Baby in the Making

by Elizabeth Bevarly

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  Very softly she replied, “I think so.”

  He could tell she wanted to say more, but no other words came out. “Do you want to talk about it?” he asked.

  “No,” she said. Then she quickly amended, “Yes.” She expelled a frustrated sound. “I don’t know. I feel so weird right now.”

  That made two of them.

  “It’s just...” She inhaled a deep breath and released it slowly, then met his gaze. Her beautiful silver-gray eyes seemed enormous and limitless, filled with something he had never seen in them before. Not just disappointment, but uncertainty. He’d never known Hannah to be a victim of either of those things. She was always so sunny and contented whenever he saw her. Even in her tiny apartment that offered so little to be sunny or contented with, she’d seemed to be both.

  Hannah was one of those rare people who was satisfied with what life had brought her, even after life had brought her so little. Not that she didn’t have aspirations or goals, but she wasn’t blindsided by a single-minded, driven ambition that overshadowed everything else, the way most people were when they were going after what they wanted. She took life day by day and enjoyed what each of those days brought. At least, she had until now.

  “It’s not about the money, you know?” she said. “I mean, at first, it was. I did always plan on having kids someday, but my timetable was fluid where that was concerned, and I didn’t really give it that much thought. Then, when I found out about my grandfather and all that money...” At this, she managed an almost earnest chuckle. “Well, hell, yeah, it was about the money. I could do everything I ever wanted if I inherited the Linden billions. But this morning, when I discovered I wasn’t pregnant, it wasn’t the money I thought about first. It was the baby. And how there wasn’t going to be one. And I just felt so...”

  She blinked and a single, fat tear spilled from one eye. Yeager brushed it away with the pad of his thumb before it even reached her cheek. Then he kissed her again. A little longer this time. Maybe because he needed reassuring as much as she did, which was the most surprising thing of all this morning.

  “It’s okay,” he repeated. “I bet no one gets pregnant the first time they try.” He smiled gently. “Really, when you think about all the logistics that go into procreating, it’s amazing anyone ever gets pregnant at all.”

  He had meant for the comment to lighten the mood. Instead, Hannah looked horrified.

  “I’m kidding,” he said quickly. “It’ll happen, Hannah. Don’t worry. This just gives us the chance to go to Malta next time. I know this very isolated, extremely wild beach where there are some incredible caves for diving. You’ll love it. I promise. A few days in the Mediterranean, lying on a sunny beach, eating all that great food...” He stopped himself from adding the part about the virile young stud she’d be spending her nights with, since that part went without saying. “Who wouldn’t get pregnant with all that as a backdrop?”

  She smiled again and, this time, it was a little more convincing. “You’re taking me to the beach,” she said.

  “I am.”

  “I’ll finally get to see the ocean.”

  “You will.”

  “How long have you been planning this trip?”

  Yeager had started planning it in North Carolina, the minute she’d told him she’d never seen the ocean. For some reason, though, he didn’t want to admit that. So he hedged. “I’ve had a few ideas for destinations in my head all along. Malta was just one of them.”

  Which was true. He just didn’t mention that Malta had been at the bottom of the list, since beaches, even the Mediterranean ones, were usually pretty lacking in adventure, and besides, when you’ve seen one beach and ocean, you’ve pretty much seen them all. Except, of course, for Hannah. So Malta it was.

  “That’s sweet of you, Yeager.”

  It wasn’t sweet of him. He just didn’t think it was fair that a perfectly nice person like Hannah had never seen the ocean, that was all. And, hey, that Mediterranean diet was supposed to be all kinds of healthy.

  “Will it be a problem for you to take the time off from work?” he asked.

  “I’m sure Mr. Cathcart and Mr. Quinn won’t be too crazy about me asking off again. But when I remind them how, in the ten years I’ve worked for them, I hadn’t had a single vacation before last month, they’ll probably grudgingly concede. I’m not sure how many more times I’ll be able to play that card, though. And it really will eat into my paycheck.”

  Yeager started to offer to intercede on her behalf with her employers for her again and cover any of her lost wages. Then he remembered how adamant Hannah had been that she could make her own way. Besides, he really was sure the trip to Malta would be, ah, fruitful. There was a good chance Hannah wouldn’t need to ask for any more time off, because she’d be able to quit that job and follow her dreams.

  “It’ll be okay, Hannah,” he told her a third time. Because three was a charm, right?

  Except in baby-making, he quickly amended. In baby-making, two was. They would be successful next time. Yeager was sure of it.

  * * *

  Hannah stood on the balcony of the breathtaking suite in the luxury hotel Yeager had booked for them in Valletta, gazing out at the Grand Harbour at night, waiting for him to finish his shower.

  She was beginning to understand why he lived the way he did. This place was amazing. The city was awash with light against the black sky, practically glowing with a golden grandeur reflected in the water of the bay. The moon and stars, too, were gilded with an otherworldly radiance that made her feel as if she’d completely left the planet and arrived on some ethereal plane. She couldn’t be farther removed from her life in New York than she would be if she were standing at the outer reaches of the universe.

  The mere view from a European balcony wasn’t enough to satisfy Yeager’s idea of adventure, though. For him, the adventure for this trip had lain in the ocean caves where they’d spent yesterday diving. And that had certainly been fun. But to Hannah, the true adventure was simply being in a place that was so different from her own. There really was a lot more to the world than the neighborhoods she’d called home. And she’d only visited two places at this point. Maybe, if everything worked out the way it was supposed to, once her life settled down, she’d think about doing a little more globe-trotting with her child or children in the future.

  A wave of apprehension spilled over her. Right now, that child or children was still a big if. Though she and Yeager were spending this trip at a more leisurely pace than their days in North Carolina. The cave diving yesterday had been peaceful—even the heart-racing moments of interacting with a real, live, albeit small, octopus—and today, they’d lain in the sun and strolled along the streets of Valletta and stuffed themselves with local cuisine. With any luck, Hannah would drop an egg at some point tomorrow—or the next day—that was ripe for fertilization. And tonight...

  The thought stopped there. Yeah. Tonight. Tonight was... Tonight would be... She sighed. This time last month she’d been looking at the night ahead as a task necessary for her to complete to claim her legacy. Not that she hadn’t liked the idea of having sex with Yeager—a lot—but, originally, that was all it was supposed to be: sex with Yeager. Something that would conveniently lead to her achieving her goal of starting a family. After actually having sex with Yeager, however, everything seemed to...shift. She still couldn’t put her finger on what was different about this attempt to become pregnant from the last one, but there was definitely something. Something different about Yeager. Something different about her.

  When she heard a door open in the suite behind her, she spun around to see him emerging from the bathroom wearing nothing but a pair of midnight blue boxers, scrubbing his black hair dry with a towel.

  She watched as he crossed to the walk-in closet and steppe
d inside it. He then withdrew, wearing buff-colored trousers and buttoning up a chocolate-brown shirt. She recognized both as pieces she had made for him, and a ribbon of unexpected pleasure wound through her. She didn’t know why. She’d probably made, or at least altered, half his wardrobe, the same way she had for many of Cathcart and Quinn’s clients. His wearing of her clothes had never affected her any more than some other man’s wearing of them. For some reason, though, she suddenly liked the idea of Yeager being wrapped in garments she had sewed for him.

  She continued to watch him as he strode to a table where a bottle of champagne had been chilling since they’d returned from their day in town. Deftly, he popped the cork and poured two flutes, then nestled the bottle back into the ice. Hannah didn’t think she could ever get tired of just looking at him. He moved with such ease and elegance, utterly assured in himself but completely unconscious of that confidence. She remembered how, in North Carolina, he’d revealed his seemingly quiet upbringing in the heart of the Midwest. Try as she might, he hadn’t let her bring up the subject again. And she was dying to know how that little boy from Peoria had become such a raging scion of world adventure.

  He made his way toward the French doors leading to the balcony, where Hannah awaited him in the darkness. His eyes must not have adjusted from the light of the room because he didn’t seem to see her at first. Then he smiled and headed toward her. He halted just before reaching her, though, and gave her a thorough once-over.

  “Wow,” he said. “You look incredible.”

  She warmed at the compliment. They had reservations for a late dinner at some upscale seafood place he’d told her was one of his favorite places in the world. She’d had to scramble to find something to bring with her that would be suitable, since upscale didn’t exist in her normal wardrobe—or her normal life, for that matter. Fortunately she’d had a couple of large enough fabric remnants to stitch together a flowy, pale yellow halter dress and had found some reasonably decent dressy sandals at her favorite thrift shop.

  She was also wearing the strapless bra and brief panties Yeager had given her their first day in Valletta to compensate for the ones he’d sent down the river in North Carolina. Or so he’d said. Somehow, though, the sheer ivory silk-and-lace confections bore no resemblance to the cotton Hanes Her Way that they’d replaced. And she was reasonably certain they didn’t come in two-and five-packs.

  “Thanks,” she said, the word coming out more quietly and less confidently than she’d intended. “You look pretty amazing yourself.”

  He smiled. “Thanks to you.”

  Another frisson of delight shuddered through her. Why was his opinion suddenly more important to her than it had been before? She knew she was good at her job—she didn’t need the approval of others to reinforce that. But Yeager’s approval suddenly meant a lot to her.

  He handed her a glass of champagne then turned to look at the city lights she’d been marveling at. “I think this may be one of the most beautiful cities I’ve ever visited,” he said.

  There was a wistfulness in his voice she’d never heard before. She wouldn’t have thought Yeager Novak could be wistful. She smiled. “You talk like there are actually cities you haven’t visited.”

  He chuckled. “One or two.”

  She shook her head. “I can’t imagine living the life you do. Are you ever in one place for any length of time?”

  “I try to spend at least one week a month in New York,” he said.

  “One week is not a length of time,” she told him.

  “Maybe not to you. But even a week in one place can make me restless. Besides, I can pretty much run Ends of the Earth from anywhere. And there are times when I have to be out of the country for months.”

  “Have to be?” she echoed. “Or just want to be?”

  He lifted one shoulder and let it drop. “Could be they’re one and the same.”

  Interesting way to put it.

  “So, what?” she asked. “You just live in hotels?”

  “Sometimes. Or in tents. Or out in the open. Depends on where I am. I do own homes in the places I visit most often.”

  “Which are?”

  He turned to look at her full-on. “I don’t want to talk about me. Let’s talk about you.”

  She shook her head adamantly. “Oh, no. No way. We talked about me the whole time in North Carolina. You know everything there is to know about me. This time, we’re going to talk aaalll about you.”

  He bristled palpably at the comment. Hannah didn’t care. The last time they were together, he’d avoided every effort she’d made to learn more about him, always turning the conversation back to her.

  Yeager really did know everything there was to know about her. About how she’d nearly failed phys ed at her Harlem middle school because she was so bad at gymnastics. About the four stitches and tetanus shot she’d had to get when she was seven, after slicing open her knee in a vacant lot on Lexington Avenue. About how, to this day, she still missed the grumpy, one-eyed tabby named Bing Clawsby that had lived in one of her homes.

  He knew her favorite color was purple, her favorite food was fettuccine Alfredo, her favorite movie was Wall-E and her favorite band was the Shins. He knew she was a Sagittarius, that she’d never learned how to drive, that she believed in ghosts and, how, if she could be any animal in the world, she’d be a fennec fox. All she knew about him was that he was the only child of a quiet-sounding couple from Peoria and that he’d played hockey for a college so far upstate he might as well have been in Canada. He wasn’t going to avoid her this time.

  “Oh, come on,” she said. “How bad can your secrets be? You barely have two thousand hits on Google.”

  He arched his eyebrows at that. “You looked me up online?”

  “Of course I looked you up online.” Hell, she’d done it after the first time he’d come into Cathcart and Quinn. There was no reason he had to know that part, though. “You’re going to be the father of my child.” She hoped. “But all that turned up was your social media accounts, stuff about Ends of the Earth, and mentions in some extreme adventure blogs. Even that article about you in Outside magazine didn’t reveal anything about the real Yeager Novak.”

  He enjoyed a healthy taste of his champagne and avoided her gaze. Hannah remained silent as she waited him out. She was surprised when she won the battle after a few seconds and he turned to gaze out at the bay again.

  Quietly he said, “That article in Outside revealed everything you need to know about me.”

  “It didn’t tell me you’re from Peoria.”

  “That’s because Peoria isn’t a part of my life.”

  “But it’s where you grew up,” she objected. “Where and how a person grows up is a huge part of who they are.”

  “It’s a huge part of who they were,” he argued. “You can’t go home again.”

  “Everyone goes home again at some point, Yeager, in some way. It’s inescapable.” When he said nothing she asked, “Do your folks still live in Peoria?”

  He sighed that sigh of resignation she was beginning to recognize fairly well. “No,” he told her. “They died within a year of each other when I was in college.”

  “Oh,” she said soberly. “I’m sorry.”

  She was sorry for his loss, not sorry that she’d asked. This was exactly the sort of thing two people should be sharing when their lives were going to be linked—she hoped—by a child. The things that had impacted them, the things that had shaped and moved them.

  “I was one of those late-life surprises,” he said. “My mother was fifty-two when I was born. My father was nearly sixty. He had a fatal heart attack my junior year of college. My mom had a stroke ten months later.”

  Which could explain one of the reasons Yeager kept himself so physically fit. It didn’t, however, explain why he kept traversing the globe
over and over.

  “I’m sorry,” Hannah said again.

  He gazed down into his glass. “It was a long time ago.”

  Maybe. But two losses like that, so close together, had to have taken a toll on a college kid hundreds of miles away from home.

  Hannah changed the subject from his parents to his school. “So...hockey scholarship. You must have been pretty good.”

  He nodded. “I was, actually. I had interest from a couple of pro teams before I graduated.”

  “Why didn’t you stay with it?”

  He shrugged again, even more half-heartedly. “Hockey was something I shared with my dad. He was my coach when I started in a youth league at five. He took me to Blackhawk games once a month before I even started school, even though Chicago was a three-or four-hour drive one-way. We’d make a weekend of it—my mom would come, too—and we’d do touristy stuff while we were there. Hit Navy Pier or the Shedd Aquarium or the Field Museum or something. And my dad never missed one of my games, all the way through high school. He even hung around the rink to watch me practice when he could. After he died, it wasn’t the same. Hockey didn’t mean as much to me as it did before. I just didn’t have the heart for it anymore, you know?”

  Hannah didn’t know, actually. She could no more imagine what that had been like for Yeager than she could swim from here to New York. She’d never had a relationship like that—had never shared anything like that—with anyone. So she didn’t respond.

  He didn’t seem to expect an answer, anyway, because he continued. “That was when Tommy and I started talking about going into business together. He’d spent his childhood living all over the world, thanks to his mom’s job, and after my parents’ deaths, going someplace else in the world—anywhere else in the world—sounded pretty damned good to me. So that was where we put our efforts.”