Angel's Baby

by Pamela Browning

  Angel’s Baby

  Pamela Browning

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Epilogue

  Prologue

  The man stepped off the biweekly mail boat onto the dock at Halos Island. A pelican dived for a fish behind him, flapping away across the rippling clear ocean after scooping up its prey. The man’s eyes were deep-set and shadowed beneath his brows. Angel couldn’t determine their color.

  “I’m Stuart Adams,” he said, his husky voice cutting through her last-minute doubts. “I’m ready to make a baby if you are.”

  Angel lifted a trembling hand and brushed a gossamer strand of pale yellow hair out of her eyes.

  “I think we’d better go up to the house and talk,” she said.

  The man, looking determined and not the least bit wary, hoisted a battered sailor’s duffel over his shoulder and followed her up the dock, the silvery old boards creaking beneath his feet.

  Angel had never seen this man before in her life, but she already knew that she’d marry him—if he’d agree to her terms.

  She wanted him to father her child, and then she never wanted to see him again as long as she lived.

  Chapter One

  He was big.

  He was handsome.

  He’d look great in the nude.

  And he didn’t look like his picture. In fact, he looked a whole lot better.

  Angel McCabe shot a quick glance in her visitor’s direction. His skin was tanned a rich, golden bronze, which wasn’t surprising, considering that he’d interrupted a sailing trip around the world to answer her ad.

  He must have seen her looking at him. “The picture I sent was a couple of years old,” he said apologetically.

  Angel shrugged. “When I placed my ad in the personals column, I didn’t specify that the picture should be recent,” she said. She didn’t add that she wasn’t at all disappointed in his looks. She didn’t want to tip her hand until she was sure he wasn’t disappointed in hers, and she was afraid he might be. Howard had always said that she was too short, that her hips were too wide and her face too round, and even though she tried not to think about his constant denigration, sometimes it came back to haunt her. Like now, when she desperately wanted to make a good impression.

  She moved into the lead as the path narrowed, and Stuart Adams swung easily along behind her as she led the way to her humble dwelling on a rise of land overlooking Halos Island’s wide bay. He certainly didn’t seem disappointed in her appearance. At the moment, she was wholly aware that he was watching the motion of her hips with obvious interest. She tried to tone down her walk, but the swaying was natural.

  “So this is Halos Island,” he said. “Angels should have halos.”

  She glanced back at him out of the corners of her eyes. “The name of the island has nothing to do with mine. This key was named Halos Island long before I arrived. Halos means salt in Greek.”

  “I like my idea better,” he said, grinning.

  She did, too, and she gave him a few points for originality.

  The low bungalow where Angel lived crowned the rise of land; it sheltered beneath two huge banyan trees. A thicket of gumbo-limbo trees and buttonwoods hid the tiny outhouse and another small brick building that had once been an icehouse.

  Stuart Adams looked around him with interest in his eyes. “All the other islands between here and Key West look uninhabited. This seems like the last place I’d expect to find a house,” he said.

  “The house was built during World War II for unspecified defense activities. Judging from the hundreds of brown bottles that I’ve found on the island, those activities included a lot of beer drinking,” Angel said.

  “Not much else to do in a place like this, is there?”

  She swiveled her head to look at him, and he had the good grace to look away first. If he decided to stay, there would be plenty for them to do. If he decided to stay.

  The screen door to the porch creaked when she opened it. “Come on in,” she said, and as he mounted the steps she got her first real glimpse into his eyes. They were fringed by a double row of dark lashes, the longest she had ever seen, and they were blue, a pale, pale blue, like the sky seen from underwater. A person could drown in those eyes.

  In sudden confusion, she preceded him through the door. Since she was hoping for a businesslike discussion, she didn’t want to think about Stuart Adams’s considerable physical attributes. She forced herself to take a deep breath before turning to face him.

  He was appraising his surroundings, registering no particular expression as he took in the recently swept porch and the scarred wooden table, a relic of a past owner. When he sat down, his frame dwarfed the bent-twig porch furniture.

  He was a big man, much bigger than Angel had expected from the picture, which had made him seem of average size. He was well over six feet of solid muscle. His hair was black and unruly, tumbling over a high forehead and grown too long at the sides and back. His faded jeans were slung low, and a skintight black T-shirt hugged his torso. He exuded an air of masculine sexuality so blatant that it literally took Angel’s breath away.

  Stuart Adams made no secret of the fact that he was looking Angel over from head to toe. His gaze took in her hair, tousled by the brisk breeze on the dock, and her face, now frozen into a noncommittal mask that was meant to match his lack of expression. After lingering on her face for much too long to suit her, his eyes fell to her breasts, which were generously outlined by the soft fabric of her blouse. He also refused to stint on the curve of her hips or the shapely outlines of her legs. Even her feet didn’t escape his scrutiny.

  “Well,” he said at last. “Your picture didn’t do you justice.”

  He was probably only being polite. Angel knew plenty about her physical shortcomings, having had them pointed out to her often enough. But she liked to think that she had recovered from her disastrous prior relationship, and she wanted to reply to his compliment; the problem was that she found herself completely unable to speak. All she could do was stare at him.

  “Won’t you sit down?” he said, and she knew from the sparkle in his eyes that inside he was laughing at her.

  She sank onto a chair on the opposite side of the table, her heart pounding for no reason other than the fact that Stuart Adams couldn’t seem to take his eyes off her.

  “Oh, almost forgot,” he said, handing over a stack of envelopes. “Toby the mailman sent you some mail.”

  Sent me some male, Angel thought inadvertently at the sight of his sinewy hand extended in her direction, and then she wondered, What’s wrong with me? She’d known that Stuart Adams was a handsome man; his picture had shown her that. Maybe he was emitting such a vast quantity of pheromones that they had scrambled all her brain signals. She could only hope for a quick recovery. Had anyone discovered an antidote to male pheromones? It was a branch of research that definitely ought to be explored.

  Tangled jasmine vines shaded the broad, screened-in porch and permeated the air with a heady fragrance, which Angel tried to ignore as she pretended to leaf through her mail.

  “The way I understand it, you want a husband to father your child, and you don’t want him hanging around afterward. Is that right?” her guest asked bluntly before she had finished.

  “Right,” Angel replied, meeting his eyes reluctantly. She was painfully aware that she hadn’t been able to utter a polysyllabic word since she’d l
aid eyes on this man. Merely looking at him, his strong physique so clearly on display in that T-shirt and those tight jeans, tied her tongue into knots. She knew she had been too long by herself, sequestered on this island, away from civilization, but she ought to be able to manage talk, for goodness’ sake.

  “Why?”

  Angel prayed for a sensible reply to leap to her lips.

  “My lifestyle, which is one of scientific inquiry, doesn’t leave room for a man,” she said.

  “So how does a child fit into the picture?”

  “Halos Island is a wonderful place for a child to grow up,” she said. “Swimming and fishing and nature study—what could be a more wholesome environment?”

  He studied her for a moment. “How long is researching the habits of solitary bees going to interest you? Will you want to live here on this island for the rest of your life?”

  “Maybe. The more I learn about solitary bees, the more interested I am. The species I study exists nowhere else in the world but on this island,” she said.

  “And you’ve been here how long?”

  “Only three years.”

  “Only three years?” he repeated with a tinge of irony.

  “It seems like less time,” Angel said slowly.

  “What did you do before that?”

  “I came here from the University of Florida, where I did my dissertation on solitary bees, and—well, you don’t want to know every detail of my professional career. Suffice it to say that I earned my bachelor’s, master’s and Ph.D. without catching my breath. When the opportunity landed in my lap to live here and study bees, I grabbed it.”

  “Why?”

  “I consider the island to be an entomological laboratory for the study of living insects. My objective is to study solitary bees’ instincts and habits. I can’t imagine a more fascinating place.”

  “But aren’t you lonely?”

  “Being alone makes me self-reliant,” she shot back.

  “There’s a difference between alone and lonely,” he said.

  “I’m never lonely,” she said evenly.

  “A child should have playmates,” he said.

  “When the child is ready for school, I’ll resume teaching at the university nine months out of the year. During the summer months, the child and I will live here, where I’ll study bees and the child will learn about Florida fauna and flora. The child’s playmates will be the fish in the ocean, the birds in the air.”

  He made a sound that sounded like Hmpfh. What he said was “That’s an awfully poetic notion, coming from a scientist.”

  She lifted her chin. “The point is, Halos Island is one of the best playgrounds in the world.”

  He looked her over. “Is it?” he said, making it perfectly clear that he was looking for a playmate of his own.

  “Look, um, Stuart... My ad in the Miami Singles Shopper outlined the circumstances under which I want to bear a child. I want this to be a straightforward deal, complete with a contract, leaving nothing to chance. I need to know why it suits you to father a child under these unusual restrictions and requirements.”

  Stuart shrugged one of his magnificent shoulders, sending a fascinating ripple undulating through his pectoral muscles. “Let’s say I’d be intrigued by any ad that starts out ‘Let’s make a baby together,’” he said, obviously suppressing a grin.

  With that, her businesslike façde crumbled. She blushed furiously, the flush starting in her face and radiating downward.

  “You must have had a lot of replies,” he offered.

  “Enough,” she said, thinking of the shoe boxes full of letters stacked under her bed.

  “And why did you agree to meet me?”

  Several answers came to mind, including the cleft in his chin as pictured in the photo he’d sent. His face had intrigued her, it was as simple as that. Only in a scientific way, of course. A dimpled chin was a worthwhile asset to pass on to one’s offspring.

  But she wasn’t about to be sidetracked into talk about physical attributes. “You said you’re rich,” she said. “You said you’d have no trouble supporting a child financially if something happened to me.”

  He laughed. “At least you’re honest,” he said.

  At least she sounded honest, but she was becoming less truthful by the minute. If she’d been telling the truth, she would have told him that she was completely swept away by those eyes, the set of those shoulders, his sheer masculinity.

  “Back to why you answered my ad, other than the shock value of the wording,” she said.

  “I want a child, same as you.”

  “Why?”

  “Undoubtedly for some of the reasons you do.”

  “I want a child to nurture and to cherish,” Angel said, as her mind conjured up golden pictures of a curly-haired moppet chasing butterflies and tumbling with puppies.

  “That’s the way a mother should feel,” he said.

  “But not the father?” She held her breath, knowing that Stuart’s answer was crucial to whether they would continue this conversation. She wanted to be a single mother. She did not want a man hanging around after the conception of their child and criticizing her child-rearing skills. She didn’t want criticism, period.

  He looked her in the eye and said, “Circumstances in my life are such that I won’t be available to take care of a child. I require a woman who doesn’t expect anything of me.”

  “And why, exactly, do you want a baby in the first place?”

  “As a guarantee of the only kind of immortality that we humans can create in this lifetime.” His eyes had turned to blue glass—brittle and hard.

  “And how do you see your role in the child’s life?”

  “I’ll provide financial support, of course. I’ll send birthday and Christmas gifts. I’ll send for the child once or twice a year. That’s all, and that’s what you wanted, right?”

  Angel breathed a sigh of relief. “Right.” Curiosity made her ask, “You could father a child without being married. What’s in this for you?”

  “I want him or her to carry my name, Stuart Adams.”

  “Even if it’s a girl?”

  “In that case, Stuart would be her middle name. A boy would be Stuart Adams, Jr. Can you live with that?”

  Angel planned to name a girl Elizabeth. She liked the sound of Elizabeth Stuart Adams. And Stuart was a fine name for a boy. “I have no objections,” she said.

  His expression softened. “Why would someone like you get involved in something like this?” he said.

  “Why do you think?” she said.

  He watched her carefully, assessingly. “Maybe you’re tired of life on this boring little island out in the middle of nowhere and you want an adventure,” he said.

  “No,” she said emphatically. “No, no, and no again.”

  “Advertising for a man seems out of character for you. You’re intelligent, beautiful, and you seem to have a good head on your shoulders, and—”

  “A good head on my shoulders except for cooking up this crazy scheme, right?” She dismissed the fact that he’d called her beautiful; of course he would flatter her.

  “All I’m saying is that you wouldn’t have to advertise for a man. All you’d have to do is walk into a bar in Key West and—”

  She bristled. “I don’t hang out in bars in Key West. As for why I want a child, it should be obvious. I’m over thirty—”

  “Only thirty-one,” he interjected.

  “At thirty-one, I’m ready to have a baby.”

  “So why not be artificially inseminated?”

  “I want the child to result from marriage, so that if something happens to me, the father will take responsibility for it. I have no family, nor could I ask any of my close friends to take on the care of another child.”

  “So you decided to find a rich husband?”

  “The ad didn’t specify rich. I wanted someone who would be responsible, and people with money can afford to be responsible.”

 
Stuart dug a sheaf of papers out of his duffel and slid it across the table. “If we both decide to go through with this, I’ll set up a trust fund for the child as soon as the baby is born. This is my financial statement, notarized and signed by an officer of a well-known Boston financial institution. You’ll see that I can afford to support a wife and child very well.”

  “I don’t want anything beyond reasonable support for the child,” she said.

  He lifted a shoulder and let it fall. “As you choose,” he said.

  Angel scanned a few pages of the financial statement. According to the figures, Stuart Adams was wealthy indeed.

  “Where’d you get so much money?” she asked.

  He seemed amused by her directness. “I inherited most of it. My family builds boats, a lucrative field in New England. Take a lot of big navy contracts, a brisk business supplying luxury yachts to the rich and famous, and steady production of the fishing boats that made my family famous back in the days of whaling, and you have the foundation of a family fortune.”

  “A whale of a fortune,” she murmured.

  “Yes, well...” was all he said.

  “So what brings you to the tropics?”

  “I’m currently on leave from the family firm,” he said. Something dark flashed across his expression for a moment, but it disappeared so fast that Angel thought she had imagined it.

  “What do you do there?”

  “I’m a naval architect by profession.”

  “Why did you take a leave? You’re a little young to be having a mid-life crisis,” she said. She knew from his letters that he was thirty-three.

  “I needed a vacation.”

  “So you signed on to sail around the world on a sailboat?” Her voice held a note of incredulity. She couldn’t imagine leaving her work behind and taking an around-the-world cruise. Work was too important to her.

  “A succession of sailboats. You can imagine how I reacted to your ad when I’d been at sea for almost a month.” His mouth quirked upward.

  The humorous twist he was putting on the conversation didn’t distract her from the fact that he was providing so much detail about his immediate past. This seemed odd to her; perhaps it was a tactic to keep her from asking questions. Why would Stuart Adams be taking time off from a venerable old family firm? Well, it was none of her business, and probably irrelevant to the matter at hand.