Hand in hand, he and Hannah climbed the stairs to her apartment and entered. The moment they were inside with the door closed behind them, he kissed her. Strangely, it wasn’t like the kisses that had preceded their couplings in other places. It wasn’t hot and urgent, filled with need. It was slow and sweet, almost innocent, as if this were the first time for both of them, and neither was sure exactly what to do.
Later, Yeager wouldn’t even remember moving the love seat to pull down the Murphy bed. Later, he wouldn’t remember the two of them undressing each other and climbing into it. Later, he would only remember making love to Hannah in a way they hadn’t made love before. With care and attention, and something else that hadn’t been there earlier, either. Something he wasn’t sure how to describe or what to call. But it felt as natural and necessary as breathing.
After they spent themselves, when he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close, she nestled into him and tucked her head beneath his chin. As Hannah slept beside him, Yeager looked out the window—the only window she had onto the world—and watched the snow fall.
And he wondered what he was going to do if he and Hannah weren’t successful with their final attempt at conception in Fiji. Worse, he wondered what he was going to do after their baby was born, when he would be moving in and out of their lives, and Hannah would never have a need for a night like this again.
Nine
Hannah was throwing the last of her toiletries into the suitcase she’d be carting to Fiji in an hour when her phone rang. She wasn’t surprised to see Yeager on the Caller ID, since he always called just before she was due to leave to remind her to bring sunscreen—even to Scotland—which she’d always already packed.
She thumbed the answer button and lifted the phone to her ear. “Yes, I packed sunscreen, and yes, it’s SPF thirty,” she greeted him.
Silence met her from the other end for a moment. Then, in a quiet, too steady voice, Yeager replied, “Hannah, I have some bad news.”
Something seized up in her chest at the absolute absence of emotion in his voice. She’d never heard him sound this way before. “Are you okay?”
“Yes,” he told her quickly. “But I’m not in Vancouver.”
He was supposed to have been in Vancouver yesterday afternoon, West Coast time. He’d planned to check out a site for some new mountain adventure today, then take a late-night flight that would put him in Suva before breakfast on Sunday morning, Fiji time, which would be Saturday afternoon New York time. That gave them plenty of time to get settled, since that would be the day before Hannah was set to ovulate. They’d planned everything down to the minute. At least, they had before Yeager turned up someplace he wasn’t supposed to be.
“Where are you?” she asked.
He muttered an exasperated sound. “I’m in Alberta. Long story short, what was supposed to be an uneventful flight, both time-and weather-wise, got delayed a couple of hours, then a storm blew in out of nowhere just as we were approaching the Rockies. The jet I chartered had to make an emergency landing on a little airstrip at a research station in the middle of nowhere.”
Hannah’s tension increased with every word he spoke. “That happened yesterday?”
“Yeah.”
“Why didn’t you call me?”
“I didn’t think it would be that big a deal. I figured the storm would blow over and we’d still make it to Vancouver today. Worst case scenario, I’d have to cancel my day trip to look at the property I’m interested in and just head right on to Fiji as planned.”
“So you think you’ll still be able to do that?”
His answer was way too quick for her liking. “No.”
Okay, so they wouldn’t be going to Fiji. That was all right. Hannah hadn’t been all that keen on flying fifteen hours one way, anyway, with or without a fertility volcano—and Yeager—at the end of the journey. She was totally okay with their next attempt at conception being right here in New York. They could check into a nice hotel, have dinner—maybe even take another carriage ride around Central Park, which, of all the experiences she’d shared with Yeager, had been, hands down, the most enjoyable. Well, except for all their, um, attempts at conception.
“So I guess we’re not going to Fiji then,” she said.
“No,” he told her. “I’m definitely not going to get out of here in time for that.”
He still sounded way too somber for her liking. Way too serious. Way too worried.
“Well, when will you be able to leave?” she asked.
This time, there was a long pause followed by a quiet, “I honestly don’t know.”
Now Hannah felt somber, serious and worried, too. “Why not?”
“Because we’re completely snowed in here. And another storm is coming right at us.”
She told herself not to panic. There was still plenty of time for him to get back to New York, right? Sunday was still two days away. A flight from Alberta couldn’t take more than four or five hours, could it? A third of the time it would have taken to fly to Fiji.
“But you’ll be back in New York by Sunday, right?” she asked.
There was another pause, longer this time. Then a very weary-sounding Yeager told her, “I don’t know, Hannah.”
“But—”
“The jet took a beating before we landed. My pilot almost didn’t get us to the ground in one piece.”
Her nerves went barbed-wire sharp at that. “Yeager! You nearly died? And you didn’t call me yesterday to tell me?”
What the hell was the matter with him? Okay, yeah, they weren’t girlfriend and boyfriend, so he wasn’t obligated to keep her apprised of everything that happened in his life, even when his life was threatened. But they were friends, weren’t they? Kind of? Sort of? In a way? Okay, maybe they weren’t friends, either—she wasn’t sure what they were, actually. But they were trying to make a baby together, so the least he could do was keep her informed about things that put him in danger.
Then she remembered he made his living courting danger. He lived his life courting danger. Yeager wasn’t happy unless he was thumbing his nose at death with some kind of crazy adventure. Nearly crashing into the side of a mountain in a private jet was probably nothing compared to some of the activities he undertook. How could she have thought it would be a good idea to have a baby with a guy like that? She was going to be worrying about the safety of her child’s father for the rest of her life.
Or not. Because it was starting to sound like they might miss their last chance for her to conceive before the time ran out on the Linden fortune. If Yeager got stuck in Alberta much longer...
“The jet landed safely,” he hurried to reassure her. “But not before it developed some mechanical problems that are going to keep it grounded until it can be repaired. And this place is totally closed off by road this time of year. The only way in and out is by plane, and there aren’t any others here right now. Even if this new storm subsides soon, I’m going to be stuck until someone else can get in and fly us out. And I just don’t know how long that will take. There must be three feet of snow on the ground.”
With every word he spoke, Hannah’s fears grew worse. Not just for Yeager’s safety, but that the last chance she had to conceive a child with him—to start a family with him—was gone. Sunday was supposed to be her fertile day. She knew that an egg, once dropped, could be viable for, at best, twenty-four hours. If her calculations were correct—though, honestly, she had no idea these days if they were, and the fertility monitors and ovulation tests she’d tried to use hadn’t been all that helpful—she could still become pregnant if Yeager made it back to New York by Monday night.
Maybe. Possibly. Perhaps.
But if he didn’t make it back by then, that was it. No baby for Hannah. No Linden fortune that would have ensured the rest of her life was a happy, safe, secure o
ne. Instead she’d be dogged forever by the specter of what might have been.
She tried not to think about the irony. Had she never discovered she was the missing Linden heir, the rest of her life would have been happy. Happy enough, anyway. She would have lived it as she always had, day by day, satisfied with what she had, working toward a future she hoped and dreamed would eventually happen. She would have had a vague idea about starting a family someday, but wouldn’t have been in any big hurry. And if it never happened, well, that probably would have been okay, because she never would have known what she was missing. But now...
Now she would have to live with the very real knowledge that she wanted a family badly and might never have one. Worse, now she knew she wanted that family with Yeager, and she would never have him, either. Without him as the father of her child, there would be no reason for him to stay in her life. Not as anything other than one of her regulars at Cathcart and Quinn—though one she would now know quite a bit better than most. The only reason he would have continued to be a part of her life otherwise would have been because he was her baby’s father. He wasn’t the kind of man to settle down in one place with one woman—any woman. Sure, he was determined to be a father to their child, but only between trips to all four corners of the world. His idea of parenting would be swooping in with Matryoshka dolls and Mozartkugel and didgeridoos to regale his progeny with stories of his travels, then fly off again for another adventure—most likely with someone named Luydmila or Fritzi or Sheila.
Yes, Yeager Novak wanted to be a father. But he didn’t want to be a father. Not the kind who dealt with the skinned knees and carpools and picket fences. Or with the hand-holding strolls and the Sunday-morning snuggles and the firefly-spattered evenings on the patio after the kids went to bed, the way Hannah wanted to be a mother. And the way she wanted to be—she might as well admit it—a wife.
So if Yeager didn’t make it back to New York soon...
“Well, when do you think someone will be able to fly you out?” she asked.
There was another one of those uncomfortable silences. “I just don’t know, Hannah. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” she told him. Even if it wasn’t. Even if it kind of felt like she was stranded alone in an icy, isolated wilderness herself. “I’m sure you’ll get out of there soon. I’m not supposed to ovulate until Sunday. Maybe it’ll even happen Monday. As long as we can get together by Tuesday, we should be fine. You’ll be back by Tuesday, right?”
The silence that met her for that reply was the worst one yet. So was the hopeless, defeated tone in Yeager’s voice when he said, “Yeah. Sure. Sure, I will. It’ll be fine. Look, I’m sorry, but I have to go. The power here is iffy, too, right now, and I’m not sure how long I’ll have my battery. I’ll call you again when I can, okay? Let you know what’s going on.”
“Okay,” Hannah said. “Keep me posted. And, Yeager?”
“Yeah?”
She knew he hated to hear the words, but she was going to say them, anyway. “Be careful.”
“I will,” he said.
And that, more than anything, told her all she needed to know. He was worried, too.
She said goodbye and thumbed off the phone, then looked at the suitcase she hadn’t yet closed. On top was the lacy underwear Yeager had given to her in Malta. She’d worn it every trip since, thinking it would bring them luck. And also because of the look in Yeager’s eyes whenever he saw her wearing it. Automatically, she began removing everything she’d packed, piece by piece, putting it all back where it belonged. Then she gazed at the empty suitcase, feeling every bit as empty.
She told herself there was probably still time to go the sperm bank route. She’d finished the application process last summer and been cleared while she was waiting for Yeager to see a doctor about his health to ensure he was up to the task of conceiving a child. It was possible they might be able to accommodate her, especially if she explained the situation to them. She might still be able to conceive a baby this month with some anonymous donor.
But she didn’t want to have a baby with some anonymous donor. She wanted Yeager to be the father of any child she might have. Having a baby wasn’t about winning the Linden billions anymore. It hadn’t been about that for a long time. Hannah didn’t want to just start a family, not even for a family fortune. She wanted to start a family with Yeager. Because, somewhere along the line, Yeager had begun to feel like family.
Surely he’d make it home by Tuesday. Surely her egg would wait until he was there before it made an appearance. Surely this time—this last, final time—would be the one that worked.
Surely it would. Surely.
* * *
It took Yeager a full week after becoming stranded in Alberta to get back to New York, much too late for him and Hannah to even attempt conception. For the last couple of months she’d been using one of those prediction kits that indicated a surge in some hormone that happened prior to ovulation. By Wednesday afternoon, when Yeager finally called her to tell her he would be flying out the next day, that surge was nonexistent. Hannah’s egg had come and gone without him. They’d never stood a chance.
He’d told her on Sunday night to go to the sperm bank on Monday and get pregnant that way. But she’d said she would wait for him. He’d been surprised by her decision—she was almost certainly not going to get pregnant if she waited for him to get back to New York, and by the time they could try next month, it would be past the legal deadline for her to inherit. But a part of him had been delighted by her decision, too. He still liked the idea of having a child with Hannah. Now, though, there wouldn’t be any financial benefit to her, so he couldn’t see her wanting to continue the effort.
Even if he offered to pay for everything the child needed—and then some—he couldn’t see her going along. Hannah wanted to make her own way in the world. She wanted to have a child on her terms, not his, which was perfectly understandable. But she wouldn’t be able to do that until she was at a place in her life where having a child fit in. Now that she wouldn’t be claiming her family fortune, who knew when she’d be able to swing it? And by the time she could, there would probably be some other guy in the picture who could provide the paternity. And maybe provide a life with her, too. She wouldn’t need Yeager for any of it. Not that he wanted to spend a life with Hannah—or any woman. But the idea of her starting a family with someone else now was just...inconceivable. No pun intended.
He wished her grandfather was still alive. Not just so Yeager could tell the guy what an incredible granddaughter he had—so it was unfair to put some ridiculous condition on her inheritance like insisting she have a child—but also so he could strangle the guy with his bare hands. Seriously, what kind of jerk turned a woman into an incubator, just so he could ensure his family line remained intact?
Okay, so, in a way, maybe Yeager had kind of done that to Hannah, too. That was beside the point. The point was...
He sighed with much feeling as he gazed out the window of his office at the snow falling over New York. The point was that he and Hannah had both wanted a child for their own reasons, and now they wouldn’t be having one. What could either of them say or do at this point that would make that better? It wasn’t like either of them was at fault for what had happened, but that didn’t make it any easier to bear.
So where did that leave them? What would they be to each other now? It wasn’t like they could go back to just being seamstress and client. But they didn’t feel like just friends, either. Sure, they were lovers—or maybe former lovers—but even that didn’t feel like the right word to use. Yeager had had lots of lovers—and he had lots of former lovers—but he’d never felt for any of them the way he felt for Hannah.
He forced himself to turn away from the window and go back to his desk, where a mountain of work awaited him after his stay in Alberta. He told himself he was way overthinking this. He
and Hannah were friends. Period. That was why he felt differently about her than he had other women he’d dated. Those women had been great, and he’d liked all of them, but they’d never been...Hannah. And he didn’t kid himself that he’d ever meet another woman who was like her. Who would be a friend like her, he corrected himself. Women would come and go in his life the way they always had, but Hannah would be constant. The way friends were.
Yeah, that was it. They were friends. Friends who would stay friends, no matter what. Even if they didn’t have a child to tie them together. Wouldn’t they?
Surely they would. Surely.
* * *
Hannah awoke on New Year’s Day with the weirdest feeling, after having some of the weirdest dreams she’d ever had. In one, she was underwater, but perfectly capable of breathing, and was suddenly surrounded by and swimming among dolphins. In another, she was tending to a garden full of lotuses and turtles kept coming up out of the soil. Yeager was in another, bringing her a basket of acorns that she upended and consumed in one gulp. Just...weird.
She also realized she’d slept way past the usual time she awoke on days when Cathcart and Quinn was closed. It was nearly eleven when she finally opened her eyes and looked at the clock.
Still feeling as if someone had wrapped her in cotton gauze, she rolled over and, for some reason, settled both hands over her lower abdomen, splaying her fingers wide. It shouldn’t have been an unusual gesture. Except that she never did it. Usually, when she awoke and turned to lie on her back in bed, she tucked both hands behind her head. What the hell was up with those dreams, and why did she have her hands on her abdomen instead of—
Heat suddenly flared in her belly. She dared not hope...but did anyway. Was her body trying to tell her brain something it hadn’t yet figured out? Like maybe...
She was supposed to have started her period yesterday or the day before, but she’d put down the lateness as a result of, number one, her cycle never being all that regular to begin with and, two, the stress of the last several months taking its toll. She shouldn’t have been fertile the night she and Yeager made love in New York, and sperm normally weren’t viable for more than three days after they launched. On the other hand, she’d read that it was possible for some of those little swimmers to hang around for five days after their release. And, hey, it was Yeager’s little swimmers she was talking about.
Baby in the Making Page 13
