The Father of Her Child (The Baby Bet #3)

by Joan Elliott Pickart

  Or…would she consider adopting a child? Maybe two or three… Hell, a houseful of little ones who needed love, and a home, and parents who would consider them their own? Oh, man, Ted thought, that would be fantastic. They’d buy a big house and it would ring with the joyous sound of children’s laughter.

  “Ted?” Hannah said, bringing him from his racing thoughts.

  “What? Oh, I’m sorry, Hannah. I was digesting what you said.”

  Hannah frowned. “You don’t look too pleased about it. I thought… well, I thought you’d be happy to hear that I love you totally, with absolutely no reservations or doubts. I also believe that you love me and the baby in the same way.”

  “I do,” he said quickly. “Oh, yes, Hannah, I do love you and the baby.”

  Tell her the truth! his mind hammered. Lay it all out there and pray.

  “I’m honored that you believe in me,” he said, “and trust in me. I really am.” Damn it, Sharpe, tell her. “Thank you, Hannah.”

  She smiled at him warmly. “You’re welcome.”

  I want to marry you, Ted Sharpe, her mind sang, spend my life with you, raise this baby together, as well as the babies we’ll have in the future. Ask me to be your wife, Ted. Ask me so I can say yes, yes, yes.

  “Hannah, I…” Ted’s voice trailed off. A trickle of sweat ran down his back. No, he couldn’t do it, not yet. It was too risky. What if he lost his Hannah? What if he saw disappointment on her face, then disgust, then the warm love in her eyes turn cold as she sent him away forever? No! “I think we’d better hit the road. If we don’t get going, we’ll be late.”

  He got to his feet and glanced around.

  “Where’s our birthday present for Teddy?” he said. “I swear, that stuffed toy beagle we got him looks exactly like nutso Scooter. Ryan is picking up my share of the wine for dinner when he gets his. Oh, you’re taking fruit salad. Right? Come on, Hannah, we’ve got to be on our way.”

  Hannah looked at him intently, wishing she could peer into his brain.

  She nodded, got to her feet, then headed toward the kitchen to retrieve the salad from the refrigerator.

  Ted was acting strangely, she thought. He was talking too fast, wasn’t looking directly at her and appeared suddenly nervous and edgy.

  Should she have kept silent about believing in him, trusting him? She thought he’d be pleased to know she’d dealt with her ghosts and her fears; she had put them to rest at long last.

  She was the one who had panicked when he’d first told her he loved her. She’d begged him not to love her, just erase those emotions like chalk from a blackboard. Things were perfect as they were, she declared at the time. So couldn’t they just continue on status quo?

  Ted had agreed, but she’d felt as though she’d let him down, hadn’t been able to give to him what he wanted, needed and deserved to have.

  But now?

  Now they could have it all—a future, family, forever love—that would withstand the rigors of time.

  When Ted had agreed to leave the structure of their relationship as it was, she’d thought he was compromising, settling for less than he’d hoped to have. Had he since realized that the way things were suited him just fine? Did he intend to assume his Professional Uncle role in regard to her baby?

  What was Ted thinking? Feeling?

  They had to sit down and have a long talk, communicate, have questions asked and answers given, she decided. But there wasn’t time for that today.

  “Yo, Ms. Doodle,” Ted said. “We’re going to be unfashionably late.”

  “I’m coming. Teddy’s gift is in the linen closet. Would you get it, please?”

  “Sure. Hey, Daisy, want us to bring you a big ole drumstick?”

  Several hours later, the scrumptious meal had been consumed, the kitchen cleaned, and to everyone’s amazement, all the little ones were taking naps at the same time. The family would celebrate Teddy’s birthday after the children had rested and were once again bundles of energy.

  “Football-game time,” Michael said. “I’m heading for the family room.”

  Whoa, Forrest Said. Theres important business to tend to first.”

  “Uh-oh,” Andrea said. “I’m getting vibes about The Baby Bet.”

  “Oh, dear,” Hannah’ said, laughing. “Don’t you think there’s too much other betting going on today, Forrest?”

  “As the champion of The Baby Bet, I can put it into action when I so decree.” He pressed one fingertip to the middle of his forehead. “Ah, yes, it’s time to make my unbeatable prediction.” He whipped a pen and a small notebook out of his shirt pocket. “Get your money ready, people. Crisp twenty-dollar bills. I don’t take credit cards.”

  “Margaret,” Robert MacAllister said, “your son is extremely obnoxious about The Baby Bet.”

  “Your son,” she said, “has a head about the size of Toledo because he has never lost The Baby Bet. So please give very serious consideration to your prediction.”

  “Get as serious as you want to, Dad,” Forrest said, “but I’ll still win. What can I say? I’m an ace at this.”

  “Honey,” Jillian said, smiling, “you’re going to have a lot of crow to eat one of these days.”

  “Never happen, my sweet,” Forrest said. “Okay, here’s my bet. Hannah will have a boy on New Year’s Day.”

  “Nope, nope, nope,” Andrea said. “Hannah’s baby is a smart cookie. He’ll arrange to be a tax deduction for all of this year. I’m betting it’s a boy on New Year’s Eve. He’ll be born on December thirty-first.”

  “Got it,” Forrest said, recording his sister’s bet on the pad of paper.

  “No,” Robert said, “a boy on my birthday, January fifth.”

  “A girl on New Year’s Day,” Michael said.

  “No way,” Ryan said. “He won’t want to share the limelight with a holiday. He’s going to be his own man. Twenty bucks on a boy on January second.”

  “Check,” Forrest said, scribbling away. He glanced around the room. “Anyone else?”

  No one spoke.

  “All right,” Forrest said, “all bets are recorded and—”

  “A baby girl,” Ted said quietly. “She’ll be born on… on Christmas.”

  Hannah turned to look at Ted, her eyes widening. “Christmas?”

  Ted nodded. “Yes. She’ll arrive on Christmas. It’s a girl with dark, silky hair like yours. We’d better have a present for her under the tree. It would be very tacky not to have a gift for someone you know is coming for Christmas. Did you write that down, Forrest?”

  “Yup. Kiss your twenty goodbye, Sharpe.”

  Ted looked directly into Hannah’s eyes. “Not this time. I know what I know.”

  “You really believe that you’re right,” Hannah said, an incredulous tone to her voice.

  “Ms. Doodle…” Ted leaned forward and brushed his lips over hers. “It’s guaranteed.”

  “Goodness,” Deedee said, “you’ve convinced me, Ted. Ryan, withdraw your bet. You just threw away twenty dollars.”

  “All best are final,” Forrest said, flipping the notebook closed. “Ted, my boy, it will be a pleasure taking your money. I had the market cornered on being cocky about The Baby Bet, but you’re outshining me here, you arrogant bum.”

  Ted just grinned at him.

  “Cut it out,” Forrest said. “You’re making me nervous.”

  “You’re nervous?” Hannah said, laughing. “I adore Christmas. I love opening presents and eating all the goodies, singing carols, everything that goes with the day. I wasn’t planning on having a baby instead.”

  “Sorry, ma’am,” Ted said, “but that’s how it is. We’ll celebrate Christmas a day late. No problem.”

  “Enough, enough,” Andrea said, flapping her hands in the air. “You’re giving me goose bumps, Ted. Hannah, have you chosen names for the baby yet?”

  “If it’s a girl, I want to name her after my gran, Patricia Elizabeth, and call her Patty. I haven’t decided on a boy’s na
me yet.”

  “You won’t need one,” Ted said. “Patty.” He nodded. “Patricia Elizabeth. Patty. Nice, very nice.”

  Patty Sharpe, Hannah thought wistfully. Patricia Elizabeth Sharpe. It sounded absolutely perfect.

  “Football,” Michael said, getting to his feet.

  Patty Sharpe, Ted thought. Patricia Elizabeth Sharpe. Mr. and Mrs. Theodore Sharpe and their daughter, Patricia Elizabeth, cordially invite…Sharpe, shut up.

  “Football,” Ted echoed.

  “Bye,” Hannah said, waggling her fingers at him.

  “Don’t you want to watch the game?” Ted said.

  “Well, it’s tempting. There are some very nice tushes displayed by those tight pants the players wear. But then they totally gross me out by spitting all the time. Spit, spit, spit. Their poor mothers must be mortified when they see that.”

  Ted hooted with laughter and joined the male exodus from the room. Hannah watched him go, a soft smile on her lips. When she turned her head again, her gaze collided with Deedee’s.

  “Patricia Elizabeth…Sharpe?” Deedee said.

  “No, Deedee,” Hannah said quietly, “I don’t believe so.” She splayed one hand on her stomach. “I think this is Patricia Elizabeth Johnson.”

  “Time will tell, dear,” Margaret said. “Men, bless their silly hearts, are very unpredictable.”

  “Amen to that,” Jillian said.

  “You’d better have a boy’s name ready, Hannah,” Andrea said. “Forrest has never lost The Baby Bet, you know, and he says you’re having a boy.”

  “Then it’s a boy,” Jenny said. “Forrest just doesn’t lose The Baby Bet. You’ll have a boy on New Year’s Day, just as he predicted.”

  “Time will tell,” Margaret repeated. “Babies are just as unpredictable as men.”

  “Uh-oh,” Jillian said. “I hear little voices from down the hall. I think the troops are waking up. I’m going to convince the triplets that they want to watch football with their daddy.”

  “Good idea, Jillian,” Deedee said. “I’ll plunk Teddy in Ryan’s lap, too. We’ll let the daddies chase them around the family room for a while.”

  As Deedee, Jillian, Andrea and Jenny left the room to collect the children, a wave of chilling loneliness swept over Hannah.

  A daddy, she thought, resting her hands on her stomach in a protective gesture. She’d hoped, more than she’d even realized at the time, that telling Ted she trusted and believed in him, knew she had finally chosen the right man to love, would bring a smile to his face, then a change in the structure of their relationship.

  She wanted to marry Ted Sharpe.

  She wanted the baby to have Ted as her daddy.

  But he had acted so strangely when she made her grand announcement that she’d counted her blessings, per the Thanksgiving tradition her gran had taught her. He’d seemed uncomfortable and suddenly nervous as she told him she now knew he was exactly who he presented himself to be.

  Then she’d decided they needed to sit down and talk things through, communicate, share their thoughts and feelings.

  But now? During the hours since that scene in her apartment, she was having second thoughts about the idea of a serious discussion with Ted. He knew how she felt, where she was emotionally. What more could she say that he didn’t already know? Nothing.

  The ball, as the cliche went, was in Ted’s court. Her future, the baby’s future, were in his hands. Did he want to be a husband and father? Or would he be satisfied with the roles of lover and Professional Uncle?

  She didn’t know. She just didn’t know what Ted really wanted.

  “Hannah,” Margaret said gently, bringing her out of her reverie, “I feel I need to say this again. Time will tell.”

  Hannah managed to produce a weak smile as she nodded her agreement, unable to speak as unshed tears closed her throat.

  Late that night, Deedee wiggled close to Ryan in their bed.

  “Ryan,” she said, poking him on the arm, “are you awake?”

  “I am now,” he mumbled.

  “This is important. Has Ted given you any indication, even the slightest hint, that he intends to ask Hannah to marry him?”

  “No.”

  “Have you asked him about it?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “If he had something to tell me, he’d tell me. Good night, Deedee.”

  “Men. Good grief, if a woman wants to know what another woman is thinking, she asks her. Couldn’t you sort of nudge Ted toward the subject of his marrying. Hannah and see what he says?”

  “No. Good night, Deedee.”

  “But, Ryan, he’s obviously in love with Hannah, and he’s thrilled to pieces about that baby. Why doesn’t he make them all a family, marry Hannah, give the baby his name? What on earth is that man’s problem?”

  “Deedee?”

  “Yes?”

  “Goodnight!”

  “Well, darn. Good night, Ryan.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Immediately after Thanksgiving, merchants rushed to transform their stores into Christmassy fairylands, hoping to entice holiday shoppers.

  Everyone took deep, fortifying breaths and began to make endless lists of what needed to be accomplished to assure wonderful celebrations, and then rolled their eyes heavenward as they envisioned the balances due on credit cards in January.

  Ted, Ryan and police officers across the country geared up for hectic work shifts, knowing the crime rate would increase in the frenzy, as it did each year.

  The MacAllisters, like many large families, drew names for gift giving among the adults, while agreeing that presents should be bought for all the children.

  At a bring-a-dessert-to-share gathering at Jillian and Forrest’s two weeks after Thanksgiving, Robert Mac-Allister announced that he had put the names on slips of paper into a bowl, per the tradition, and the drawing would commence after the vast array of desserts were consumed.

  Hannah frowned and leaned close to Ted, hoping the chatter taking place around the large table would muffle what she was about to say for Ted’s ears only.

  “Ted,” she whispered, “you didn’t tell me this get-together was for the purpose of drawing names for Christmas gifts. I shouldn’t be here.”

  “Why not?” he said, matching her whisper.

  “Because I’m not one of the family.”

  “Either am I, but I’m in the draw each year. You’re considered part of the group, just as I am. I meant to tell you what we were going to do here tonight, but it slipped my mind.”

  “But—”

  “Hey, you belong here, just as I do.” He brushed a kiss over her lips. “Trust me.”

  “Mmm,” she said, glowering at him.

  Ted laughed, then directed his attention to Michael, who had just asked him a question.

  Well, Hannah thought, so be it. She couldn’t very well refuse to draw a name, nor ask that hers be removed from the bowl. She’d just sit back and savor being part of this marvelous family.

  She took a bite of carrot cake and inwardly sighed.

  What would be happening in her life a year from now? Would she and Ted still be together, as they now were; Ted living in his apartment, she in hers? Would Ted be interacting with the baby in his favored role of Professional Uncle? Would her child be just another little one he lavished with attention before merrily going on his bachelor way?

  There had been no serious discussion after Thanksgiving regarding her heartfelt announcement to Ted that she believed in him and trusted him. Ted had continued to be attentive, thoughtful and loving. She couldn’t find fault with anything he’d said or done, but…

  There was, Hannah knew, a seed of sadness within her that she hoped wouldn’t grow bigger, all-consuming. She was trying, she really was, to view each dawn as a daffodils-and-daisies day, not dwell on her yearning to be Ted’s wife.

  She’d mentally scolded herself on more than one occasion, telling herself that she should count her blessi
ngs for what she had, not even be thinking about what was missing.

  To have a wonderful man in her life who loved her and who loved a baby who had been fathered by someone else, was a rare gift to be cherished. She’d fully expected to be alone during and after her pregnancy. But Ted was there for her, as was the whole MacAllister family.

  She was grateful, she truly was, but she was also human, with natural desires. She wanted to marry the man she loved. The man she loved with an intensity she never would have dreamed possible.

  But it wasn’t going to happen.

  Nothing had changed since her declaration on Thanksgiving. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. Ted seemed to like saying, Trust me,’ when it fit the circumstances, because now he knew she did. But that was it—the only difference in their relationship between before and after Thanksgiving.

  Time will tell, Margaret MacAllister had said. Time was telling, all right, Hannah thought. Ted Sharpe had no intention of marrying Hannah Johnson, nor being a real father to the baby. And the truth was making her sad, so very, very sad.

  “So, Hannah,” Forrest said, bringing her from her gloomy thoughts, “how’s the New Year’s Day baby doing? Been to the doctor lately?”

  Hannah smiled. “Yes, I have, as a matter of fact. Said boy is turning and dropping right on schedule. Gosh, Forrest, when he’s born on New Year’s Day, do you suppose he’ll be tossing confetti around the delivery room?”

  “Now, there’s a thought,” Forrest said. “It wouldn’t surprise me at all.”

  “You’re cooked, MacAllister,” Ted said. “It’s a girl, remember? Born on Christmas, remember? The Baby Bet championship title is changing hands, remember? I have to decide what I’m going to buy with those pretty twenty-dollar bills.”

  “Never happen, Sharpe,” Forrest said, a very smug expression on his face. “Facts are facts when it comes to The Baby Bet. I can’t be beat.” He leaned forward and peered at Hannah’s stomach. “Yo, Baby Doodle, this is Uncle Forrest speaking. Don’t let me down, kiddo. I have my reputation, as well as my wallet, to protect.”

  “Your sanity could use some scrutiny,” Jillian said, laughing. “Baby Doodle has a mind of his own.”