Table of Contents
Cover Page
Excerpt
About the Author
Other Books By
Title Page
Dedication
Acknowledgment
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Copyright
“You haven’t mentioned your birth mother in a while, Nicki.”
Nicki’s heart started to beat fast. “You said you’d let me know when you found out something, and I didn’t want to nag you.” Whenever she thought about never seeing her mom and dad again, she felt as if she was just going to curl up and die. Then she’d think about finding her other mother, and the scared feeling would go away a little bit.
“So, have you found out anything?” Nicki hoped it wasn’t nagging to ask, since he’d brought up the subject.
“Not yet, but they’re narrowing it down.” He grinned at her. For an uncle, he was really handsome.
Nicki just had to know why her birth mother had given her away. She was afraid, sometimes, that Uncle Bryan thought it wasn’t fair that he had to keep her, when even the woman who’d actually had her didn’t want her.
She knew that he had to think it wasn’t fair, ‘cause Uncle Bryan had told Grandma he wasn’t the marrying kind and he wouldn’t make a good father.
Nicki thought he’d make the best dad ever, next to her own. She just wished he felt differently about wanting kids.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Tara Taylor Quinn first thought about writing The Birth Mother when she saw a commercial on television depicting a pregnant teenager advertising for a local adoption agency. According to Tara, “The teenager looked like Donna Reed’s daughter, i.e., she was a very nice girl, and I thought, ‘What if…?’ I then went onto America On-line and visited the adoption bulletin boards, which are public boards where people with a common interest can talk to each other anonymously. When I found myself sympathizing with all three parts of the adoption triangle—the child, the birth mother and the adoptive family-I knew I had a story to write.”
Tara loves to hear from her readers. You can reach her at P.O. Box 15065, Scottsdale, Arizona 85267-5065.
Books by Tara Taylor Quinn
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THE BIRTH MOTHER
Tara Taylor Quinn
For Walter Wright Gumser, Sr.
I’ll look at your wallet anytime, Dad…
I love you.
ACKNOWLEDGMENT
Thanks to Kevin S. Reames for his technical support. I’d buy my cars from you even if we weren’t married.
PROLOGUE
SHE WAS ALONE when she went into labor. But sixteen-year-old Jennifer Teal expected nothing else. In the ways that mattered she’d been alone since the day she was born, which was why she’d been so ripe for Tommy Mason’s pickings. All he’d had to do was say he loved her…
The pain came again, gripping her lower body so tightly it squeezed the breath out of her. She pushed back into the couch, fighting the panic that wasn’t far from the surface.
Her stomach muscles relaxed, and she tried to concentrate on the book she’d been reading. The pains were still almost ten minutes apart. She didn’t want to call her parents home from work until it was time to go to the hospital.
The hospital. Tears sprang to Jennifer’s eyes as she thought about the cold sterile place. Oh, please, little darling, please don’t come yet. She rubbed at the huge mound of her belly, comforting the baby girl who’d stolen her heart the second she’d seen the barely discernible outline on the ultrasound film. She couldn’t bear to think about what was going to happen.
The next pain froze Jennifer’s tears as she concentrated completely on riding it out. She let the pain come, let it rip into her lower body. She wished desperately for someplace she could go to escape what had to happen, someplace where she didn’t have to be afraid. She knew better than to wish she didn’t have to face it all alone.
The pain faded and she thought again about calling the dealership to tell her parents it was almost time. But she didn’t reach for the receiver. No. She was going to savor these last hours she had with the baby she loved more than she’d ever loved anything in her life. She was the only person in the world who wanted this baby—other than the couple who were out there somewhere, waiting, with a nursery set up, a whole wardrobe of tiny newborn clothes ready. Jennifer had never met them, didn’t even know their names.
Worried that her water might break and soil her parents’ couch, Jennifer took advantage of her reprieve from pain and hoisted her heavy body up. She didn’t want to mess up the carpet, either, so grabbing her book and a pillow from her bed, she went into the bathroom. Using the wall as a brace, she slid down to the floor. If her water broke she could have it cleaned up before her mother got home. Not that Eloise Teal would be angry about the mess, but Jennifer didn’t like to be any more of a hassle to her elderly parents than necessary.
The next twenty-one hours became something of a blur to Jennifer, remembered only in pieces of mindrobbing pain intermingled with snatches of blessed peace. The peace she took from her baby. For sometime during her pain-induced delirium she’d realized she wasn’t the only one sharing the incredible experience. Her baby was with her one hundred percent of the way, through the phone call she finally made to her parents, the agonizing trip to the hospital sitting in the back seat of her father’s used Coronado while her parents sat silently in front, the disappointment when, in the emergency room, her mother opted to stay with her father out in the waiting room.
Through the long hours of pain, the brief moments of relief, the times when medical personnel prepared her body for childbirth, and even during the minutes she attempted, unsuccessfully, to push the baby from her body, Jennifer’s daughter was with her all the way. She wasn’t alone, after all.
And then they injected her with something to knock her out. It was nighttime when Jennifer finally came to, when she learned the baby had been delivered by cesarean section, when she realized she’d been denied the few seconds after the birth to meet the tiny being she’d brought to life. She was no longer the mother. Another woman, a grown woman, was waiting for that right.
Jennifer wasn’t even sure how much time had passed, what day it was. She wasn’t sure it mattered. She didn’t try to stem the tears that ran silently down her cheeks. There was no one there to see them. She hadn’t known it was possible to feel so empty and still be alive.
She turned her head away as the door to her private room opened. She didn’t want to see anybody.
“You having troubles sleeping, honey?” The soft words fell into the darkness.
Jennifer looked toward the nurse’s shadowy figure walking toward her. She remembered her from the labor room. She was young for a nurse, and pretty, t
oo. She’d been nice to Jennifer through those long agonizing hours.
“I can give you something to help you sleep or help with the pain if you need it, sweetie. You just say the word.” The nurse lifted Jennifer’s wrist, feeling for her pulse.
“Is my baby gone yet?” Jennifer asked. She was afraid to fall back to sleep. Afraid they were going to take her baby away while she was unconscious. Not that her being awake would make any difference; she just couldn’t bear to think of sleeping through it.
The nurse’s eyes filled with pity as she smoothed Jennifer’s hair away from her forehead. She hesitated, as if she wasn’t going to answer Jennifer, and then she shook her head.
“She’s still here.”
“Is she pretty?”
The nurse smiled, her knuckles rubbing Jennifer’s shoulder. “She’s beautiful, honey. And healthy as a horse. You did a great job. Now—” she stepped back and tucked the covers around Jennifer “—why don’t you try to get some sleep, huh? The doctor said you get to go home tomorrow.”
The thought panicked Jennifer. Not that she liked the hospital, but when she left, she’d never be near her baby again. She watched desperately as the nurse walked to the door of her room.
“Can I see her?”
The nurse stopped just inside the door. “You know it’s against regulations, honey.”
She didn’t say no. “I haven’t signed any papers yet. Doesn’t that mean that technically she’s still mine?”
The nurse moved quickly back to the bed, frowning. “You aren’t thinking of changing your mind, are you? You’re so young, honey, barely sixteen. What are you, a senior this year?”
“I’ll be a junior when school starts, and no, I’m not going to change my mind. I just need to see her.”
“It’s not a good idea, honey, believe me. It’ll be so much harder to give her up if you see her.”
“Have you ever given a baby away?”
The nurse looked shocked. “No.”
“Then how can you know it’ll be harder? I’ll tell you what’s hard—lying here knowing my baby is only a few feet away and I can’t tell her how much I love her. Doesn’t she deserve that, at least? To know that even though her own mother is giving her away, she still loves her?”
“I’ll tell her you love her.”
Jennifer sat up, mature beyond her years, not only because of the past nine months but from a lifetime of trying to make life easier for her elderly parents. She’d never really been a kid. And especially not now.
“I need to tell her myself. I promise I won’t change my mind. I just need to tell her goodbye. Is that too much to ask?” Jennifer’s words dissolved into tears.
The young nurse hesitated, tears in her own eyes as she looked at Jennifer, and then she turned away. “I’ll see what I can do, but you change your mind and it’ll cost me my job.”
She left the room, not giving Jennifer a chance to reply.
Jennifer tensed when her door opened fifteen minutes later and the young nurse crossed the shadowy room carrying a blanket-wrapped bundle. Jennifer’s heart swelled till she thought it would burst.
Giving no thought to tomorrow, to an hour from then, she reached up to take her daughter in her arms. She was beautiful! And so soft and warm and sweet-smelling. Jennifer’s arms trembled as she held her baby against her breast, where she belonged.
She was barely aware of the nurse hovering at the end of the bed as she studied the precious little face, soaking up a lifetime’s worth of loving in those few brief moments. She wanted to unwrap the baby, see her tiny fingers and toes, actually touch the little feet that had been kicking her for so many months. But she was afraid to, afraid she’d make the baby cry.
So she just continued to hold her, smiling as she watched the sleeping infant. Suddenly, the baby stiffened, stretching her tiny legs and arms, and opened her eyes, those big blue eyes, to stare up at Jennifer. And then, just when she thought the baby was going to fall back to sleep, she stiffened again, and one tiny hand popped out of the baby blanket, flailing in the air until it caught Jennifer under the chin.
Jennifer reached for the little fist instinctively, raising it to her lips, kissing the soft, sweet skin. Then her daughter’s mouth opened, and she turned her head toward Jennifer’s breast.
The nurse came forward. “I need to take her back now, honey. It’s time for her to eat.”
Jennifer nodded, her eyes never leaving the child in her arms. “I love you, baby girl, I love you so much,” she said, her whisper thick with tears. She lifted the infant, burying her face against the baby’s warm neck—and kissed her daughter for the last time.
Please, God, just give her a happy, loving home, and I promise I’ll never bother her again or go looking for her or anything. And I’ll never have another baby to replace her or ever make love with a boy again, either. Not if you’ll keep her happy for me. Please, God.
She sobbed as the nurse took her baby away from her, sobbed and hated herself for not being strong enough to fight them all and insist on keeping her child. Logically she knew she’d made the right decision, the only decision, by giving her baby to a loving couple who could provide a much better life for her than Jennifer could ever hope to.
But as she cried long into the night, Jennifer couldn’t silence the part of her that said there were places she could go, places that would help, places designed to make it possible for unwed mothers to provide for their babies. If only she was strong enough.
A part of Jennifer died that night. The tender, vulnerable, young mother in her was slowly suffocated until all she had left to tell of its existence was the hospital birth picture the young nurse slipped to her just before she went off duty.
CHAPTER ONE
BRYAN CHAMBERS hadn’t had sex in eight months. His chair, which he’d had tilted back on two legs, came down to the floor with a bang. Damn. Maybe that’s what was bothering him. He stared at the little calendar lying on the side of his drafting table as if it would prove he was mistaken, as if he actually made a notation when he took a woman to bed.
He didn’t collect notches on his bedpost, never had. Hell, until eight months ago, he’d never even owned a bedpost. But he’d always had his share of women.
Bryan pushed himself away from the sketches he’d been working on all morning, a campaign for one of his newest clients, a national soup company. He was too restless to be creative. He started to run his fingers through the hair at the back of his head, but stopped. It had gotten so long he was wearing it in a ponytail.
“Jacci!” he hollered, ignoring the intercom on his desk.
His secretary poked her head inside his door. “Yeah?”
“I’m outta here. If Wonderly calls, put him through on my mobile.”
“Did you get the sketches done for tomorrow’s meeting?”
He tidied the morning’s clutter, shoving the Wonderly client folder into his sketchbook. “Nope.”
“You want me to see if Calvin can give them a shot? The meeting’s tomorrow at nine.”
“I’ll get them done.” Bryan didn’t need his partner pinch-hitting for him. And if Jacci wasn’t such a damn good secretary, he’d fire her. She had a tendency to forget who was boss here. But he had to hand it to her. She’d lasted longer than any other secretary he’d ever had. What was it now? Six months? Seven?
“How long you been here, Jacci?” he asked, crossing to his supply cupboard to put away his charcoals.
“Since eight,” she said, frowning as she watched him.
He frowned back at her. “Not today. How long you been with the company?”
“Going on two years. Why? Is it time for my raise?”
She had a point there. She probably deserved a raise after putting up with his moods these past months. She kept the office running like clockwork, too.
“Maybe. How much of a raise we talking about?”
She shrugged, naming an outrageous sum.
Bryan pulled his aviator sunglasses out of h
is shirt pocket and put them on. He shoved his calendar into the back pocket of his jeans. “If you’ll settle for half that, you got it,” he said, heading for the door with his sketchbook under his arm.
“What happens if I don’t settle?” Jacci asked, following him out to her office.
“Then you’re fired.”
She sat down behind her desk and started typing on her computer keyboard as if she’d never been interrupted. “You really should carry a briefcase, you know,” was all she said.
“Forget it,” Bryan mumbled, heading outside into the bright Atlanta sunshine. Jacci’s nagging irritated him almost as much as the thought of carrying a briefcase. He hated the trappings of conventionality, hated being tied down, even to a briefcase.
Which was why it was so strange that he was eager to get home. He’d never bought himself a real home, either, until eight months ago, always preferring to live in generic, though elegantly furnished, condominiums rather than tie himself down to a bunch of belongings that would make mobility difficult. But all that changed in the split second it took for a tornado to touch down in Shallowbrook. All that changed the minute he got Nicki.
“HEY, BOBBY, how’s it going?”
“Just fine, Ms. Teal.” The young mechanic smiled at her from beneath the Tempo hoisted up in his bay.
“And how about your boy? Is he completely recovered?”
“Yes, ma’am, he’s back in school this week and bragging about the accident like he’s a hero or something. My wife and I sure appreciate you being so understanding with me missing so much work this past month.”
“I’m glad we could make things a little easier for you, Bobby. Now, how’s Mr. Corales’s car coming along?”
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