Murphy's Child

by Judith Duncan

  Experiencing the familiar rush of bile, Murphy stomped though the newly drywalled master bedroom, his teeth still clenched so hard his jaw ached. This little meeting was going to mean another roll of antacid pills.

  His mood grim, Murphy stuffed his work gloves in the pocket of his insulated vest as he strode down the hall, the sound of his steel-toed work boots echoing on the plywood subfloor of the unfinished house. The quicker he got this over with, the happier he’d be.

  Absolutely determined not to let her see that she could still push his buttons—or that he hadn’t completely recovered from the stunt she’d pulled in December—Murphy clamped his mouth in a hard line, then rounded the corner to the front foyer.

  He should have been prepared. He should have known better. He should have realized he couldn’t get within five feet of her without all kinds of hell breaking loose.

  But there she stood, like something out of a dream, framed in the open doorway. Her white coat swathed her in a kind of royal elegance, the emerald-green, purple and blue multicolored silk scarf draped over one shoulder and fixed with a bold gold pin, adding to her regal look. She had her ash-blond hair pulled back in a perfect French fold, not so much as a single hair out of place, and in her ears, a set of perfectly matched pearl studs. Pearl studs that he had given her for her birthday.

  His stomach balled up in his belly as an old reaction kicked in. She was untouchable. She was perfection. And she had broken his heart.

  Fixing his face in a flat, unreadable expression, Murphy braced his arm on the raw plaster wall, knowing full well that be was practically hidden in the heavy shadows of the hallway. And damned glad of it. He continued to study her for an instant longer, watching as she pressed her hands tightly together, the pulse in her throat going a mile a minute. Even in the dusky entryway, it was dead apparent that she was so nervous she was inches from climbing right out of her skin.

  And so unbelievably beautiful.

  Murphy clenched his jaw, a long simmering anger surfacing and percolating through his chest. It had been months, and he still felt as raw as he did when she’d called it off. Knowing he didn’t dare go down that road now, not with her standing in the unfinished foyer, he geared up for battle as he hooked his thumb in the front pocket of his jeans. Determined to play this game out to the bitter end, he spoke, his tone flat. “Make a wrong turn, or are you just out slumming?”

  She whirled to face him, her coat swinging out, the alarm on her face making her eyes widen. Pressing her hand to her chest, she stared at him, the pulse point in her neck absolutely hectic. A tense silence stretched between them, then Murphy could see her swallow hard and physically collect herself. She moistened her lips, then forced a smile. “I didn’t think it would be quite so—thick with mud out here.”

  His hand still on the wall, he continued to stare at her. And he sure in hell did not return the smile. “I’m sure you didn’t.”

  Her expression wavered and her eyes changed from gray to slate. She held his gaze for a second, then looked down, straightening the tangled threads on the fringed edge of her long scarf. Her long thick lashes concealed her eyes, but Murphy could sense her unease. She continued to fiddle with the fringe, and Murphy felt his blood pressure start to climb. His sisters hadn’t worn anything white for years because of grubby little hands, and there was Ms. Jordan Kennedy, standing there in front of him, all wrapped up in off-white perfection. And he’d bet his next house sale that she’d managed to walk across the street without getting a single speck of mud on her pricey shoes. God, he wanted to strangle her.

  Clamping down on the flicker of old anger unfurling in him, Murphy clenched and unclenched his jaw, determined to get through this without losing it.

  His gaze fixed on her, he spoke, a hard edge to his voice that was decidedly unfriendly. “Let’s skip the pleasantries, Jordan. What do you want?”

  She looked up, an odd, fleeting expression in her wide gray eyes. She folded her arms and looked down, nudging a little chunk of broken plaster with her toe. Murphy saw her try to swallow, then she met his gaze, her expression somber and uncertain. She hesitated for an instant, making an awkward gesture with her hand. “Is there somewhere we can talk?”

  Fixing her with another unwavering stare, Murphy didn’t answer, considering his options. If this had something to do with his business, he pretty well had to hear her out. Although he seriously considered showing her the door. But there was something about the anxiety in her eyes, something about the frantic pulse in her neck, that told him this had nothing to do with work at all. Great. Exhaling heavily, he straightened and turned toward the kitchen, knowing, sure as hell, he was going to regret this.

  He entered the unfinished room, kicking a long orange extension cord out of the way, then stooped and picked up a piece of counter molding off the floor and tossed it onto the work island. Deliberately keeping his back to her, he went to the window overlooking the backyard. One of his crew was cleaning up the work site and tossing litter into the industrial dumpster, and Murphy caught his eye and signaled him to turn off the compressor. Feeling as if he were wound far too tight, he turned and leaned back against the newly installed cupboards, his face muscles as stiff as boards. Folding his arms across his chest, he fixed his gaze on her and waited. Hell could freeze over before he’d ask a second time what she was doing here.

  Her expression tense, she reached out and tested the texture of the molding he’d tossed on the island, then he could almost see her square her shoulders as she lifted her head and looked at him.

  She had the most unbelievable eyes. And it had been those eyes that had blasted his common sense to smithereens months before. Gray, steady and intense, with lashes so thick and long, he thought at first they were false. The kind of eyes a man could lose himself in.

  Disgusted with how easy she could still sidetrack him, Murphy crossed his ankles, keeping his teeth locked together. No way was he going to ask her, no bloody way.

  She stared at him, wide-eyed and motionless, as if she were a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming car, then she abruptly shifted her gaze, again fingering the molding on the island. A strange feeling began to uncoil in Murphy’s gut, and he narrowed his eyes, assessing her. Something was up. Something was definitely up.

  Swallowing hard, she crossed her arms and met his gaze again, terrible tension lines etched around her mouth, the pulse in her neck absolutely frantic again. Lifting her chin in a show of sheer grit, she spoke, her voice tight with strain. “I thought I owed you the truth. I’m four months pregnant.”

  It was as if he got smacked in the back of the head by a two-by-four, and his knees almost buckled. Pregnant? Pregnant? He stared at her, his brain stuck. It was as if someone had dumped a load of concrete into his cranial cavity, and he just could not get his mind around it. She couldn’t have said “pregnant.”

  But the awful, anxious look in her eyes confirmed that that’s exactly what she had said.

  Feeling as if he was just coming to after a knockout punch, his heart suddenly thundering in his chest, Murphy continued to stare at her. Pregnant? How could that be? He had always, always been exceptionally careful—every single time he had been so damned careful with her. Feeling suddenly light-headed, Murphy did not move a muscle. He didn’t dare. Careful obviously hadn’t cut it, because he didn’t doubt for a second that she was telling him the truth, or that the baby was unquestionably his. In spite of what she’d done to him, he had to face one indisputable fact. Ms. Jordan Kennedy had a streak of straitlaced ethics that was a mile wide and six miles deep. She might dodge the truth, and she might be evasive, but Jordan Kennedy would never, never lie. She had far too much stiff-necked pride.

  Clearly unnerved by his stunned silence, Jordan went over to the window and stood staring out, and it finally registered that she was trembling. Murphy closed his eyes, the scent of her perfume making every nerve in his body respond. Nothing like kicking a man when he was already down.

  Finally g
etting his reaction under control, he shifted his position slightly so he could watch her. Her arms still folded tightly in front of her, she was absolutely motionless, but he could tell from her taut profile, from the angle of her chin, that she was running on sheer nerves, and no matter what, was determined to finish what she’d started.

  Forcing himself to lock down a burst of anger, Murphy watched and waited, his own expression hardening. Four months. Four bloody months, and now she’d finally decided to tell him. For the second time that morning, he wanted to strangle her.

  Still staring out the window, she finally spoke. “Just so you know, I never once considered terminating the pregnancy.” She paused, tension visible in every line of her body. Then she shot him a quick glance, an odd hint of defiance in her expression, in the lift of her chin. “This was something I’d never anticipated, but I am keeping this baby.”

  When Murphy made no response, she abruptly looked away. There was a tense silence, then she drew a deep, uneven breath and continued. “I know I’ve just dropped a bombshell on you,” she said, her tone very quiet. “And I know you’re going to need time to assimilate all this, but I also want you to know that I’m prepared to accept full responsibility.”

  The old anger flared, fueling a brand-new anger, and Murphy’s tone was cold. “If that’s the case, why are you here?”

  Shifting her weight, she gave him a quick, nervous glance, then looked back out the window, her whole body stiff with tension. He saw her close her eyes and press her hands together, as if calling on some deep inner strength. Her lips seemed stiff when she finally spoke. “This baby is as much yours as it is mine.” Stuffing her hands in her coat pockets, she took another deep breath. “And if you should decide you want to take an active role in its life, I would not oppose that. Our personal fiasco aside, I think you would make an excellent father, and I hope you won’t deny your child your participation because of me.”

  Participation? Murphy felt as if he had his very own compressor start up in his chest. And for one instant, he thought his eyes were going to pop right out of his head. Participation? A few months ago, she’d treated him as if he’d just crawled out of the swamp, and now she decided he would make an excellent father? She was the one that took the hike, not him. Four bloody months, and she finally decided to tell him.

  Four months? The mathematical side of his brain finally kicked into gear, and he abruptly straightened and stared at her. Four months. That meant she very likely suspected she was pregnant when she’d dumped him. Damn her, she’d probably already known.

  His anger finally breaking loose, Murphy paced to the end of the room and back, a frenzy of emotions churning through his chest. She’d been sitting on this bit of information for four months.

  Forcing himself to stop, to get a grip, he closed his eyes and raked his hand through his hair. He was doing it to himself. He was pushing his own buttons. And as furious as he was with her, his common sense told him that if he didn’t put the brakes on, he was apt to blow sky-high.

  He closed his eyes again and made himself unclench his fists. He could do this. He definitely could do this.

  Straightening his spine, he turned to face her. She, too, had turned and was watching him, her skin so pale it looked translucent, her wide, worried eyes almost overwhelming her face. Sunlight through the window formed a bright aura around her, and she looked so fragile standing there. Anger surged in him again, and he glared at her. “Since the numbers add up, I take it you knew you were pregnant when you called it quits.”

  She held his gaze for an instant, then turned and looked back out the window. There was a tense pause before she answered. “I thought I might be, but I wasn’t absolutely sure.”

  Murphy stared at her, his face fixed in a hard expression. She was so damned contained, it made his blood boil. He had to give himself a minute before he dared speak. “So how come now? After four bloody months, what made you decide to come forward now?”

  She remained motionless for a space, then finally spoke, a funny tremor in her voice. “There were some problems in the beginning, and my doctor had concerns about a possible miscarriage in the first trimester.” She turned and faced him, her expression unreadable. “I wanted to make sure I was past that hurdle before I told you.”

  “You didn’t think I deserved to know as soon as you found out?”

  Her chin came up a notch, and she met his gaze dead-on. “No, I didn’t. Not until the doctor felt that the risk had passed.”

  He wanted to challenge her on that—on her I-know-better-than-you attitude—but just then, one of Marco’s relatives stuck his head around the door, his dark curly hair poking out from under his hard hat. He gave Jordan an appreciative look, then winked at Murphy and grinned. “Hey, boss, the shipment of new skylights just arrived. Where do you want us to unload ’em?”

  Murphy jammed his hands in his back pockets to keep from wiping the smirk off the kid’s face. He wanted to tell him exactly what he could do with the damned skylights, but resisted the urge. Instead, he forced himself to be calm. But it was quite a struggle to keep the annoyance out of his tone. “Put them in the garage at 104, and make sure to close the door when you’re done. We don’t want a rock through this lot.”

  Jordan’s reaction to the interruption was akin to being rescued from a crate of crocodiles. Suddenly she was Ms. Congeniality. Fixing a phony banker’s smile on her face, she made a dismissing little gesture with her hand. “This is obviously a bad time for you. So why don’t we leave it for now, and if you want to discuss it further, you can give me a call at the office.” And as if she were a door-to-door cosmetic sales rep caught on a very bad call, she kept smiling as she edged toward the door. The kid, suddenly trying to look like Valentino, straightened up and pushed out his chest.

  Riled at her for acting as if she’d just told him her dog was about to have puppies, and even more riled with Marco’s nephew or cousin or whoever he was for his peacock display, Murphy felt as if every vein in his body were about to pop.

  It took all the self-control he had, but he somehow managed to stay right where he was, every muscle in his body stretched to the limit. If she thought that she could drop this on him and then walk away, engineering it into a nice, controlled business meeting in her office, she had another think coming.

  Playing her game, he gave her a brittle smile back, his gaze riveted on her. His voice taut with ominous warning, he glared at Jordan and set the terms of confrontation. “I definitely want to discuss this further. But it won’t bloody well be in your office.”

  Chapter 2

  Sunday, August 4

  A stampede of pink bunnies, blue elephants and yellow duckies spilled through the railings of a two-story-high crib, the bodies getting bigger and bigger as they relentlessly flew toward him. Limbs waving, their bodies growing even larger, they started piling in on him, deeper and deeper, their weight suffocating him, burying him alive....

  His own limbs flailing to rid himself of their smothering weight, Murphy came sharply awake, bolting upright in his seat, his heart pounding like a jackhammer. The dream faded, and he realized where he was. He wasn’t trapped under some crazy two-story crib. He was seated in the business-class section of a 747, on an evening flight from Toronto to Calgary. And the suffocating weight was nothing more than his jacket and the dinky pillow the flight attendant had given him right after he’d boarded.

  His heart still pounding like crazy, Murphy closed his eyes and scrubbed his hand down his face. Just a dream. Just a bloody dream. One that he’d been having regularly the past six weeks—and one that his psychologist sister would have had a ball analyzing. Expelling his breath, Murphy tipped his head back and stared at the call buttons above his head. Lord, but this baby thing was driving him crazy.

  In fact, it had been a hell of a few months. One minute, he’d be so damned ticked off with Jordan that he could crush rock with his bare hands; the very next instant, he’d be so pumped up about having a kid that he
could hardly find his hand in front of his face. Most of the time, though, he felt as if someone had just run him through a high-voltage regulator.

  A kid. A son or daughter. He was still having trouble getting his mind around that. It wasn’t that he never wanted kids. It was just that he’d never expected to get one this way. Or with this woman. He’d thought when she walked out that it was game over. And now here they were, about to be parents together. It was enough to twist anybody’s brain out of shape.

  But there was still part of him that wanted to give her a good shake. And sometimes he wished that he could have doubted his paternity with this kid, but he knew, without a doubt, that the kid was his. Jordan Kennedy was too much of a straight shooter for it not to be.

  A flicker of old anger surfaced, and Murphy clamped his jaws together and closed his eyes. It still ticked him off that she’d waited so long to tell him. It was his kid she was carrying, and problems or not, he figured he had a right to know from the very start. But, no, Jordan hadn’t seen it that way. It was on her terms. As usual.

  Although it still scared the hell out of him, realizing that she could have been in serious trouble and he would never have known. And she could have gone through that kind of loss all by herself. But that aside, even now it made him mad as hell that she didn’t trust him enough to tell him as soon as she knew. He had called her on that, but she had stood her ground.

  That first meeting had been a doozy, all right. She had openly admitted that she was pretty sure she was pregnant when she pulled the pin, but then she’d clammed up and he hadn’t been able to get another word out of her. And to this day, he really didn’t know why she’d taken a hike. In his calm moments, and when he was feeling judicious toward her, he figured it was because she didn’t want him to think he had to marry her. But since he hardly ever felt that judicious, he spent most of his time being ticked off. It had taken him two weeks to wrestle his wounded pride and his male ego to the ground, knowing that if he didn’t get a grip on his feelings, he would be the one who’d lose out in the end. Because above all else, he did want to be a big part of this kid’s life. He wanted to be a real father, not just someone who showed up at birthdays and every second weekend.