“It’s suspicious your so-called sister was here this morning and her fiancé wants to inspect your room or studio, as it lists here, for fire code violations.” Her mother sniffed, none too pleased with being left out on the secret.
The tension between them had been thick as pea soup fog all during lunch with her mother making snide remarks, but never directly asking her about the deal. Nadine hated it. She had always been open with her mother and the two of them were more like friends than mother-daughter, but now, she had to do this on her own. If her mother found out she was going to be a surrogate, she’d freak out and then Nadine would never get to have that baby with Connor and make his dreams of fatherhood come true.
“It’s nothing,” Nadine said, soothing her mother’s worries. “Even if I’m in violation, Dad’s evicting us anyway. Let it go, okay? Please?”
Her mother picked up the kitten and stroked his fur. “Fine, I will, but anytime you need a shoulder to cry on, you can count on your ol’ mom, Dolly Lee Hunter, you hear?”
“Ahh, Mom, I know. You’re the best.” Nadine gave her a hug. “Let me give this fire chief a call and get this inspection over with.”
Despite the coolness of her demeanor, Nadine was on pins and needles when she punched in Connor’s number—even more so when it didn’t go to the station.
“Hello, this is Connor,” the manly voice answered. “Listen, before you say anything, I want to apologize. Everything I did was wrong, and I hope you forgive me.”
“There’s nothing to forgive,” Nadine mumbled, aware her mother was listening in. “Please, I only want to make sure my studio is up on fire safety standards.”
“What’s a good time for you?” Connor asked. “I’m still off-duty tonight, and I’d like to take you to dinner after the inspection.”
“That’s not a good idea, considering …” Nadine trailed off so her mother wouldn’t get the wrong idea. “How about right now? I’m home and this shouldn’t take long, right?”
“Right, a few safety tips and we should be good.” Connor returned to his businesslike tone.
Goodness. While he was mildly flirting with her, she’d been slopping it all up like a dry cactus absorbing a spring thunderstorm, but as soon as he went businesslike, her heart flopped to the ground with undisguised disappointment.
What was wrong with her? He was only doing his job, and she was acting as if he was interested in her, which he was definitely not, at least not in a romantic sense. All he wanted was her egg, and her womb, and the child she’d bear for him and Elaine.
“Sure, come over anytime,” she found herself saying. “My mother and I are home. I’m sure this won’t take long.”
“It won’t.” His voice was tinged with regret, or was she imagining things?
“See you in a bit.” She forced herself to sound bored when all she wanted to do was to cuddle in his arms and cry. How pathetic she was to want to carry his baby for another woman while tasting the crumbs he’d drop just to butter her up enough to keep to her agreement. She was following her mother’s footsteps, loving a man who belonged to another and bearing him a baby. The only difference—she wouldn’t even get to keep her baby. She would end up alone with nothing but cold, hard cash to keep her company.
Her mother wrapped her arms around Nadine and kissed her gently. “Something’s going on. I can see that, but I’ll trust you to deal with it. I’m going to my room with Greyheart. You know where to find me.”
“I do, Mommy. I do, always.” Nadine gave her mother a tight squeeze. “I just wish you wouldn’t go.”
“We’ll talk about that some other time.” Her mother kissed her. “Whatever you do, follow your heart. I mean it. Even if it doesn’t feel right.”
“I will, Mom. I will.” Nadine wiped a tear from her eye. “I can’t help it anyway, even if it’s only a stupid fire inspection.”
Connor’s heart beat like a hyperactive snare drum as he ascended the steps to Nadine’s apartment. Everything about this deal was plain wrong. He was using his official position as fire chief for his own personal purposes. What a creeper he’d turned out to be.
But he had to see Nadine—had to ascertain whether she was truly ready to take this big step. He found it hard to believe a young, beautiful, carefree girl would give up her body to a pregnancy for nothing. Most women he’d dated were vain—so vain they’d never tolerate stretch marks that would ruin their well-toned bodies.
But then, Elaine was paying her sister well, and money could be the motivation. If so, that meant Nadine was as businesslike and hardnosed as her older sister. In that case, why was he worried about her?
Connor took a deep breath as he came around the corner of the corridor. Putting the note on her door had been easy. But as he got closer to his quarry, he could no longer lie to himself. He was behaving like an eighth grader before his first kiss, a school boy too nervous to talk to the girl he’d been crushing on—which at that time was Elaine, the smartest girl in the entire school.
But now? It was all wrong. Why was his body reacting to being under the same roof as Elaine’s sister? He stood in front of the door, taking deep breaths, quieting his heart. It was only a fire safety inspection. He’d talk to her about rag disposal, volatile fumes, and ventilation. He did this all the time with the outreach programs his department did. He’d given the safety speech countless times to artists throughout the city. This was no different.
Right. This was different in every way. This was the woman who’d be the mother of his children—children he’d treasure and love. Children he’d always dreamed of having. Elaine knew that. It was the reason she’d broken his heart. She hadn’t believed he’d love her enough to give up the idea of children. She hadn’t counted on his loyalty. She was the first girl he’d kissed. After her, nobody had meant a thing other than physical gratification—a cover to the deep ache he’d felt when he thought he’d lost his Elaine.
“I’m doing this for you, darling,” Connor muttered to himself. “I need to see that she’s really ready for this and that she’ll give up the baby without complications.”
He knocked on the door, filled with trepidation—so much that he’d need a defibrillator if she failed to answer the door.
“Who is it?” Nadine’s voice called through the door.
“Chief Hart.”
The door opened and Connor almost lost his breath. Nadine stood there, plain and simple, without makeup, just her, transparent and pure, in a pair of hip-hugger jeans and a thin white tank. Her hazel eyes were tending toward green as she opened the door wider to let him in.
“I’ve been expecting you,” was all she said as she turned and walked toward her room or studio.
Connor stepped carefully between the moving boxes. The cat was nowhere in sight, and another door was closed down the hallway. Was her mother behind that door?
In any case, it wouldn’t matter. He would never disrespect this woman who was sacrificing so much for the sake of family.
“Is this the studio?” Connor cleared his throat and put on a gruff manner. He realized too late that he had left the fire safety for artists pamphlet in his truck. He’d also forgotten the checklist. He’d have to wing it now.
“Yes, I’ve had it ten years without any problem,” she stated simply and stepped to the side to let him in.
Paintings and canvases were arranged throughout the room on easels, against the walls and propped up against her bed. They were bold, beautiful, and took his breath away. The colors clashed and in each one, something drew his eye and held his heart captive. A black river, knotty white trees, and a figure of a man—or was it a skeleton--over a graveyard? Beyond the light was a bright, golden tree. A child’s silver swing hung on the celestial branches. A man, a silhouette, pushed the young girl, whose golden hair streamed into the ripples of taffy-colored wind.
He could feel the strumming of the guitar, the rhythmic chords wandering through the world of woe—darkness, sickness, and toil and danger, but as his
feet picked up, and his hands reached toward the brightness, he’d leave this world behind and meet his destiny—a love that pierced his heart, a call he could not answer.
The eye of freedom, blue and beckoning over the graveyard of knotty branches, crisscrossing like sinews of rope, pulling and wrapping his heart into arms of love. Arms of a woman, long, limber, and loving. He’d go there, willingly, and he would no longer roam, no longer wander, no longer miss home—home, where his heart lay.
Nadine stood aside as he contemplated her art, quiet, silent, not trying to fill the void with meaningless chatter. She was comfortable with the empty spaces, the in-betweens, the background where real life happened.
Connor let the tear dribble down his cheek, making no attempt to hide it. It was too hard, too hard to buck against the reins. He was tied down already—committed and promised. Soon, there’d be a newborn babe—another life bought as a gift to him by his beloved Elaine. It was her money, her plan, her love. He couldn’t betray her trust.
Even though every cell in his body screamed at him to to take this quiet, sublime, soul-stirring artist and poet into his arms and love her—love her and never give her up, he couldn’t do it.
He pinched the bridge of his nose and gathered control. After minutes, or maybe an hour, or an eternity, he cleared his throat and began his spiel.
“Show me how you store your oils and turpentine.”
Nadine sprang to life. “I have a metal locker. My volatile solvents are all stored in airtight containers.”
“How do you dry your oil rags? The ones you wipe your palette with?”
“I hang them up on this clothesline.” Nadine showed him a line on a pulley strung near the window. “When they are stiff and dry, I pack them in an airtight zip-lock bag with water and dispose of them in the trash. Since the volatile oils are all dry by then, it won’t oxidize.”
“So, you check to make sure they are completely dry before packing them?”
“Yes, stiff as a board.” Nadine nodded, crossing her arms.
“How about your oil canvases? How many layers do you pack over them before allowing them to dry?” He hated to go through so much detail with her, but in San Francisco, artists were always burning down their studios when oil soaked rags or canvases were allowed to oxidize and spontaneously combust.
“I don’t layer while wet,” Nadine said in a flat voice. Whatever he was doing here, she wasn’t impressed. It was as if she could see straight through him—that he was here because he couldn’t stand not having his eyes on her, or his arms around her, or his lips on hers.
Connor crunched his fist at his naughty thoughts. This woman was bewitching him without even trying. Yet, he had no destiny to partake of whatever spell she’d trapped him with. Love was definitely a four-letter-word. A tragic four-letter-word.
“Good. I suggest you buy a galvanized steel oily waste can with a foot pedal. I’m afraid zip-lock bags in a trash compactor might not be airtight.” He moved toward her door, forcing himself to escape the roomful of art that screamed to his soul and the presence of the woman who turned his heart inside out. “Nice paintings, by the way. Your studio passes fire code.”
As he strode toward the door, he felt a firm hand grip his forearm, jolting every nerve in his body and throwing his blood pressure into disarray.
Nadine’s eyes had turned brown. “Why are you really here?”
“To see you.” He could no longer suppress the emotions surging through his veins. “To make sure you’re okay with Elaine’s schemes. Are you?”
She nodded. “I’m fine. Thanks for your concern.”
His eyes darted around the apartment, but the door at the end of the hallway remained closed.
“I want you to always be fine.” He stroked her pinking cheek. “Always. If there’s anything at all, you let me know, okay?”
She leaned into his hand and blinked, her face a mixture of turmoil and determination. “I will, Connor. I’m doing this for you.”
“Oh, God, Nadine. Don’t. Don’t do it for me.” His lips found themselves pressed over hers, lightly worshipping her, giving into everything that was wrong, but felt so right.
The sound of a door snapped him out of his trance and he disengaged, unsure if she’d kissed him back. A streak of gray mewed and dashed his direction, but he escaped, crossing the room in two strides and was outside the apartment before he took his next tortured breath.
Chapter Fifteen
“What was that all about?” Nadine’s mother picked up the cat before he followed Connor out the door.
“What are you doing out of your room?” Nadine swept by her mother, flustered both hot and cold from the brushing of Connor’s lips over hers. She had reached for him and tried to kiss him back, but he was gone like a whiff of smoke.
“I heard you two step out of your room and figured he was finished with the inspection.” Her mother raised an eyebrow. “You’re blushing, and from the chemistry exploding between the two of you, I think you’d better come with me to Tennessee. I know I told you to follow your heart, but I don’t want you ending up like me—second fiddle.”
“I’m not ending up anywhere. You didn’t see anything.” Nadine braved her mother’s questioning stare and plunged back to her room, slamming the door.
She put on a mournful playlist. A bluesy rock song—“Love Came Here” flowed through the speakers, underscoring her state of heart.
She squeezed tubes of paint over her palette and mixed them roughly with a palette knife. Heck, with her mood, she might as well paint with the knife.
She dragged the knife in the paint and scraped it across her canvas, sharp and rugged. Rocks took shape quickly with a three dimensional effect. She let streaks of different colors create a marbling effect. Once the rocky background was completed, she went to the next canvas to let the layer dry on the first one.
Here, she mixed a slew of pastel colors, pink, lavender, pale yellow, mint green, and dotted sprays of flowers across the twisty branches around Connor’s all-seeing eye. Light blue for beauty, pale yellow for hope, lavender for devotion, and blush pink for love.
Too much like baby colors. She grabbed a tube of cadmium orange and splatted it over her canvas, dotting it over the baby nursery flowers. The tip of the tube made circular impressions as she punched the canvas with the fiery orange. Flame flashed through her soul and tears ran down her face. There was no more denying it. She and Connor were bonded together not by Elaine’s contract, not by any laws of logic, and definitely not by lust.
They were two souls, possibly created together, male and female in a single primordial vessel, then ripped apart by a cataclysmic force—flung into the swamp of forgetfulness. Anger tore through her as she stabbed at the canvas, almost obscuring the exfoliating branches and the pastel petals, until it was all fire. Fire. Fire.
She dropped the paint and crumpled onto the linoleum floor. Love had come through her door, and even though he’d walked out, he’d never left.
“I can’t do this,” Connor said to Elaine over the phone. “I can’t let your sister carry our baby.”
“Why? Did you speak to her?”
“I did.”
“And what did she say? Is she backing out?”
“No, that’s not it. I don’t think she’s doing this with the right motives.”
“Meaning she’s only after money?” Elaine’s voice was strident and rushed. “I don’t mind. Or is the real problem you don’t like her?”
What could he say? Admit he liked her sister too much? That she was all he could think about, that he was obsessed with the artist, not only her body, but her mind, her talent, her heart, her silence.
“She’s okay,” he sputtered. “I just don’t want her to be the surrogate.”
“Ugh, Connor. She might not have her feet solidly grounded, but we’re not marrying her. I had her health checked out. She’s not carrying any genetic issues, no family history of cancer or diabetes. Tell me, what are your reservation
s?”
“I don’t want her to do it. Let’s find someone else or adopt.”
“You dislike her.”
“That’s not true. I’m worried is all.” Connor hated being evasive. What was going on with him? His family valued honesty and openness—maybe a little too much since they heartily dissected everyone’s life with everyone else.
“Can we talk about this later?” Elaine sounded impatient or distracted. “I have to scrub up for surgery.”
“Sure. Later. Always later.” Connor hung up on Elaine, but somehow he felt she wouldn’t be calling him back.
Not that he wanted to speak to her. Not that he cared.
He stared at his phone a full minute before putting it away. It stayed silent.
She didn’t care, either.
Chapter Sixteen
Nadine sat on her bed with the basal body temperature thermometer in her mouth. It was the first thing she did every morning before getting out of bed. After the thermometer beeped, she logged the data into an ovulation prediction app that she shared with Elaine so that she could book an insemination appointment at a moment’s notice.
Ever since the evening Connor had walked out her door, she’d kept to the regimen. Her mother suspected funny business between them, but since Connor hadn’t called or texted the last few days, she convinced herself there was no smoke and no fire. Instead, she went back to packing and had movers over to estimate the furniture and things she was taking—none of which included Nadine’s art supplies and canvases.
Nadine hated this divide between her and her mother. But she couldn’t afford to tell her the truth. She’d freak if she found out and make Nadine so stressed, she’d never ovulate. Which meant she’d never get a piece of Connor.
She’d been taking her temperature for three days with no change. But then again, her cycles were always irregular so she had no clue whether she was ready or not.
Spring Fling Kitty: The Hart Family (Have A Hart Book 3) Page 9
