“Oh, I know Stella will agree with me. Absolutely she will.” Jennifer’s smile was radiant. “With Ron and I entertaining so often, we can’t live without enough storage for serving pieces. And I have four different sets of china, you know.”
Moira knew. Normally this would be Dave’s problem and Stella’s problem, not hers, but if they were to knock out this wall…
She made no promises, but soothed Jennifer, who made a whirlwind tour of the unfinished house, pronounced herself delighted and left. Another fifteen minutes, and Moira had Dave settled down, too.
As she walked to her car, the faint flutters she’d been feeling in her stomach intensified, as if the baby had decided to take up swimming the butterfly.
“Just wait’ll you’re in the last month and the kid weighs thirteen pounds. And then discovers the trampoline,” Charlotte had warned darkly. She was eight months along now and could hardly get out of a chair. Moira had heard Gray clearing his throat to suppress his laugh at the idea of a thirteen-pound fetus, but he’d had the wisdom to have noticed that Charlotte’s sense of humor seemed to have waned recently. Moira was beginning to see why.
She settled with relief behind the wheel of her car and carefully arranged the seat belt around herself. Everything took longer these days, and it was going to get worse, not better.
She treated herself to the guilty pleasure of a burger and fries on her way back to the office, even though it was awfully early for lunch. She’d probably put on a pound with the one meal.
“I’ll have a salad for dinner,” she said aloud, and knew she lied. Maybe a salad and a grilled cheese sandwich. And frozen yogurt after. She’d developed a sweet tooth lately.
At the office she told Gray about the latest hitch at the Fletcher house, he commiserated then grumbled in turn about the city council. He swore they’d gotten less cooperative now that they knew he was on his way out. Moira felt even guiltier about that than she did about the sinful lunch. She was glad when he left for city hall.
She determined that yes, they probably could install a bay window and find room for Jennifer Fletcher’s new pantry, called Dave who ranted for a few minutes, then went back to the drawing she’d begun yesterday of a building that would house a new real estate office. She used her computer at a certain point, but liked to rough out ideas with pen and paper, and found that clients liked a drawing, too.
A client popped in at one point and looked at preliminary sketches, after which Moira checked email for the second time today. Still nothing from Will.
It wasn’t like they were best friends, she reminded herself. She hadn’t even wanted to tell him about the baby, for heaven’s sake. But she was honest enough with herself to admit that, somehow, in the past six weeks he’d become important to her. Only because knowing she had some support from him made her feel a little less scared about the future, she tried to convince herself. She knew it was more than that, though.
When she read his emails, she could almost hear his voice, as if he were talking to her instead. He had a good voice, deep and relaxed, laced with amusement that she sensed was often directed at himself instead of at other people. The emails reminded her why she’d trusted him enough to make love with him. She’d freaked the next morning, but the truth was she couldn’t remember ever liking anyone as much so quickly. She guessed in some ways he’d reminded her of Gray. There was something rock solid about him. She’d be surprised if he had one-night stands with women he barely knew very often.
Her mind wandered; her hand stilled.
Had he really thought she was beautiful? she wondered wistfully. He said he’d been watching her for quite a while through the glass. That might have been a line, one of those things he’d have said to any woman who joined him out there. But she thought maybe he’d meant it. He didn’t seem…slick. The way, she had belatedly realized, Bruce was.
When the door opened, Moira turned in surprise, her hand pressing her lower back as she summoned a polite smile. They didn’t get that much drop-in traffic. Who…?
She gaped. Will Becker, who was supposed to be in Africa, had just walked into Van Dusen & Cullen, Architects.
“WILL?” SHE WHISPERED.
He’d been dreaming of Moira for months, and still she looked better than he remembered. Although…different. He took in the sight of her freckled face and astonished green eyes, the copper bright curls escaping the knot she’d fashioned at the back of her head, then lowered his gaze to the unmistakable swell of her belly. The knowledge that she was pregnant suddenly became a whole hell of a lot more visceral.
“Can you feel the baby moving?” he heard himself ask.
She nodded and stared at him from her perch on a tall stool in front of a slanted drawing table that stood before one of the large windows.
He wound his way past desks until he was only a couple of feet from her. Made a little uneasy by her obvious shock, he cleared his throat. “I should have told you I was coming.”
She blinked a couple of times in quick succession. “I thought…you were still out, um, wherever you went.”
“I got back to Harare a few days ago, and caught a flight as soon as I could. I, uh, needed to clear some decisions with people back here.” That was a flat-out lie; sure, he wouldn’t waste his time here, but he’d endured the twenty-five-hour flight to see her.
Will still wasn’t sure why that had been so important. There’d been a couple of emails from her waiting for him when he got back to Harare. He’d known she was fine, the baby was fine. But once he’d let himself formulate the desire to see her, he couldn’t seem to let go of it. He had to see her.
And there she was, right in front of him, lush, curvaceous and pregnant with his baby.
“How are you, Moira?” he asked quietly.
“You didn’t believe me when I said I was fine?”
“You have a backache.”
She hastily withdrew her hand from the small of her back and clasped her fingers together in front of her. “I’ve been bending over all afternoon.”
“What are you working on?”
She seemed to hesitate, then swiveled toward the drafting table. “You can take a look, if you want.”
It was a typical architect’s rendering, but skillfully done. He liked the look of the bungalow-style building with a deep front porch.
“A real estate office,” she told him.
“I like it,” he said simply.
“I can’t believe you’re here.”
“I kept thinking about you,” he admitted. She was even prettier close up, with the sunlight slanting in the window turning her freckles to pale cinnamon. This was the first time he’d seen her in daylight. He wished he could tell better what she was thinking. She was surprised, certainly, maybe even stunned, but beyond that… Was she glad to see him, or unhappy?
His mysterious redhead, he thought, was still mysterious.
“I was a little worried,” she admitted. “When I didn’t hear from you, I mean.”
Chagrined, he said, “I should have emailed. Once I realized I had a chance to come home, I wanted to surprise you. I don’t know why.”
And that was no lie. He didn’t understand a damn thing he’d felt since he’d gotten that first email from her.
I think you deserve to know that I’m pregnant.
She’d thrown him for a loop from that moment on.
No, he thought, she’d done that from the moment she walked onto the terrace and straight to his dark corner.
“Well.” She took a deep breath. “You can see what I mean about the weight gain.”
“Actually…” Will frowned. “Your cheeks look thinner. Are you sure you’re eating enough?”
Moira laughed, a flash of genuine humor that relaxed him. “You’re kidding, right? Nobody has ever accused me of being skinny.”
“You have a perfect body.” And, damn, he was getting aroused.
She laughed again, but less happily, and looked down at her stomach. “Right.”
Her cheeks flushed, and he saw the shyness in her eyes. She mumbled. “Um…thank you.”
Why was she so determined to believe herself to be unattractive? Will wondered, puzzled. It couldn’t be only the scumbag. Her doubts had to be more ingrained than that. Someday he’d find out, he promised himself. But that kind of question wasn’t exactly the ideal opening salvo today.
“Will you have dinner with me?” he asked.
She looked around as if she’d find an excuse floating in the air like a dust mote, but finally took a deep breath.
“Yes. Sure. I suppose we should talk.”
Gee, thanks. He’d only flown halfway around the damn world to see her.
Hiding his frustration, Will asked calmly, “What time do you close?”
“Five. I don’t have any more appointments today.”
“All right. I’ll be back at five.”
More color flowed into her cheeks, but she nodded. “Okay.”
“If you don’t mind eating that early.”
“I could eat six times a day,” she told him ruefully.
He smiled at her, said, “You decide what sounds good,” and left.
He didn’t go far, only to the parking lot. He’d brought a book, but thought he might close his eyes. He could set his cell phone to wake him up. At this point, Will’s sense of time was so screwed up, he had no idea whether his body thought it should be the middle of the night or what. Mostly, he was disoriented. He’d gotten into SeaTac early this morning and surprised Clay and Jack, too, at the breakfast table. Scared the daylights out of them, actually, when he’d strolled in the door as if he’d been out getting the newspaper. Will grinned at the memory.
He got in his truck—not really his anymore, but Jack had let him drive it today—and pushed the seat back. He could tell the minute he closed his eyes that he wouldn’t actually be able to sleep.
He was buzzing, in that irritating state where tiredness kept him awake. And simply being here felt strange, to put it mildly. Everything looked wrong, from the trees to the cars to the people driving them, all white. The smells were wrong. Even this morning, when he’d walked into the house where he had lived for most of his life, he’d almost felt as if he existed in two different dimensions. In one, he was where he belonged; he’d reached for his mug in the kitchen cupboard without thinking about it, poured coffee, known which shelf in the refrigerator the milk would be on. All the while, on another plane he had thought, I’m not really here. I don’t belong.
The weirdness of international travel, of being hurtled by an airplane that chased the setting sun from one continent to another, so that you had breakfast one morning in Africa and the next morning in Lynnwood, Washington, was partly to blame. But Will knew that it was more, that he didn’t belong. He would never move back into that house, no matter what. Right now, not much would have drawn him home to Washington at all.
Only his redhead.
Even with his eyes shut, he saw her. Actually seeing her was as weird as being here. He knew her and yet he didn’t. He’d had the best damn sex of his life with her, he’d sucked on her bare breasts, touched her everywhere, been inside her, and now he wondered nervously how she’d react if he kissed her.
Will gave a grunt that wasn’t quite a laugh. With outrage, is how she’d react. They’d never even been out on a date. What they had done was meant by both of them to be something not quite real, remembered later as if it might have been a dream.
The most erotic dream in the world didn’t result in pregnancy, however. Fate had apparently grinned wickedly and said, “Gotcha!”
He returned to her office at five on the nose to find Moira plucking a purse from a drawer and holding keys in her hand.
“Your partner’s not around?” he asked.
She glanced his way. “No, Gray’s at city hall. Or on city business, anyway. Did I tell you he’s mayor?”
“No.” He frowned, not liking the implications. “You mean, you’re the whole firm right now?”
“No, the mayoral gig, as he calls it, is part-time. He’s putting in really long hours keeping up at least half his usual workload here, sometimes more, and being mayor.”
He stood aside as she locked the door. “Leaving you, almost five months pregnant, to keep your firm alive.”
“It’s not Gray’s fault I’m pregnant,” she said sharply.
Will winced.
They walked together outside, where the chill of evening was making itself felt as the sun dropped low on the horizon. A row of small hybrid maple trees marched along the sidewalk, their leaves—a vivid orange—beginning to fall. One crunched under his foot.
“He isn’t running for reelection.” Moira’s head was bowed and her voice had become more subdued. “Because of me.” She touched her stomach. “He’ll be out of office in January, about the time I’m due.”
I have family and friends, she’d told him, and this was partly what she’d meant, Will realized. How good friends were she and this Gray?
“Why don’t I drive?” he suggested. “I’ll bring you back to your car later.”
“Fine.”
She hoisted herself into the cab of the pickup without too much trouble. Will reached to help her but she didn’t see his hand and he let it fall as she settled into the seat. She was doing fine without him. She’d said that enough times.
When he got in, she suggested a restaurant right there in West Fork, and directed him. “It’s mostly a steak house,” she said a little apologetically. “But I seem to be more of a carnivore these days than I used to be.”
He glanced at her belly and smiled. “Do you suppose every baby has his own tastes?”
“You mean, the next one might be a vegetarian?” Quickly she added, “Assuming I have another one.”
He ignored that. “Yeah, or be especially fond of…fish. Italian food. Nothing but Italian food.”
Moira sounded more relaxed. “Pregnant women are famous for their cravings.”
“Pickles.”
“Right. Charlotte—Gray’s wife, who is eight months pregnant right now—has a thing for lemon-meringue pie. And lemon bars. Lemon pudding.” A dimple appeared in her cheek. “The pudding, she says, is for emergency fixes. Otherwise, she keeps baking.”
Will laughed. “You?”
She sighed. “I don’t dare. I put on weight if I take too deep a breath around fresh-baked goodies. Charlotte can afford the calories.”
“What’s with the obsession about weight?” he asked.
Moira leveled a look at him. “I see the obstetrician every month. I get weighed. Then I get lectured.”
“Oh.”
“See, there’s this ideal. You have to gain enough, but not too much. And I don’t want to gain too much, because then it would be hard to lose it. As if,” she added gloomily, “it’s not going to be hard enough to lose the weight anyway.”
“How much are you likely to gain?”
Her face was cute scrunched up in a grimace. “Like, twenty-five to thirty-five pounds.”
“And babies are, what, seven or eight pounds?”
“Right. You do the math.”
He did, silently. The baby wasn’t all that came out when a woman gave birth, though, he knew that much. There was the umbilical cord, and after-birth, and whatever fluid the baby had been swimming in. Still…
“Do you plan to nurse?” he asked.
Moira gave him another look, this one startled and rather shy. “Yes.” Then, unnecessarily, she said, “This is it.”
“I see.” He pulled into the nearly empty parking lot of the River Fork Steakhouse. They were definitely beating the dinner crowd.
The place was nice in a casual way, the booths deeply padded, the lighting designed to give a sense of intimacy even when the restaurant was busier. Moira studied the menu with more care than she probably needed, given that Will assumed she’d eaten here often. They both ordered steaks, baked potatoes and salads
. She asked for a glass of milk. He’d have liked a beer, but didn’t dare. With his luck and lack of sleep, even a little alcohol would probably knock him out, and he did have a forty-five-minute drive home after he dropped Moira off.
He felt a strange ache. He’d wanted her to run into his arms today when he walked in. He wanted to be going home with her, to see her new curves, unclothed, to sleep wrapped around her.
Yeah, and he’d have been scared to death if she’d flung herself at him. He was offering the minimum a decent man would offer, and no more. Better if they maintained a relationship that was cordial, not sexually charged. If they both forgot—or at least pretended to forget—how she’d gotten pregnant with his baby.
The silence between them was beginning to seem stifling, alone as they were in this part of the dining room.
Will reached out and touched the back of her hand. “I’m sorry. I did wear the condom.”
Beyond the faint quiver he’d felt beneath his fingertips, she didn’t react. “I know. I saw.” She hesitated. “Thank you, for believing me.”
He nodded. After a minute, he said, “I’ll expect to pay child support.”
Her eyes searched his. “I meant it when I said you didn’t have to.”
“Yeah. I could tell. But I want to.”
She dipped her head once, in acknowledgment.
“I really am committed in Africa for two years. Actually, for just over a year and a half, now. But after that, I’ll want visitation.”
Her lips compressed, but she nodded.
“You’d rather I ditched you?”
She couldn’t hide her turmoil. “No. In some ways, it would be easier, but…” Her fingers drummed on the table. “I keep thinking about how much I wished my father cared at all.” She focused briefly on him. “I remember telling you that I didn’t know him.”
“Yes.”
In a near whisper, Moira said, “This isn’t the way I wanted to start a family. But…I wouldn’t undo it, either. I just turned thirty-five, Will. If I was going to have a baby at all, it was going to have to be soon. I’m sorry I stuck you with responsibility, but otherwise…I’m glad, now that I’m over the first shock.”
The Baby Agenda Page 7
