave. “There’s no way we’ll get away with this.”

  The van picks up speed and makes a sharp right turn. I and several lawn care implements slide across the floor.

  Raymond sits down but stretches, looking out the back window.

  And I hear the most beautiful sound in the world. Sirens.

  35

  Paul

  “Son of a bitch,” the driver howls. The van leaps forward and she jerks the wheel, taking a corner on two wheels.

  “What the hell are you doing?” James roars.

  “Trying to lose them.” Another two-wheeled turn that sends everyone crashing into the opposite side of the van.

  Despite the increased speed, the sirens are growing louder. It sounds like more than one car is already in pursuit, and with the way she’s driving, it won’t be long before she attracts the attention of every cop in Chicago.

  “Stop it,” I yell, adding my voice to the din created by the two goons that grabbed me. One is encouraging her to go faster, while the other begs her to be reasonable and stop.

  The string wrapped around my wrists slices into my skin as I fight against it. “You can’t outrun them. You’re only going to get us killed.”

  But she’s past the point of reason, was probably already there before I was grabbed. The only thing on her mind is putting distance between herself and the cops, convinced if she can just drive fast enough, make enough spur of the moment turns, she’ll outmaneuver them and drive to freedom. She seems to be unaware that, while she might be able to outpace their cars, there’s no way she can outrun their radios.

  And with every top speed, hair-spin turn, she decreases the odds of any of us making it out of this van alive and in one piece.

  Heart pounding, I close my eyes and fill my thoughts with Lara. I don’t want to die. I want to spend the rest of my life with her, watching the baby we’ve created grow up, teaching them everything I know, being there as they change the world.

  It’s strange how quickly things change. Just a few hours ago, my life seemed perfect. I had a ring in my pocket and big plans to spend the rest of my life with Lara, holding her, basking in the glory of her brilliant smile, sleeping beside her every night. I was just one question away from finally having everything I always wanted.

  If only I’d stayed in her apartment rather than running off in a huff.

  There’s nothing, absolutely nothing, I wouldn’t give to go back and change things. To be with Lara right this very second.

  “Look out,” James yells, and the blind panic in his voice makes me tense.

  The driver shouts a warning and yanks on the wheel. The two men scream. I wedge myself against the wall in a desperate attempt to stabilize myself against whatever is about to happen.

  She’s going too fast.

  The van loses its grip on the road and tilts to the side, balancing precariously on two wheels for a half second before the side I’m leaning against slams to the ground.

  An enormous body crashes into mine, pinning me in place as blood fills my mouth. I spit it out, grateful to still be alive, when a car slams into the back end of the van. The last sound I hear before everything goes black is the sound of metal scraping against asphalt as the impact forces the van forward.

  And judging by the force of the impact, into oncoming traffic.

  36

  Paul

  At first the blackness filling my mind, blocking me from the world, is terrifying, but as soon as it starts fading, I wish it wouldn’t. The blackness serves an important purpose. It insulates my mind from my physical pain.

  The more my consciousness returns, the more aware I become of two things. The stomach-twisting pain in my head and the all too familiar prick of hedge clippers against my throat.

  I open my eyes to narrow slits and bright light slices into my corneas.

  Police cars surround the crumpled minivan, their spotlights swiveled toward it, turning the officers standing by the open back door into shadowy figures, effectively hiding their identities.

  I don’t like the guns they’ve aimed in Raymond’s direction any more than I like the hedge clippers pressed to my throat.

  “Let him go,” one of the officers demands.

  I recognize his voice. Liam. Lara’s friend. The same guy who inadvertently clued me in to Lara’s secret.

  “No,” Raymond snarls. “The only way I’m letting him go is if you get the treasure for me and let me go.”

  Treasure? The multiple bumps to the skull must have affected my hearing.

  “What are you talking about?” Liam demands.

  “The treasure buried in the old bank. It belongs to us, not that bitch who claims to own it.” Raymond’s fingers clutch my hair, pulling my head back to expose more of my neck.

  The tips of the twin blades dig deeper into my flesh and I groan.

  Something near my hip moves. Startled, I roll my eyes downward just in time to see Atticus slowly climb to his feet, his parka-clad body shaking, though I can’t tell if it’s from fear or pain.

  Atticus’s eyes peer up at me, reading my expression before they shift to Raymond and he leaps into the air.

  Even as I draw a breath to command Atticus to stay, his small body connects with my left shoulder, the unexpected weight forcing my torso backwards, ripping my hair from Raymond’s grip and pushing me away from the deadly clippers.

  As I tumble to the ground, Atticus makes another leap, and sinks his teeth into Raymond’s thick wrist. The thug lashes out, smashing the little dog’s body against the asphalt. Atticus lets out a heart rending squeal.

  But his sacrifice buys me just enough time to do what I need to.

  End this.

  37

  Paul

  “Dude.” Liam slides behind the wheel of his police cruiser and gapes at me in the passenger seat. “Do you realize that you’re like the luckiest man on the face of this planet tonight?”

  “Kidnapped, concussed, almost stabbed, practically shot,” I remind him. “I’m not feeling
lucky.”

  Liam puts the cruiser in gear and slowly guides it through the maze of squad cars and emergency vehicles. “Just think of how things could have turned out. You’re damned lucky to be alive right now.”

  I look down at the tiny body on my lap and wince.

  Atticus blinks and licks my hand, almost like he’s trying to tell me he’s okay. I wish I believed him, but I don’t have to be a doctor to know that his right front leg is broken, or that there’s something wrong with his side.

  “How long until we get to the emergency veterinary clinic?” I don’t care how much it costs, I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure Atticus gets the medical care he needs. And even then I’ll owe him a debt of gratitude for risking his life to save mine. Twice.

  “Um…” Liam bites his lip and makes a right turn onto the road. “Look, I get why you’d want to stay with the little guy, but I really think it would be better if I dropped you off at that fancy fertility clinic, and then I drive your dog to the vets.”

  “The Loving Embrace clinic? Why?”

  Liam shifts his weight from side to side and sends me a sympathetic look. “It came over the radio while we were pursuing the van. Lara slipped on some ice. I guess she went down pretty hard. I don’t have all the details, but I do know that an ambulance picked her up and took her there. Dispatch said she was really scared about the baby.”

  Ice coats my heart. I forget how to breathe. I was scared in the van, but that’s nothing compared to the fear of knowing that Lara and our baby might be in trouble.

  “Get me there right now.”

  38

  Lara

  “Come on,” I urge the cell phone in my hand. “Ring.”

  Nothing. The blasted thing remains silent.