HAVING HIS CHILD

by Amy J. Fetzer

  Then he'd be as alone as he was the day his mother dropped him off at school and never came back.

  * * *

  "Thank you for calling in."

  "No, thank you," the woman said on the other end of the phone line, then hung up.

  Angela smiled, thinking that she at least helped somebody's love life tonight as she leaned toward the microphone.

  "You're listening to KROC radio and this is AJ at Midnight, keeping you company till the sun shines on the low country." She turned the dial and the country music went over the air and the light went off on her console. She sank into her chair, closing her eyes. Just for a second, she reminded herself. One minute was all she needed. Lord, she didn't think she'd ever been this tired and she didn't know how much longer she could do two jobs and keep up. Late nights on the radio she could handle. It was rushing to Lucas's place to make like a temporary wife, so she could be a mother, that she couldn't. It was almost ironic if she thought on the matter long enough. But it wasn't the work, it was the hours. She was awake nearly twenty hours in a day. But she needed the money. And she needed some extra sleep.

  Her body clock wouldn't let her, it was so twisted.

  She'd turned down two dinner dates this week, knowing she wouldn't make it past the entrée. Falling in her dinner would make a real good impression, she thought, not that she was really that interested. The entire time she was with some new man, she silently compared him to Lucas. It was irritating, and she considered why she found her latest dates lacking. Was it because she didn't trust her dates and the only man beyond her father she did trust was Lucas? Or was it simply that she didn't have to get to know him, and the whole process of showing your best side, then finding out the things that drive women crazy later felt like more of a chore than an exciting pleasure? Or did it all lie in her heart? The unexpected spin of unfamiliar thoughts and feelings, each leading to Lucas, made her brows tighten. And her heartbeat race. A second later a light tap on the glass made her flinch. She jerked upright and glared at her too-young producer. David stood in his cubicle directly across from her, frowning, and then switched on the intercom while country music played over the airwaves.

  "Wake up, Angela. You're back in two minutes."

  She yawned, nodding.

  "What's with you? You look like hell."

  "Gee, I can always count on you for compliments, huh, Dave?"

  He blushed. "I meant—"

  She waved him off. "I know what you meant. And I do look in the mirror on occasion, you know." Angela poured more coffee into her mug, sipped, then leaned back in the chair as the song faded. She spoke into the mike, her voice soft, her drawl deep and soothing for the people listening at this hour. They should all be asleep, for pity's sake.

  When her shift was over, she left the studio, drove very carefully home and decided a shower would work miracles. She had to get Luc's place done before he came home. Since she'd been doing it for the past two weeks, it was clean, and there was little to do but maintain. An early night, she thought, and she would leave a message that she wouldn't be working tomorrow. It was Chinese take-out and video night with Lucas. One of the few times she got to see him. And she needed some rest.

  A couple hours later, she finished her job and was scribbling a note, attempting to disguise her handwriting, when she heard his car pull into the driveway. She looked up, and panic seized her when she realized she was close to being discovered. She swept the first drafts of the notes into her pocket, gathered her things and ran to the back door. She heard his key in the lock just as she was closing the rear door. She didn't take a breath till she was driving on the next road over.

  Lucas walked into the kitchen, frowning when he caught the scent of perfume. The fragrance was vaguely familiar, and he called out, but didn't get an answer. This was driving him nuts. Plain crazy, he thought. Curiosity was a deadly thing for a man alone, and his was hammering at him constantly. Who was she? Who was this woman who cooked his favorite meals and knew which wine he liked best? He glanced at the table elegantly set for one. It seemed ridiculous to bother just for him. But this woman did. She left little touches of herself all over the house; hand towels and napkins folded like swans, his mail neatly stacked on his desk, potpourri bowls discreetly hidden yet giving off their cinnamon scent. Even his cereal boxes were stored according to height. That made him smile.

  He didn't think anyone in the world did that except him and Angela.

  He saw the note and read it, frowning. Ah, fend for yourself tomorrow, he thought. It was just as well. He was having dinner with Angela. Their Chinese takeout and movie night seemed to be the only time he got to see her, talk with her. Yet as he served up the meal his wife for hire had left warming in the Crock-Pot, Lucas wondered if it was wise to be alone with Angela.

  In the dark.

  On a sofa.

  But he couldn't let her know that his friendship and mild attraction for her had developed into something far more dangerous.

  * * *

  Chapter 3

  « ^ »

  "Hey," Lucas said, stepping inside Angela's house the next night without knocking.

  She smiled instantly, leaving the couch and coming to him. "Hey, stranger." She brushed a kiss to his cheek, taking the bags of Chinese food from him. "You're late."

  He followed her into the living room. "I had an emergency at the hospital."

  She glanced at him, concerned. "Everything okay?"

  "Yeah. I think I worked on the future president of the United States. I swear this little ten-year-old boy was smart as a whip. It was like talking to an adult."

  She smiled, dropping onto the couch. That was one thing she loved about Lucas. He adored children. Too bad he didn't want to be a father. She froze, frowning. Oh, don't even open that door, she warned herself and laid out the containers.

  "He could have diagnosed himself, huh?"

  He sat beside her, reaching for the Chinese takeout. Steam poured from the paper containers. "Yes, but setting the broken leg would have been a tough one." Luke filled their plates, pausing to bite into an egg roll. He glanced at her as she helped close the containers, and his gaze fell on the bracelet he'd given her for her birthday. The string of diamonds sparkled against her tanned skin, and he remembered her protests that it was too extravagant. But as far as he was concerned, nothing was good enough for her. And it gave him incredible pleasure to see her wearing it. She hadn't taken it off since he'd put it on her.

  "So what's your fancy tonight," she said, interrupting his thoughts. "Shoot 'em ups? Romance? Comedy?" She gestured to the stack of videos on the coffee table.

  He examined the titles, then popped one into the VCR. "Be surprised," he said when he wouldn't let her see which one.

  "You look too happy, Luc. What's going on?"

  "I hired Wife Incorporated."

  "Really?" she said, focusing on her plate. "And?"

  "It's great. I get all the benefits—and none of the hassles."

  "Well, see, I told you. Any man who thinks marriage is a hassle doesn't really want to get married."

  He looked at her, his gaze moving over her face with concern.

  "Speak," she said. "I can see it in your eyes. Something's bugging you."

  Plate in hand, he sighed and sat back. "I have to tell you … as a listener, you sounded awful last night. Your voice is hoarse, and you kept stumbling over those advertisement intros."

  Her dander went up. She was tired because she was cleaning and cooking for him, and she wanted to tell him to quit making so much work for her!

  "Some of us have lousy days, Luc."

  "Not you. At least not on the air."

  She scoffed. "Yeah, right. Dear Angela, solve my problems on the air for two minutes without knowing the whole story, and then don't worry." It wasn't the first time that she thought she was wasting her psychology degree and should have gone back to a nine-to-five practice.

  "Hey, it's just for fun."

  "People tak
e it seriously," she said, and hated the sharpness in her voice.

  "Yeah, and those same people believe in telephone psychics, too. And as a doctor, I have to say, you look like hell and need rest."

  Why did everyone insist on being so danged honest with her this week? "Back off, Luc."

  He frowned.

  "Don't tell me what to do."

  "Ange, I was only trying to point out—"

  "That I look like death warmed over. Just what a woman needs to hear." Angrily, she shut off the movie that hadn't even reached the opening credits.

  "Hey, hey," he soothed, setting his plate down and shifting toward her. "What's wrong?"

  His gentle tone sapped her strength even as it wore her down. "Nothing. I am tired. And yes, I've slept. Now will you just lay off?"

  He simply stared.

  She groaned. "I'm sorry." She patted his hand, wishing she could tell him how she was feeling, but she didn't even know. She felt confused, and talking things over with Lucas had always helped in the past. But this—well, this wasn't something she could share just yet. And she didn't know when she could. She was deceiving her best friend. She smothered a moan. Now she felt worse, especially when he was looking at her all concerned.

  Luc tried not to frown, but she was hiding something. They didn't have many secrets, and he didn't like that she was shutting him out. It stung. But he knew better than to push her. When she was ready, she'd tell him. She always did. Resolutely, he picked up his plate again, toed off his shoes, sank into the sofa and restarted the video. They ate in silence, and as the movie played, the tension eased. They laughed, picked the scenes apart, made snide comments about the cheesy dialogue, then when that was over, they cleaned up their dinner mess before popping in another movie.

  Sitting beside Angela on the couch, Lucas was watching Arnold Schwarzenegger demolish another town to get the bad guy when he realized Angela was leaning her head on his shoulder. He looked down and smiled. She was sound asleep, and he shifted her closer, wrapping his arm around her shoulder. She snuggled against him, her body heat seeping into him. He sighed with the simple pleasure of it and kept watching the movie. Yet long after it was over and the room was dark, Lucas held her, wondering why he felt complete peace and contentment. And just how he was going to deal with it.

  * * *

  Her bracelet was missing. The one Lucas had given her. Angela was frantic, tearing apart her house. She'd gone so far as to go back to the studio and search till she remembered having it on when she left the radio station. Now hard fear swept her as she jammed her hand beneath the cushions of the sofa, then tore them off, digging. Nothing. Nothing! Oh, Lord, she should never have accepted it, she thought. This was just like her to lose something so precious to her. Tears burned her eyes, and the worst part was that she'd agreed to go to a Candler Hospital fund-raiser tonight, a yearly duty with her job, yet this time, her escort was Lucas. And he would be here any minute.

  She stood and went into the kitchen, looking around. Suddenly she stuffed her hand down the sink drain, feeling, hoping and finding nothing. With a moan of despair, she opened the cabinet under the sink and stared for a second, then went to the closet for her tools. In moments she'd laid a towel down to protect her dress, shut off the water line and was under the sink, opening the elbow joint.

  She was struggling with the metal pipe collar when she heard, "Good Lord, Angela. Now I've seen everything."

  She flinched, and sorrow engulfed her. Lucas. She thought about pretending nothing was wrong, but in her current state, there was no way around it.

  Lucas bent and peered under the sink. "A fine time to do house repairs." Especially in a red cocktail dress, he thought, letting his gaze slide over her shapely legs. Fleetingly he wondered if those stockings were the kind with the lace tops like she'd worn for Randy. He shook his head. "Angela, this is silly."

  She sniffled, keeping her face averted. "Come back in an hour."

  "I can't. We're supposed to be there in thirty minutes. I'm on the board. I need to be there for the presentation."

  "Yes," she muttered. "I know." Oh, she didn't want to tell him she'd lost the bracelet already.

  Lucas reached for her. "Would you come out from under there, for the love of Mike?"

  Sighing heavily, Angela laid the monkey wrench aside and shifted out from under the sink. Lucas grasped both of her hands and pulled her to her feet. Instantly she let go and stepped back. She couldn't look at him and busied herself with smoothing her dress.

  "Well, you look ready to go," he said skeptically.

  "I am. I just need a minute to freshen up."

  His gaze shifted to the mess under the sink. "And you needed to repair the sink before leaving?"

  "It's a girl thing, you wouldn't understand." She hurried past him, rushing upstairs for her wrap and evening bag. She took one look at herself in the mirror and she moaned. Her eyes were red. She went into her bathroom to make repairs. The time gave her a chance to get a handle on her emotions. Oh, she was an idiot. What must Lucas be thinking?

  She patted on some powder, freshened her lipstick and brushed her hair. She was about to adjust her stockings when she saw Lucas roll around the door frame and lean against the wall.

  Very softly, he said, "Are you going to tell me why you were under the sink in an evening dress? Because I couldn't find a damn thing wrong with that drainpipe."

  She inhaled. "You didn't run the water, did you?"

  "No," he said carefully, frowning.

  She let out a relieved breath.

  "You were looking for something."

  Angela nodded, unable to confess that she'd carelessly lost his gift. Her heart was breaking over it.

  "Was it by chance—" He fished in his pocket, then held out his hand. "This?"

  The strand of diamonds dangled from his fingertip. "Oh, thank God," she cried, rushing forward and taking it from him. "I thought it was gone forever." She examined the clasp.

  "I fixed it. The clasp was loose," he said, and when she wrapped it over her wrist, he stepped forward to help her secure it. Her hands were shaking.

  "It's just a bracelet," he said to her bowed head.

  "No, it's not." Her voice broke a bit. "It's priceless to me."

  "Why?" he said softly.

  "Because you gave it to me."

  Something warm ignited in his chest then, spreading through him like wildfire, yet when she continued to stare at her wrist, he tucked a finger under her chin, forcing her head up till she met his gaze. "Aren't you going to ask where I found it?"

  Her tapered brows knitted. "Where was it?" she asked, and another wave of panic swept over her.

  "In my house, Ange. In fact, it was snagged in my bedspread." He watched the color drain from her beautiful face. "Now. You haven't been to my place in a while. And I know you haven't been in my bed."

  His softly spoken words, the mere suggestion lacing through them, sent curls of heat through her body.

  "So that can only mean one thing."

  "And what might that be?" She swallowed, praying she wasn't caught, then knowing she was.

  He took a step closer, gazing down at her. "Why have you taken a second job as my wife for hire?"

  She opened her mouth to respond, but nothing came out.

  Then his expression darkened, his blue eyes crystal sharp. "And why the hell did you lie to me about it?"

  Her chin jutted out. "I didn't lie. Exactly."

  "You just didn't care enough to tell me that you're my wife for hire?"

  The accusation in his voice stung. "That's not true, and you know it."

  "Yeah." He rubbed his hand across his mouth. "I do. But that doesn't explain why you kept this from me. I should have realized it, though. Who else would know all my favorite foods?" He sighed. "But you should have told me."

  "It wasn't any of your business." She moved past him into her bedroom.

  He was hot on her heels. "You're my friend. If you needed money, why didn't you c
ome to me?"

  "Why should I? I'm capable of earning my own money."

  His expression fell.

  "I can take care of myself, Luc. And I will get ahead. It'll just take a while." When her child was out of college, maybe, she thought. Oh, she didn't want this discussion to go any further because she knew he would pester and then she'd confess every detail to him like a blathering idiot. She was surprised she hadn't already. But she knew he wasn't going to like her ideas about having a baby without a father. He'd try to convince her not to do it because he grew up without parents, being passed around from foster home to orphanage until he ended up in Anchorage House. Which meant he was one step away from jail, if he hadn't straightened up.

  "Let me help, Angel," he said.

  She shook her head. Something always melted inside her when he called her that. The endearment made her realize again that she couldn't tell him the truth, not yet, not if she wanted this. And she did want a family of her own and didn't want to be fifty when she realized she'd missed her chance. And there was no law that said she had to have a real live man to do it, right?

  "Damn your pride," he growled, and she looked up, meeting his gaze. He was still hurt and angry.

  "Luc, darlin'," she said softly. "Would you have hired me as your housekeeper without Wife Incorporated?"

  "Hell, no. I would have given you the money."

  "So not knowing who the mysterious cleaning whiz was was just fine until you found out it was me."

  She had him there. "Yeah. But—"

  "Let me do this myself," she interrupted. "I know you can afford anything, but I can't. And if you fire me, I'll only go work for someone else."

  He sighed and stepped closer, grasping her upper arms. The tendrils of warmth unfurled inside her as she gazed at him. "Wouldn't dream of it." His lips curved. "I should have seen it coming, you know. No one puts their cereal boxes in order according to height except you and me."