Having The Soldier's Baby (The Parent Portal Book 1)

by Tara Taylor Quinn

  Shouldn’t there be?

  Two weeks...

  She was in a relationship with someone else and he’d just landed on her doorstep. Shouldn’t she have said something?

  But how could she? They were still legally married. And he’d just come from two years of captivity. She had no way of knowing he’d walked of his own accord into that enemy camp. Or that he lived like family while he was there.

  But...two weeks pregnant and she’d tried to have sex with him?

  Oh, hell. Surely she hadn’t been thinking to pass the kid off as his? That would be a stretch considering that they’d been trying—and failing—to get pregnant before he’d joined the ground crew and been shipped off.

  He couldn’t count the number of times over the past year that he’d been thankful pregnancy hadn’t happened. That he hadn’t let down his child as well as his wife. That a child hadn’t been fathered by a man who knew that the concept of love was a huge fallacy.

  Kids needed the fantasy. The security of belief allowed by the emotion called love.

  His mind processed. He stared, needing the silence.

  For whatever reason, Emily allowed the quiet. Maybe because she was waiting for him to figure out that they had one hell of a dilemma in front of them.

  “Does he know about me? That I’m alive?”

  She frowned. “Who?”

  “The...father.” The man who’d slept with Emily after him. Just as he’d slept with Afsoon. So maybe, when he had time to adjust to the change, he’d see that all was good. Emily was a lot closer to reaching the truth than he’d thought judging by her actions the day before.

  Her hand on his should have been a warning, but he was a bit stupefied. It was early. He’d only had a couple of sips of coffee. And she’d dropped one hell of a bombshell on him.

  “You’re the father, Winston. I thought you’d understand that. You’re the only man I’ve ever even wanted to be with.”

  “You thought I was dead.” Did she think he blamed her for taking a lover? He’d meant no accusation at all in his words. Simple facts were all he was looking for. To fit into the plan.

  His brain replayed her words a second time, with a bit more focus. Enough to get the gist.

  Emily was losing it on him.

  She thought she was pregnant. And thought he was the father?

  “I can’t be the father, Em. I wasn’t even in California two weeks ago.”

  So maybe she wasn’t pregnant after all. Maybe she was just falling apart. He couldn’t blame her...but he should probably make a phone call. Get them some help.

  “I used your sperm...you know, that we had stored at the lab? I’ve been paying to keep it there and when I heard that you were dead... I had myself inseminated. I...” She shook her head. “I thought... It’s a miracle, Winston.” She took his hand, laced her fingers through his. “I was honoring you, and us, by bringing a piece of you to life, continuing your legacy. And now, with you here, it’s what we always wanted. The plan is finally coming to be...”

  The plan? It took him a second to realize that she was referring to the cockamamy dream they’d had to get married, have four children and grow old together in Marie Cove.

  Except that they hadn’t been able to conceive. And they’d just started delving into fertility treatment options when he’d shipped out and never returned.

  Oh God. He could feel himself pale.

  She was pregnant? With his child?

  She couldn’t be! He hadn’t realized he’d spoken aloud, with all of his horror evident in his voice, until she whitened, too. Dropping his hand, she stood.

  “I have to get ready for work,” she said, and headed back to the shower.

  He watched her go. Knew he shouldn’t follow her.

  And didn’t try to stop her, or even speak, when, half an hour later, she passed him on her way to the garage door, bag and keys in hand.

  “I’ll see you tonight,” she said at the door. “I love you, Winston. Be safe.”

  And she was gone.

  Chapter Nine

  She didn’t go to work. Not right away. How could she?

  No one in town or at work knew that Winston was back. Or that she was pregnant. They’d figure out both soon enough. Winston sooner than the baby. He’d be seen in town. In the neighborhood.

  She planned to tell her boss, Steve Adeleigh, about Winston that morning, of course, and some of the people she worked with, but she had to get in a better frame of mind first. She’d already decided to keep news of the baby to herself until she passed the first trimester. Just hadn’t wanted the questions. Now, with Winston’s return, people could just assume she’d conceived naturally.

  She’d distanced herself from her friends, anyway, and she was grateful for that now—grateful not to have anyone around who could read her well enough to see that she wasn’t herself. Couldn’t add the tension of having her mom drive up from San Diego, or Winston’s parents fly in. Not until they’d had a little bit of time to adjust.

  To figure out what they were going to look like in this new together.

  She drove for half an hour. By the house a few times. Wanting to be in there with him. To know where he’d be.

  To be sure he’d be there when she got home. That he’d be sleeping in their bed that night. Or at least in their house.

  To know that he was okay.

  To help him. Hold him. Let her love seep back into him.

  Starting to feel a bit queasy again, she stopped at the grocery store for some soda crackers. Felt a bit more in control as people smiled at her, wished her a good morning. Treated her like she was normal.

  After several crackers and a bottle of water, consumed in her car, she took one last pass by the house. Couldn’t tell if Winston was still there or not as the garage was closed. She didn’t see movement or lights on, but with the July sun’s bright glare on the windows, there could have been either.

  First of July. Eight months and twelve days until a new life would enter their world. Eight months and twelve days to figure out what world she or he would be entering. To create a joyful environment for him or her.

  At the moment, eight years didn’t seem long enough to prepare.

  She ended up at the Elliott clinic, asking to see Christine.

  Emily trusted her.

  In a short, short-sleeved denim dress with white lace at the collar and on the buttons up the front, and white tweed wedges, Christine looked both elegant and relaxed. And yet her expression shifted into concern the second she saw Emily, clearly understanding that something was wrong. Which made Emily glad she hadn’t gone straight into work.

  Judging by the concern on Christine’s face, she was doing worse than she’d thought.

  “You... Did you lose the baby?” the woman asked even before the office door closed behind them.

  “No!” Emily had worn the tight black pin-striped skirt because Winston had liked the amount of leg it showed, but as she sat on the edge of a chair in front of Christine’s desk, she had the bizarre thought that she should have worn something more “mother” like. Though what that would be, she had no idea. Mothers didn’t stop being women. Sweat trickled down her back—probably leaving a mark on the tapered white blouse.

  Like that mattered.

  “Winston’s alive,” she said. And then, at the manager’s wide-eyed, openmouthed look, she hurried on with the basic details, leaving out the part about Winston’s inability to have sex with her the night before.

  Ending with, “He’s clearly not happy about the baby. I feel awful. I’m... I thought I was doing the right thing. What he would’ve wanted. The Winston I knew...he wanted children as badly as I did. He was an only child and couldn’t wait to fill our house with...”

  Shaking her head, she stopped. “I have no idea what to do.”

  After a c
ouple of seconds of silence, Christine, who’d taken the seat next to her, asked, “Are you considering terminating the pregnancy?”

  “Absolutely not!” She hadn’t even thought about it, but she felt an instinctive horror at the very suggestion. “God, no!” She’d... The idea of ending the life of a child created between her and Winston...

  “I’m a little worried, though,” she continued. “I was violently sick this morning, and from what I read, morning sickness shouldn’t start for another couple of weeks, at least.”

  “We can get you in to see Dr. Miller this morning, just to ease your mind,” Christine said. “But I’m sure everything is fine. It can start as early as two weeks, and with all the stress and shock you’ve been under for the past forty-eight hours, it’s not at all that surprising. Your body is adjusting to a lot, chemically and emotionally.”

  She nodded, knowing that what Christine said was reasonable, but also that she still wanted to see the doctor. Just to ease her mind. To know what she could do to ease the effects of her stress on the baby. She told Christine that she’d also be calling the chaplain that morning. Planned to do so on her way into LA.

  She didn’t really need to be there. Bothering the busy woman.

  “I just... Do you think I’m selfish? That I did the wrong thing?”

  “I think you made the choice that was right for you with the information you had when you made it.”

  Which didn’t really answer her question. And yet, as Christine’s words flowed over her, she realized that she’d received the answer she’d needed. She stood, thinking she would wait out in reception until the doctor could see her.

  “So...what are you planning to do?” Christine asked, following her to the door.

  “Have the baby!” She thought she’d made the completely clear.

  “I mean about Winston.”

  “I’m going to call the chaplain and take it from there. I’m guessing there’s counseling for things like this. It’s not like he’s the first man to come home from captivity. They’ll have things to help us adjust and find our way back to normal lie.”

  “So you plan to let him stay?” They stood at the closed door.

  “Let him stay? It’s his home as much as it is mine. He belongs there...he’s not only my husband, he’s my soul mate. The love of my life. We’ll get through this.”

  After a long glance, Christine nodded. Pulled open the door. “You’ve got a lot on your shoulders all of a sudden,” she said. “If you ever need to talk, just to vent, you call me. I’m not a certified counselor, but I’m always available to chat.”

  The offer was professionally made, and yet, as Emily drove from the clinic to LA later that morning, she felt pretty certain that Christine’s offer wasn’t one she made lightly.

  And with that, Emily felt better.

  * * *

  As soon as his session with the anti-terrorist group was done that morning, Winston stopped by the naval legal assistance office.

  He absolutely could not be a father. And he couldn’t prevent Emily from being a mother—not that he had any intention or desire to do so. But he had to know his legal rights and obligations.

  “According to what you’ve told me, you signed a contract giving her the right to use your sperm for purposes of artificial insemination,” Tom Burnett, the base lawyer he’d sought out, told him.

  “To specify that she was the only one who could use it,” he confirmed.

  “Right, but that still gives her the right to use it.”

  Not what he wanted to hear. Sitting there, in his khakis, talking to a man in dress whites, was not easing his tension any. He needed to be in charge of something, dammit.

  Anything.

  “Have you asked her to terminate?”

  “Hell no!” He didn’t even want that. He just...

  “Do you have a divorce attorney yet?”

  He’d started this conversation by saying that while he and Emily were still legally bound, the marriage was over.

  “No,” he said. “She doesn’t know yet that that’s my plan.”

  The other man nodded. Watched him. He was getting tired of that. Everyone watching him, as though assessing his ability to run his own life.

  He’d stayed alive and healthy in enemy territory, living a lie until he could find his way out, a chance to escape. He’d mentally collated two years’ worth of intel that he was in the process of regurgitating, and they doubted his ability to conduct his life?

  “I suggest, then, that you talk to her,” Burnett said. “Really talk to her. And then get an attorney. You have a lot to consider here and there are different ways you could go...”

  There. That. “What are those ways?”

  “You could try to argue that since your wife used your sperm when you were presumed dead, that she can’t now hold you accountable for child support or other paternal responsibilities. In my opinion, you’d have a good case there.”

  Okay. Good to know. But... “I’ll pay child support. I have no problem with that. But the rest of it... The paternal responsibilities...” He had to find a way out of those—couldn’t commit to giving his child something he no longer had to offer.

  “You could ask the court, as part of the divorce, for shared parenting, for visitation rights or to have your rights severed. I’ve never actually heard of a parent going to court to have their own rights severed, but your wife could make the request that your rights be severed. If you agree not to fight it, the court would most likely grant her request.”

  The man listed other options, most of which Winston threw out. They didn’t apply to him and Emily. They weren’t enemies. Weren’t fighting.

  They just had to end things.

  “Bottom line, you need to talk to her.”

  The adviser’s words played themselves over in his mind as Winston drove from San Diego back to Marie Cove. He wondered about dinner. Thought about using his new smartphone to call Emily and ask if she had anything in mind, but didn’t want to bother her at work.

  Didn’t really want to talk to her at all, at the moment.

  She’d gone and used his sperm and gotten herself pregnant. If he was dead, that would probably be pretty cool. Being alive...he just couldn’t accept it. Not any of it.

  Not her being pregnant.

  Not a child with his DNA being born to the world.

  Not the major glitch this put in his plan to set her free and get on with the rest of his life as a naval police officer, serving others, protecting them, not hurting them.

  Serving, protecting. That was what he was good at.

  He’d get there. It was the plan. He just had to factor in an unforeseen detour.

  * * *

  Emily stopped at the grocery store again on the way home from work. She’d told Steve that Winston was home, and he’d insisted that she leave early. And take the next day off. He was stepping in personally to handle her accounts. She’d texted Winston to let him know when she’d be at the house.

  Maybe he’d be there. Maybe her warning would give him a chance to vacate. Either way, they’d get through it.

  She’d told others at work about his return and every single one of them had been overjoyed for her. They’d shown concern, of course, for Winston, seeming to know that they had some tough times in the immediate future. But all in all, it was a joyous day. A couple of her coworkers had hugged her. Matilda, her account assistant, had cried.

  She’d cried, too. A couple of times. And then she got to work. Winston and the baby needed her to be strong.

  And life was a gift. Winston had some issues, they had some struggles ahead of them, but he was alive and he was home! Every life had struggles.

  Not many had a life come back from the grave!

  And with the baby already on the way, she was blessed beyond her wildest imaginings.

&n
bsp; With a pound of their favorite broccoli salad from the deli, she pulled into the garage, figuring she’d broil some chicken for dinner. She smelled something wonderful when she walked in the door.

  “You’re grilling!” she said, setting her bag, along with the grocery sack, on the counter to take a peek out the sliding glass door that led from the dining room to their backyard.

  She hadn’t been in their paved grilling gazebo other than to clean it since he left.

  “I had to change out the propane tank, but everything else was fine.”

  Had he almost just smiled at her?

  He was still in his uniform khakis. Must have just gotten home a little bit before her. And he was making dinner! She loved his chicken. Her mouth was already watering.

  “I brought broccoli salad,” she told him, pulling out the container. And then opened the refrigerator door to see that he’d done the same. It was as though they’d been of the same mind. Others might see something spectacular, weird or otherworldly about that.

  Emily smiled.

  To her, it just said that Winston was home.

  * * *

  Ten minutes after she got there, Emily was sitting down to dinner with her husband. She’d set the table while he brought the chicken and potatoes in from the grill. She got drinks. He put the broccoli salad out. They didn’t touch. Didn’t talk much.

  And she felt so happy, so excited, that she could barely contain herself.

  Over dinner she told him about her day, starting with the new account she’d signed. She asked him how his meeting had gone. His one-word response, “fine,” didn’t deflate her good mood.

  Things weren’t going to just suddenly be normal overnight. His suffering and the repercussions from it were real. But she could still find joy in small steps along the way.

  “You’re eating well,” he said, while she gave herself the pep talk. And she was excited all over again. He was paying attention. Seemed to care.