Had Sebastian known?
How utterly embarrassing. Houston might not be far enough away if everyone in town knew about her relationship with the Wescott of Wescott Oil.
Sebastian and her baby would be half brothers. And half brother to the new man in the computer division, Dorian Brady. According to the grapevine, he’d been another of Jack’s mistakes.
Diana took three deep, slow breaths. It didn’t help. She swallowed a sudden surge of nausea. Things were getting entirely too complicated. If Sebastian had any idea she was pregnant with Jack’s baby, would he try to take it away from her? Could he?
He was certainly in a better position to take care of a child than she was. Hadn’t he taken in his illegitimate half brother, Dorian?
If she’d had to have an affair, why couldn’t it have been with an ordinary man instead of a man who could reach out from the grave and steal her baby from her?
But, of course, an ordinary man would never have been able to do what Jack had done for her mother.
Will moved away from the window, flexing his broad shoulders. Even looking as if she’d swallowed a fly, the lady was a major distraction. “We’ve got everything under control here. Why don’t you take off for a few days. Think over what I said about transferring to Houston and give me your answer next week, all right?”
He watched the last dregs of color fade from her face and wondered what the devil he’d said to cause her to look as if she’d lost her last friend in the world.
Suddenly she turned and rushed into the private bathroom Jack had recently had fitted out with a hot tub and a large screen TV. Sounds of retching came clearly through the door, which had bounced open when she’d slammed it behind her.
“Miss Foster? Diana? Are you okay?”
Come to think of it, she’d looked sort of shaky every morning they’d worked together. No matter what she’d said about being a morning person, some women simply weren’t at their best early in the day.
She was on her knees, struggling to get to her feet when he let himself in. “Diana? Look, if you need to go home, I’ll drive you, all right? You’re obviously in no shape to drive yourself.”
She turned to him then. Big brown eyes, looking like chestnuts in the snow. “Yes, I am,” she said, swallowing hard. “I’m just fine.”
Will dampened a towel and handed it to her, and she held it to her face for a moment. A long moment. He was still standing there, feeling acutely uncomfortable, when she looked up at him again.
“If I transfer to Houston, I’d still have my company insurance, wouldn’t I?”
“Insurance? Yeah, sure. Want to tell me why that’s so important?”
She stared at him, abject misery in every line of her slender body, and the answer suddenly blindsided him. “Oh, hell. You’re pregnant, aren’t you?”
To her credit, she didn’t try to lie. “Just barely.”
“Just barely? Just a little bit pregnant?”
“Look, it’s not a problem. I mean, I can go on working for months once my hormones settle down, according to—well, the experts.”
“And which experts would that be?”
She shook her head, reached behind her to put down the lid, then sat on the commode. Will sat on the edge of the monstrous hot tub with the gold-plated faucets and the mini refrigerator within easy reach. He wondered if Diana and Jack had ever used it together.
“It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t concern you or Wescott Oil or anyone else but me. I paid cash at the clinic. And Houston’s fine. How soon can I transfer?”
“Whoa, hang on a minute. This changes things.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
She was making an effort to conceal it, but the lady was scared out of her penny loafers. She was shivering, and the temperature was somewhere in the low seventies.
“Hot tea? Isn’t that the usual prescription? I’ll make some tea and see if I can find some crackers.”
“No, that’s…” Her voice trailed off, and she nodded weakly. “A cola? Something carbonated?”
So he led her back into the office and settled her in the most comfortable chair. She looked lost. Vulnerable. He didn’t think she’d appreciate being told as much, so he poured a freshly opened soda over ice and waited for it to fizz down while he thought of the best course of action.
Under the circumstances there was no best course of action. All the same, he knew what he had to do.
“Is it Jack’s?” He was pretty sure it was, but he was a firm believer in covering all the bases.
“That doesn’t concern you.” She met his eyes with a miserable but unwavering look that was sheer bravado.
The baby was Jack’s. Otherwise, she would have denied it. He’d come to recognize a basic honesty about the woman in the brief time they’d been working together. It was just one of too many things about her that drove him a little crazy. One minute he’d be thinking of her as just another in a long line of Jack’s women. The next, he’d be looking at her as the innocent victim of a lecherous jerk who knew exactly which button to push when he wanted something.
Or someone.
For years Will had been dealing with the untidy loose ends left by his hardheaded, heedless friend. Ladies who claimed Jack had promised to marry them, when Will knew damned well the man had never promised any such thing. Jack had been married once, to Sebastian’s mother. That had been before Will’s time. Will hadn’t asked about it, and Jack had never volunteered any information. Neither had Sebastian.
As for his long string of alliances, most lasting no more than a few months, Jack usually made the women sign releases before he even took them to bed. He hadn’t gotten where he was by being careless about minor details.
One woman claimed he’d given her a house in Midland but had forgotten to give over the deed. Jack had been dead only three days when she’d come barreling up to the top floor to demand that deed.
Will, still in shock himself, had taken the time to look into the matter and discovered that his reckless friend had given her a one-year lease on a tract house. As the lease still had seven months to run, he’d let it stand.
No woman, to his knowledge, had ever come forth claiming to be pregnant with a little Wescott heir, though it was possible that more than one had found herself in that condition. As a rule Jack paid his women off and hustled them out of town if there was the slightest possibility of that happening.
Matter of fact, this woman hadn’t made the claim, either. Which was only one of the reasons why Will decided to clean up one last mess his untidy friend had left behind. He wasn’t sure Diana could handle it financially—knew damned well she couldn’t handle it emotionally if today was an example.
“Feeling better now? Look, don’t worry about the insurance. If I set the wheels in motion right away, we can be married within the week.”
Her jaw fell. It was a delicate jaw, one he’d like to cup with his hand, but this was hardly the time. “I’m talking a business arrangement, Diana. I have a pretty good idea of your resources—” At her look of indignation, he said, “Yeah, I know, I had no right, but you see, one of the trails I had to follow to unravel Jack’s financial affairs led directly to your bank account. I finally figured it out with a little research.” Not to mention recalling a few of Jack’s insensitive remarks that Will had only recently put into context.
She was breathing too fast. There was an angry spark in her eyes that he’d as soon not have to deal with. But determined to settle things before she split, he plowed ahead.
“Look, it makes sense as a purely business arrangement. I’m unattached. You’re unattached. You need something that I can offer.”
“Fine.” She crossed her arms over her chest—breasts. Uh-uh, he preferred to think of the area as a chest. “What do you need, Mr. Bradford? That is, what would you get out of it?”
His smile held little warmth. “Call me Will…Danny.”
“My name is Diana,” she snapped icily.
“Right. Diana.
As for what I need, how about that warm feeling you get when you write a check to your favorite charity?”
Oops. Another misstep. Switching gears, he leaned his hips against the windowsill and tried to reason with her from another direction. “I take it Jack didn’t ask you to sign an agreement?” At her look of confusion, he nodded. “I thought not. By paying your mother’s hospital bills he had you right where he wanted you. But you see, Jack’s gone now. You’re going to need some help and I don’t want Sebastian to be—”
“As if I would go to Sebastian! This is none of his business—nor yours, either!”
“Are you going to keep it?”
“My baby? Of course I’m going to keep it, it’s mine!” Her hands went to her stomach, still flat and almost too lean.
Will read her thoughts as clearly as if she’d spoken them. In a few months—maybe even a few weeks—it wouldn’t be quite so flat. There was bound to be talk, even if she transferred to Houston. Hell, half the folks in Texas knew Jack’s reputation. All it would take was a few words, and poor Seb would find himself saddled with another of his father’s by-blows. Whether or not she agreed, Seb’s conscience would make him step in.
“Look, if we get married, there are several ways we can handle this. We can settle on a lump sum—enough to support you and the baby until you can get back on your feet, or we can—”
“Absolutely not!” Her eyes sparkled angrily.
“Or I could lease you a place to live and arrange for a monthly stipend to be paid into an account. Of course, you’d have to sign a release, but we can work that out later.”
He wondered if she was going to take a swing at him. In all honesty he couldn’t much blame her if she did. It was a hell of a position to be in, having to insult a woman to make sure she was taken care of. “You don’t have to decide right this minute.”
“Fine. I’ll let you know in a few years what you can do with your generous offer.”
Ouch. How the hell did a man handle a pregnant female porcupine? It wasn’t as if he was interested in her personally.
At least, not seriously. That wouldn’t even make sense.
“I’m talking about a business arrangement. Think about it and I’ll call you in the morning.”
Five minutes after Will left, Diana was sitting where he had left her, staring at a tiny dark spot on the cream carpet where one of Jack’s cigar ashes had fallen. Jack had been rough on carpets.
On women, too, she thought sadly.
As for Will, he was out of his mind. Did he really think she was that desperate? If there was one thing she had learned early in life it was that a bad marriage was not the answer to anyone’s problems. No child of hers was going to grow up the way she had, hiding her head under the covers, telling herself that any day now a kindly king would see the polish on her toenails and recognize her as his long-lost daughter.
A business arrangement. Ha!
First thing in the morning she would call personnel and see if she could set the transfer into motion herself.
One floor below, Will sat in his own quiet office, both feet propped on his desk, and stared at the single painting on his wall. It was one he’d commissioned of the modest ranch he’d bought soon after he’d gone to work for Jack Wescott. He’d had nothing particular in mind when he’d bought the place—a few thousand acres of woods and grassland, with a farmhouse and a few outbuildings. Since then he had built himself a house and hired a couple to stay in the old house and look after things. He’d simply needed something more than his job. A bolt hole, in case Jack ever went too far over the line and things blew up.
It hadn’t happened. Jack had managed to stay just this side of the law, including the countless miles of red tape that all but hamstrung the oil industry. Will had become a full partner, and the ranch had become a place to unwind when he could spare the time. He had a small herd of quarter horses, good breeding stock. Tack Gilbert, his manager, had hired a few hands to look after the place. Diana could stay there until the baby was born, and then they could renegotiate.
At least he’d do better by her than Jack had done by Dorian’s mother. Whoever the poor woman had been, she’d probably deserved better than being handed a one-way ticket out of town.
Will had no interest in marrying again, in spite of that damn fool bet the guys had made the other night at the club. He’d never forgiven himself for not being there when Shelly, his wife, had been killed.
But in this case, marriage was the simplest solution. He could marry Diana, claim the baby as his own and spare poor Seb from any more unpleasant revelations. Whether or not anyone believed him, they’d have better sense than to question his claim. He and Diana could spend the occasional weekend together for the sake of appearances, then, after a year or so, they could renegotiate.
Hell, even that much was better than a lot of the marriages he knew about. Half the men his age had been married and divorced at least once.
He happened to know Diana’s age. She was twenty-eight to his forty-one. An uncomfortable stretch if this were to be a normal marriage, but it wasn’t. She was carrying another man’s baby and as for him, lust notwithstanding, he was long past the age for romance.
“Ah, Jack, you sorry son of a gun,” he muttered. “You’re not worth the salt it would take to cure your hide. I’m doing this for your kid’s sake, not yours.”
Maybe he was, and maybe he was doing it for another reason, one he’d as soon not examine too closely.
Hell, it was the right thing to do, and so he’d do it.
Three
Diana dressed carefully in a black three-piece suit with a gray silk blouse, examined her image in the mirror, then quickly removed the outfit and tossed it on the pile on her bed.
Smile, for heaven’s sake, you’re getting married today!
The softest, most romantic thing she owned was a muumuu or her peach-colored sweatsuit. Hardly wedding wear, she thought ruefully.
It was a business arrangement, strictly, and only that, she reminded herself. She had called Will on the private number he’d given her and had said, “Yes. All right, I will.” Just that, no more. Then she’d congratulated herself on taking control of her life and doing what was best for her baby.
Will had set the time and place with no more interest in his voice than if he’d been scheduling a routine visit to the dentist. He would probably wear the same thing he wore to work every day—one of those stunning suits that whispered “Texas” without all the fancy piping and waist-hugging style so many men seemed to go for.
By all rights, she should wear the same kind of thing she’d worn every day to the office. Something that wouldn’t demand attention, that wouldn’t have to be dry-cleaned after each wearing and something that could in no way be described as seductive. Something suitably secretarial.
One look at her apartment reminded her of why she dressed the way she did—in tailored suits, shirt-waist dresses in conservative colors and sensible shoes.
“Oh, Mama, you really did a number on me, didn’t you?” she whispered, picking up one of Lila’s beloved candles, the scented wax embedded with seashells. Her mother’s touch was everywhere, from the lava lamps and beaded macramé wall hangings to the lavender walls and orange shag rug. Hoping to pull her out of her depression when they’d moved to Royal, Diana had encouraged Lila to decorate their small apartment, claiming she was too busy settling into her new job.
The result had turned out to be a colorful cross between early thrift shop and late Woodstock, but Diana hadn’t complained—she’d hardly noticed. With settling into a new job in a new town and worrying about her mother’s increasing listlessness, a tacky apartment had been the least of her concerns. She had lived in far worse places.
Then her mother’s condition had been diagnosed. After that, the apartment had served only as a place where she kept her clothes so that she could rush in and change between work and the hospital.
And Jack’s cabin….
Now, without eve
r having come to terms with the past, she was about to take on the role of Mrs. William Bradford. A temporary role, she told herself. Just until the baby came and she was settled in a new job, a new town. It might seem as if she was relinquishing control over her life, but she wasn’t. Not really. She was only being sensible. The best insurance she could have was that her baby would be born a Bradford. Without DNA testing, which she would refuse to permit, no one could prove otherwise. At the very least it should settle any perceived risk of her cashing in on Jack’s name.
“I’ll make sure to lay in a good supply of nail polish, honey pie,” she murmured, touching the place where only inches away, her daughter or son lay sleeping.
What if it was a boy? She could hardly polish his toenails and offer him hope by telling him he was a secret prince. Maybe she could afford to buy him a pony. What little boy wouldn’t love to grow up to be a cowboy?
The wedding was to take place in Judge Shirley Mattock’s offices on Friday afternoon at four. The guests consisted of Will’s closest friends, Sebastian Wescott, Jason Windover, Keith Owens and Robert Cole. She had met Sebastian, of course, at work. The others were strangers.
Why hadn’t she thought to invite someone of her own?
Not that she had any close friends in Royal. There hadn’t really been time to make friends before she’d been plucked out of the secretarial pool and sent up to the tower office. After that, the other women she’d worked with had seemed rather cool.
Don’t you dare get sick, she warned herself silently, quelling a familiar uneasy feeling. Will had insisted on picking her up, but she’d insisted right back. “It’s unlucky for the groom to see the bride on her wedding day,” she’d told him. “I’ll drive.”
She pulled in to the parking lot behind the courthouse only five minutes later. Will was there to meet her. “I was afraid you’d changed your mind and skipped town.”
“I can still do that,” she told him. “It’s not too late to withdraw your offer.” So much for that old superstition about the bride and groom not seeing each other before the ceremony on the day of the wedding. Maybe it didn’t count, since it wasn’t that kind of a wedding.
The Millionaire's Pregnant Bride Page 4
