by Brenda Novak
“You’re pregnant, aren’t you?”
All her fears concerning what would happen if Conner learned about the baby seemed to float at the forefront of Delaney’s mind. The possible custody battles, the difficulty of sharing a child, her worry that he might not be the best influence, considering what she’d heard about his reputation…
She didn’t want to do anything that would risk the security of her baby’s future. But the truth was the truth. She couldn’t get around it anymore. She’d cheated him, and her sense of justice demanded she admit it.
“Yes,” she said.
He gulped air into his lungs as though she’d slugged him, then jammed his hands into his pockets and whirled toward the door. Delaney thought he was going to walk out on her without another word, but after two steps he turned back. “You did it on purpose,” he said. “You meant to get pregnant. That’s what you had in mind from the very beginning.”
The loathing in his voice hurt even more than Delaney had imagined it would. “Yes.”
“And what the hell do you hope to gain from it?”
“Nothing. I just want the baby. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
“Yeah, right,” he said, and strode out. Then silence fell. But the peace was gone.
Dear Reader,
When I set out to write A Baby of Her Own, I planned to play with the “what if” concept of having my heroine do something most of us would never do, something that could change her whole life, something she might easily regret beyond any other action. I was interested in the emotions she’d face and how she’d deal with the consequences.
But as I got to know Delaney, the heroine, and Rebecca, her best friend, their opposite natures intrigued me. I found they had quite a bit to say about choices and maturation, friendship and unconditional love. Rebecca is probably one of the most imperfect “good” characters I’ve ever worked with—a real loose cannon—yet I love her as much as Delaney and would gladly claim either as my best friend, if I had the chance. I hope that by the time you finish this story, you’ll feel the same. And I hope that you’ll watch for Rebecca’s story, coming from Superromance in 2003. (Watch for my Harlequin single title, too! Taking the Heat will appear on your bookseller’s shelves in February 2003.)
I love to hear from readers. Please feel free to visit me online at www.brendanovak.com or send me a note—P.O. Box 3781, Citrus Heights, CA 95611.
Here’s wishing you the unconditional love we all crave!
Brenda Novak
Books by Brenda Novak
HARLEQUIN SUPERROMANCE
899—EXPECTATIONS
939—SNOW BABY
955—BABY BUSINESS
987—DEAR MAGGIE
1021—WE SAW MOMMY KISSING SANTA CLAUS
1058—SHOOTING THE MOON
A Baby of Her Own
Brenda Novak
To my second-oldest daughter, Megan, for her strength
of spirit, her leadership ability and her constancy.
Meg, you’re a light to everyone who knows you,
someone capable of great things because at twelve years
old you’ve already learned the power of self-discipline.
I can always depend on you to choose the right and
stay the course, and that has been an incredible blessing.
If you forget everything else I’ve ever taught you,
remember this: my love is everlasting.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
EPILOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
“ARTIFICIAL INSEMINATION. Of course! That’s the answer.”
Delaney Lawson almost choked on her drink. Swallowing hard, she sent a quick glance around the redneck bar that was the center of Dundee, Idaho’s weekend entertainment to see who might have overheard, then lowered her voice. “I hope you’re talking about breeding horses, Beck.”
Rebecca Wells, her friend and housemate, didn’t look the least bit abashed. “You know I’m not talking about horses. I’m talking about you,” she responded, fiddling with her new short haircut. “Because of what you said last night.”
Delaney grimaced. “Forget about last night. Buddy had just told me that the two of you are getting married, that you’re going to be leaving the state in five months. And it was my thirtieth birthday. I had a right to be depressed.”
“I was planning to tell you after your birthday.”
“Oh, well, what are big, dumb guys for?”
“I can think of several uses for Buddy. But you weren’t upset about my engagement or your birthday. You were depressed because you can’t find anyone to love, and Aunt Millie and everyone else in this godforsaken town is asking when you’re going to get married. And because—more than anything—you want a baby.”
“I was depressed because you’re marrying a man you met on the Internet, a guy you’ve seen only once, and I’m turning thirty without the prospect of a family in sight. It’s all those things,” Delaney insisted. “Besides, Valentine’s Day is in a couple of weeks, which doesn’t help.”
Someone started the jukebox and Rebecca looked away. Delaney knew she didn’t like displays of emotion. Rebecca expressed herself with sarcasm and laughter, not words like I love you and I’m going to miss you. But Delaney understood how deeply she cared, and returned those feelings. They’d been part of each other’s lives for twenty-four years.
“I’ll come back and visit every chance I get, you know that,” Rebecca said after a long silence.
“I know,” Delaney told her. “I’ll be okay. I mean, we’re adults. We have lives to lead. I just hope Buddy turns out to be everything you think he is.”
“Buddy will drive me crazy, like he did yesterday when he let the cat out of the bag early—but we fit, you know?”
Delaney nodded, even though she wasn’t sure she agreed. Physically they were opposites—Buddy short, round and dark; Rebecca tall, thin and dishwater blond when her hair wasn’t colored something more trendy—but it was the differences in their personalities that worried Delaney. From what she could gather, Buddy seemed nice, but he was also quiet, steady and ploddingly predictable. She couldn’t see her volatile friend settling for a couch potato. Or maybe that was exactly what Rebecca needed. Maybe Buddy’s easygoing nature would temper Rebecca’s high spirits and they’d reach some common ground and live happily ever after. Delaney certainly hoped it would end that way.
“You’ll find someone,” Rebecca said, but her words rang hollow to Delaney, who was running out of patience. She’d wanted to get married for several years now and she felt as if she couldn’t wait another day.
“Maybe.”
“There’s still plenty of time to have kids,” Rebecca cajoled.
“Not if the next ten years go like the last. As much as I love the people around here, I don’t really belong to any of them. But you probably can’t understand what it’s like to feel so detached. You grew up in a family with three older sisters—”
“Who I want to choke most the time,” she interrupted, stirring her gin and tonic with one long finge
rnail.
“Still, you’re connected. You’re blood. You get together for holidays and stuff that wouldn’t be the same if any of you weren’t there. My mother died shortly after we moved here. I don’t know who my father is—even my mother didn’t know that. And I was raised by Dundee’s own Mother Teresa. Aunt Millie would’ve taken in and loved any child.” She sighed wearily. “I’ve been wanting a family of my own since forever, but it looks like I’m going to die an old maid.”
Rebecca licked her wet finger and leaned back to light a cigarette. “Then, do something about it,” she said on a long exhalation. “Get artificially inseminated.”
“Not so loud,” Delaney whispered. “We live in a small town, for heaven’s sake. This isn’t New York or L.A. And we grew up here. Everyone knows us. I don’t want word getting out that I’m considering something so…radical. It could embarrass Aunt Millie and Uncle Ralph, make them regret they ever took me in.”
“I knew it!” Rebecca clapped her hands, although she did it carefully so she wouldn’t crush her cigarette.
“What?” Delaney asked, exasperated.
“That you’ve been thinking about having a baby on your own!”
“And how did you know that?”
“I’ve seen you stare at the parenting magazines we pass in the grocery store. I’ve seen how you admire every child you come across.”
“Maybe I have been thinking about it,” she said. “But I don’t believe that doing things the artificial way will work.”
“Why not?” Rebecca squinted at her through the thin stream of smoke curling toward the ceiling.
“First of all, it’s expensive and my insurance won’t cover it. Librarians in a town of fifteen hundred people only make so much. And now that you’re going to be moving out, my house payment will double. Aunt Millie needs a few things, too, like another coat of paint on her place. Second, I wouldn’t even know where to find the right doctor. We only have a general practitioner around here, and I’m sure it would take some sort of specialist. Finally, I probably wouldn’t qualify. Don’t you have to be married? Or at least infertile?”
Delaney cast another furtive glance at the Honky Tonk’s fellow patrons. The divorced Mary Thornton, who’d been captain of the cheer squad in high school, sat with her crowd in the corner, but the place hadn’t filled up yet. Elton John was singing “Rocket Man” on the jukebox. He competed with the clack of balls coming from the direction of the pool tables, a television droning in the corner and Rusty Schultz at the bar, loudly detailing his frustration with a car engine he was trying to rebuild. “In any case,” she finished, sitting back to avoid Rebecca’s secondhand smoke. “I’m sure they don’t give sperm away to just any woman who happens to want it.”
“They might not, but I know a lot of men who would.” A devilish smile curled Rebecca’s lips as she tapped the end of her cigarette on a small tin ashtray. “Why not get yourself laid and be done with it?”
“Rebecca!”
Her friend held up the hand with the cigarette, fake red nails gleaming even in the dim light. “Come on, what about all those assertiveness training classes you’ve been taking online? You’re always telling me your instructor says to take charge of your life, decide what you want and make it happen.”
“I don’t think my instructor had something like this in mind.”
“Well, it applies, and getting pregnant wouldn’t be that difficult. First of all, a willing partner would be free,” she said, ticking the points off on her fingers as Delaney had just done. “So you can afford the mortgage and still get Aunt Millie’s house painted this spring. Second, you wouldn’t have as much trouble finding a donor as you would the right doctor. Can you imagine approaching Dr. Hatcher for a recommendation?” She took a long drag on her cigarette, then set it aside to smolder. “And three, if you’re picking up some guy at a bar, it’s better if you’re not married.”
Delaney tried to appear scandalized, but immediately gave up the charade. This was Rebecca; knowing her was the closest she’d ever come to having a sister. And as low as Delaney thought tricking a man would be, she was actually getting desperate enough to consider it. “It just seems so…dishonest. Almost like stealing.”
“It’s not stealing if he gives you what you want,” Rebecca said, reclaiming her cigarette.
“Maybe, but I keep coming back to—”
“Your morals. I know.” Rebecca angled her head so she wouldn’t exhale in Delaney’s face. “You’ve always had a few too many.”
Delaney propped her chin in her hand and stared glumly at the glassy-eyed elk head hanging on the opposite wall. “I’ve had a lot of people to answer to. And not only Aunt Millie and Uncle Ralph. What about old Mrs. Shipley? She taught me everything I know about the library, groomed me to take her place. And Mr. Isaacs on the city council put in a good word for me last review, which helped me get a raise. Mrs. Minike volunteers countless hours at the library—”
“And you’ve hired her daughter to help out part-time.”
“Shelving books for minimum wage.” She rolled her eyes. “I’m just saying it isn’t easy feeling obligated to a whole town. And with gossips being what they are—”
“Don’t worry about gossip. I don’t.”
“Much to your parents’ mortification, I might add. Your father is mayor of this town. I’m sure he’d appreciate a little more discretion.”
Rebecca shrugged. “He’s been in office so long, it would take a crowbar to get him out. No one even bothers to run against him anymore. Besides, ever since I took off with that motorcycle gang, the old ladies in this town sort of lost interest in me. Now when people mention my name, the most they get is a halfhearted response like, ‘Oh, yeah? What’s that Wells girl up to now? She always was a handful.’ I guess I’ve already provided my share of the town’s entertainment. They’re eager for someone else to relieve the tedium, and I think it’s your turn.”
“My turn?” Delaney asked wryly.
“Yeah, the only controversial thing about you is your strange name. That raised a few eyebrows when you first came to town. I still remember old Mrs. Hitchcock shaking her head and wanting to know what your mama could’ve been thinking. But you moved here when you were six, so we’ve had twenty-four years to get used to it, and it’s time for something new. I mean, look at you. You were a quiet, obedient child. You always got good grades. When we were teenagers, you won the baking contest at the county fair four years running, and you placed in the barrel racing, too. And now everyone stops by the house on Sundays to buy your pies, and when they walk away they say, ‘That Delaney’s just about the sweetest thing. I wonder when she’s gonna get married.’ Only there’s no one here to marry.”
“Most people would say there’s always Josh Hill,” Delaney said. “Or his brother.”
Rebecca stubbed out her cigarette. “You know how I feel about Josh Hill.”
“He’s not that bad. I don’t understand why you hate him so much.”
“I know him better than you do. Anyway, he’s seeing Mary Thornton, and his brother’s met someone from out of town. The Hill brothers aren’t exactly available. Which leaves Billy Joe or Bobby West or Perry Paris.”
Delaney made a face. “Marrying one of them would be like marrying my brother.”
“Exactly the reason I’m marrying someone who lives in Nebraska.” She folded her arms and leaned back. “That and the fact that he doesn’t know me very well. But my point is this—you can continue to let the town hem you into being perfect and proper and lonely your whole life. Or you can exchange one night of naughtiness for a baby. It’s up to you.”
“Isn’t that simply changing passive behavior for aggressive behavior? My goal is assertive behavior. Assertive behavior promotes ‘win-win’ solutions,” Delaney said, parroting her online coach.
“What’s a donor got to lose? I think most men would see hooking up with you as a win-win situation.”
Delaney took another sip of her margarita, s
avoring the salty taste and letting the ice melt in her mouth before swallowing. Every assertiveness assessment she’d ever taken had shown her as far too passive. She lived to please others, feared losing their esteem if she acted out or made a mistake. Maybe Rebecca was right. Maybe, instead of taking what life gave her, she should take what she wanted from life.
She smiled, thinking that sounded very assertive. Her coach would be proud. “I’d get to choose the father, see what he looks like. That beats the artificial method.”
“And getting pregnant the natural way is infinitely more fun than lying on your back in a sterile room where the only man within twenty yards is wearing a mask and surgical gloves, right? It’s been a long time since you were with a man. Don’t you miss it?”
Delaney quickly nodded. “Oh, yeah. Of course I do,” she said, but what she missed was having someone to love. Someone who’d love her, too. The physical aspect was nice—frosting on the cake, so to speak—but it meant nothing without love.
“When’s the last time you made love?” Rebecca asked.
“There was…you know, that one boy I told you about before,” Delaney said, trying not to fidget. “The one who came to stay with Mrs. Telfer the summer we turned seventeen.”
“Booker Robinson? He was a little bastard, wasn’t he? His parents sent him to the country to learn about hard work and manners because he was getting into too much trouble in the city, and he turned this town on its ear in less than a month.” She smiled wistfully as though she had rather liked Booker and didn’t think him a bastard at all. “That was the first time you were with a boy, but it wasn’t the last, was it?”
“Um, of course not. There was…um, Tim Downey, you know, on prom night.”
