Accidental Family

by Kristin Gabriel

  Rowena gave him a shaky nod, furious with Alan Rand for causing this turmoil in her life. Why did she let the man affect her this way? “I’m sorry. I’ve never been in a situation like this before.”

  “I understand,” Bobby replied, then swiveled in his chair to pull a file off the shelf behind him. “I did some research when you called last week asking me to contact the Orr Fertility Clinic about their error. But it seems there’s just not much precedence for this kind of case.”

  “I’m not interested in filing a lawsuit,” she clarified. “I want to know how to get this man out of my life.”

  He opened the file. “Tell me again why you chose the Orr Clinic for this procedure.”

  “My doctor recommended it,” she explained. “The Orr Clinic has a new procedure designed especially for women over thirty-five who have difficulty conceiving. When my trip to the Reproductive Center in New York was unsuccessful, he told me about the positive results they were having in Toronto. The Orr Clinic sent me a catalog of sperm donor profiles before the procedure, and I mailed back a form with my choice.”

  “Which brings us to our current situation.”

  She nodded. “A man showed up in my shop yesterday claiming to be the father of my baby. He said his sperm deposit at the Orr Fertility Clinic was never intended to be a donation. He also claimed he didn’t sign a release of his parental rights, either. Then he offered me a check to take care of the—” her fingers made quotation marks in the air to emphasize the last word “—problem.”

  Bobby leaned back in his chair. “Did he threaten you in any way when he asked you to terminate the pregnancy?”

  “No,” she said slowly. “In fact, he never actually came out and told me that’s what he wanted me to do. I just assumed that’s what he meant. Can I get a restraining order against him to keep him out of my life?”

  “I’m afraid it might be more complicated than that.” Bobby took off his glasses and wiped the lenses with a tissue. “If this man wants you to terminate the pregnancy, then he doesn’t have a legal leg to stand on. But if he wants more...”

  “More?” Rowena echoed, trepidation filling her.

  Bobby hesitated. “I’m intrigued by the fact he came to Cooper’s Corner in person to find you.”

  “I told you,” she said. “He wanted to discover if I was pregnant.”

  Her attorney nodded. “I know. But he could have accomplished that any number of ways. The fact remains that if he is the biological father of your baby, he’s already taking a proactive role. If the pregnancy continues, he might want to assert his rights as a parent.”

  She blinked. “Can he do that?”

  “He’ll have to go to court and prove paternity first. Of course, that’s only the beginning. Just establishing jurisdiction will be a lengthy process.”

  “He’s already agreed to a paternity test,” Rowena told him. “I called my doctor last night to set it up. But he said the only way we can conduct a paternity test before the baby is born is if I undergo an amniocentesis. That isn’t possible until the fifth month, and even then it carries some risks.”

  “Risks you aren’t willing to take,” Bobby ventured.

  “That’s right.”

  “So it’s possible we won’t know if Mr. Rand is the father until after the baby’s birth. When is your due date, by the way?”

  “In early July.” She licked dry lips. “But I don’t want Alan Rand’s shadow hanging over us for the next five months.”

  “If Mr. Rand is the father,” Bobby mused, “you should be able to collect child support payments.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t want his money or anything else from him. My parents divorced when I was four years old. I lost count of the number of times they took each other to court over support payments and visitation rights.”

  Compassion shone in Bobby’s faded brown eyes. “I understand. Unfortunately, I’ve seen it happen too many times. How can parents be so blind to the fact that the one they’re hurting the most is their own child?”

  Rowena knew her pregnancy hormones had kicked in when his words brought a flood of memories washing down on her. She usually kept her past to herself, but he needed to know how important protecting this baby from a nasty, prolonged custody suit was to her.

  “I know exactly what you mean,” she replied. “I became a weapon my parents could use against each other. My father would give me presents for my birthday and Christmas that he knew my mother didn’t approve of for a little girl. And she would plan these exotic vacations for the two of us during the summer, then lay the blame on him if I couldn’t go because of the visitation order.”

  Bobby didn’t murmur sympathetic platitudes, he just sat back in his chair and listened to her.

  “Their tug-of-war kept on escalating as I was growing up. One time my father was late bringing me home from a weekend visit with him, and my mother called the police. He never forgave her for that, and from that day on he would circle the block around the house each time he brought me home, trying to make her worry that he’d really done it. One time we circled the same block for an hour.”

  Bobby shook his head, and she knew that as a family lawyer, he’d probably heard worse.

  “They got so caught up in their battle with each other,” she continued, “that they had no idea what it was doing to me. The odd thing was that I knew they both really did love me.”

  “Damn strange way of showing it,” he said at last.

  “I know,” she replied with a shadow of a smile. “Sometimes I think that’s what made it so hard. When I was a teenager, I started to dread the holidays. I knew my parents would make me choose who I wanted to spend them with, and I’d tear myself up with guilt trying to decide who I would hurt the least with my choice. I was determined to make them both happy while they were equally determined to make each other miserable. They loved me, but they hated each other more.”

  “Is it any better now that you’re an adult?”

  She nodded. “Yes, but I hardly see them anymore. They both remarried. My father lives in California, and my mother moved to Brazil with her husband, who has a business there. In some ways I feel as alone as I did growing up.”

  His brown eyes twinkled. “Well, you won’t be alone much longer.”

  “I know,” she said, love for her baby welling up inside her. “But I never want my child to go through what I did. If Alan Rand is the biological father and pursues visitation rights, my baby’s life will be in chaos—shuttled back and forth across the border of two countries for the next eighteen years.”

  A gentle knock sounded on the door, then it opened and Bobby Claymore’s secretary stole in silently to place a stack of mail on his desk.

  “Thanks, Hildy,” he murmured before she closed the door behind her. He gave the stack of envelopes a quick glance, then pulled one from the middle. “Looks like that paternity test might not be necessary.”

  Her heart skipped a beat. “What do you mean?”

  He flipped the envelope around so she could see the Orr Fertility Clinic emblem in the corner. “It seems the clinic has finally decided to respond to my inquiries.”

  She held her breath as he reached for the letter opener and neatly slit the envelope open. His gaze quickly scanned the letter, then he handed it to her.

  Rowena looked down and saw the name of the sperm donor in black and white—Alan Rand. She fell back against the chair. “So he is the father.”

  Bobby leaned forward to take the letter from her hands, then perused it slowly. “According to the Orr Clinic, the sperm donor identity number you selected was transcribed incorrectly. There is supposed to be a method in place to double-check the donor number before the insemination procedure, but apparently somebody screwed up along the way.”

  She closed her eyes, remembering her initial relie
f at discovering the mysterious sperm donor’s identity. Alan Rand fit none of the nightmare scenarios she’d imagined, yet he was creating an entirely new nightmare for her.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to sue the Orr Clinic?” Bobby asked, his brown eyes lit with indignation.

  She shook her head. “I don’t need their money. I’m not interested in child support payments from Alan Rand, either. All I want is for him to leave me and my baby alone.”

  He sighed. “I understand. But I think we should prepare for the possibility that Mr. Rand might take you to court to assert his rights as the father.”

  “But it’s my baby,” she countered, feeling as if everything in her life was slipping out of control. “Alan Rand didn’t even know my name until the truth about the clinic’s error came out.”

  “That’s the problem,” Bobby replied, slipping his bifocals into his shirt pocket. “According to what you told me, Mr. Rand never signed away his rights to the disposition of his sperm. That means he may very well have a case for pursuing visitation rights, although it will be up to the courts to decide.”

  She clung to that kernel of hope. “So it’s possible a judge might deny Alan those rights and make him leave us alone?”

  “Possibly,” Bobby agreed, but looked doubtful. “The outcome of custody cases is always hard to predict, especially with the proliferation of unusual ones involving new technologies like frozen embryos and in-vitro fertilization. The courts are bogged down with them.”

  She slumped back in the chair. “This is a nightmare.”

  He leaned forward. “Look, Rowena, I’ll be straight with you—this case could be one big mess. But if you’re right about Mr. Rand wanting you to terminate the pregnancy, then he may have no interest in this child. You may never see him again.”

  If only she could be so lucky. “And if I’m wrong?”

  He sighed. “Then we’ll give him the toughest fight of his life. But let’s just take it one step at a time. You go on home now and try not to worry.”

  That was like telling her not to breathe. She stood up. “Thank you, Bobby. I really appreciate you squeezing me in this morning.”

  He smiled as he rose to his feet and escorted her to the door. “No problem. I hope we can resolve this situation to your satisfaction.”

  Rowena could only nod, her throat tight as she left his office. Her attorney hadn’t given her the reassurances she so desperately wanted. Anything could happen if this case went into the court system.

  No matter what she had to do, Rowena couldn’t let that happen. Tears she’d kept at bay since last evening spilled onto her cheeks. She ducked into her car before the tears could freeze on her skin. Then she drove out of New Ashford, skipping her usual stops at her favorite antique shops.

  Rowena had never battled with anyone quite like Alan before. Her hands tightened on the steering wheel as she pulled onto the highway leading to Cooper’s Corner. One thing was certain.

  Alan Rand was in for the fight of his life.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  ALAN WALKED CAREFULLY down the wide oak staircase Tuesday morning, his head on the verge of exploding. He’d made the mistake of indulging in too many hot buttered rums in his room last night after talking to his lawyer.

  The liquor had hit him especially hard since he’d given up drinking after his diagnosis three years ago. He’d given up butter, too.

  Adopting a healthy lifestyle had been on his list, and he’d rigorously stuck to a low-cholesterol diet that included almost no alcohol. Some of his friends and colleagues thought Alan had gone a bit overboard on his health kick, but then they hadn’t been blindsided by one of the scariest diseases on the planet.

  He hadn’t been worried about his diet last night, though. The only thing he could think about was Rowena Dahl. It had been a very long time since he’d found a woman so stubborn. So intriguing. So damn frustrating. He still couldn’t believe the way she’d kicked him out of her shop—or that he’d let her do it.

  So why was he the one who felt guilty this morning?

  Of course, that guilt was overshadowed by a pounding head, a desert-dry mouth and a queasy stomach. When he first woke up, he’d been tempted to pull the pillow over his head and die in peace. Then Alan remembered the baby and knew he had to live through this hangover from hell. Even more important, he needed to find some way to deal with Rowena Dahl.

  As he entered the dining room, the savory aromas emanating from the serving bar almost made him turn right around and head to his room. Steeling himself against a tidal wave of nausea, he walked into the room and surveyed the wide variety of dishes lined up on the buffet. Steam rose from the platters of ham, bacon and sausage—all foods guaranteed to upset his sensitive stomach. At last he helped himself to a small glass of fresh squeezed orange juice and a toasted English muffin.

  “Good morning, Mr. Rand,” Keegan said, seated in front of a plate piled high with walnut griddle cakes, scrambled eggs and several links of sausages. The boy ate with a gusto that was at odds with his lanky body.

  “Morning,” Alan mumbled, averting his gaze from Keegan’s plate. There were several empty chairs around the enormous mahogany table. He took the one farthest from the sight of those sausages.

  “My dad’s in the kitchen making some more griddle cakes,” Keegan said, reaching for the container of maple syrup and slathering the thick, amber syrup over everything on his plate. Then he looked at Alan’s plate with a puzzled frown. “Did someone forget to tell you the breakfast buffet is all you can eat?”

  “This is all I can manage today,” Alan replied, reaching for the orange juice. He took a tentative sip, pleasantly surprised when it went down smoothly. It revived him enough to spread some honey on his toasted English muffin before he took a bite.

  “Okay,” the boy replied. “But you can go back for seconds and thirds if you want.”

  “Thanks.”

  The door between the kitchen and dining room swung open, and Clint walked out carrying a platter of steaming griddle cakes. Alan looked between father and son, noting they shared the same dark hair and green eyes. And obviously the same love for walnut griddle cakes.

  An older man followed Clint, slightly stooped and rawboned, with gray peppering his black hair. He wore faded denim overalls and a worn, long-sleeved cotton shirt, both of which hung on his thin frame.

  “Go ahead and help yourself, Ed,” Clint said to the man as he added the griddle cakes to the buffet. “And take that last raspberry muffin if you’d like. I’ve got more baking in the oven.”

  Ed slowly shuffled toward the buffet and picked up a plate. “You sure you have enough food, Clint? I’d hate for your guests to go hungry.”

  “We’ve always got more than enough,” Clint assured him. “In fact, you’ll be doing us a favor by helping us get rid of some of this food.” He indicated all the empty chairs in the dining room. “We’re full up with couples through Valentine’s Day. Seems most of them are finding a reason to skip breakfast.”

  “That’s so dumb,” Keegan said, digging into his waffle cakes. “Why would they want to stay in bed and miss breakfast?”

  The three men looked at one another, but didn’t say anything.

  Ed sat down next to Alan, then frowned at Alan’s plate. “Don’t you like eggs, son?”

  Clint grinned as he took the chair beside his son. “Ed Taylor raises chickens and supplies us with fresh eggs every week. He’s an expert on the subject of poultry.”

  Alan’s stomach rebelled at the thought of ingesting any of the fluffy scrambled eggs on the buffet. “I’m not a big breakfast eater.”

  Ed shook his head, then turned into his own breakfast. “Eggs are nature’s perfect food. Did you know they provide all the essential vitamins and minerals we need?”

  Keegan brightened. “So that means I
can eat eggs instead of vegetables?”

  “Good try,” Clint said with a smile. “But I think you can handle both.”

  Ed nodded. “Your father’s right, Keegan. Moderation in all things is best. Of course, all that cholesterol malarkey in the news scared a bunch of people off eggs. But I’ve been eating them for over five decades, and there’s nothing much wrong with me.”

  Alan smiled to himself, deciding it probably wasn’t a good idea to share the low-cholesterol diet tips he’d learned with Ed.

  The men all looked up as a tall woman with long chestnut hair entered the dining room. Two little girls followed her, both slightly chubby with identical faces and hair the same color as their mother’s. One of the little girls looked at Alan and whispered something to her sister. Then they both stared at him with big blue-green eyes.

  “Good morning, everyone,” the woman said brightly.

  “You three came just in the nick of time,” Clint said. “Keegan was about to finish off the last of the griddle cakes.”

  “The girls and I decided to sleep late this morning,” she explained, pulling out chairs for her daughters.

  Clint stood up to make the introductions. “Alan, this is my sister, Maureen, and her daughters, Randi and Robin. Maureen, this is the guest I was telling you about—Alan Rand from Toronto.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Maureen said, reaching out to shake his hand. To Alan’s surprise, her grip was almost as firm as her brother’s.

  Then she turned to Ed, placing a hand on his thin shoulder. “This is such a nice surprise. I’m so glad you could join us for breakfast today, Ed.”

  “Clint wouldn’t take no for an answer.” Ed replied, looking a little sheepish.

  “Good for him. I hope you know you’re welcome here anytime.” Then Maureen turned to bestow a teasing smile on Keegan. “And I hope you saved some griddle cakes for your cousins.”

  “Just make sure they save some for me,” Keegan replied, casting a worried glance at the buffet as Maureen began to fill the twins’ plates.