Snow Baby

by Brenda Novak

  “I didn’t leave one.” He suddenly looked vulnerable, almost boyish. “What do we have between us, Chantel? Anything?”

  Chantel bit her lip. She couldn’t tell him about the pregnancy until after the doctor’s appointment. She needed final confirmation before facing all the difficult decisions she would have to make. And she needed time. She also wished she knew, in advance, how he’d react to the news.

  Or maybe it would be smarter—safer—not to tell him at all. He had enough to worry about with his missing ex-wife and his two daughters. The last thing he needed was this kind of surprise. She’d gotten her life in order again and would now have a child. Did she really want to risk it all on what Dillon’s reaction might be?

  “I don’t know,” she said. “If you hadn’t kept searching for me in the snowstorm—”

  “What?” Dropping her hands, he stood, a scowl marring his handsome face. “Is that all you feel? Well, I don’t want your gratitude.”

  Chantel shook her head, growing weaker by the moment. She shouldn’t have come. She doubted she had the strength to make it back home. “I can’t answer your questions right now, Dillon. I can’t explain anything or promise anything. I just…I just wanted to see you. But I don’t feel so good….”

  “What’s wrong?” Concern replaced his earlier frustration. “None of this makes sense, Chantel.”

  “I’m sick,” she said, because she didn’t have the energy to debate with herself any longer. “It comes and goes. Just give me a minute.”

  Cupping her chin with his hand, he tilted her face toward the lamp on her left and studied it. “You’re scaring me.”

  She took a deep breath, trying to settle her stomach. “I’m okay.”

  “Like hell you are.” Bending, he slipped one arm beneath her knees and the other around her back and easily gathered her in his arms again. “I should take you to the hospital.”

  “No. I have a doctor’s appointment in the morning. I can make it till then.”

  “When is it?”

  “Nine o’clock.”

  “Fine. I’ll make sure you’re there on time.”

  “Where are you taking me now?”

  Dillon carried her to a set of stairs that rose into blackness. “To bed.”

  DILLON AWOKE to the familiar squawk of his alarm and quickly shut off the noise before it could wake Chantel. Then he wrapped one arm around her middle and pulled her back into the cradle of his body, wanting to hold her for a few minutes more.

  She groaned and began to stir, eventually rolling over to face him. He watched her wake up, noting the dark circles beneath her eyes, the gauntness of her face.

  She blinked, her magnificent amber eyes finally opening wide as she offered him a shy smile. “Good morning.”

  “Good morning,” he said, content just to look at her. He was still bare-chested, but before he’d gotten into bed with her last night, he’d traded his blue jeans for pajama bottoms. Chantel wore a pair of his sweats, and even with her blond hair in a tangled mess, she was beautiful. What he liked most was the sweetness that showed in her eyes and in her smile. “How do you feel?”

  “A little better.”

  He watched her glance around the room, taking in the ceiling which was made mostly of glass and now revealed the purplish predawn sky, the large bathroom behind him, and the French doors that opened onto a balcony overlooking the backyard.

  “This is incredible, Dillon,” she breathed.

  He smiled, feeling a sense of pride. “I designed it myself.”

  “For Sydney and Brittney’s mother?”

  “No. I bought this place after the divorce, and I’ve been remodeling it a little at a time. You’re the first woman I’ve brought up here.”

  She blushed, and Dillon wanted to reach out and trace the curve of her breasts, pull off her sweatshirt and hold them in his palms. But if Chantel was indeed feeling better, it wasn’t by much. And there was always Stacy standing between them.

  Inhaling deeply he decided it was time for a cold shower. “Don’t wake up,” he said, allowing himself a chaste kiss on her temple before getting out of bed. “I’ll drive the girls to school and then bring you something to eat.”

  “I have to leave.”

  “No. You’re not well enough to go anywhere by yourself. I’ll take you to the doctor’s this morning. Do you need to stop by your place first?”

  The thought of showing up at the condo with Dillon and finding Wade or Stacy waiting for her made Chantel bolt upright—an action she instantly regretted when her head began to swim. With a groan she fell back. “I should. Stacy and Wade are probably frantic by now,” she said weakly.

  He paused at the side of the bed, his jaw tightening. “Wade again. He was at your house the other night.”

  “It’s a long story,” she said, “but he and Stacy have been taking care of me.”

  “So are you thinking of going back?”

  “To New York?”

  “To Wade.”

  Chantel recalled how good Wade had been to her in the past few weeks, how he’d asked her for another chance and promised they could have a family. She had to admit that sometimes she did think of returning to him. It was difficult to give up on a relationship in which she’d already invested ten years of her life. And Wade had changed. He needed her.

  But looking at Dillon, she knew, with startling clarity, that every time Wade took her in his arms, she’d be thinking of someone else—a man with dark hair and blue eyes, an architect whose bedroom ceiling was made entirely of skylights. She’d be thinking of Dillon Broderick.

  And if she was pregnant with his child…

  “No,” she said. “I’m not going back to him.”

  He propped his hands on his hips. “Chantel, I don’t know what, exactly, there is between us, or where it might be headed. But I have to be honest with you. While I was married to Amanda, I became too well acquainted with jealousy. I’m not interested in experiencing those feelings again.”

  “I was always faithful to Wade.”

  “That’s partially what I’m worried about. Are you still in love with him?”

  “No.”

  “Does that mean you’re going to give us a chance? That you’ll talk to Stacy? And get rid of Wade?”

  “I can’t talk to Stacy. At least not yet.”

  “When?”

  Chantel thought of her impending doctor’s appointment. “Give me a few days.”

  He seemed impatient but relieved. “Okay. Then I think we should both sit down with her.”

  “And if she cuts me off again?”

  The look in his eyes grew haunted. “You’d still have me.”

  And you’d come with what guarantee? she wanted to ask. She’d tried to console herself with Wade, too, but the self-respect she’d lost was too high a price to pay, even for love. “Dillon, what if we tell Stacy we want to see each other and she refuses to speak to me again? And then—” feeling a surge of illness, Chantel took a moment to catch her breath “—two months down the road, we decide we’re not meant for each other, after all?”

  He studied her for a moment. “I can’t answer that. I’ve never been much good at fortune-telling.”

  “Neither have I. All I have is the benefit of past experience.”

  “What happened in the past doesn’t have to repeat itself.”

  Chantel closed her eyes. “Just give me a few days,” she said again. “And let me go to the doctor’s by myself.”

  He frowned. “Why don’t you want me to take you?”

  “It’s not that I don’t want you to take me.” She flailed around for some excuse that might distract him, send him toward an alternative course of action. “It’s just that I’m sure you’re probably busy this morning. And there’s no need to miss work, especially when I’m actually feeling better.” She smiled, despite a rising bout of nausea, and wished at the same time that she could force some color back into her cheeks.

  He arched a brow at her.
“Let me worry about my schedule, okay?”

  She gulped, hoping he understood that gynecologists did more than deliver babies. Otherwise he might guess her condition right away. “But what am I going to wear?”

  “Just wear what you wore here last night.”

  Chantel looked at the sweater and jeans that were draped across the arm of an overstuffed chair. They were still clean. She’d only worn them for an hour or so the night before.

  “Do you want to give Stacy a call?” he asked, running a hand through his hair, which only made him look sexier.

  “Just so she doesn’t worry?”

  “And tell her what?” Chantel groaned.

  “That you have a ride to the doctor.”

  The only thing she could tell Stacy was that she’d gone out for a drive and was planning on getting herself to the doctor. It was a lame reason for being gone all night, and she knew it, but she certainly wasn’t prepared to tell her sister anything about Dillon. Not yet, and not when there would be so much to say later.

  Dillon rounded the bed and handed her a cordless phone. She dialed her own number and waited, but on the fifth ring, the answering machine picked up. She left a short message saying she was feeling fine and would soon be on her way to the doctor’s, without bothering to explain anything else. Then she dialed Stacy’s number.

  Again she reached only an answering machine, and she left the same message, then hung up and slumped back onto the pillows.

  “Dillon?” she called. The door to the bathroom was now closed, the shower running. He couldn’t hear her. “How would you feel about having more children?” she asked.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  “YOU HAVE TO SEE a gynecologist?” Dillon asked, staring at the gold lettering on Dr. Bradley’s door.

  Chantel had tried to persuade Dillon to run a few errands or get a cup of coffee at the coffee shop down the street while she visited Dr. Bradley on her own, but he’d insisted on accompanying her. And now she was facing the very thing she’d dreaded, trying to keep him from guessing the truth before she was ready to tell him.

  “My doctor referred me here. He thought my, er, sickness might have something to do with my reproductive system.” At least that wasn’t a total lie. Her sickness did have to do with her reproductive system, just not in the way he’d think.

  Dillon nodded and opened the door. “What do they suspect the problem is?”

  That question was a little more difficult to handle. Chantel chose evasion. “I’m not sure yet. I should learn something today.”

  The nurse behind the front desk glanced up as they approached, and Chantel gave her name. “It’ll be just a minute, Ms. Miller, but first we need you to complete some paperwork.”

  She accepted a clipboard that held several forms asking about her medical history. Chantel filled them out, then returned them to the front desk. Shortly after, an assistant called her back.

  Another nurse weighed her and guided her into a small examination room, where she took her blood pressure. Handing her a paper lap cover, she told her to strip from the waist down.

  “The doctor will be with you shortly.”

  Chantel mumbled a thank-you, but felt too ill to move at first. Occasionally she felt like her old self, but those times didn’t last.

  Resting her head on her forearms, she tried to talk herself out of the nervousness that only added to her nausea. Somehow it would all work out. But that seemed a hollow and forlorn hope when she thought of her sister’s anger and the possibility of having a baby all on her own. Besides her problems with Stacy, she’d assured Dillon that she couldn’t have children. What if her pregnancy made him angry? What if he didn’t want anything to do with her or the baby?

  Wouldn’t it actually be better to pretend the baby was entirely her own?

  Coward. Hiding the baby’s paternity wouldn’t be fair to the child or to Dillon. And who was she trying to kid? The truth would come out eventually. It always did. Wasn’t her pregnancy proof of that?

  Letting her breath go in a hiss, she raked a hand through her hair and began to undress. She’d just finished when a soft knock sounded at the door.

  “Come in.”

  The doctor entered, wearing a white coat and a warm smile. “Hi, I’m Dr. Bradley.” She picked up the chart the nurse had left and studied the information. “I see you’ve already had a blood test. Dr. Campbell had the results forwarded to me. Are you happy about the baby?”

  “I am. I’m just afraid of what might happen. Dr. Campbell had some concerns.”

  Dr. Bradley nodded. “I can see why, but we’re going to do everything we can to make sure your baby arrives safely, Ms. Miller. I see here that you’re not married.”

  Chantel nodded, feeling a twinge of guilt. She wanted to explain how it was that night in the Landcruiser, when they’d believed they might not get out alive. She sighed. This certainly wasn’t how she’d always pictured starting a family. She’d hoped to do things the right way, the way she’d been taught. But nothing in her life had really gone as planned. Her only solace now was that the doctor probably wasn’t thinking about the moral implications. She was just doing her job.

  “You haven’t written down the baby’s father’s name. Does that mean you don’t know who he is?” she asked.

  “No, he’s with me today. I just…I must have missed that question,” Chantel responded, unwilling to explain why she hadn’t been free to divulge that information at the time she filled in the form.

  “What’s his name?”

  “Dillon Broderick.”

  Dr. Bradley’s pen made a scratching sound. “Okay, fine. Let’s get started. I’d like to check your cervix, make sure it’s closed and everything else is fine. Then I’ll send you to the lab for the ultrasound.”

  A few minutes later Chantel was dressed again and carrying a slip of paper to the lab across the hall from Dr. Bradley’s office. As she passed Dillon in the reception area, she smiled and said, “They need to do a couple of lab tests. I’ll be right back.”

  “Where’s the lab?”

  “Just over there.” She pointed. “You go ahead and read.”

  “No, I’ll come.” He set his magazine aside and followed her.

  When they reached the other office, Chantel waited until Dillon had found a chair before she presented herself at the window.

  “Thank you, Ms. Miller. We’ll call you as soon as the technician’s ready,” the woman told her.

  Chantel sat next to Dillon and tried to distract herself by watching the exotic-looking fish in a large aquarium against the far wall, but the pending ultrasound—the thought of actually seeing her baby—kept her too anxious to relax. Could this really be happening? To her?

  Dillon took her hand, startling her out of her preoccupation. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” She considered telling him right then and there, and inviting him to come with her to see their baby. But at the moment, she couldn’t think straight, and too much hinged on this decision. She had to decide what she was going to do, make a plan. The doctor had told her chances were good she’d be feeling better in a few weeks. She’d probably even be able to go back to work, provided she didn’t develop any serious complications, like toxemia.

  “You look worried.”

  “No. I’ll just be glad when this is over.”

  “What are they going to do? Draw blood?”

  The nurse called her name, saving her from answering. “I won’t be long,” she said.

  This time Chantel didn’t have to strip. She merely had to lie down and raise her baggy sweater so the technician could move a silver instrument lathered with gel across her stomach. Staring up at a small screen overhead, she waited as the woman adjusted a few dials on the machine next to her. Then the sound of static erupted over a speaker and a mostly black picture flickered to life.

  “Let’s see if we can find that little guy,” the technician murmured, moving the wandlike instrument just below her navel before homing
in on something that looked completely unfamiliar to Chantel.

  “Ah, there he is.”

  “He?” Chantel croaked.

  The technician laughed. “It could just as easily be a girl. You’re not very far along. It’s too early to determine the sex with any accuracy. I just prefer to say he or she, instead of it.”

  Chantel nodded, still trying to make out the shape of a baby. “What part of him is that?”

  “His foot. See?” Reaching up to the monitor, she traced the white form against the black picture and Chantel finally recognized it as something that looked human.

  “Omigosh. There is a baby in there!”

  “You bet there is. Here, let’s get a heartbeat.”

  The technician moved the wand some more, showing different parts of the baby, the curve of his head, the spine, what seemed to be a fist. Then a rapid heartbeat came across the speakers, and Chantel could see a white flutter keeping time with the sound.

  She was awestruck. Just when she’d finally accepted that she’d never have a child of her own, here she was seeing inside her womb, watching her baby, hearing his heartbeat.

  Dillon. His name popped into her mind, and she wanted him at her side. He’d given this to her. He has to see it, she thought, and knew then that she could never keep the fact of this baby from him. She only hoped he’d be as happy as she was.

  And that someday Stacy would understand.

  The technician started to move the sensor away, but Chantel quickly stopped her. “Just another minute or two,” she pleaded.

  The woman smiled and settled the microphone over the baby again, and Chantel closed her eyes and listened—to a miracle.

  WHERE WAS SHE? Wade paced the floor, wondering what could have happened to Chantel. After Stacy’s call the night before, he couldn’t face another night of watching television. He’d phoned an old friend and they’d gone barhopping, but he’d come home at three to find a note from Chantel saying she’d gone for a drive. Only she hadn’t come back. He’d been out searching for her all morning.

  He called Stacy’s again, wishing he could get hold of her, then cursed when her answering machine came on. Wait! Didn’t Chantel have a doctor’s appointment this morning? She was supposed to see a Dr. Bradley. A gynecologist, according to Stacy.