Along Came Love

by Tracey Livesay

  Even though Indi appeared open to the idea of letting him raise Nugget, Mike knew he’d still need an attorney to draw up the paperwork and ensure everything was handled properly. A referral was still necessary, though his reasons for one may have changed.

  But a fathers’ rights attorney? It felt like throwing the first punch before the argument even began.

  “You don’t have to hire him,” Sully said, correctly interpreting his silence. “This is just a consult. He’ll answer your questions, explain the procedure. If you don’t like him, we’ll find someone else.”

  His friend had a point. Mike needed to do his research, determine his options, figure out the best strategy to win. It’s what he always did, the bedrock of his success.

  Sully continued. “I gave his office my cell number, so they’ll text me initially with your confirmation. I told him a little about your situation and, although each case is unique, he seemed to imply that courts wanted to keep families intact unless one of the parents is unfit.”

  “Thanks. I appreciate your looking into this, especially with the possibility of an HPC infringement case looming.”

  “Do you want to keep the appointment?”

  In the end, it was his responsibility to protect his family. Indi hadn’t agreed to give the baby to him. Hell, despite her fervent claims, she could change her mind and decide to raise Nugget herself. A better alternative than adoption, in his opinion, but where would that leave him? Would his son or daughter’s remembrances of their childhood feature him as a faceless lecturer, trying to impart as much information as possible in the spare time they had together?

  His fingers tightened around the bar. He wouldn’t be a visitor in his child’s life.

  “Yes.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  THE HEAVY DARKNESS of exhaustion receded inch by inch and the reality of her surroundings began encroaching on Indi’s peace. Crashing waves, the caw of birds, salt in the air—­

  Oh no. No, no, no.

  She reached for the dream prayer once again. Please be a dream. Please be a crazy, whacked-­out dream brought on by indigestion and not a living, breathing nightmare where she’d actually vomited in the family’s expensive landscaping.

  She cracked open an eye. She was lying on her left side, her head resting on her bent elbow. Gauzy, sheer curtains were pulled back to reveal a stunning view. On the far horizon, vibrant reds and purples bled into oranges and yellows, disclosing the late hour. She should get up and properly apologize to Mike’s family, but she wasn’t ready to show her disgraced face.

  Not yet.

  She covered said face with both hands. What must they think of her? A strange woman shows up unexpectedly with their son, barely speaks, and then bowls over his father and anyone else in her way to puke in their artistically designed garden.

  Well, she couldn’t hide out in this room all weekend. She wasn’t a coward. If she’d remained afraid of the metaphorical bogeymen on the other side of the door, she’d still be stuck in the Midwest, free from all of her travels and experiences.

  But first, she should change. Freshen up.

  She untwisted the folds of her dress and swung her legs around—­her bare feet touching the cool wood floors—­and sat up, taking a moment to let the world adjust. She reached for the charm around her neck and feeling warm skin, looked down.

  Cold tentacles claimed space in her belly. She wasn’t wearing her necklace. Her fingers skipped frantically along the cobalt blue duvet, her gaze searching until she noticed it pooled on the nightstand. She slipped the silver chain over her head and inhaled its minty fragrance.

  Serenity.

  Feeling slightly better, she stood, arched her back, and looked around. Earlier, the nausea twisting her stomach had claimed her total focus. Now, she was able to appreciate the slate-­gray walls, recessed lighting, and the black leather king-­sized platform bed. But no luggage. Her shoes were lined up neatly in the corner, but her weekend travel bag with her changes of clothes and, more importantly, her toothbrush was nowhere to be seen.

  Maybe it was still in the foyer where Mike had first set it down.

  She traversed from hardwood to area rug back to hardwood to get to the door. She opened it. Sniffed gingerly.

  A faint trace of garlic, but not as overwhelming as before.

  The long hallway opened into an enormous great room, a shiny kitchen situated on its far end. A linear gas fireplace bifurcated a structural wall, stacked with the same stone that covered the front of the house, the focal point for several seating arrangements. A low glass-­topped coffee table, supported by sculptural wooden legs, sat on a dark area rug and a sleek ceiling fan kept the space airy and cool. Despite the modern contemporary ambience of the home, colorful accents and framed family photographs littering every available surface proclaimed it an inviting space.

  Movable glass walls showcased the impressive view of the cliffs, water, and beyond. Through the one open panel, she could hear the deep timbre of Mike’s voice and a high-­pitched tone she recognized as belonging to his sister, Morgan, although she couldn’t make out their words. She wanted to venture out and join them, but her mouth felt like a porta potty before a marathon. She needed to rinse and then chug some water first, temporary measures until she could find her toothbrush.

  “Glasses, glasses, glasses,” she muttered to herself.

  The kitchen was huge, separated from the great room by an L-­shaped counter, lit overhead by two chandeliers. The counter could easily seat eight ­people, four on each side. White cabinets, some backlit and glass fronted, encircled stainless steel appliances.

  “Can I get you anything?”

  Indi jumped at Barbara’s composed tone. Turning, she found the older woman standing in the doorway.

  Mortification tingled across her nape and settled in her cheekbones. “Um, I was looking for a glass for some water. I was thirsty.”

  Barbara walked over to the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of water. She handed it to Indi.

  “Thank you.”

  Barbara’s bright blue gaze swept over her in an experienced, comprehensive manner. “Would you like a cup of herbal tea? Orange spice, ginger with chamomile, or raspberry?”

  “The ginger with chamomile would be wonderful.”

  Barbara filled a navy blue teakettle with water and placed it on one of eight gas burners. “How about some toast?”

  Her stomach echoed in hunger. “I’d kill for some toast . . . not literally,” she amended. She peered down at her interlocking fingers. “You’re being so nice considering what I did. I—­I can’t apologize enough for—­”

  Barbara shrugged. “You couldn’t help it. Pregnancy hormones.”

  Shock hit Indi like the Ice Bucket Challenge. She stumbled backward until the counter dug into her hip.

  Barbara laughed, the sound throaty, bawdy, and slightly at odds with her proper lady facade. “Oh please. I’ve been around the block and I made an educated guess. I might’ve been wrong but, considering your reaction, I guess I’m not.”

  So much for hiding it for two days. She hadn’t lasted ten minutes.

  Barbara raised her hands, palms facing outward. “I’m sorry. It’s none of my business. It’s my maternal instinct. You’ll learn about it soon enough,” she finished with a self-­deprecating eye roll.

  Indi ran her fingers through her long braids. It was Barbara’s business. She was Nugget’s grandmother and, if Mike had his way, she’d probably be involved in Nugget’s life. They’d decided not to tell his family she was pregnant and, while that cat was out of the bag and on its way to Mexico, the main factor—­that Mike was the father—­was not. Until she apprised him of this new development, she needed to keep that secret under wraps.

  “It’s okay. It’s all been . . . unexpected.”

  Barbara took down two mugs and placed them on th
e Carrara marble countertop. “How far along are you?”

  “About fifteen weeks.”

  “Have you told anyone yet?” Barbara’s soft voice held a lulling, hypnotic quality.

  Indi couldn’t help but answer, though she fudged the truth. “No.”

  The other woman disappeared into the large pantry and reappeared a second later, holding a loaf of bread. “Not even your family?”

  “Chelsea doesn’t know.”

  “What about your mother?”

  Shame thickened Indi’s throat. She dropped her chin to her chest, let her braids swing forward to cover her cheeks. “My mother isn’t a part of my life.”

  Barbara paused. “I don’t understand. Did she pass away?”

  Indi almost laughed. It said a lot about this woman that the only way she could imagine a mother not being a part of their child’s life was if they were dead.

  “No. Or I guess it’s more accurate to say I don’t know. If she’s passed away. I don’t know where my mother is. She dropped me off at an emergency room when I was four years old. I spent the rest of my childhood in foster care.”

  The lines of Barbara’s face eased in compassion. “I’m so sorry, honey.”

  The kettle whistled and on her way to the stove, Barbara reached out and squeezed Indi’s forearm. That one gesture was almost her undoing. While Barbara switched off the burner and pulled a tea towel from a drawer, Indi inhaled and exhaled in an effort to retain her composure.

  “Thank you, but I’m fine. I got through it intact.” Unable to bear the other woman’s sympathetic gaze, Indi looked away. “Others aren’t so lucky.”

  “That’s true.” Barbara placed tea bags in both mugs and added the boiling water. “You said your mother dropped you off. You, not you and your sister.”

  “Chelsea?”

  Barbara nodded.

  The questions were intrusive and if asked by anyone else, Indi would’ve wondered—­aloud—­if the interrogator had a fulfilling life since they spent so much time pondering hers. But she had the feeling Mike’s mother wasn’t asking to stockpile ammunition for gossip but because she actually cared. And that made it easy for Indi to respond.

  “Chelsea isn’t my biological sister. We shared a foster home for about eight months and we never lost touch. She’s the closest thing to family I have.”

  “Not anymore.”

  Indi’s head reared back and she gaped at Barbara—­who pointed at Indi’s belly. “Your baby. You, your baby, and its father, if he’s in the picture. You’re creating a new family.”

  Indi caressed her stomach. She hadn’t thought about it in that way before. She’d been so busy thinking about all the things Nugget would prevent her from doing, all the negative things that would happen if she raised the baby, she’d never considered she was creating the one thing she’d never had.

  Since turnabout was fair play . . . “Did you find Morgan through the foster care system?”

  “No. Sit down. You look like you’ll fall over any second.” Barbara waited until Indi had taken a seat on one of the white quilted leather bar stools before she returned her attention to their drinks, steeping the tea bags then throwing them away. “Sugar or honey?”

  “A little sugar, please.”

  Barbara added it to the cup and placed it, and a small plate of toast, in front of Indi, patting her shoulder and settling on the bar stool next to her.

  “When Robert was mayor, we participated in a cultural exchange with our sister city in South Korea. While there, we visited one of the orphanages. There was this little girl I was drawn to and by the end of the visit, I couldn’t bear to leave without her.” Barbara blew on her tea, took a cautious sip. “Of course, it wasn’t that simple. There was a lot of red tape involved. But it was worth it. In the end, we got Morgan.”

  The look of love on Barbara’s face blinded Indi and in that instant she envied the younger girl, who’d possessed something so special, ­people from halfway around the world hadn’t been able to resist it.

  “Mike mentioned his father had been mayor.”

  “Many years ago. Barton Point was founded in 1899 and Robert’s family was one of the first to settle here. The Blacks have always believed in public ser­vice and giving back to the community, Robert more so than others. Hence the party this weekend.”

  Indi took a bite of toast and followed it with a sip of tea. Moments later, satisfied when her stomach didn’t evict its contents, she said, “If I’d known it was such an important family event, I wouldn’t have intruded.”

  As if she’d had a choice.

  “We’re happy you can join us.”

  “I’m not sure your husband or your landscaping would agree.”

  Barbara laughed. The sound warmed Indi, and an answering grin lifted the corner of her lips.

  “Robert will be fine. He needs to be challenged and shaken up every once in a while. It’s good for him. Michael does, too. Sometimes he seems too much like his father.” Barbara lifted her cup but took no action to drink from it, her gaze going inward then flickering, as if she remembered she’d spoken aloud. “I love my husband immensely, but it doesn’t mean I’m blind to his faults.”

  Interesting.

  “I haven’t known Mike long, but he strikes me as a very honorable guy. I do know he takes his responsibilities very seriously.”

  “That he does. He used to be so carefree . . .”

  Indi’s curiosity was piqued. She tried to imagine a carefree, happy-­go-­lucky Mike . . . and failed. Intense. Yes. Principled. Of course. Passionate. Definitely. But carefree? Not even during their weekend together, when he spent most of the time completely naked or, at the very least, shirtless.

  “I can’t imagine Mike without the weight of the world on his shoulders.”

  “He was quite different as a boy.” The memories were like the sun breaking through the clouds. “Always smiling. He’d grab my face between his hands and blow raspberries on my cheeks. Called them bubble kisses. He had this lightness about him.”

  Her expression became overcast.

  Indi leaned forward. “What happened?”

  “Life,” Barbara said, waving her hand in a breezy manner.

  But Indi knew it was anything but.

  “Thank you for this,” she said, gesturing to the light meal in front of her. The tea calmed her stomach and the toast closed the gnawing hole created by throwing up the little sustenance she’d managed to keep down. “It really helped.”

  “I’ll also make a note to throw out any leftovers from dinner. What was it, the garlic?”

  Just hearing the name of the food made her stomach roll. She nodded.

  Barbara smiled. “When I was pregnant with Michael I was sick the same way. And not just the first trimester. The entire pregnancy. I had to go into the hospital twice to prevent dehydration. Just be thankful you’ll be spared that experience.”

  Would she? Or did Mike’s crazy mutated genes mean Nugget would make her sick for the next six months?

  “And don’t worry, the food at the gala will be suitably bland. You shouldn’t have any problem at all.”

  Indi choked down the last piece of toast. “Uh, I wasn’t planning on going.”

  “Nonsense. You must attend with us.”

  “But I have nothing to wear.”

  “Which means we’ll have to go shopping tomorrow.” Barbara picked up her mug. “I’m glad you’re feeling better. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “Mrs. Bl—­Barbara?”

  The other woman turned around.

  “I can’t seem to find my luggage. If it isn’t too much trouble, do you have a spare toothbrush I can use?”

  Chapter Sixteen

  FOR ONLY THE second time in the past sixteen years, Mike was keenly aware that he wasn’t inclined to take his father’s advice. />
  When he was growing up, he thought his father was one of the wisest men he knew. Mike had always believed there’d be no greater life than having what Dad had, and following his counsel seemed like a great way to get there.

  And yet . . .

  “You honestly believe that you’re bound to the same choices your father made?” Adam asked.

  Jonathan nodded. “You do have a tendency to treat your father’s life and words as gospel.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with following in my father’s footsteps. He’s a great man.”

  “What worked for your father may not work for you. Men become great when they forge their own path,” Adam argued.

  A conversation from a year ago.

  Is that what he’d been doing? Substituting his father’s judgment for his own? He was extremely confident about his work choices, but in his personal life . . .

  Maybe he should send Indi back to San Francisco. She didn’t need to be here. She couldn’t leave, the bail requirements and pending criminal charges a virtual tether. If he was honest with himself, he’d admit that he’d insisted she come on this trip because he was drawn to her, had enjoyed this past week in her company.

  Reason enough to rethink his position on his father’s advice.

  He walked out of the ensuite bathroom after brushing his teeth and washing his face, using a hand towel to wipe the remaining water from his jaw and chest. He froze when the bedroom door opened and Indi walked in holding a toothbrush.

  She gasped, her widened eyes scorching a trail from his bare torso to the top of his jeans. His breath hitched in his chest in response to the heat in her eyes.

  She opened her mouth then glanced behind her and shut the door. “Are we sharing a room now?”

  Anticipation set his heart pounding and he smiled. “Do you want to?”

  She crossed her arms, emphasizing those pregnancy-­plumped breasts. “Why are you in my room?”

  “I’m not. This is my room.”