“Of course not,” Gabrielle said, cramming Dane even farther to the edge of the oversize corner booth. “Welcome.”
Introductions were made. The pregnant newcomer was Olivia Marshal. Her coach, Jen. The woman talked too fast for Dane to even catch her last name—not that it mattered. He didn’t plan on making a habit of dining out with all these pregnant women after class.
“WELL?” MAMA BOCELLI ASKED Sunday afternoon, hovering behind Gabby with a steaming platter of chicken Parmesan. Her hair was piled high atop her head, crowned with a yellow scarf that matched her pleated yellow skirt and jacket. “How was your first class?”
Recalling the all-too-pleasurable feel of Dane’s fingertips kneading her aching shoulders and back, Gabby had a tough time holding on to her composure.
“Um, class was fine,” she managed to say, thanking Mama for the meaty-cheesy serving she’d placed on her plate.
“Just fine?” Nana asked. She also sported a crown of big hair, only hers was white with a red bow. “You didn’t see any good, gory birth videos? My friend Stella said her granddaughter was thinking of launching a new video line called Births Gone Wrong.”
“Nana!” Mama scolded. “What’s gotten into you?”
“What’d I say?” she asked, all innocent while stealing a guzzle of Pops’s wine. “The births turn out fine. The moms and babies all live. Only some of the babies have pointy heads—but even those eventually flatten out.”
“Stop,” Mama demanded, “or I’m sending you to your room.”
“Even try it,” Nana said, notching her chin, “and I’ll run away! Edgar’s got a new Chrysler 300, and I’m sure the backseat’s plenty big enough for shacking up.”
Mama slammed the platter onto the lace-covered table before making the sign of the cross on her chest.
After dinner, but before dessert, while Pops napped, Dane and his mother washed dishes and Nana gossiped on the phone, Gabby had been ordered into the living room to rest her feet. She’d tried explaining that she hadn’t even been on her feet and would happily help with the dishes, but Mama wasn’t having anything to do with it. Truly, Gabby guessed she just wanted her out of the way so that she could scold Nana in private, but with those two, who really knew?
Flipping through channels on Pops’s new flat-screen HDTV, she settled on a decorating show. They were finishing a nursery, which should’ve been fun to watch, but only reminded Gabby of how much work still needed to be done on her baby’s room.
“Got indigestion?” Dane blurted, in his usual blunt, anything-but-suave manner, collapsing onto the brown leather recliner alongside hers.
“No. Why?” She frowned all the harder at the screen.
“You’ve got an awful look on your face.”
“That’s because she hasn’t been able to figure out how to assemble the baby’s crib.” Mama sighed as she sank into the room’s third recliner. One for every occupant of the house. Much to Mama’s secret shame, Nana’s recliner was custom purple suede.
“What’s the matter with it?” Dane asked.
“Nothing,” Gabby hastily said, regretting having ever mentioned it to Dane’s mom. “I’ve got it handled. I’m sure one more read-through of the directions will yield phenomenal results.”
Dane grunted. “Ordinarily, I’d love to help, but I’ve got an office football game this afternoon.”
“Good. Because I’ve got it handled.”
“If you could handle it,” Nana said, wandering into the living room, holding her hand over the mouthpiece of the cordless phone, “then you would’ve already put the damned thing together.”
“Nana!” Mama complained.
Nana stuck out her tongue.
SUNDAY NIGHT, FIERY ACID indigestion did little to help in Gabby’s crib-assembly process. Yes, she probably needed someone’s help, but certainly not Dane’s! Besides, seeing how she was only a few months shy of being a single mom, it was high time she figured out how to do lots of things on her own—including carpentry.
Brave words, considering her baby’s designer oak crib currently resembled storm-scattered tree limbs.
“Relax,” she told herself, trying not to cry. “Follow the instructions and it’ll be a piece of cake.”
Around ten, she was thinking the task was cake, all right. Disgusting, dried-up Christmas fruitcake that’d been left in a box until Easter.
She trudged on until midnight, ignoring her aching back and feet and every part in between. Damn, Ben. He should be here for this kind of thing. In movies, wasn’t the baby’s daddy always there to rub feet and backs and put together bikes on Christmas Eve? Did Ben ever even feel guilty about what he’d done in leaving her pregnant and on her own?
When the crib was finally done, Gabby would’ve liked to have put on the sheets and bumper pads and hung the lamb mobile, but she was simply too tired. There was always tomorrow. At least tonight she’d proved that she wasn’t completely helpless. Though it had taken her a while, she knew now she could handle it. Just like she would every other aspect of parenthood.
Sure, her conscience was only too thoughtful to point out, you handled the practical part of getting ready for Baby, but how are you going to cope with loneliness? Having no one with whom to share Baby’s first smile or coo?
Ignoring her buttinski conscience, Gabby took a quick shower and put her aching body to bed.
Only trouble was, once she touched her head to her pillow, sleep didn’t come, but thoughts of Ben, overlaid by contrasting images of his confounding brother, kept her awake for hours.
FOR THE THIRD TIME IN three weeks, finding himself seated among five women—three of whom were looking ready to burst—it occurred to Dane that he may need to get a life. At the local Cineplex, he sat in a much lower row than he usually preferred. Go figure, none of his dates could climb stairs. The lights had just gone down, meaning his two hours of sitting through a torturous chick flick were about to begin.
During a preview for an action thriller called Thunder Kill, he winced during a particularly loud explosion.
“You all right?” Gabrielle asked under her breath for only him to hear.
“Ah, sure,” he said, searching her face in the dim light. “Why?”
“You seem quiet. This must be a drag, huh? Chaperoning all of these raging hormones?”
“It’s not so bad,” he said, regretfully admiring her glow—evident even in near darkness. She was taller than Stephanie, but shorter than the rest of their friends, and he thought Gabrielle was hot—in a pregnant kind of way. Call him crazy, but something about the contrast of her perfectly straight black hair combined with her out-of-control midsection bulge was infinitely appealing. He also liked her green eyes. Lighter than the fir tree in his parents’ backyard, but darker than freshly mown grass. Gabrielle was a looker, and at the moment, those bewitching eyes of hers soothed him the way being outside on a sunny day always did.
“Good. I’m glad the night isn’t a total bust.”
“Not even close.” A fact he’d only just realized.
“You said you have a lot of reading to do on your current case. Having us drag you along isn’t going to set you back, is it?”
“Probably. But it’s okay.” With his thumb and forefinger, he rubbed weary eyes. His job used to be everything to him, but lately, he didn’t get the same high from being in court. A side effect of maturity? His sense of wanting more? A wife, a family to come home to instead of his empty house? How much of his anger with his brother had to do with the fact that Ben had had all of the above not once, but twice, only to throw it all away? What was it about Dane that made him want to commit, but he couldn’t find the right woman? Ben, on the other hand, found all the women, but was incapable of committing.
“I’m worried about you,” Gabrielle whispered. Had he been a weaker man, her warm breath in his ear might’ve been his undoing. “These past few weeks, you’ve seemed…” She cast him a faint smile.
“I know….” He wanted to say more but
couldn’t. What was there to say?
“Dane?” Gabrielle’s arm rested next to his on the armrest. Had he imagined it, or had she stroked his pinkie finger with hers? Swallowing hard, he clenched his jaw. For both of their sakes, he hoped she hadn’t touched him. He didn’t need that kind of pressure in his life. The kind that came from keeping his hands off his brother’s girl.
“You going to eat those?” Stephanie reached across Gabrielle to snatch some Milk Duds from his box.
Trying not to scowl, he motioned for her to go ahead. Not that he’d needed to bother, seeing how she’d already crammed them into her mouth. For sanity’s sake, he seriously needed to lay off the pregnant chicks and start hanging out more with the guys.
“Oh—Dane…” On his left, Olivia swallowed her latest bite of popcorn. “Steph was telling me how Gabby’s having a tough time assembling Baby Günter’s changing table. She’s too proud to ask,” she said with a cheesy grin in Gabrielle’s direction, “but do you think you could help figure it out?”
What was it with Gabrielle refusing to ask for his help? Worse yet, why was a part of him secretly jazzed at the excuse to see her outside of class again?
“I’m doing fine in the assembly department,” Gabrielle protested, casting a glare in her new friend’s direction. She’d only just told Steph that she was having a baby boy and had probably assumed the news and subsequent baby-name discussion would be kept in confidence. “And no way am I naming my son Günter.”
Olivia said, “Yeah, maybe nice, safe George would be best.”
“I don’t know,” Dane interjected, helping himself to a Milk Dud before the pregnant ladies ate them all. “If the kid ever wants to make it big in Germany, Günter sounds perfect.”
He laughed, dodging a few well-aimed pieces of popcorn.
“For that,” Olivia said, “you have to help Gabby with her changing table.”
“Why am I in trouble?” he teased. Flicking popcorn from his shoulder, he turned to her. “And for the record, I’d be happy to help with the changing table. As payment, I’ll accept a couple dozen of your supposedly legendary cookies.”
“Thanks,” Gabrielle said, still glaring Olivia’s way, “but I really don’t need—”
His once jovial mood deflated by the fact that Gabrielle obviously didn’t want him in her home, Dane barked—unfortunately during a preview of a quiet tear-jerker, “Knock it off. If you need help, why didn’t you just say so? I’ll be over Saturday at one.”
“REMEMBER, LADIES,” REGINA SAID Thursday night, midway through their latest lesson, “intense labor pain is normal, but with properly controlled breathing, you should manage to ride out the increased severity of each contraction.”
While Gabby worriedly cupped her belly, Olivia rolled her eyes.
The always calm and in-control lawyer whispered, “Controlled breathing, hell. The reason I signed up for this class was because I thought all of that huffing and puffing magically erased the pain. Now I’m thinking of going with Plan B—an e-epidural.”
Stephanie snorted.
Dane shook his head.
Gabby, Lisa and Olivia’s best friend, Jen, made gallant attempts to hide giggles.
“Ladies!” Regina glared their way. “This isn’t fourth grade.”
“I realize that,” Olivia said, “but honestly, how much pain can mere breathing be expected to control?”
Their instructor took a few seconds to compose her thoughts—or maybe just to keep from strangling Olivia. From her angle across the dimly lit room, Gabby couldn’t be sure which.
“Ms. Marshall…” Regina said, the tightness in her tone suggesting that Gabby’s antistrangulation hypothesis was correct. “I think you’re forgetting that present-day Lamaze concerns a great deal more than mere breathing. When you get a chance, please refresh yourself with the Lamaze Philosophy of Birth. But in the meantime, to answer your question, there are many ways to ease pain. Warm baths. Aromatherapy. Soothing music.” The instructor smiled. “If you’d like more suggestions, feel free to talk with me after class.”
“Ouch,” Stephanie whispered once Regina continued on with the night’s review of the stages and phases of labor. “Sign me up for the epidural, too.”
While Olivia and Steph joked back and forth about how they planned to tackle labor, Gabby listened intently, soaking up each morsel of information. To say she was apprehensive about giving birth would be the understatement of the century. Petrified was more like it.
Her back still hurt. Mystery pains plagued her. No matter how much everyone from Mama Bocelli to her ob-gyn told her that her pregnancy was progressing fine, something just felt off.
One of the best things about this class was that for the blessed few hours she was surrounded by friends, she forgot to worry—at least about her health or future as a single mom. In class, her only problem was acting normal around Dane. The more she was around him, the more attractive he seemed to become. Something about him was a little untamed. A little wild. Exciting, even, from the standpoint that he always said exactly what was on his mind. She’d never been around anyone like that. Anyone so unafraid to say what needed to be said. At first, the quality had driven her nuts, but like the rest of him, it was growing on her.
“Psst…” Stephanie elbowed Gabby. “You up for Chinese food after class? I’ll die if I don’t have sweet-and-sour pork—stat.”
“Mmm,” Olivia interjected. “Cabbage egg rolls.”
In her periphery vision, Gabby caught Dane’s grin.
“I’M STUFFED,” GABBY ANNOUNCED at Wong’s—their favorite Chinese buffet. Pushing back her plate, she poured fresh hot green tea, wishing for one of her oversize mugs as opposed to the teeny, tiny china cup.
“You’ve hardly eaten a thing,” Olivia said, snagging a fried crab wonton.
“Sure I did,” Gabby lied. “This was my second plate.”
“Nope,” Stephanie said. “The second time you got up, all you took were a few slices of cantaloupe.”
“Does it matter?” Gabby asked, forcing a bite of broccoli, wishing Dane’s thigh wasn’t brushing hers in the cramped booth. Was he staring? She felt hot, like he might be, but she didn’t want to look.
“We’re worried.” Olivia covered Gabby’s hand with hers.
“Really, guys, I’m fine.” Aside from wishing the night would end! Something bugged her about being this close to Dane. Surely it was pregnancy hormones rocketing heat through her every nerve? “I must still be full from too much lunch.”
“When are you starting your leave?” Olivia asked.
“In eleven weeks. I’ve got massages scheduled right up to my due date. And on the baby front, aside from assembling the changing table—which Dane is helping with on Saturday, I’m pretty much good to go.”
Which was a good thing, right? So how come the knot in her stomach was still filled with dread?
After their meal, Dane—ever the gentleman—walked Gabby to her car. Her back was throbbing, and had she known him better, she would’ve liked holding on to him for support. As she stood next to her Jeep, her left hand pressed to the small of her back, she said, “Thanks for tonight. It was fun.”
“My pleasure,” he said with a genuine smile. “Bothering you?” he asked, nodding toward the area she favored.
“A little. It’s no biggie.”
Taking her keys, he opened her door for her.
“Probably normal, even, considering the size of my stomach.”
Not looking convinced, he said, “You should get it checked. Can’t be too careful.”
“I will.”
“Promise?”
Sighing, she rolled her eyes. “I’ll be fine, Dad.”
“Hey—I’m serious.” As always. What if just once Dane loosened up? But still keeping the parts of himself that were more responsible than Ben. “You can never be too careful.”
“Dane…” Knowing the impossibility of such a cosmic request, she tapped her left foot. “I don’t mean to be rude�
��and I certainly appreciate the fact that you even care, but really, I’m good. Back pain is normal. All of my pregnancy books say so.”
Too bad those same books failed to mention why every time Dane stood near, her pulse fluttered.
Chapter Three
“How did you get so good at carpentry?” In the baby’s room, from her perch on the edge of a beruffled and pale blue daybed, Gabby swallowed hard. Dane had worn a tight T-shirt, and the breadth of his shoulders had her a little off balance. Or maybe it was his chiseled profile? Or the way his hair curled the slightest bit against the nape of his tanned neck? As he worked the shrieking power drill, his fingers were nimble. Strong and capable. A far cry from the disaster she’d been with the drill.
Dane laughed. “I’d hardly call this carpentry, seeing how all of the pieces came out of a box.”
“As much as it pains me to admit, after having put the crib together, when it comes to furniture assembly, even the fast-food variety is over my head.”
Shrugging, sitting back on his haunches, he said, “Back in my college days, I was king of ready-to-assemble. Bookcases, entertainment centers, dressers. If it was cheap, my apartment usually had it.”
“Where did you go? To college, that is.”
“Mizzou. How ’bout you?”
“University of Tulsa—second generation.”
“Impressive,” he said with a whistle. “Isn’t that private and pricey?”
“Yes and yes, but I was on scholarship.”
Nodding, he said, “You would be.”
“What’s that mean?”
“Nothing bad.” He grunted while turning his latest screw.
“Then how come you had a tone?” Standing, hands on her hips, she added, “See if I bake any more cookies for you.”
“Hey, whoa. Let’s not get carried away. All I meant was that from the outside, you strike me as the classic overachiever type. Like anything you set your mind to comes easy—except for furniture assembly.” He grinned.
A Wedding For Baby (Baby Boom) Page 3