Someday Soon

by Janelle Taylor

  “Well, I’m glad I don’t have to make that choice,” Ty said. “I never want to let someone down like Samuel does.”

  “But you wouldn’t, Ty,” she said softly. “You’re not made that way.”

  “What is this?” Ty asked, reaching across for her cold hand and stroking the delicate skin at her wrist with his thumb. “If you’re thinking about adoption, I’m not sure I’m cut out for that, either.”

  “I’m not thinking about adoption.”

  He gazed at her hard, trying to read her mind. Eventually, he shrugged. “Things happen for a reason. You can’t have children and I don’t want any. It’s the best solution for us, given the circumstances and how we feel.” Running his hands through his hair, he sighed and closed his eyes, looking for all the world as if he would fall asleep on the spot. “If you could have children, we’d have a bigger problem.”

  “What do you mean?” Cammie asked, a catch in her throat.

  “Well, then choices would have to be made. And I would end up disappointing you.”

  She gazed at him in silent, quiet fear. “Why?”

  “You know why. I wouldn’t want to give you what you most desire, and it would break us up. You wouldn’t choose me over the baby.”

  Cammie yanked her gaze away from his beloved face with an effort, staring out at the jagged, building-studded horizon, her view nearly eclipsed by the multi-storied offices and surrounding apartments. “I guess I would hope you would change your mind,” she whispered.

  “Luckily, it’s not an issue,” he murmured on a yawn, giving her hand a squeeze.

  “Ty…?”

  “What?” he asked drowsily.

  “What if it were an issue?”

  “Then I guess we’d have to face it.”

  His eyes were shut, his posture relaxed. He wasn’t even really listening. Cammie couldn’t come up with any other way to broach the subject. She sat staring at him for long minutes, heart pounding, palms sweating. As if picking up the intensity of her emotions, Ty’s eyes slowly opened. His gaze searched her face.

  “What are you trying to say?” he asked, his voice tense.

  “I—I went to see my gynecologist today. Dr. Crawley.”

  “And?”

  Cammie’s face glowed with hope. Lips quivering, she declared happily, “Ty—I’m pregnant! I’m pregnant!”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Pregnant!

  Tyler gazed down at his script for Rock Bottom, struggling to make sense of the words while his mind still whirled with the shock of Cammie’s announcement the night before. The scene was one he had down pat, but this afternoon, during take after take, he’d flubbed his lines time and again. James Connelly, Rock Bottom’s producer and director, had prudently called for a break, and now Ty sat in a chair in his dressing room, a makeup artist fussing over him while he tried to collect his thoughts.

  Pregnant!

  He couldn’t shake that shocking truth from his head no matter how hard he tried. Cammie’s words had echoed and echoed, and for a split second after their issuance Ty was certain he was dreaming. His first response was a harsh, automatic accusation: “You said you couldn’t get pregnant!”

  Cammie’s joy dissolved in front of his eyes. “I said I couldn’t have children,” she softly corrected.

  “What’s the difference?”

  “I’m able to conceive, but the chance of carrying to term is very slight.”

  Ty shook his head. His brain effectively shut down at that point and apparently wasn’t coming back to life anytime in the near future.

  Pregnant. Cammie was pregnant! He’d felt a brief spurt of betrayal which had quickly washed away. She hadn’t lied; he’d misunderstood. The news apparently left her stunned and thrilled and tragically hopeful, but Ty’s less than enthusiastic reaction brought her to earth with a crash.

  “Don’t worry,” she declared bitterly. “This baby won’t be born. My body won’t let it.”

  Of course he’d felt like a heel. Too late, he’d tried to convince her that he was at least excited at the possibility, but Cammie was too sharp to buy it—and too hurt to hide her pain. Tears seeped from the corners of her eyes, tears she angrily swiped away. When Ty tried to help, she politely asked him to leave.

  “I would like to be alone,” she gulped.

  “Cammie…” Ty ached for her.

  “Please.”

  She’d been deaf to any excuses he could make. He couldn’t blame her. Her hope was as fragile as a butterfly’s wings, and he’d crushed it without even trying.

  So now, here he was, lost in his own self-recriminations and unable to do the job that normally came so easily to him. He’d tried to call Cammie several times but had only reached her answering machine. Either she was screening her calls or she wasn’t taking any at all. He hoped it was the latter. He hoped she didn’t hate him for being the unfeeling bastard he’d shown himself as last night.

  In a state of unhappiness that was self-inflicted, Ty had phoned his mother and blurted out the news. Nanette, typically, was as elated as Cammie. Instantly, she started making breathless plans, ending with a crisp, “You’d better get to the altar soon, my boy. She won’t want to wait any longer for you to get off your duff. Oh, my God, we’ve got a wedding and a birth all at once!”

  It was only then that Ty’s continued silence penetrated Nanette’s excitement, and she got her first inkling that something wasn’t right. “What is it?” she demanded, and, perversely, when Ty opened his mouth to explain, he suddenly couldn’t talk. His throat closed, and all he could choke out was a mumbled, “I’ll call you later,” to which Nanette quickly inserted, “I’ll come by the set this afternoon.”

  She had yet to show, and Ty wondered if she’d gone to see Cammie instead.

  If only he could make things right, but every move, every word would now sound false to Cammie’s ears.

  “That’s the best I can do,” the makeup girl declared, meeting Ty’s gaze in the mirror in front of his chair.

  “Thanks.” Ty was unusually curt. She left him then, no stranger to stars’ mercurial mood shifts, apparently. When he was alone, Ty stared at his grim reflection for several moments, struggling within himself to put his personal thoughts aside. Failing, he jumped to his feet and strode to the closet where his cell phone waited inside his jacket pocket. Phoning Cammie again, he wasn’t surprised to get her answering machine but this time, instead of merely hanging up like a beaten pup, he said urgently and tensely, “I love you. I LOVE YOU. And I want a baby with you. And I’ll do anything in my power to make that happen! Please, believe me. Cammie, my love, don’t turn away from me. I want us to get married and—”

  A knock on his door. “Mr. Stovall, you’re wanted on the set.”

  Biting back a sharp retort, he said into the receiver, “Just remember I love you. Please.”

  Samuel Stovall stood on the edge of the ongoing scene where several “day” players were working on their blocking. Arms folded across his chest, Sam wondered why he felt so dissatisfied. He’d gotten everything he’d wanted, hadn’t he? Orren Wesson and his right-hand man, William Renquist, had aided and abetted, and now Ty was back and they—he and his son—were finally working together on Rock Bottom.

  So, why wasn’t it enough?

  Sighing in frustration, Samuel gazed across the set where Ty was just finishing up a conversation with Nanette. That bugged him, too—this closeness between mother and son—and he wished there was some way he could undo that bond. He felt itchy and unhappy. He wanted something more, something he couldn’t quite name, an unusual situation for the man who demanded, and therefore achieved, everything he wanted.

  With systematic precision, Samuel ticked off the positives in his life: a resurrected career; a faithful wife whom he felt comfortable with, even if it wasn’t a grand passion any longer, a raft of children who spent a good portion of their time fawning over him, hoping for a handout or two; a prodigal son who had finally returned; the chance for an
other grandchild.

  That thought brought him up short. A grandchild? He’d never put much stock in future generations before. It had never seemed like any great benefit to him. But the thought of Tyler having a child gave Samuel serious food for thought. Maybe Tyler would marry Camilla and give him a grandchild. Rolling the idea around in his head, he considered the benefits. More publicity. More notoriety. Now would be a perfect time.

  Enormously pleased with the idea, Samuel didn’t stop to ask himself why Tyler’s child would mean more to him than a son or daughter by any of his other children. Tyler was the one he loved best, period, and he made no excuses for it. Samuel was a man who acted on emotion more than common sense, a fact that neither disturbed nor interested him.

  Of course, Nanette would tell him he only loved himself, but he’d stopped listening to that skinny, cranky woman years earlier. Glaring across the room at her made Samuel feel better. She didn’t know the first thing about how to behave in this town.

  With a sniff, Samuel dismissed her, then straightened when the woman in question suddenly hugged Ty, then headed Samuel’s way. Her gray hair was in that confounded braid again, he thought with disgust, and she’d wrapped a still trim body in faded, dusty jeans. No common sense, that woman! Growling beneath his breath, Samuel demanded in an icy whisper as she approached, “What are you doing here?”

  “I had a meeting with our son. I’d heard you’d wangled a role out of this deal.”

  Her gentle amusement rankled. Silently, Samuel listed off all the reasons he and Nanette had divorced so long ago. He was incredulous that they’d ever been married. She wasn’t his type at all.

  Still, she was a character.

  “Tyler and I are working together,” Samuel clipped out.

  “Is Cammie on the set yet?” Nanette asked, glancing at the cameras and thick wires which crisscrossed the floor like fat gray snakes.

  “Not till next week.”

  “How do you feel about Ty’s relationship with her?” Nanette wondered. Her eyes searched his face, and Samuel carefully kept his expression neutral.

  How did he feel? “It’s their business, isn’t it?”

  She grinned like a Cheshire cat, which unnerved Samuel to no end. “Not if you decide to make it yours. My advice to you, Samuel: leave them alone. For some reason God saw fit to give you a second chance with Tyler. Try not to blow it this time.”

  “You’re really an old hag, you know that.”

  For an answer Nanette patted him affectionately on the arm, then turned to meet James Connelly, who’d chosen not only to produce, but to direct Rock Bottom as well. Samuel was infuriated. Gritting his teeth, he tried to ignore his ex-wife as she schmoozed with Connelly. Why did everyone act like she was so scintillating, so extraordinary? She was just an old broad with an attitude, he reminded himself, but a part of him couldn’t help admiring her a little.

  If things had been different…

  A moment later, Samuel caught himself up. Growing maudlin over past mistakes wasn’t his style, and he wasn’t about to start now. Still, the thought of Tyler and Camilla having a child—a son—for him to dote on filled him with a sense of longing and need he’d heretofore never known.

  Good Lord, I’m getting old! he thought with horror.

  Swallowing, Samuel hurried back to his dressing room and spent the rest of the afternoon on the phone to Felicia, his wife, who heard the panic in his voice and soothed his worries with compliments and reminders of his continued manliness.

  With a sigh of relief, Samuel Stovall’s tilted world righted itself. Gazing at his own reflection, he quirked a brow, trying on a sophisticated, man-about-town persona. Okay, so the role he was relegated to was nothing more than that of an old grouch, but he still was Samuel Stovall, actor and icon.

  Of that much he was certain.

  Cammie replayed Tyler’s message for the twentieth time. Warmth invaded every pore from head to toe. He’d come around. Completely! Though she’d prayed for just that scenario, fear had wrapped itself around her heart and she’d spent a really terrible stretch of hours while he sorted through his feelings.

  Thank you, God, she prayed in silent gratitude.

  Snatching up her purse, she headed straight to the Beverly Hills Hotel to wait for Tyler to get off work. When he stepped inside his room, she was already waiting, naked on his bed, courtesy of the room key he’d given her earlier. Spying her, Tyler smiled, then called over his shoulder, “Yeah, come on in, Jim. You, too, Nora. We’ll go over that scene—”

  Cammie shrieked and dived under the covers, burying her head beneath a pillow. Ty’s deep laughter penetrated and she slowly peeked out and glared at him. “You big liar!”

  “I couldn’t help myself.” He grinned from ear to ear like a little boy.

  “I’ll never be able to do that again.”

  “Oh, come on.” He slid the chain across the door, slowly stripped off his own clothes, then slid in bed beside her, his body warm and familiar. Cammie rubbed her cheek against his hair-roughened chest. “I’m sorry about last night,” he murmured.

  “Don’t be. I know what a shock it was. I’m still numb. Happy, but numb!”

  “We’re going to have a baby,” he said, as if tasting the flavor of his words.

  “Maybe,” Cammie cautioned. “If all goes well and the stars align and the gods bequeath it.”

  “I love you.”

  “I love you, too,” she sighed.

  “We’ve got to make wedding plans.”

  Her lips curved at the welcome words. “Tomorrow,” she murmured, capturing his mouth with her own. “Tonight, you’re mine…”

  Cammie started shooting the following week. She spent her first afternoon sauntering down a hot, cordoned-off city street, conscious of someone—Ty’s character, Norm—following her. But instead of falling into place, the simple scene was plagued by one problem after another: cameras failed, people crowded the shot, the heel broke off Cammie’s shoe, until the light failed and they had to quit and begin again the next day.

  After that, the shoot went relatively trouble free until unexpected rain clouds burst in a heavy deluge over the city, sending everyone scrambling for cover and creating enough confusion and colorful language that the production crew decided to move indoors until the summer storm traveled eastward and out of their way.

  Cammie learned her lines religiously, pushing aside her secret joy until a more convenient time. Wedding plans were discussed, but everything was put on hold until Rock Bottom wrapped. Ty had told Nanette about the baby, but, afraid of jinxing the whole thing, Cammie kept the information to herself, although Samuel Stovall made enough remarks about grandchildren to make her accuse Ty of telling. He shook his head and spread his hands. There was no understanding Samuel Stovall. He was one of a kind.

  Throughout the rest of the shoot, Ty was loving and supportive, and when a bold reporter pushed his way through the crowd to reach Ty and Cammie as they struggled to get into a waiting limo, he refused to rise to the bait though the questions came sharp and fast.

  “Is there a marriage in the future when Rock Bottom wraps? Are the ‘brother’ and ‘sister’ about to become man and wife? Have you plans for a family?”

  Ty merely answered, “No comment,” a touch of humor lacing his tone.

  “Come on, Tyler,” the man said, as if they were old friends. “Give us something.”

  “After that brother and sister remark? You’ve got to be kidding.” His smile flashed. He wasn’t a fool when it came to the press, no matter how irritating they could be.

  “Tell us your plans. Let us in on them.”

  “When a man disappears for ten years, it’s a good bet he prefers his privacy,” Ty drawled.

  “There’s talk of a wedding? When?” The man turned to Cammie and thrust a microphone in front of her lips. Behind him, cameras rolled. “After the film?”

  “Well, it’s not going to happen during the film.” Cammie smiled and edged to the car.
>
  “There must be something you want to say,” the reporter pestered Tyler. “We’ve got word that elopement’s possible.”

  “Isn’t there some other news somewhere?”

  “No. This is it.” The reporter laughed, conceding Ty some space as he stepped back.

  The reporter’s capitulation won him far more than his plaguing questions had, for Ty gazed thoughtfully at Cammie for a moment, then drawled for all the world to hear, “I hope to have a wife to come home to very soon.” That said, he helped Cammie inside the plush interior of the limo before sliding in beside her.

  “Tyler Stovall? Tossing the press crumbs?” Cammie asked, pretending shock.

  He grinned, threading the fingers of one of her hands through his. “Did I say something wrong?”

  “Not a thing,” she assured him.

  “Rock Bottom wraps in a couple of weeks. Then we need to start planning.”

  “I’m with you, sir,” Cammie murmured happily.

  Several days later, as Cammie was preparing for the last of her scenes, she received an unwelcome visitor to the set: Paul. With an inner groan, she tried to pretend some enthusiasm.

  “Don’t look so excited to see me,” he declared with a sniff of derision. “I’ve come with good news.”

  “Paul, I don’t think we have anything to talk about.”

  “You don’t?”

  “No.” She was emphatic, in no mood for word games with him or anyone else.

  “Well, since I’ve been away from this project,” he said, looking around a bit angrily, clearly resenting the fact that the Connellys hadn’t wanted him as part of the package, “I’ve been back at negotiations with the folks at Cherry Blossom Lane.”

  “Negotiations?” Cammie lifted a brow.

  “They want you back, Cammie. Or, more accurately, they want the character of Donna Jenkins back.”

  “What? Donna’s been asphyxiated!”

  He waved that aside. “In the world of soap opera—”

  “Nighttime drama,” Cammie corrected, fighting a smile.