Whose Baby?

by Janice Kay Johnson

  How disconcerting to discover that she still secretly wished he would notice her. Not as if she really truly wanted him, but because his attention would mean she had arrived. She could be one of those girls who casually slipped an arm around any boy’s waist, who laughed with him and boldly asked him to dance and assumed she would have a date on Friday night.

  No, it wasn’t that she wanted Adam Landry to share her unnerving awareness. Heaven forbid. He was the enemy. He only represented something to her. He awakened inchoate girlish longings she’d thought long dead. He was a symbol.

  She grimaced when the girls weren’t looking her way and wondered for the forty-second time: Why couldn’t Shelly’s birth father have been a nice plumber with a tub of his own?

  “See? This is my room,” Rose said shyly.

  “Ooh,” Shelly breathed, and Lynn’s heart sank anew.

  Right behind her daughter, she stepped into a young girl’s fantasy kingdom, all pink and purple, with shelves and shelves of dolls, some porcelain, some meant for play. And horses—Breyer’s statues of the Black Stallion and Misty of Chincoteague and a unicorn with a glittering horn. The gleaming mahogany rocking horse was an objet d’art, not a child’s plaything. Rose had her very own cushioned window seat heaped with stuffed animals, and a small Ferrari parked in front of a huge pink plastic Barbie house, completely furnished.

  Lynn stood there with her mouth open. Her worst fear had come true. Rose would never want to visit her. Shelly would never want to come home.

  He had bought his victory.

  SHE’D TRIED. Adam had to give her that. She clearly didn’t want to stay any more than he wanted her to.

  Or so he told himself. If he were being brutally honest, he’d admit that he had sweated all week over this visit. He felt inadequate enough with Rose. What in hell would he do if Shelly skinned her knee and cried or got homesick and wanted her mommy?

  His mother wasn’t a feminine woman. A potter, she had most often worn denim overalls and rubber boots she could hose off. Barb Landry was a creative, passionate, intelligent woman, and not for a moment even in his childhood would he have traded her in for any of his friends’ mothers, but she hadn’t been terribly interested in her son’s childish problems, either. She wanted nothing more than to be back in her studio, as if the spinning of her potter’s wheel had mesmerized her so that she could never wander far from it. He’d always known, when she made him lunch or looked at his artwork or helped with homework, that she would have preferred to be footing a bowl or delicately incising a pattern in a vase or experimenting with firing temperatures.

  From her he’d learned to focus with an intensity most people couldn’t manage. A single-minded commitment to work brought success. He’d learned the power of words and books and ideas. He’d grown up to be self-sufficient.

  He hadn’t learned a damned thing about parenting. Especially, about parenting a little girl.

  Adam envied and resented Lynn Chanak’s ease with both Shelly and Rose. He doubted she ever wondered whether she was doing everything wrong. Her ability to talk warmly and directly to a child without patronizing was exactly why he didn’t want her here. In comparison, he felt wooden, even less capable of appearing to be the perfect father-figure than usual.

  Her same ability explained his relief when she’d graciously agreed to stay.

  It didn’t explain why he couldn’t seem to take his gaze from her nicely rounded hips and tiny waist as he followed her down the hall. Today she wore a little black miniskirt that exposed plenty of leg and fit her bottom like…

  He swallowed an expletive. The completion of that sentence was a figure of speech. His hands had no business on her butt.

  When she paused in Rose’s bedroom doorway, his gaze moved upward to the generous swell of breasts barely disguised by a plum-colored silky shirt loose over a white tank top. He wondered if she knew the lace of her bra showed through the thin ribbed knit tank.

  Then there was her hair, gathered into a high ponytail that spilled thick auburn curls to the middle of her back. The wanton disorder of those curls was an intriguing contrast to her slender, pale neck and firm chin. Her hair would be glorious tumbled across a pillow.

  Adam almost groaned at the lurch of sexual desire. Unlike many men, he didn’t make a habit of seeing every woman as a sexual object. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d pictured a woman in his bed.

  This was sure as hell not the one to start with.

  Think of Rose, he told himself. Think of Shelly, and the god-awful mess all their lives already had become.

  His mouth twisted. Add even a flirtation, and he and Lynn wouldn’t have a hope of achieving the friendly, flexible, rational relationship they would need to make this bizarre attempt to share their daughters work.

  Through his preoccupation Adam finally became aware that Lynn had been silent for too long. Still on the threshold of Rose’s bedroom, Lynn studied every shelf, every corner, with a care that made him nervous. What was wrong? Had he tried too hard?

  “Does she know how lucky she is?” Lynn asked.

  He plumbed her tone for sarcasm and came up with sadness. Because she’d never be able to buy as much for Shelly?

  “I wanted everything to be perfect for her.” He took a step closer, looking over her shoulder into his daughter’s room, where both girls crouched in front of the Barbie house and talked animatedly. “I wasn’t trying to spoil her.”

  “I didn’t say you were.”

  “But you don’t like her room.”

  She gave him an anguished look. “It’s fairyland. What little girl wouldn’t be thrilled?”

  He still didn’t get it. “You think Shelly will be jealous?”

  Her smile trembled. “I think she won’t want to come home.”

  Adam felt stupid for not understanding. “You can’t buy love.” Although Rose’s room looked as if he’d tried, he saw suddenly.

  The next instant, he squashed his chagrin. Damn it, he’d worked hard for his success! He sure as hell wasn’t going to be ashamed of his ability to buy his daughter what she wanted.

  “No. You can’t buy love.” But she didn’t sound certain. “It’s all so neat. Did you clean specially for Shelly’s visit?”

  His grunt held little amusement. Here was the kicker. “Rose doesn’t play with most of this stuff. She doesn’t want to be up here by herself. She has friends over once in a while, but otherwise…” He shrugged.

  Rose still cried at night, too. A couple of times a week she crept down the hall, whimpering, and slipped into bed with him. The books he’d read said parents should never let their children sleep with them, but sometimes he weakened. He’d never been good at listening to his Rosebud cry herself to sleep.

  One more thing he wished he could ask other parents, but didn’t have the nerve. Did other three-year-olds need a diaper at night? Did they wake with nightmares, fear the shadows in the closet?

  He had done everything he could to make Rose’s bedroom beautiful and friendly. Obviously he lacked the knack. If Jennifer had been here…

  But she wasn’t. All he could do was his best.

  “I’d better go work on lunch,” he said abruptly.

  Lynn gave him a distracted glance. “Can I help you?”

  “It’s a one-man job.”

  As he turned away, she went into Rose’s bedroom. All the way back to the kitchen he could hear her voice, sweetly feminine and bubbling with delight, as she chattered with the girls. He had no doubt she would admire everything Rose most loved and succeed in entrancing his daughter. She would know exactly what to say, would feel perfectly comfortable sitting cross-legged on the floor joining in their games.

  He’d expected Rose to talk about Shelly this past week, and she had. What he hadn’t anticipated was that she’d also keep bringing up Lynn’s name.

  Tuesday, on the way home from day care, she had pulled her thumb from her mouth and said out of the blue, “Lynn is prettier than Amanda’s mommy.” />
  Amanda’s mommy was sensational, all legs and cleavage and pouty mouth, but as it happened he agreed with Rose. Lynn was prettier.

  Wednesday, in the middle of Ann’s dinner, Rose had said shyly, “Lynn is funny, isn’t she?”

  Lynn had freckles, Rose had also told him another day, as if he hadn’t noticed. And she ran fast, didn’t she?

  Lynn, it appeared, had acquired a fan club. And he was jealous. Adam swore under his breath and savagely chopped a green pepper, then scraped it into a bowl.

  He’d moved on to whacking an onion when he realized he was no longer alone.

  She stood hesitantly just inside the kitchen. “You could use help.”

  “I can chop. It’s one of my few kitchen skills.”

  Her smile looked too damn much like Rose’s.

  “Are you sure you have enough for me? Shelly is more comfortable now. I could probably get away.”

  “No. I should have suggested this in the first place.”

  She nodded seriously, her ponytail bobbing. “Why don’t we do the same next week? You join us for lunch, then slip away for a bit. There’s no reason not to take it slowly.”

  He resented her wisdom, as well as the implicit truth: they had years to get to know their respective daughters. This relationship was damn near as permanent as marriage.

  “You’re right,” he said curtly.

  She bit her lip. “I’m sorry.”

  “For what?” He looked up, jaw muscles locked.

  Antagonism flared to life in Lynn’s eyes. “No. I have nothing to be sorry for, except that this happened in the first place. I won’t apologize again.”

  Adam swore and shoved the cutting board away, setting down the knife. “Well, I will. I’m being a jackass. I just… Oh, hell. I had visions of my two daughters and I having a carefree day. The truth is, I have no idea how to talk to Shelly. I’m not exactly a natural parent. Not the way you are.”

  Shock replaced the hostility. “But Rose obviously adores you. Why on earth would you think…”

  He immediately regretted having opened his big mouth. “Forget it. I’m just not used to kids. You think when you have your first baby that the two of you will learn together.”

  “Yes,” Lynn said softly, that indefinable sadness creeping over her. “You do.”

  He wasn’t the only one raising a daughter alone, he belatedly remembered. “How long ago were you divorced?”

  “Six months after Shelly was born—” She stopped abruptly. Shelly, of course, was not the baby born to her that day. “Three years ago,” Lynn amended.

  “What happened?” None of his business, of course, but he found himself unexpectedly curious about her, not just Shelly.

  “Oh, it was a mistake from the beginning,” she said vaguely. “Having a baby didn’t help. It wasn’t his idea.”

  He made a sound and reached for the fresh mushrooms. “Jennifer wanted a baby so badly. She had a couple of miscarriages.” Now why had he told her that? “When she got past four months with her pregnancy, she was so happy.” His throat closed.

  “And then she never knew…” Lynn pressed her lips together. “That must haunt you.”

  “You could say so.” He cleared his throat. “I want you to understand why I need to be part of Shelly’s life.”

  “I do,” she said so quietly he just heard her. Lynn had bowed her head and was staring down at the pattern she was tracing on the tile counter. Her face was colorless and vulnerable when she looked up. “But I still won’t let you have her.”

  Was that what he’d hoped? If so, he’d been a fool.

  “We’re stuck with each other,” he said.

  “It would seem so.” She sounded as conflicted as he felt.

  Adam set down the knife for the second time. He held out his hand across the kitchen island. “Well, Ms. Chanak, I suggest we make the best of it.”

  This smile, a twist of her lips, didn’t produce dimples or the tiny crinkle of lines on the bridge of her nose. Her gray-green eyes remained grave as she took his hand, her own small and fragile in his stronger grip. “You have a deal.”

  Somehow her hand lingered in his; somehow he was reluctant to let her go. Solidarity, he told himself. Relief. Maybe they could be friends.

  “Tell you what,” he said. “Why don’t you call the girls? This is a do-it-yourself pizza lunch, and I’m ready for everybody to make some hard decisions.”

  This smile was more natural, dimples and a curve of cheek as she started from the kitchen. “That kind of decision,” she agreed, “I can make.”

  He didn’t have to wonder what she meant.

  CHAPTER SIX

  DESPITE THEIR LITTLE TALK, the next couple of visits were no easier. Rose definitely didn’t want Daddy to leave her, although she and Shelly had a grand time together so long as he stayed near. When he did leave, she cried inconsolably. Brave Shelly did somewhat better after that first time at the Landrys’ house, but the third time Lynn came back, after an absence of five hours, only to be met at the door by a grim Adam.

  His formerly pristine shirt was rumpled, rolled up at the sleeves and wet. His hair stood on end and an unpleasant odor wafted from him.

  “Shelly’s throwing up,” he said bluntly. “I was about ready to call the doctor.”

  “Oh, Lord.” Panic, well out of proportion, surged through her. Lynn whisked past him. “Where is she?”

  “Lying down in Rose’s bed.” Although she moved fast, he was right behind her. “She has a big bowl next to her. For what good it does.”

  Lynn paused in the hall a few steps from Rose’s open bedroom door. “She missed?”

  He made a sound in his throat. “She’s puked on the floor, Rose’s bed and me. Rose is crying because she’s scared. I think Shelly has a fever, but she doesn’t want me taking her temperature. I couldn’t give her anything to lower her temp anyway. It would just come right back up.”

  The panic had begun to subside. Or, more accurately, she had recognized it for what it was: guilt. Her little girl had needed her, and she wasn’t here.

  “I wondered why she was so tired this morning,” Lynn said, remembering. “Her friend Laura has been sick.”

  “Now you tell me,” Adam muttered.

  She ignored him and went in to see her daughter. The girls had done some damage, she saw on the way. Puzzle pieces were jumbled on the floor and unkempt Barbies strewn as if a tornado had swept through the room. It almost looked normal for a child’s bedroom.

  Rose curled, teary eyed, on the window seat. Face wan, Shelly lay in bed, looking so small and fragile and miserable that Lynn’s own eyes burned.

  “Oh, sweetie!” She detoured to give Rose a quick kiss on the head and murmured, “Shelly will be okay. Don’t worry.” Then she sat on the edge of the bed and laid the back of her hand on Shelly’s forehead. “You’re toaster hot. Gracious, you’ve had an awful day, haven’t you?”

  Her daughter’s face crumpled. “Where were you?” she wailed. “I wanted you!”

  Gathering Shelly into her arms, Lynn whispered, “I know, I know. But Adam has taken good care of you, hasn’t he?”

  The three-year-old shook her head hard. “I wanna go home!”

  Lynn glanced toward the doorway and saw the hurt in Adam’s eyes before he shuttered his expression.

  Hugging and swaying, Lynn said softly, “I don’t know, sweet pea. The drive would be awful if you’re throwing up.”

  “Don’t go!” Her daughter latched convulsively onto her.

  In a friendly voice that gave away nothing of what he must be feeling, Adam said, “Why don’t you two spend the night? Your mom can have a room down the hall, and you can either stay here in Rose’s bed, or share with Mom.”

  Lynn hated the alternatives. How could she say no and subject poor Shelly to the long, winding drive home over the Coast Range? But to stay, when she at least must be unwelcome…

  Of course, she had no choice. As, she thought grimly, she so rarely did thes
e days. Of course, it was unreasonable to blame Adam, who must be chafing as much as she was at losing control over such a hunk of his life.

  As much? Who was she kidding? He was a man. Men wanted and expected to be in charge. Oh, yeah. If she resented him sometimes, he was probably angry enough to hire a hit man to rid himself of her.

  “Thank you.” She was just as capable as he was at putting on a good front. “I think we’d probably better stay.”

  She carried Shelly down the hall, helped her into a borrowed nightgown and bathed her forehead while he changed the bedding. Rose shyly came to visit Shelly while Daddy took a shower.

  “Are you gonna pook again?” she asked.

  Shelly nodded vigorously and shot to a half-sitting position. “Mama?” she begged in a strangled voice.

  Lynn positioned the bowl in the nick of time. Rose watched wide-eyed. Heaven help them if this flu bug was a two-week affair instead of a twenty-four-hour quickie! Especially if—or should she say, when— Rose caught it.

  Lynn was helping Shelly rinse out her mouth when Adam appeared in the doorway. In faded sweatpants and T-shirt, hair wet and finger-combed, he was breathtakingly sexy and a world more human than he usually seemed to Lynn.

  “Do you want me to call the doctor?” he asked.

  Lynn shook her head. “Not unless she keeps heaving once she’s emptied her stomach. I take it they had lunch before she got sick?” Unfortunately, she could have itemized the menu.

  “Yeah.” His expression was sheepish. “They had macaroni and cheese, and hot dogs. Ice-cream bars. Oh, yeah. And Kool-Aid. Lots of lime Kool-Aid.”

  “I noticed,” she said dryly.

  Poor Shelly’s face was flushed, but her eyes had become heavy. Lynn clicked on a bedside lamp at its lowest setting and motioned to him to switch off the overhead light. When she glanced back, he and Rose were gone.

  She sang softly, smoothing Shelly’s hair back from her hot forehead, until her daughter slept. Even then she sat there, just touched by lamplight in the dim room, thinking in despair, How can we keep doing this? What if she told him it just wasn’t working?