Along Came Love

by Tracey Livesay

Deep, gut wrenching sobs. Pent-­up, mournful sobs. Ugly, blotchy sobs that drew attention from their fellow customers and inquisitive passersby.

  Dawning remorse reversed the trajectory of Jill’s smile. She put her cup on the table and scooted her chair forward, taking Indi’s hands in her own. “Hey, hey. It’s okay. I’m sorry. Truly. It’s none of my business.”

  Indi reached into her backpack and pulled a tissue from a travel-­sized pack. “It’s these damn hormones. They’re driving me insane. I’m days away from ordering a cropped maternity straight jacket.”

  She wiped away the physical manifestation of her weakness and blew her nose.

  “So you are pregnant. Congratulations?” Jill’s tone suggested she wasn’t sure if the news warranted celebration or not.

  “Thank you. I’m just a little overwhelmed.”

  “I can imagine. I have two older sisters, both married with children. You have that same wild-­eyed, deer-­in-­the-­headlights look they each had when they found out they were pregnant.”

  “Did they figure it all out?”

  Jill slowly nodded. “I think they’d say yes, but my oldest sister swears enlightenment came after she had her second one. She says she never realized how easy having one was until number two’s arrival.”

  It appeared Indi was destined to go through this pregnancy as clueless and confused as she was now. And she’d never gain sureness or confidence in her choices because she didn’t plan on having another child. Still, admitting the truth to Jill lightened her in a way she hadn’t imagined.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” Jill picked up her cup, took a sip.

  Indi traced the intricate scrollwork on the table with her finger. To discuss how she was feeling—­with a person who had no personal stake in the outcome—­was a comfort, but . . .

  “You probably have to get back to work . . .”

  “With Chelsea on her honeymoon, I’ve actually had some time off, but I wanted to come into the office and start preparing it for her return. Speaking of Chelsea . . . does she know you’re pregnant?”

  “No. I came to tell her, but my hormones . . .” She stroked her braids. “I forgot she wouldn’t be home for another ­couple of weeks.”

  “How far along are you?”

  “Fourteen weeks.”

  Jill’s precisely plucked brows strained toward one another. “And you just found out?” She held up a hand as soon as the words passed her lips. “Never mind. You don’t have to answer that.”

  “It’s okay. I’ve always had irregular periods. Missing one month wasn’t unusual, but when it didn’t start the second month, I prayed I was wrong. The third month Aunt Flo boycotted . . . well, there was no more living in denial.”

  Terror had driven the breath from her body and she’d collapsed onto the closest available surface, her legs unable to support her weight. She was pregnant. She couldn’t imagine a circumstance she wanted to endure less. Twelve years of being jostled around the foster care system had convinced Indi she’d be a dreadful mother. She had no role model, no real-­life behavior to duplicate. The only good mothers she knew were fictional. Okay, she knew there were real mothers who loved and cared for their children. But that reality wasn’t part of her experience. Her day-­to-­day had been filled with women who didn’t care to know what her needs were, never mind attempting to put those needs before their own.

  And love? Indi’s own mother hadn’t wanted her, had dropped her off—­when she was four years old—­at an emergency room and walked away. She’d cycled through so many foster homes she’d lost count after twenty, and yet none of those families had ever come forth to adopt her. Other than Chelsea, Indi couldn’t name a single person who ever cared about her. Unlovable and with no notion of how to care for and raise a child. And society wanted to entrust her to mold and shape a new life because her eggs had played Match.com with some sperm?

  Her anguish had been exacerbated by the fact that the confirmation had come on the heels of an exciting offer to work with a renowned, international photographer. The referral had come from a man she’d met while working at a luxury resort in Charleston, South Carolina. The photographer was getting ready to begin a year-­long project that included photographing the indigenous ­people of Cape York Peninsula in Australia and was having a difficult time finding assistants who’d consent to being away from family for that amount of time. It’d been an ideal find for Indi. With Chelsea starting a new life and no other family to speak of, she was uniquely qualified for the post and looked forward to indulging her love of travel and adventure.

  Again, that had been BN: before Nugget.

  “And the father?”

  A pixelated image of Mike came into focus, one feature at a time. His pale blue eyes, able to transform from glacial to scorching between one blink and the next. His wheat-­colored blond hair, sexy whether combed to perfection or stylishly tousled and curled. His strong, chiseled jaw, telegraphing his honorable intent and his determination to bring pleasure. His firm lips, convincing others of his judgment or kissing her senseless.

  “I told him.”

  “Is he going to support you and the baby?”

  “He says he will, but it’s a moot point. I’m giving the baby away.” Her gaze fell. “Adoption.”

  “Oh.” Jill took another sip.

  Indi wiped her suddenly damp palms on her skirt. “Do you think—­ Am I—­ Does that make me a bad person?”

  The idea that doing the right thing—­and giving her baby the opportunity to live a life with ­people who would shower him with the love and affection she’d never received—­would make her the villain of her own child’s story, riddled her with guilt and heartache. Although it shouldn’t. It’s not like she was dropping him off at the nearest fire station. Indi planned to use an adoption agency and personally pick the family lucky enough to raise him. She tried to swallow past the mass of unease lodged in her throat.

  “Of course not. You have to make the choice that’s best for you and your situation.” Jill pursed her lips. “Chelsea doesn’t really talk about it, but she’s mentioned her past before and how the two of you met. I imagine it’s difficult to think about raising a baby considering your own childhood.”

  “I wouldn’t know where to start. And there’s so much I want to do in the world. So much I want to see.” Indi shook her head. “I can’t be tied down.”

  She pressed both hands to her stomach. Maybe if she said it often enough, she’d start to believe it.

  “Have you seen a doctor?”

  “Yes, that’s why I was in the area. I just left an appointment with Dr. Kimball.”

  Jill laughed. “Dr. Kimball should be named the official ob-­gyn of Beecher & Stowe’s San Francisco office. All of the women who made the move here from LA, or from any of our offices back east, go to her.”

  “Uh-­huh. That’s what I told Mike.”

  “Mike.” Jill’s eyes widened. “As in Michael Black, Adam’s best friend?”

  Shit! Coffee had morphed into an intimate confession session and she’d confided a lot in the other woman, but she hadn’t planned on exposing that piece of information.

  Jill’s face brightened as she connected the dots. “He’s the father. You’re fourteen weeks, and the wedding was about three months ago . . . the tequila shots!” She slapped her hands against the table.

  Damn, she was sharp. Whatever Chelsea was paying her, it wasn’t enough.

  “He’s gorgeous,” Jill continued. “But isn’t he dating Skylar Thompson?”

  “Yeah. Another fragment in the one-­thousand-­piece puzzle that is my frustrating life.”

  “Wow.” Jill paused. “What are you going to do?”

  “Continue with my original plans. Nothing has occurred to make me change them.”

  Liar.

  “I understand,” Jill said, reachi
ng out to squeeze Indi’s hand. “I just want you to know that I’m here if you ever need to talk, and I’d never betray your trust or confidence. Chelsea has become a dear friend to me and I know how much she loves you. After spending time in your company, I think I can see why.”

  “I appreciate your offer. Thank you,” Indi said, energized by the notion that after all the ­people she’d met on her travels and the thousands she’d connected with on social media, in a small coffee shop in San Francisco, she may have made a true friend.

  “Can I give you a lift back to your hotel? Or are you staying at Chelsea and Adam’s place?”

  She stood and gathered up her trash. “No, but if you have some free time, I’d love your company while I do some shopping. Chelsea may have mentioned my spontaneity?”

  A wry smile crossed Jill’s pretty face. “I believe she used another word for it.”

  Considering her more prudent sister, Indi said, “I don’t want to know. Anyway, I told you how this visit was spur of the moment. I meant that phrase literally. This outfit is all I have to wear. I’m not showing yet, but I’m going to need some new clothes. And you have great taste. I’ve been eying that purse. That’s a Torcano bag, right?”

  Jill hefted the navy blue embossed satchel. “Yes. I treated myself after the promotion. I’m impressed. Most ­people wouldn’t recognize the designer.”

  “I worked as an assistant stylist to Kate Crenshaw in New York several years back, when she was acting in that big budget romantic comedy. Anthony Torcano named a bag after her in his spring collection.”

  Jill’s mouth dropped open. “You mean the Crenshaw?”

  Indi nodded. “A little gaudy for my taste, but Kate loved it.”

  “Yup, we’re going to be fabulous friends.” Jill linked her arm through Indi’s. “Now, most of the major department stores are close by, but let’s skip those. I’ve found some great little boutiques I think you’ll like.”

  “Cool. Let’s go.” Jill didn’t know it, but her recently expressed feels regarding Indi’s character were about to be tested. “So, about my staying at Chelsea and Adam’s place . . .”

  Chapter Nine

  HE’D HEARD HIS child’s heartbeat.

  Yesterday as Mike stood in the examination room clutching Indi’s hand, hearing the cadence of life growing within her, his vision had expanded, allowing him to see saturated colors and crisp detail. Just as quickly, it narrowed until he was focused on one tiny point.

  Protecting his baby.

  The paternity test wasn’t necessary. Between the doctor’s confirmation of the timing of conception and the knowledge that Indi wouldn’t jeopardize her relationship with Chelsea by scamming him, he had all the additional verification he needed.

  Indi was pregnant with his child.

  There was no quibbling with the notion that it was Indi’s body and her choice. She’d chosen to give birth to the baby, but give it up for adoption. That’s where his compliance ended. He could no more give away his child than he could choose to stop breathing. Something had to be done. He couldn’t allow Indi to go through with the adoption. Hence, his plans for the rest of the day.

  He knew his decision would have a marked effect on his relationship with Skylar and his proffered deal between Computronix and TTL. Skylar had made it clear that his proposition had a better chance of approval if they were personally involved and Mike knew this deal meant amazing growth for Computronix. But at what cost?

  Skylar had stated she wasn’t ready for children—­let alone a child borne by another woman—­but they’d been speaking hypothetically. She’d agreed they made a good match, and if he stressed that he and the baby were a package deal, he hoped she’d reconsider. If not, so be it. Computronix offering OTTo and their own digital entertainment was another industry first. If Franklin Thompson turned him down because he and Skylar had called it quits, it’d be a decision the other man would regret for years into the future.

  He checked his watch. Where was Indi? He’d asked her to meet him after lunch. Though it went against his burgeoning protective instinct, he hadn’t stood in her way when she’d finally left the doctor’s office. He’d given her the space she’d requested. That didn’t mean he endorsed the idea of her wandering alone in an unfamiliar city. He pulled out his cell and sent a quick text to Evan.

  Call our corporate car provider and have them send over a list of drivers available for a long-­term hire.

  He’d make sure she’d get where she needed to be—­promptly and safely—­for the remainder of her pregnancy.

  “Hey.” A low, wary voice behind him.

  His pulse throbbed in anticipation. He turned and found Indi with her arms crossed over a dark blue denim jacket, her head bent with braids spilling over one shoulder.

  Despite her mood, she did not disappoint.

  “Thanks for coming.” He scanned the bright multicolored dress that showcased her slender curves and ended just below her knee. “You look great.”

  Her lashes flew upward and her gaze collided with his.

  He swallowed. She had the most amazing eyes. They weren’t hazel; no flecks of green would dare mar the translucent brown. Instead, the rich amber color of pure honey stared back at him and like the sticky substance, it threatened to bind him to her.

  He blinked and severed their connection. The potency of their pairing was staggering. Guess there was truth to the idea that having a baby bonded two ­people.

  Then how did he explain their connection before the baby was conceived?

  “I went shopping yesterday.” That explained the new clothes.

  “I know I didn’t make it home last night. After the doctor’s office and your needing space . . .”

  “I appreciated it. Really.” She gestured to the four-­story warehouse blocking the sun and contributing to the cool afternoon. “What are we doing here?”

  Last night, sitting in his office, a tumbler of whiskey in his hand and starring into the inky black sky, he’d realized he’d been going about this all wrong. He’d been trying to force her into doing what he wanted, thinking he knew best. Although he did, that strategy wasn’t working with Indi. She was different from any other woman he’d known. He’d needed to find another way to shift the circumstances and achieve the outcome he desired.

  “We’ve been caught up in the trauma and confusion of the situation and ignoring the miracle. You’re pregnant. We’re having a baby.”

  She shook her head. “Mike, I can’t—­”

  “I know you feel that way now, but I don’t want you to look back and regret that you didn’t do more to document the occasion. You told me you weren’t making this decision lightly. That you truly believe it’s in Nugget’s best interests.”

  Her lips twitched when he said Nugget.

  “Then it bears celebration. Whatever happens, our lives have been changed. Forever.”

  She dropped her head. Unable to keep his distance, to resist the need to touch her, he grasped her shoulders.

  “I took the rest of the day off. Spend it with me.”

  Her response wasn’t immediate. Damn, but she was obstinate. With everyone else she was easygoing, malleable. With him, unyielding as granite. He held his breath.

  She gave a barely perceptible nod. Satisfaction sped through him. He took her hand, his body bracing for the jolt it experienced each time he touched her. Being in her proximity caused his being to hum with a vibrancy only she could arouse. It’d been that way from the moment they’d met. It’d unnerved him, disturbed him, taken him by surprise.

  She had taken him by surprise.

  He guided her through the metal door. An emergency stairwell—­framed by the rectangular slice of glass in a beige nondescript door—­was situated on their left. Fluorescent lighting ushered them down the long, cinder-­blocked corridor to a swinging glass door. Entering the new space,
they were greeted by a bright blue half wall with Carrie Holland Photography written in a crisp white script.

  Indi blinked. “A photography studio?”

  “I read online that some mothers like to get pictures of their bodies—­”

  “Seriously, you need to step away from Google.”

  “—­as it changes. So you can remember.”

  She pulled her hand from his. “Are you being this dense on purpose? I’m giving Nugget away. I don’t want to remember this.”

  “Now. You don’t want to remember it now. But that might change. And if it does, I’ll have the pictures.”

  The bulletproof shield of her crossed arms ascended back into place. He gave a mental sigh. One step forward, two steps back.

  “Carrie Holland, huh? You just called up one of the world’s most respected photographers and got an appointment? On a day’s notice?”

  “You know her work?”

  “Everyone knows her work. You can find it on anything from T-­shirts to calendars to coffee mugs. It’s iconic.”

  He shoved his hands into the pockets of his slacks. “I wanted the best. I’ve worked hard. Made a lot of contacts, made even more money. I can’t think of a better way to spend it than on my child.”

  Her mouth tightened. “We didn’t get the paternity test. How do you know Nugget is yours?”

  “Because you said he was. And that’s enough for me.”

  That connection zinged between them again. This time, she was the first to look away.

  “Mr. Black? Is that you?” A raspy, female voice reached out to them from behind the wall. “Please, come on back.”

  They walked around the barrier and into a large open space divided by floor-­to-­ceiling white fabric, the bottoms pooling against the light hardwood floors. Both sides were set up with items he’d expect to see in a photography studio: large illuminated umbrellas, cameras on tripods, chairs, benches, and cubes. The only difference between the two spaces was the one on the left was helped by the addition of natural light coming from the large arched and gridded windows whereas the light in the space on the right originated from lamps.