P.S. You're a Daddy!

by Dianne Drake

  “And on what makes you happy.” She glanced at the menu, ordered a dinner-sized salad and green tea, along with a basket of home-made rolls, then shut her eyes for a moment to concentrate on the sound of the stream coming in through the screened walls. So peaceful, so relaxing...it almost made her forget New York for a moment. Almost made her forget she really didn’t belong here.

  “Sometimes happy is hard to figure out,” Beau said, after his order for mountain trout was placed. “When I was a kid, happy was the new bicycle I wanted more than anything I’d ever wanted in my entire life. I worked hard for it, took on extra chores, saved my money and on the day I went to buy it, there was another bike in the shop, a lot nicer, and a lot more expensive.

  “It would have been weeks before I could afford it, so I bought the one I’d originally had my heart set on but I was never happy with it. Essentially, what made me happy one moment turned into a reminder of what I wasn’t happy with for a long time afterwards.”

  “I learned early on that you’re responsible for your own happiness. It’s what you create for yourself, or nurture in yourself.”

  “Then that would preclude finding happiness in someone else, or loving someone who makes you happy.”

  “You said you were divorced, so do you still believe in that?” she asked, as she picked up the iced tea the server had just brought over. “I mean, I think anybody who marries expects to find happiness, but you went through it and got out. And look at you now. You’re trying to find some kind of life right here, which I suppose could be translated into happiness. But it doesn’t include someone else. It’s what you’re trying to create for yourself, and I’m not sure it was in your plan when you married...”

  “Nancy. Her name is Nancy. And, no, what I’m going through right now wasn’t part of that plan. But I’d hate to go through life believing that the only person who can make me happy is me. That my happiness is dependent only on something of my creation.”

  He was an optimist, she decided. A believer in things greater than himself. She liked that, actually. She didn’t have the same kind of optimistic outlook herself, but she liked it that the baby’s father had that in him.

  “I’m not saying that happiness can’t happen because of somebody else, or even with somebody else.” She was certainly happy because of the baby. “But you shouldn’t depend on it because if you sit around and wait for it to happen, you might miss out on something good.”

  “Like being a mother?”

  “Like being a mother,” she said, almost reverently. “But I wasn’t supposed to be this baby’s mother. It was never my intention to have a baby for myself.”

  “Then you’re...”

  “Carrying this baby for my cousin. Her embryo, actually. But she died, and I wasn’t left with many options. There was a mix-up. Somehow sperm samples got switched, and Emily’s baby...the baby I’m carrying didn’t belong to her husband. After she died, he signed all the choices over to me and walked away...”

  Beau tilted his head with concern.

  “I was deriving my happiness from helping her find hers. But things change. Certainly my direction did, yet I’m still creating my own happiness by knowing that I’m bringing Emily’s baby into the world the way she wanted, and I’ll be the best possible mother I can be.”

  “But happiness doesn’t have to be something you create. It should be something you simply have. Something that flows in and out naturally. I wanted to be happy in my marriage. I expected to be, and it didn’t work out. But I never, once, thought that I had to somehow build or create that happiness. It should have come as part of having everything I wanted. The fact that it didn’t is unfortunate, but it doesn’t take away from my basic faith that when the pieces of your life fall into the right place, happiness is what happens.”

  “Or should happen.”

  He smiled. “Be patient with yourself. Maybe you haven’t found it yet, but that doesn’t mean you won’t. Your baby is where you start, I think.”

  “Not my baby,” she said, almost to herself. Because it wasn’t. It was Beau’s baby, and Emily’s. And maybe that’s what washed the melancholy mood over her, thinking that her cousin had created something with Beau—that happiness—she never would. “Anyway, enough of that. I’m really tired, and as soon as we’ve eaten, I’d like to go back to my cabin, because I’ve got another couple of hours of research ahead of me tonight.”

  “What you’ve got ahead of you is resting. As in going to bed. Or reading a romance novel or listening to whatever kind of music you like to listen to.”

  “Classical.”

  “Then classical it is, because your working day is over. Doctor’s orders, and if he as to, Doctor’s going to hang around for a while to make sure you do what you’re supposed to. Oh, and while we’re on the subject, I think we’ll skip the house calls now that I know—”

  She thrust out her hand to stop him. “I know my limits, Beau. I appreciate your concern but, please, let me be the one to tell you when I’m not able to make a house call. OK?”

  He reached over and took hold of her hand. “I’m sorry for your loss, Deanna. In everything we were talking about, I think that aspect got misplaced. But you must have loved her very much to want to carry her child, and I’m sorry she died.”

  “So am I,” she whispered, batting back a sudden tear. “I try not to think about it because it’s not good for the baby. But she was my best friend. My only friend. And sometimes I feel so...” She shook her head. “Hormones flipping over, making me weepy. Sorry.”

  “’Tis a far nobler thing...”

  She sniffed away the last of her tears and smiled. “I appreciate the compliment, but taking care of someone you love isn’t noble. It’s what life’s supposed to be about. You take care of Brax, I take care of Emily’s baby. It’s the way the universe is suppose to work.”

  “Are you going to be OK? I don’t want to take you back to the cabin and leave you there alone. Let’s just say hormonal, weepy, pregnant women should have a shoulder to cry on. That’s the way the universe is supposed to work, too.”

  “You’re kind,” she said. “But the problem with pregnancy is you never know what’s going to make you cry or when it’s going to happen. So for me to have your shoulder, you’d have to stay with me twenty-four hours a day.”

  “I’ve stayed in worse places,” he said.

  Why did he have to be so nice? Why did he have to be the kind of man it would be so easy to fall in love with? The kind of man she’d fall in love with if she were the falling kind? “Is that a compliment?”

  “I’m not sure you’d be easy with a personal compliment, would you?”

  Before she had a chance to answer, the server brought their dinners to the table. Her salad, his mountain trout. As soon as the plates were on the table, Beau switched them. Took the salad himself, and moved the plate with broiled trout, fresh asparagus and brown rice in front of her. “No arguments,” he warned. “Your baby needs more than lettuce and tomatoes after the day you’ve given him, or her.”

  “I’m too tired to eat,” she protested.

  “Tell that to your baby, who’s probably craving protein.”

  “The baby’s two months along,” she said, grabbing back her salad. “And I’m on good prenatal vitamins for nights like this when I don’t eat as well as I should. But thanks for fussing. I haven’t had anyone to support me in this pregnancy, and it’s nice to think someone cares.”

  “Someone does care.”

  “Why, Beau? We’ve known each other a few days, so why would you care? You’re not my doctor, not even my friend, really. So I don’t understand it.”

  Rather than answering, Beau forked up a bite of flaky fish and reached across the table with it. Headed directly for her lips. “Open up,” he said. “One bite, and I’ll tell you why I care.”

&nbs
p; She did have to admit the fish smelled divine. And it tasted as good as it smelled as it passed between her lips. Savoring the moment, the food, the pure sensual feel of being fed by him, she lingered as long as she could before she had to swallow, almost regretting that the moment had ended. Another place, another time, it could have been so romantic... “OK, tell me.”

  “I like you.”

  “That’s it? You like me?”

  He forked up another bite of fish and held it out for her. “One more bite and I’ll tell you.”

  It was all she could do to keep from melting under the table as the second bite passed her lips and she watched his hand slip back over to his side of the table and break off yet another piece of fish. Meaning another bite... “Two bites down, now tell me.”

  “You’re smart. You’re efficient. Most of all you’re independent, which, since my divorce, I value more than almost anything else in a woman.”

  Well, not the compliments she would have liked, but they were honest. And this wasn’t a romantic scenario after all.

  A sly grin slid across his face. “Oh, and you’re easy on the eye.”

  Now, that pleased her. “Did you forget that I’m pregnant?”

  He held up the third bite and she took it. When she’d finished, he said, “Pregnant is beautiful. Nancy, when she was thinking about getting pregnant, was having fits about gaining the weight, getting swollen ankles, looking frumpy. She was willing to put up with it to get my money, but she wouldn’t have been pleasant to live with.”

  “Before I say anything, no more bites, please. I really do want to eat my salad, and I’ve already eaten too much of your meal.”

  “You sure?”

  She smiled. “Sure. And I do worry about the weight gain and the swollen ankles, but not in terms of how I’ll look so much as my overall condition. I have to stay healthy for this baby. But as far as looking frumpy...who cares?”

  “Which gets back to my original statement. I like you, and that’s just another of the reasons why.”

  “But you didn’t know that about me until just now.”

  “It’s an assumption I could make, though. One, among many.”

  “So now you’re making assumptions about me?”

  “A few.”

  She stabbed a cherry tomato with her fork and poised it halfway across the table, feeling bolder than she’d ever felt before. “So, can I tempt you with my tomato, Doctor? You tell me your assumption, I’ll give you my tomato.”

  “Sounds like a bribe to me,” he said, his voice a little rougher than usual.

  “Maybe it is, maybe it’s just a simple offer of salad. But only if you tell me one of those assumptions.”

  “You’re practical.”

  “Not enough to get my tomato.”

  “Caring.”

  “That should be a given considering I’m a nurse.”

  “But you’re a nurse researcher, which could lead me to a different direction with my assumptions.”

  “Such as?”

  “People frighten you in the personal sense. Or, you don’t understand them. Or you’re afraid they’ll hurt you.”

  This was going much deeper than she wanted it to, because he was right about all of it. And she didn’t know what kind of answer to give him and still keep the distance she wanted. But as it turned out, she didn’t have to answer him because he plunged ahead. “And you’re a good kisser?”

  “A good kisser?” she sputtered.

  He nodded. “Beautiful lips. Nice and full. They look very soft. And you don’t wear lipstick... I hate lipstick. Prefer the natural look. Which leads me to the assumption that you’re a good kisser.” With that, he took the fork from her hand, ate the tomato, then handed her back an empty fork. “Am I right?”

  “Don’t know,” she said, spearing a cucumber slice for herself. “Don’t rightly recall that anyone’s ever critiqued my kissing.”

  “Pity,” he said. “I’d like to read the review. Anyway, I deserve another cherry tomato for baring practically my entire soul to you.”

  “Your soul?”

  “Well, maybe not my soul but my fondest wish.”

  “Which is?”

  “Nancy wore hideous, fire-engine red lipstick. All the time. Day, night, to bed. My fondest wish is that if I ever do get involved again, I want the lady in question to have natural lips. Like yours.” With that, he turned his attention to his dinner and she dove right into hers, and the conversation went medical for the rest of the evening.

  Which was for the best, she decided a little later as she entered her cabin and he went to do the gentlemanly thing by putting on a pot of tea. Yes, it was definitely for the best they stay on safe territory because, given the chance, and one more cherry tomato or bite of mountain trout, she might have shown him what it felt like to be kissed au naturel.

  CHAPTER SIX

  “PART OF ME really believes he should know,” Deanna whispered to the baby. “But only if he wants to, and that’s the problem. I don’t know what he wants. So we just do what we’re already doing, and keep taking it one day at a time.”

  She went into the great room, where she turned on the large-screen TV, popped on an old Kathryn Hepburn movie she’d found in the cabin’s collection, settled down onto the sofa, hoping it would agree with the growing ache in her lower back, and promptly started relaxing to the raspy-voiced Kathryn having her way with her on-screen hero.

  “I’m settled in,” she called to Beau. “Doing what the doctor ordered.”

  “Not working on a report, are you? Or doing some research? Hiding it under the covers so you won’t get caught?”

  She laughed. “No. I’m getting ready to relax with a movie.”

  “And the world didn’t come to an end because you’re taking the rest of the evening off, did it?”

  It unnerved her how well he knew her. Especially in such a short time. Was she that transparent? Could he see her confusion, or the intent on her face every time he looked at her? “I’m really not that obsessed.”

  “Yes, you are,” he shouted over the screech of the tea kettle’s whistle. “And stubborn, too. Sort of like the pot calling the kettle black when you call me stubborn.”

  This was nice, she had to admit. Cozy on the couch, Beau standing watch for a little while. And Hepburn...Hepburn was always strong, the way Deanna wanted to always be strong. “The way I’m going to teach you to be strong,” she said to the baby, as she pulled a blanket from the back of the sofa down over her.

  “But you’re going to have real role models in your life, not images on screens the way I did. Me, maybe even your da...” On a sigh, her day drifted away for a little while, even before her tea had completely steeped.

  * * *

  Beau set the tea aside and simply stood in the doorway, watching her. She slept with a smile on her face. He’d never really seen that before. He’d read about it in books, seen it portrayed in movies, but had never witnessed it. But yes, Deanna slept with a smile on her face. Beautiful face, he thought. Not angelic. Not even soft. Beautiful in character and determination. Especially beautiful in strength. A face he could get used to looking at, though.

  Exhausted, Beau slumped down into the chair across from her and kicked off his boots. He promised himself he’d rest for five minutes, then drag himself out and go home. So, propping his feet up on a footstool, he leaned back, cupped his hands behind his head, and simply existed there, listening to the gentle in and out of Deanna’s breathing, wondering about the way she faced the world.

  There wasn’t really a way to define it. Maybe head on. Or combatively. Yet there were these moments, these off-guard moments, when he’d see such vulnerability in her eyes. And sadness. Maybe that’s what pulled him in the most. And now he understood why. She was having someone else�
��s baby, a very altruistic thing to do. Also something that had turned out so tragically.

  It couldn’t be easy, having everything change like that. Like the way everything had changed in his life. How do you expect me to get pregnant when you’re never home? It’s not like that window of opportunity is open every day of every week of every month, Beau. OK, so Nancy had made him feel guilty. But in his defense those had been busy days, fighting for his place in the hospital hierarchy, being saddled with more responsibility than someone in his upwardly mobile position needed.

  Then life had changed for him as well. And with him, like it was with Deanna, it could never change back. But it could get more complicated, he thought as he watched her sleep.

  This was complicated, sitting here, watching her sleep. It’s because she’s pregnant, he tried to convince himself. That’s all. It was the right thing to do, trying to help her.

  “Beau?”

  He resisted opening his eyes. His five minutes weren’t up yet and he was too tired to move.

  “Beau, it’s seven o’clock.”

  Couldn’t be. He hadn’t gone home yet.

  “I’ve made a pot of coffee.”

  Yes, he could smell it. “Five minutes,” he protested, slowly becoming aware that he’d spent the entire night in the chair.

  “Brax called and...”

  Instantly alert, Beau opened his eyes and pushed himself from slumped to straight up. “Brax? Is he OK?”

  Deanna laid a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “He’s fine. Just wondering where you were. I told him you’d stayed over and that you were sleeping like a baby. He wanted you to know that Nell’s on the verge of giving birth. Your pregnant horse, right?”

  Nodding, Beau ran his fingers through his hair and forced himself to wake up. “One of my horses. Ran a few races, won, then pulled up lame. So we bred her with another champ, hoping to produce a champion.”

  “It sounds so clinical.”