“You don’t have to stop working for me. I can get you set up in the management office. You can join Barbara’s team. I’m sure she would be happy to have you on board. She’s always singing your praises, going on about how you’re the only person who’s truly capable of handling me.”
“I certainly try.” As for Barbara, she was his business manager, and the poor woman had her work cut out for her, trying to get Tommy to follow her advice. But she stuck by him, was loyal to the core. Of course, Tommy had offered Barbara a lucrative deal to represent him, making him her one and only client.
“Are you interested?” he asked.
“Yes, actually, I am.” She would rather stay with his organization than start over somewhere new. But she had certain conditions if she was going to remain with him. “I’ll call Barbara and arrange a meeting with her. But I want the same pay and the same benefits I have now, with Monday-through-Friday hours. No overtime, no mandatory weekends and no gigs. I’m not attending any of your shows, not even the local ones.”
“Yeah, right,” he scoffed. “You say that now, but I know what a workaholic you are.”
“I mean it, Tommy. I’m not going to babysit you anymore.”
“All right, all right.” He held up his hands, Old West style, as if she was preparing to shoot him. “You can have whatever you want.” He lowered his hands. “I just don’t want you to go off and start working for someone else. It’s going to be tough to replace you, as it is. I need you, Soph.”
His words sent a jolt of heat through her veins. Damn, she hated it when he had that effect on her.
He raised his water bottle in a mock toast, his hazel eyes locking onto hers. “You’re my go-to girl.”
She forced herself to hold his gaze. The unwelcome heat was still attacking her body, but glancing away would be admitting defeat. She didn’t want him to know he was making her weak.
“You mean ‘woman,’” she said.
“What?”
“Go-to woman. I haven’t been a girl since you put that rubber snake down the front of my shirt.”
He burst into a reminiscent laugh. “You’re right—you’re all grown up now. Damn sexy, too.”
Well, hell. Could he make it any worse? Struggling to form a response, she tried a joke. “Yeah, and I’m going to be one hot mama, too.” She made a big, sweeping motion over her abdomen. “Just wait until you see me then.”
He kept staring at her. Only now he was looking at her as if she was a specimen under a microscope—a pretty little organism he didn’t quite understand.
“I’ve never touched a pregnant woman’s stomach before,” he said. “When the kid is kicking, will you let me feel it?”
The heat intensified, deep in her bones. “After your recent baby scare, I’d think you’d be more shy around pregnant women.”
He shifted in his chair. “I’m just lucky they were already able to do a paternity test.”
“Yes, you got lucky.” Kara wasn’t due for four more months, but there was no reason to wait for the baby to be born. They’d agreed on a NIPP, a noninvasive prenatal paternity test, where their blood had been collected to do a DNA profile on the fetus. They’d done it just nine weeks into her pregnancy. Tommy’s brother, Brandon, had suggested the procedure. He was Tommy’s attorney. Overall, everything had been kept quiet. Kara hadn’t gone to the press, so Tommy had dodged that bullet, too.
He tugged a hand through his hair. “I’m just glad that poor kid didn’t get stuck with me being its dad. Not just from an emotional standpoint, but with the way I travel, too. I’d feel awful if it was waiting around to see me, like Brandon and I used to do with our dad. I don’t know how I’d cope with the distress it would cause. Some people take their kids on the road with them, but I couldn’t fathom doing that, either.”
“Me, neither.” Sophie’s mom had been prepared to stay home to raise her, but she’d died before she had a chance. “I want to be a traditional parent, tucking my son or daughter into his or her own bed every night.”
“Yeah, I’m sure you’ll do great. But at some point, your kid might wonder who its father is.”
“I’ve already considered that.” She’d spent every waking hour contemplating her options. “But I’m not sure if I want to use an open donor or not.”
He sent her a blank look. “Open?”
“It’s where the donor is open to contact with the child. But it can only occur after the child turns eighteen, and only if he or she requests to meet him.”
“I wonder how much of a difference that would make. I guess it would depend on the type of guy the donor turned out to be. I think having no dad would be better than having a bad one. Or one who is barely around, or drunk or stoned, like my old man was most of the time.”
“At least Kirby is trying to make amends and be a better father to all of you.”
“He still has a long way to go, especially with Matt.”
Sophie nodded. Matt Clark was the half brother in Texas whom Tommy and Brandon had never even met. Kirby had fathered Matt with one of his mistresses while he was still married to Tommy and Brandon’s mother, which eventually resulted in their divorce. It was a long and sordid story that was going to be revealed in a biography Kirby had sanctioned about himself. In a strange twist, it was Matt’s fiancée writing the book. She’d met and fallen in love with Matt while she was researching it.
Now that Tommy’s tour had ended, they were supposed to have a family gathering at the Talbot compound sometime within the next few weeks to get acquainted with Matt. His fiancée was already there, working with Kirby on the book. Both Tommy and Brandon had met her a while back, when they’d agreed to be interviewed for the biography.
No one had asked Sophie to be part of the book. But she hoped that she could attend the upcoming gathering. She was curious about the son Kirby had kept hidden away from the world. At one point, he’d even abandoned Matt.
“So how does it work?” Tommy asked.
She blinked at him. “I’m sorry. What?”
“Choosing a donor.”
She quit thinking about his family and focused on his question. “Sperm banks have websites with their donors’ information. So all you have to do is search their catalog for donors who fit your criteria. In some cases, they’ll provide childhood and adolescent photos of the donors. Some will even let you see adult photos. If the donors who fit your criteria are keeping their profile pictures private and you want your donor to resemble someone specific, you can send the sperm-bank photos showing what you want him to look like. Then they’ll go through your donor choices and rank them by how closely they match.”
“Really?” His lopsided smile resurfaced. “You should send in some pics of me.”
“That’s not funny.” She swung her legs around and kicked his longue chair, rattling the base of it. She wasn’t pleased that he’d put the idea in her head. She wouldn’t mind if her child resembled him. He was beautiful to look at, with his straight, easy-to-style hair, greenish-brown eyes and ever-playful lips. There was also a gentle arch to his eyebrows, lending his features a comforting quality—when he wasn’t making faces. She’d known him for so long that everything about him was familiar.
He leaned forward, resting his hands on his knees. He had an artist’s hands, with long fingers. He played a mean guitar, but her favorite songs of his were ballads he’d mastered on the piano, with hauntingly romantic lyrics. He sang about being painfully in love, even if he didn’t know the first thing about it. Sophie had never been in love, either, not where it tormented her soul or ripped her heart apart.
“Maybe I can help you choose a donor,” he said.
She all but flinched. His suggestion caught her off guard, making her wonder what sort of nice-guy stunt he was trying to pull. “You want to help me select the father of my baby?”
“Sure. Why not?” He tilted his head nearly all the
way to the side, as if he was sizing her up somehow. “Remember when I used to help you with your chemistry homework?”
“Yes, of course.” He was good with numbers. Math and science came easily to him. “But this isn’t a school project.”
“I know.” He righted the angle of his head. “But we’re like family, you and me. The least I can do is support you on this however I can.”
“Thank you.” Suddenly she wanted to touch him, to put her hands where they didn’t belong, to skim his exquisite jawline, to run her fingers through his still-damp hair. “That means a lot to me.” More than it should. It even made her imagine him being the donor, which was about the dumbest thought she could’ve had. She wiped it out of her mind, but it spiraled back, undermining her common sense.
He asked, “Should we do it tonight?”
She struggled to comprehend what he meant. Her brain wasn’t behaving. She was still stuck on the stupid notion of him being the donor, which was complete and utter lunacy.
“Should we do what?” she finally asked.
“Look through the sperm-bank sites. I’ll ask Chef to make a batch of his double-chocolate-chip cookies, and I’ll bring them with me. I know how chocolate helps center you.”
“Yes, let’s do it,” she said, finally managing to rid her jumbled mind of the idea of having his child. “Let’s go through the sites tonight.” She needed to find a donor, a stranger.
And she was going to make sure it was someone who looked nothing like Tommy, someone who didn’t have the slightest thing in common with him.
Two
Tommy sat next to Sophie at the computer desk in her home office, where they’d been for the past hour. She scrolled the donor search catalogs she’d bookmarked.
He could barely believe this was happening. Not just her wanting a baby, but the fact she was resigning as his tour manager. She was supposed to be a permanent fixture on the road, a constant he could count on. Sure, she would be an asset to his business management team. But that wasn’t the same as her managing his tours. Life on the road was the soul of his existence, what he loved most about his job, and Sophie had always been part of it.
He studied her profile and the way her unruly hair framed her face, with one strand falling farther forward than the rest. He’d always been fascinated with her hair. When they were kids, she’d kept it short. She was just the cutest thing back then, following him everywhere he went. He wished that she was still trailing after him, instead of bailing out to have a baby.
So far, her donor search wasn’t going well. She rejected one guy after the next. But Tommy didn’t mind. He hoped that she might forget the whole idea, anyway.
With a sigh, she reached for one of the cookies he’d brought, dunked it in her milk and took a gooey bite. She kept dunking and eating until it was gone.
A second later, she licked the lingering mess from her lips, making him hungry to kiss her. Of course, that wasn’t anything new. He’d been longing to taste that pouty mouth of hers since they were teenagers. If he thought he could haul her off to bed, he would strip her bare this very instant. Some people believed that sex between friends would complicate matters, but Tommy wasn’t of that mind-set. Of course he had to consider Sophie’s feelings, and he understood that being friends with benefits wasn’t her style. She’d made that clear a long time ago.
He leaned closer to get a whiff of her perfume. She always smelled so sweet and good.
She shot him a wary frown. “What are you doing?”
He lied like a schoolboy. “You’re blocking my view.” Earlier she’d attached a large monitor, mouse and keyboard to her laptop to make their joint effort easier; he could see just fine.
“Sorry.” She rolled aside her chair, obviously trying to make room for him. “Is that better?”
He nodded and made a show of looking at the screen, where her latest rejection, a surfer-type dude, offered his best smile. “Why are they all so young?”
“This particular bank only accepts donors in their mid-to-late twenties.”
“And you’re okay with that?” He didn’t like the idea one bit. “It’s as if you’re robbing the cradle or something.”
She shook her head. “What about you and those fine young groupies who worship at your feet? At least I’m only looking at these guys for—”
“How smart and handsome and virile they are,” he interjected. As much as he hated to admit it, he was getting envious of the donors. It almost seemed as if she was searching for a lover. “Maybe you really should send in some pictures of me. You can dredge some up from when I was in my twenties.” He paused for effect. “If you’re lucky, there might be a match.”
She sat back in her chair, giving him a disapproving look. “Gee, could you be any more conceited?”
“Don’t act like you don’t think I’m hot because I know you do.” He grabbed the mouse and changed her search criteria, putting in physical features that matched his. He didn’t care if he was annoying her. By now, she should be used to his pesky personality. “Let’s see who pops up.”
She turned away. “Do whatever you want, but I’m not interested.”
“Yeah, right.” He didn’t believe that for a second. Sooner or later, she would sneak a curious peek.
He delved into his task. There were a variety of donors with his body type, as well as hair, skin and eye coloring. Not all of them had pictures available. He focused on the ones who did.
While he searched, Sophie wolfed down two more cookies. She was still avoiding looking at the screen. It didn’t matter, anyway. He couldn’t find anyone who fit the bill.
“Never mind,” he said. “They’re all dorks.”
“Really?” She slanted him a sideways glance. “Every last one of them?”
He gestured to the monitor. “Take a gander for yourself.”
“All right, I will.” She settled back into place. “What about him?” She clicked on a candidate Tommy hadn’t given a second thought to—a guy with longish hair and a one-sided grin.
He scrutinized the picture, wondering what the hell she was thinking. “He doesn’t look like me.”
“His smile does. His hair would, too, if he cut it and styled it like yours.” She read the profile. “Oh, and get this? He performs in musical theater.”
Tommy rolled his eyes. “Oh, right. That’s all you need, for your baby to come out singing show tunes.”
She laughed. “Now who’s being a dork?”
“I’m serious, Soph. A son or daughter with his genes could turn you into a stage mom. And if you think touring with me is tough, just think of how grueling your kid’s Broadway ambitions are going to be. You need to steer clear of Mr. Musical Theater.”
She called him out. “You sound jealous.”
“Of that guy? My offspring would be way cooler than his.”
She gaped at him. “Your offspring? I can’t believe you just said that.”
He hated that his chest had turned tight as he defended the remark. “I was just goofing around, trying to get your goat.”
“Well, knock it off.” Her voice quavered. Even her hands shook. “You’re supposed to be helping me find a donor, but you’re only making it harder.”
He’d never seen her so worked up. This baby thing was messing with her emotions. With his, too, dammit. “So take Mr. Musical Theater and be done with it.”
“I don’t want him.” She clicked away from the guy’s profile. “I don’t want anyone who has your smile. Or anything else that reminds me of you. I already...”
“You already what?” He prodded her to finish what she obviously didn’t want to say.
She pushed her hair away from her face. “Nothing. I don’t want to talk about it.”
He wasn’t about to let up. His stubborn streak was stronger than hers. “You better tell me. If you don’t, I’m going t
o stay here day and night, bugging you for an answer.”
“Why can’t you just drop it?”
“Because I don’t like seeing you this way.” He wanted the old Sophie back, the woman who didn’t freak out about everything.
She fell silent, and he waited for her to respond. Communication had never been a problem for them before.
Finally, she grimaced and said, “Earlier, when I was at your house, I had this crazy notion about you being the donor. It actually crossed my mind.”
“Really?” He should have panicked, but somehow he didn’t. If anything, he felt weirdly, wonderfully flattered.
She squinted at him. “Don’t sit there looking so smug, not after telling me how cool your offspring would be.”
“Sorry.” He tried to seem less macho, even if he was still feeling his masculine oats. “I shouldn’t have pushed it that far, but you were right about me being jealous. I don’t like you searching for the perfect guy.” He shrugged, still playing down his machismo. “I’m honored that you thought of me, though.”
She got up and strode to the other side of the room. “It was the most insane idea I’ve ever had.” She stopped and sent him a dubious look. “You’re not thinking it could be possible between us, are you?”
“I don’t know.” His mind was whirring, the gears spinning inside his head.
She stood near a bookcase packed with Western novels her dad used to read. Suddenly, she seemed so small and lost—a woman alone, missing her family.
“It’ll be okay, Soph,” he said.
She glanced up. “What will?”
“You finding the right donor and having the baby you want.” Tommy considered the possibility of getting involved. Could he become her donor for real? Since he was on the road more than he was home, he would rarely see her or the child. That would make things easier for all of them, he supposed, with her being the sole parent. But he needed to be sure that the rules wouldn’t change on down the line, that she would never ask more of him than he was capable of giving. “Let’s say for the sake of argument that you did use me. Would it be a permanent agreement, with no expectations or daddy duties from me?”
Nashville Rebel Page 2
