Do You Take This Child?

by Marie Ferrarella

  Why was it every time she was around him, she did irrational things? “Slade, this might be hopelessly romantic —”

  Slade cut her short. “I see it as practical,” he contradicted her. Her brows went up so high, they disappeared beneath her bangs. “We hit it off.” He touched Rebecca’s hand. “We created a child—”

  She’d always maintained that accidents weren’t necessarily the precursors of life sentences. “That doesn’t mean we have to spend the rest of our lives together.”

  “Just the rest of our lives?” He managed to maintain a straight face. “I don’t make commitments easily. When I do, they stick. I was thinking along the lines of eternity.” His eyes teased hers, and she couldn’t tell if he.was serious or just having fun at her expense. “I figure you’ll look pretty good with wings.”

  All she could manage in her defense was to recite an old adage. “Marry in haste, repent at leisure.”

  He shrugged away the prediction. “In my line of work, there’s very little leisure.”

  Did he work at this charm, or did it just come naturally to him? “You said I had a year.” It would have almost sounded like a prison sentence, if she didn’t react the way she did to the warden.

  Slade nodded. It shouldn’t take him that long to convince her that they’d done the right thing. “You do—use it.”

  His gaze lingered over her. The blue nightgown, which was definitely not hospital issue, had slid off her shoulder, and he restrained the desire to touch her skin again. But soon, very soon, he promised himself.

  “Or are you afraid that you might get to like the idea?”

  She drew upon the way she’d always felt about marriage. It was a prison that locked people in, that made them unhappy. There was no other possible explanation why her parents spent so little time together. “It’s not an idea, it’s an institution—”

  This was something they hadn’t discussed that night. She had some very sad ideas about marriage that he felt an obligation to correct.

  He toyed with her hair. “Institutions are where they put people away. I’ve no intentions of putting you away, Sheila.” His voice grew serious. “You can live your life the way you want to. I don’t want to change anything about you,” he told her honestly. And then his mouth curved. “Just no dating.”

  Just when he was reeling her in, he cut bait. “Slade, be serious—”

  Framing her face in his hands, he kissed her again, hinting at the passion that lay ahead of them. Passion she had been introduced to once before. Releasing her, he stepped back.

  “I’m on my honeymoon, Doc. I don’t have to be serious until I get back to work. Oh, I almost forgot.”

  As she watched him, her curiosity building, Slade stepped out into the hall. He returned a moment later with what he’d purposely left outside her room. He had wanted to see her unencumbered. Now he brought in a huge basket filled with a profusion of roses in different colors. Under his arm he carried an equally huge pink rabbit with enormous floppy ears.

  Sheila stared at the bounty and felt herself smiling despite all her efforts not to. Damn it, now he was being sweet on top of everything else. He didn’t play fair. “Who are you?”

  Placing the basket on a side table and setting the rabbit on the chair, Slade squared his shoulders and started to recite, “Slade Garrett, social security number 170—”

  Sheila held up a hand. This was cute, but it wasn’t what she’d meant.

  “I mean really,” she said seriously. “I don’t know anything about you except that you write for the Times and that you’re a bastard.”

  Amusement danced in his eyes. “You’re not talking entirely about parentage, are you?”

  An equal dose of humor entered hers. “No, not entirely.”

  He was looking forward to swapping childhood stories with her. He had a feeling that hers were not as laid-back as she might believe. “We have the rest of our lives to find out—or a year, depending on whether or not you want to make use of your option clause.”

  She couldn’t begin to figure him out. “You’re serious? About the year?”

  He took the baby from her arms. God, there was nothing like this feeling in the whole world. He glanced up at Sheila. “I’m serious about making you forget about the option in a year, but yes, at the end, if you don’t think it’ll work out, I’ll agree to a divorce.”

  It didn’t make any sense. Why bother in the first place? Why go through all this trouble? “Why are you doing this?”

  “I already told you. I don’t want the baby to feel like a—”

  They’d been through that. It was what won her over. And yet, she couldn’t help thinking there was something more. “Is that the only reason?”

  “No,” he said softly as he looked at her over their baby’s downy head. “When I was overseas, I held on to a picture of you. It was the only thing that kept me going at times.”

  For a moment, she didn’t know what to say. He was serious, she thought. Really serious. “I didn’t give you a picture.”

  “Here.” Holding the baby in one arm, Slade tapped his temple. “I had a picture right here. When the rebels overran the camp and the tent I’d been sleeping in five minutes earlier went up like a torch, my whole life didn’t pass before my eyes. But that one night did. Our night.” He blew out a breath. The image still left him numb. “I decided I had to see you again.” He smiled, remembering his surprise at her condition. “And then I decided that I wanted to keep on seeing you. So it was either getting pregnant myself and availing myself of your services, or marrying you.” He shrugged as he tucked the blanket more firmly around the baby. “I chose the easier way.”

  She thought of her parents. They were both such good people, just not good together. “You may not think so after a while.”

  “Why?” Very carefully, he laid the baby back into her arms. “What are you afraid of?”

  If he was being honest, so could she. “I don’t like failing, Slade.”

  There was a simple-enough solution to that. “Then don’t.”

  She laughed dryly. “Not that simple.”

  “Not that hard,” he countered. “I’ve always found that I can pretty much do what I set my mind to. Judging from your success, you do, too.”

  His answer surprised her. Had he had her investigated? “What do you know about me?”

  He liked the way her eyes grew huge when she was caught unsuspecting. “You’d be surprised, Sheila. I’m not a man without connections.”

  Her brows drew together. She was right. “You had me investigated?”

  He wouldn’t exactly call it that, but why quibble over semantics? “It helped pass the time away.”

  She didn’t understand. “But you were overseas all these months.”

  He nodded. “Yeah, but my connections are over here.” And he had wanted to know things about her. So many things.

  All this time, she had assumed that was nothing more than a pleasant memory to him. A one-time, one-night fling. “Seems to me you went to an awful lot of trouble.”

  “That’s not how I see it.” He looked down at his daughter. Rebecca was rooting. “I think she’s hungry. Either that, or she sucked on a lemon.” Without waiting, he turned and pulled the curtain in front of her bed, cutting off her view of the hall.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Giving you some privacy in case someone walks in while you’re nursing Becky.” He nodded toward the baby. “You are nursing, aren’t you?”

  She felt rosy warmth creeping up her neck and surprised herself. She hadn’t thought she could blush. “That’s rather personal, don’t you think?”

  “That’s why I pulled the curtain.” He paused, dropping the brashness like a second skin. “Which side of the curtain do you want me to stand on, Sheila?”

  She would have said outside, but he had given her a choice, and in giving it to her, had turned the situation in his favor. As he probably meant to, she thought. The man was nothing if not clever, she t
hought with grudging admiration.

  “You can stay here.”

  He smiled at her and nodded, sitting down again on the edge of the bed. “Thanks, I’d like that.”

  Chapter Six

  Slade was accustomed to taking in his surroundings and evaluating them quickly. The decor in Sheila’s two-story condominium was understated and tasteful. It spoke of class, not glitz. A little like, he thought, the lady herself.

  “Nice place you have here,” he murmured.

  Setting the suitcase one of her nurses had brought her in the hospital down inside the living room, Slade closed the door behind Sheila. He arranged the stuffed rabbit on the first available surface, the sofa. It sagged forward, coming to rest against the coffee table as Slade turned toward her.

  “Here,” he coaxed, bands outstretched, “let me take her.”

  Before Sheila could demur, Slade had taken his daughter into his arms. The baby made a noise that he interpreted as a sound of welcome. At least, it would do for now.

  “Hi, Becky. So, how’d you like your very first car ride?”

  Baby in his arms, Slade moved around the living room as if to introduce Rebecca to it. There were built-in shelves on both sides of the white brick fireplace. The array of books pointed to eclectic taste. He and Sheila had that in common, he mused.

  “Play your cards right, kid,” he continued, “and I’ll get you a red Corvette for your sixteenth birthday.”

  He was really taking to this, Sheila thought, watching him. She had no frame of reference as far as Slade was concerned, but she knew disinterest when she saw it and there wasn’t a hint of it in his attitude. She never would have thought, looking at him, that he had a marshmallow center. She smiled as she shook her head.

  “You’re lucky she won’t remember that.”

  “Why?” He looked up at Sheila. “I mean it. Everyone should have something to look forward to.” He looked to his daughter for corroboration. “Right Becky?”

  She refrained from taking her daughter back. After all, Slade deserved some time with her, too. She marveled that he even knew how to hold a baby.

  “Right now,” she said, “I think all she wants is to be fed and dry.” He grinned at her. “What?”

  “Sounds like my wish list when I was in Somalia.” He thought about it for a moment. “And Bosnia. And—”

  He was talking as casually about these places as if they were merely different stores located in the mall, or as if as if he were ticking off a list of amusement parks that Littered the Southern California terrain, not the centers of death and annihilation. How could he remain so unaffected by them?

  Or was that just a defense mechanism he used to keep himself sane?

  “They sent you to all those dangerous places?” she asked incredulously.

  He shrugged as he lost himself in Rebecca’s smile. Some might have thought of it as a reaction to a gas bubble, but he knew better. It was his daughter’s smile, and it was meant just for him.

  I’ll do right by you, little girl. I swear I will.

  “It’s where the news is,” he answered Sheila.

  Sheila nodded, saying nothing further. If she were really emotionally involved with him, the thought of his risking his life to get a story would have undone her. But she wasn’t emotionally involved, she told herself.

  The trouble was, she really didn’t know what she was. This was very shaky ground she found herself on, and she didn’t want to make any plans—or let any emotions make plans for her. She’d led with her emotions only twice. The last time she had gotten an eight-pound, three-ounce reward. The next time, she might not be so lucky.

  She looked pensive, Slade thought. Probably afraid that I might drop the baby. He was about to offer Rebecca back to her when he heard someone entering the room behind him. He’d thought they were alone.

  “Oh, Doctors, you are here. I am so sorry. I am not ready yet for you.”

  Slade turned around to see a slender young woman with long, straight blond hair hurrying into the room. Nurse? Housekeeper? He wondered if the woman lived in. Whatever the circumstances, he could adjust. Hell, he’d lived with five men in a ditch for what seemed like forever and shared the mouth of a cave with a family of refugees for a week. Sharing a house with two-and-a-half women was going to be no hardship.

  He raised a brow as he turned toward Sheila. “And this would be—?”

  Sheila moved to the young woman’s side, placing her hand on the latter’s shoulder.

  It was a protective gesture, Slade noted, whether she knew it or not. Did she think the young woman needed protecting from him? The idea amused him. And maybe bothered him just a little.

  “Ingrid Swenson, my cleaning lady’s daughter,” Sheila said. She smiled at the bewildered look on the younger woman’s face. “Ingrid’s going to help me with the baby. She’s a student at UCI.”

  Students studied. When they didn’t party, he thought. And Ingrid looked as if she would be a gorgeous addition to any campus party. “Then how—?”

  “Night classes,” Sheila answered, anticipating Slade’s question. “It’s just a temporary arrangement until I can interview a live-in nanny.” The interviews were something she wasn’t looking forward to. Part of her would have almost rather just remained home and been a full-time mother.

  She’d be restless within two weeks, Sheila admonished herself. She wasn’t the type who could really stay home, content in making baby food from scratch, doing fun things with papier-mâché and whipping up four-course meals.

  “Oh, Dr. Pollack, she is beautiful,” Ingrid cried, looking at the infant in Slade’s arms. “May I please hold her?”

  “That’s the general idea,” Sheila laughed. “You might as well start right in.”

  She had an affinity for this, Sheila thought, watching Ingrid as she took the baby from Slade. She knew exactly how to hold Rebecca, and there was pleasure in her eyes. Too bad the search couldn’t end here, Sheila mused. Ingrid would be perfect for the position as nanny.

  “I helped raise my four brothers and sisters,” Ingrid told them. This arrangement meant a great deal to her, allowing her to pay for her schooling. She was grateful to the doctor.

  Ingrid cooed at the baby. “But not a one of them was as angelic as this one.” She looked up at Sheila. “What is she called, please?”

  “Rebecca,” Sheila said. “Rebecca Susan.”

  She took a deep breath. When she’d made arrangements for Ingrid to come stay with her and take care of the baby, she’d been a single mother. All that had changed since the last time she’d spoken with Ingrid. Sheila hadn’t told anyone about her new change in status. She hadn’t had to. Word about the bizarre wedding ceremony in the labor room had spread at the hospital like a prairie fire over dry grass.

  She felt as if she was about to drop a bombshell. Ingrid, and especially lngrid’s mother, were old-fashioned people with solid values ground in tradition. She doubted if any of their ancestors had gotten married two minutes before delivery.

  Unconsciously, Sheila licked her lower lip. “Ingrid, this is my husband, Slade Garrett.”

  Confusion entered the pale blue eyes as she cradled the baby against her. This was unexpected. “Mother did not tell me that you were married.”

  “Mother did not know,” Sheila interjected. A smile quirked her mouth as she looked at Slade. She’d really gotten herself into something this time, she thought. But somehow, the accompanying tinge of regret was fading away to almost nothing. “Mr. Garrett is the old-fashioned type. He believes in issuing each child the standard mommy and daddy at birth.”

  “There’s nothing standard about you,” Slade quipped, giving Sheila a quick kiss. He paused, waiting. “Well?”

  He’d lost her. “Well?” Sheila echoed, confused. “Well, what?”

  “You’re supposed to say the same thing back.” He liked teasing her, he thought. Of course, he liked nibbling on her lower lip better, but you took what you could get. He was looking forward to th
e latter when the opportunity presented itself.

  “The same thing back,” Sheila parroted, smiling prettily like a cardboard debutante. He wasn’t getting anything out of her until she’d made up her mind to give it.

  Sheila sighed, surprised at how tired she actually felt. She’d always been able to go for more than twenty-four hours straight and still operate. It was a holdover from her medical student and resident days. But right now, she probably could have been knocked down by the proverbial feather.

  “I think I’d like to change and put my feet up awhile,” she told him.

  Slade nodded, already making himself at home. “Fine. Do you need anything?”

  A reality check would be nice.

  What was she doing, playing house with a man she hardly knew?

  Hardly knew but found devastatingly attractive, a perverse little voice within her whispered.

  This definitely went against everything she thought she wanted for herself. She had made her choices years ago. A career, that had been her goal. Her only goal after her one disastrous foray into romance. She wanted a career being the best possible doctor she could be. Finding herself pregnant despite precautions, she’d adjusted so that she could assimilate a baby into her life and still try to make things work.

  But a husband? Talk about a monkey wrench in the works, this was a biggie. Where did she get off thinking that this had a chance of working, too? Her mother and father hadn’t been able to manage it, sailing through life like two polite, intelligent strangers adrift down the same river.

  This hadn’t a chance in hell.

  Sheila shook her head a little too emphatically. “No, I’m fine.”

  No, she wasn’t, he thought, but she would be. “Good, then I’m going to go and get some of my things out of storage and bring them over.”

  He was moving in. He was actually going to do it. A wave of panic rose up, clogging her throat. “Your things? What things?”

  “Not furniture,” he assured her. Furniture had never been a priority for him. He used what others thrusted upon him, except for his entertainment center, which he considered vital to his work when he was stateside. That had been first-rate. “I sublet my apartment. Besides, nothing that I have would fit in here. I’m just bringing some clothes, books and my camera equipment.” The rest could be brought over later, he decided.