Expecting a Bolton Baby

by Sarah M. Anderson

  They had five business days to wait—next Thursday. Which was also the day Stella was flying back to New York, even though the benefit wasn’t until Saturday. She said she needed a day or two for her stomach to settle, which seemed reasonable. But Bobby wasn’t happy. He didn’t want the doctor’s office to call after she’d already gotten on a plane. He wanted to be with her.

  What the hell was he going to do after Thursday? She would have regular doctor’s appointments. It couldn’t be that much longer before she’d be able to hear the baby’s heartbeat. Was Bobby just going to let Mickey be the one to hear that heartbeat first?

  No. He wanted to be there with her, for her.

  But all she wanted was calls and visits, with sex when it was convenient. It wasn’t a marriage.

  It wasn’t having her.

  Somehow, he was going to have to live with it.

  * * *

  Tuesday was cold. So of course, that was the day the foreman wanted him out of the trailer to look things over. Bobby bundled up and stuck his hard hat on over a stocking cap.

  As they walked the site, the camera crew trailing them, Bobby kept one eye on the sky. Maybe it would snow tomorrow and Stella would decide not to risk flying out the day after. And if she didn’t make the benefit, then she could stay another week—for Thanksgiving. Hell, if the weather turned really nasty, she might be here until Christmas. And if she was here at Christmas, she might as well stay for New Year’s.

  Between these thoughts and the construction site, he totally missed the appearance of a long black sedan and the small man with red hair being escorted toward him by one of the contractors. Until suddenly a worried-looking Mickey was in front of him—and on camera. And by then, it was too late.

  Dear God, he thought. Stella. The baby. “Is—” Then the camera guy moved for a better shot and Bobby remembered where he was.

  “I need to ʼave a word with ye.” Mickey didn’t quite meet his eyes, which made Bobby more nervous. “She’s fine,” he added under his breath.

  “Sure, sure.” Bobby turned to the camera crew. “Coffee break?”

  The cameraman, who didn’t have anything on his ears, nodded vigorously. Bobby headed toward the trailer with Mickey.

  The moment they were out of earshot of anyone else, he demanded, “What’s wrong? Is she okay? The baby?”

  “All fine. Look, lad—I’m sorry about this, I really am.”

  Was the world’s grumpiest leprechaun apologizing? To him? Damn—whatever it was would be bad.

  “About what?”

  “Davy’s in yer trailer.”

  “Davy?”

  Then it hit him. Davy—David. David Caine. Bobby stopped dead in his tracks, fighting the urge to grab Mickey by the lapels and shake him. “He’s here?”

  “He was worried about her.” Mickey didn’t manage to sound convinced by this statement.

  “Like hell he was.” More like Caine had threatened Mickey—although Bobby had no idea what would make Mickey betray his “girl.” “You promised her.”

  Then he had a new thought. “Does he know she’s pregnant?”

  “I didn’t tell him that.” Mickey had the nerve to sound offended, which only made Bobby want to punch him.

  “Does she know he’s here?”

  “No.” He looked truly ashamed.

  They were at the trailer door. Bobby gave the older man a forceful shove—something that normally might get him shot. He didn’t care today. This wasn’t about him anymore. This was about Stella.

  “You better tell her—now.”

  Mickey nodded, looking contrite. Damn it all. Bobby opened the door. He didn’t know how he wanted to confront Caine about his treatment of his daughter, but he was pretty sure this wasn’t it.

  David Caine sat at Bobby’s desk, looking over Bobby’s plans as if he owned the joint. Which he sort of did, when you got down to it. He had a fifty percent stake. Without his money, Bobby had nothing.

  He got the door shut against the wind. No one else was in the trailer—Mickey had probably cleared them all out. For the best, really—no audience meant no cameras.

  Caine didn’t look up when Bobby came in. He kept flipping through the blueprints, one page at a time—making Bobby wait.

  He waited in silence. Caine obviously thought he was making Bobby sweat and Bobby knew that he had to give the man what he wanted. That was how negotiations worked—you gave away the small stuff and fought tooth and nail for the big stuff.

  He was going to fight for Stella, by God. Tooth and nail.

  So he managed to look uncomfortable and miserable as Caine ignored him, all the while praying that Mickey was warning Stella.

  David Caine seemed...smaller than Bobby remembered him. Maybe it was the setting. The older man had loomed large in his posh office, seated behind a massive mahogany desk. In the cramped, dark interior of the construction trailer, he looked old.

  Caine tapped a finger on the blueprints as if he was saving his spot and said, “Where is my daughter?” without looking up.

  “At my apartment.”

  Caine took a deep breath, his stooped shoulders rising and falling with impatience. But he didn’t look at Bobby. “And why is my daughter in your apartment?”

  None of your damn business.

  That’s what he wanted to say. But he didn’t—he couldn’t. Not while there was a chance he could salvage his deal.

  “She’s my guest. She was going to stay for Thanksgiving but she decided to attend a benefit with you instead.”

  The only outward sign that Caine had heard him was a brisk tapping of his fingertip on the blueprint. “Impressive plans.”

  “Thank you.” Which was met with more silence. It got to him and he offered up unnecessary information. “I want to live on-site, the better to make sure the resort is living up to its promise to guests at all times.”

  “I see.”

  Caine’s attention was focused on the blueprints. “I also see,” he said, his voice ominous, “that you’ve changed one of these rooms into a nursery.”

  Far too late, Bobby’s eyes zeroed in on what was under Caine’s finger—the Post-it Note he’d stuck onto the plans for his apartment that said Baby’s Room?

  “Yes.”

  “I didn’t realize you were going to be a father.”

  Maybe Mickey hadn’t told Caine anything. That didn’t mean he hadn’t figured it out. A man didn’t get to where Caine was in this world without being smart.

  “I am.”

  “You didn’t say you were married when we negotiated the morals clauses of your contract.”

  Bobby swallowed. Breach of contract could end his show, his resort, all of his big dreams. It would be the kind of loss that a man never recovered from.

  “I’m not.”

  One eyebrow—slightly bushy, but otherwise impeccably groomed—notched upward. “And who is the mother of this child?”

  If Caine thought Bobby was going to give up Stella’s name this early in the negotiations, he’d better think again.

  “Someone I deeply care for.”

  That did it. Caine finally acknowledged his existence by raising his eyes. Bobby did not like the gleam of victory he saw in them. For one thing, it meant that Bobby was in very real danger of losing everything—before Caine had confirmed that it was his daughter who was pregnant. But it also told Bobby that Ben’s first fear had been right—Caine wanted out.

  “I’m sure my lawyers will have something to say about that.”

  Bobby stood his ground. He would not let this man bully him.

  “I’m sure they will.”

  Just then, Bobby’s phone rang. Stella’s ringtone.

  He knew what had happened. Mickey had called her, as promised. Now Stella was pa
nicking. He wished he had an answer for her, but what did he know? Just that David Caine was here and he was not happy with either Bobby or Stella.

  But was he here because of Stella or because he wanted a way out of his deal with Bobby?

  Caine made a motion with his hand that was supposed to give Bobby permission to answer the call but looked more like a king deigning to notice a peasant.

  Bobby could still salvage this deal. He had to believe that—to think otherwise was to admit defeat. Still, he wasn’t sure how much longer he could tolerate Caine’s attitude.

  He pulled out his phone and answered it. “Hey.”

  “Is he there?” Stella sounded hysterical. Her fear went through Bobby like an arrow, one he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to pull out.

  “Yes.”

  “What does he want?”

  “I’m not sure. Listen,” he added, trying to keep his voice as normal as possible, “I’m in the middle of a meeting. I’ll call you back when I have a better idea on the time.”

  “Oh, God,” she sobbed. Then the call ended.

  Bobby stared at the photo of Stella he’d uploaded as her avatar—the shot from the club, cropped to her face. Her grin lit up the room. But it was just an illusion brought on by one night of lust and alcohol. The real Stella was damaged, broken into bits by the man sitting at Bobby’s desk.

  In that moment, Bobby hated David Caine. The feeling was so strong that it knocked him back a step. He didn’t hate people—hell, he loved people. Every person had something good to give the world—or, at the very least, everyone had something to offer that made working with them worthwhile.

  Or so he used to think.

  And he had certainly thought that about David Caine. Caine had offered the means to Bobby’s end—the show, the resort, the respectability. That’s what Bobby had sold his soul—his family’s soul—for. To be respected by his father and his brothers, to know that people thought of him as a serious businessman. That’s why he’d signed the morals clauses. They were a legal announcement of respectability. That’s why he’d done business with David Caine.

  But now he was legally tied to a man who treated his family as well as he treated a disposable water bottle. A man whose mere presence left his daughter in a state of paralysis. Who ruled by fear, not by love. Not by respect.

  But the deal... Bobby wasn’t sure he was ready to kiss the resort goodbye just to tell David Caine where he could stick his morals clauses. The resort had not only been his deal, but his dream, his home. His future.

  Except for Stella. Except for the baby. Weren’t they his future now?

  God, he didn’t know what to do.

  So when Caine said, “I’d like to see my daughter now,” in the kind of voice that made it clear there would be no further negotiations, Bobby couldn’t do anything but nod in agreement. The sooner they got this over with the better. At least, that’s what he told himself.

  When he got the door to the trailer open, he saw that Mickey had retreated to the sedan. Bobby mentally cursed the man, but at least he had the decency to look as if he was capable of human emotion.

  Bobby waited for Caine. “You’ll follow me back to my place?” As he said it, he shot daggers at Mickey.

  “Yes,” Caine answered, also staring at Mickey as he held the car door open.

  “I called ʼer,” Mickey whispered as he walked past Bobby to the driver’s door.

  “I know.”

  “I’m sure sorry about this, lad.”

  “Prove it.”

  Then Mickey was out of earshot and Bobby was trying to do everything in his power not to run back to his car. He didn’t know if Caine would tell Mickey to follow him or not. All he knew was that he had to get to his place first.

  As he walked, he dialed Stella’s number. Thankfully, his phone was connected to his car’s speakers, so once he was in his car he could drive.

  She picked up on the first ring. “Hello.”

  He sure as hell didn’t want her sobbing, but the almost lifeless tone to her voice was even worse. “Stella, it’s me. I’m in the car and your father is following me back to the apartment.”

  “Yes. I assumed that would happen.”

  “Are you okay, babe?” Because she didn’t sound okay.

  “Of course.”

  He took a corner a little too fast, causing the tires to squeal. The black sedan was hot on his heels, though. No losing Mickey. “What do you want to do?”

  “To...do?”

  “How do you want to handle this? He saw the blueprints for my apartment in the resort, where I’d added on a baby’s room. He knows you’re staying with me.”

  “You added a baby’s room?”

  Hadn’t he told her that? Then he remembered—he’d been waiting until after they got the test results. Still two days away.

  “Yes. I was going to add a room for you. Maybe even space for a shop. We don’t have much time, Stella—we’ll be there in fifteen minutes. What are we going to tell your father?”

  “I don’t know, Bobby.”

  Her voice was soft now—and wavering. He changed his mind. He didn’t want her to cry, not when she was alone and especially not when her father was about to show up for the first time in more than two years.

  “Okay. Don’t worry, babe. I’ll be there in a few minutes. Whatever you want to do is what I want you to do, okay? If you want to tell him or not, that’s your call. I’m not going to make the decision for you.”

  “All right.”

  “Stella, I—”

  He wanted to tell her he loved her, but the urge was so sudden, so unexpected, that he fought it down.

  “I’ll be right there, babe.”

  The call ended. Bobby drove faster.

  This would not end well. Someone was going to lose. He didn’t know who or how much. The only thing he knew was that he’d fight for Stella.

  Fourteen

  Stella packed. She had a matter of moments before the quiet of Bobby’s flat was shattered. She’d like to get through this with minimal screaming and even less guilt.

  Her father knew where she was, that she’d been staying with a man—that alone was probably a deal breaker, as Bobby would say. She would not be allowed to remain, especially not once her father found out about the baby.

  The baby who had her own room at Bobby’s resort.

  Maybe she’d heard him wrong. She was overwrought, after all. He’d never talked much about what would happen after she left. Sure, their time together had been lovely—easy, comfortable. The kind of life a woman could get used to. But it had all been short-term, pretend. She was going back to New York and Bobby was staying here. She’d made that clear because she couldn’t risk the pain. He’d thank her for that, someday. His life was his family business and his resort. And her life...

  Her life was her father’s.

  Although she hadn’t seen him in two years, her life was still his. Mickey was his bodyguard, not hers—as evidenced by the fact that her father was in South Dakota. Her father’s money paid the bills for her loft and for all of her design supplies. The only money she truly had was the small pin-money fund she’d earned from modeling.

  So she packed. In went the lace dress she’d chosen to meet Bobby in, the sweater dress, the little camis she slept in. In went the nearly finished gown she’d sewn for the benefit, only five days away. In went her toiletries and her shoes.

  In went her dreams for a happy family.

  Now, now, she scolded herself as the thought made her throat close up. Her father couldn’t take her baby away or send her off to a cold home for unwed mothers. This wasn’t the nineteenth century. She was an adult now, not a scared little girl.

  Then there was Bobby. Proof that he was the father was only days away. He ha
d an obligation and had given every indication that he would honor it. Even if her father cut her off, Bobby would support their child. It wasn’t as if she’d be cast out onto the street with no hopes and no prospects.

  But she didn’t know where that would leave her.

  She shoved the unused yarn and fabric into a tote in the corner of the room and laid the small fascinator on top for Gina to give Patrice. It was made out of skull lace salvaged from her dress. Bobby would make sure it got to them.

  Then she tried to make herself look presentable. Her father hated the way she dressed and did her hair, which was why she wore what she did. She was never sure if he’d noticed her unless he said something belittling. She got a decent edge on her bob and her makeup fixed as best she could. There wasn’t much to be done about the puffy circles under her eyes. She knew she shouldn’t have let herself cry, but she couldn’t seem to keep her emotions in check these days.

  Finally, she was as ready as possible. Her things were stacked neatly by the door. She stood in the center of the flat, taking calming breaths.

  It wasn’t more than a minute or two before Bobby burst in. She didn’t say anything. She just wanted to look at him, to store the memory of his body, his face, with all the other memories. She needed to hold on to the way he’d made her feel.

  He looked at her, then at her bags by the door, then back at her. “You’re going to leave?”

  The way he said it hit her harder than any slap in the face—as if she was betraying him.

  She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. The next thing she knew, he’d crossed to her and, hands on her arms, kissed her in a way that could only be described as savage. It was as if his body was saying what he hadn’t put into words— Don’t go. Stay.

  Say it, she thought as he held her. Say it out loud. Give me a reason to stay.

  He didn’t. Instead, he pulled back and said, “If you want to stay, I will fight for you.” The light in his eyes was almost feverish.

  Part of her wanted to swoon at the words. She wanted him, wanted to make a family out of the three of them—her, Bobby and the baby.