The Would-Be Mommy

by Jacqueline Diamond

  Taking advantage, Jennifer thought. Manipulating a young woman by pretending to be kind.

  “After he fixed it, I couldn’t very well refuse when he asked me out to dinner,” Sunny went on. “One thing led to another. You get the picture.”

  They’d dated for a couple of months, she explained. Beginning to suspect he might be living with a woman because he never took her to his home, she’d followed him from work.

  “Two little kids ran out of the house yelling, ‘Daddy! Daddy.’ I felt like a total jerk,” she said. “And then, guess what? Missed my period. We’d been careless about using protection. Like I said, stupid, stupid, stupid.”

  “Especially him,” Jennifer blurted. “A married man with children already!”

  “Exactly.” Sunny’s head bobbed for emphasis. “I was scared and angry and a little excited, too. I mean, I knew being pregnant was a miracle, in a way. But not for me, not right then.”

  Like the stab of a thorn, a long-forgotten moment flashed back. A seventeen-year-old Jennifer leaning against the counter in the bathroom of the mobile home, staring in disbelief at the blue stick. Terrified of telling her mother, wondering what on earth Frank would say, but at the same time thrilled that someone as confused as her could be carrying a new life.

  “What happened when you told him?” Ian asked.

  For an instant, Jennifer thought he meant Frank. He didn’t, of course. But she couldn’t help seeing the scene that evening, sitting in her boyfriend’s car at a park. A streetlight had picked out the pride and uncertainty on Frank’s angular face. “Okay, sweetie,” he’d said. “This oughta be interesting.”

  Clearly, he hadn’t been planning ahead. Or, if he was, he’d been planning the wrong things. Too bad she hadn’t known that at the time.

  “Ron wanted me to get rid of it. When I refused, he wrote me a check for a thousand dollars to help with expenses, along with a handwritten note relinquishing all paternal rights. I gave that to the attorney here.” Sunny scowled. “I went to the bank and cashed the check right away. I even had them call his bank to make sure it wouldn’t bounce.”

  “A thousand bucks doesn’t go far these days,” Ian noted.

  Jennifer thought about the cost of medical care and baby equipment. “It’s a drop in the bucket.”

  “I did the best I could.” Sunny’s eyes misted. “I used low-cost clinics and then an unlicensed midwife. It wasn’t safe, but what could I do?”

  “You didn’t ask Ron for more help?” Ian probed.

  “When I stopped by the garage to talk to him, the owner said he’d left. Turns out I wasn’t the only girl he’d been fooling around with.” Sunny shook her head. “He ran off. Left his wife and kids, too. How did I get involved with a rat like that?”

  “He played you,” Jennifer told her. “Some guys are good at manipulating women.”

  “You get it, just like I figured you would.” Sunny leaned forward. “You’ll keep her, right? You’ll adopt Rosalie?”

  A great bubble of joy formed inside Jennifer. “You didn’t come here to take her back?”

  “I wanted to make sure she was okay. And one more thing.” Sunny tapped a finger uneasily on the table.

  “Anything,” Jennifer breathed.

  “You love her.” It was a statement, not a question.

  “More than the whole world.”

  Sunny gave her a wistful smile. “My other reason for coming today is so you can tell her this story when she grows up. About how much I loved her, how I would have kept her if it had been fair to both of us. As for the part about Ron, maybe you can say he died.”

  “I don’t want to lie. But I’ll figure out some way to soften it.” Jennifer reached across the table to squeeze Sunny’s hand. “That’s what I do for a living—put a spin on things.”

  “Yeah.” The young woman swallowed hard. “Now I gotta go.” But she left her hand in Jennifer’s for a second before withdrawing.

  Ian flipped a page in his pad. “What does the future hold for you?”

  “Who knows?” When Sunny rose, her figure looked slimmer than a few days ago. “I’m off. Oh, here’s my phone number in case you need me to sign any more papers.” She handed over a slip of paper. “Take good care of her.”

  “Would you like to stay in touch?” Jennifer wasn’t sure whether she should offer, but it seemed only reasonable.

  “I’d rather make a clean break. I might be moving to Phoenix. My cousin invited me to stay with her, and I could transfer. Don’t put that in your story,” she told Ian.

  “I won’t.”

  After Sunny left, he shut his notepad and turned off the recorder. Jennifer remained in her seat, trying to absorb what had just happened.

  She’d committed herself to raising this baby. How wonderful and terrifying.

  “You look shell-shocked,” Ian commented. “What’s running through your head?”

  “Off the record?”

  He gave a start. “Hey, what kind of jerk do you take me for? Don’t answer that. Of course it’s off the record. I was trying to make sure you’re all right.”

  Jennifer allowed herself to focus on the roguish smile playing around his mouth. “I missed you last night,” she blurted. “Oh, damn. That wasn’t what I meant to say.”

  “For what it’s worth, I missed you, too.”

  She didn’t dare explore the subject further. One dream had just come true, and she needed all her energy to come to grips with that. “I’m trying to figure out how I’m going to manage.”

  “Day care and stuff like that?” he asked.

  “The hospital has a day-care center. No, I mean that most women who raise a child have a support system. A husband, a family, a community where they’ve lived for a long time. I’m kind of on my own here.” Jennifer certainly couldn’t turn to her mother, whose sporadic drinking and emotional seesaw made her unreliable.

  “Seems to me you have some remarkable friends,” Ian observed.

  That isn’t the same as having you around. Jennifer bit her lip before she could voice anything so foolish. He’d spent a night with her, nothing more.

  Men didn’t stick around. Not the ones she picked.

  “Yes, I do have friends, and enough love to sustain my daughter and me.” The word daughter gave her a thrill.

  “I believe you.” Ian seemed in no hurry to leave the conference room. “Sunny had you pegged, just from watching the video.”

  “Pegged how?”

  “She figured out that you’d been wounded, that you’d suffered a loss.” He spoke with a trace of huskiness. “She also knew you wouldn’t judge her.”

  How could I judge her, when I’ve done so much worse? She hadn’t told him everything, though, and there was no point in doing so now. Instead, Jennifer said, “Thank you, Ian.”

  He frowned. “For what?”

  She’d asked the attorney’s opinion about that earlier. “Since the father relinquished his rights and I have the mother’s permission, all I have to do is pass a home study with a social worker to make sure I can keep the baby safe and provide for her. Tony said that under the circumstances it’s okay to have Rosalie already home with me until we can change that. Then I’ll need a judge’s approval, but once I pass the home study, that should be automatic.”

  “Are you sure the social workers will let you keep her?”

  “I don’t see how they can refuse. She isn’t their case yet, and I have the birth mother’s support,” Jennifer pointed out. “Besides, Social Services will have their hands full with all those other relinquished babies. Which reminds me that I’d better get myself in gear.” She had a big day ahead.

  “You’re going to be a terrific mother. For what it’s worth, I wish…” Ian’s words trailed off.

  Jennifer felt the space between them thrum with longing. Then she saw that he’d missed shaving that same spot on his jaw. “Silly man,” she murmured, and stroked her finger over it lightly. “You did it again.”

  His mouth
closed the distance to hers. Brushed her lips and pulled away. “What I started to say was, I wish I could do more.”

  “You’ve done enough.” Or as much as you can. “Good luck with that promotion.”

  Tony appeared in the doorway. “I talked to Miss Baron. You and I should discuss a few details before the social worker shows up, Jennifer.”

  “Of course.”

  “Look after her,” Ian instructed the man. And out he went with his long, cocky stride.

  Out of sight, out of the hospital and, while Jennifer might run into him a few more times before this baby story died down, most likely out of her life.

  Chapter Twelve

  “What kind of bush is this? I’d hate to end up with a rash,” Pierre muttered.

  “I think it’s an azalea.” Ian had waited in far worse circumstances to conduct interviews or, in this case, an ambush. “Perfectly safe.”

  “Yeah? Well, what’s this ground cover? I wouldn’t put it past this damn club to plant poison ivy all over their bloody exclusive premises,” the cameraman grumbled. “My knees were sore, but I’m almost sorry I plopped on my butt. It’s starting to itch.”

  “Doesn’t do much for my dignity, either,” Ian agreed. All the same, he felt justified crouching in wait for Judge Brandon Wycliff beside the parking lot of the man’s country club.

  Since the story containing Mrs. Wycliff’s accusations broke on Sunday, the man had refused to return Ian’s phone calls or speak to any members of the press. You could hardly blame him, considering that he faced serious criminal charges along with the scorn of the media. Late-night comedians were making hay out of the guy’s escapades, and there’d been public outrage at the way he’d allegedly allowed a porno producer to approach his underage daughter.

  He’d betrayed the public’s trust by taking bribes, but to Ian the betrayal of his family’s trust was even worse. The man ought to apologize publicly to his wife and child. Surely some kind of heart had to beat underneath that glib exterior.

  Or maybe not. Sociopaths came in many guises. Some lurked in dark alleys or rode with gangs; some rose to political power; and others wore expensive suits and presided over courts.

  Mrs. Wycliff had said the judge worked out regularly at his club. Sure enough, he’d arrived right on time this Thursday morning. A guard had stopped the news van at the entrance, so the two men had parked nearby, waited a while, then sneaked back on foot.

  That was three hours ago, but his car, an overpriced luxury model, remained in its space. The judge must have finished working out and stayed for a late breakfast or early lunch.

  Despite Ian’s attempts to stretch and move around, his entire body had stiffened. What a ridiculous activity for two grown men, skulking in the bushes for hours. Yet he needed this interview. The story demanded a response, and Viktor and Flash News/Global’s subscribers expected Ian to bring it.

  He’d heard rumors that a woman who covered the Washington beat and an older man known for his science reporting were also being considered for the promotion. Both had clear fields of expertise, unlike Ian. Being a generalist might work against him, which meant he’d better prove to be such an outstanding generalist that he eclipsed his competitors.

  Meanwhile, his grumbling stomach reminded him that he hadn’t eaten since breakfast. Going without food didn’t used to bother him. Was he getting soft—or just getting older?

  “Here he comes.” Pierre pointed toward a man with gray-tinged hair emerging from the building about thirty feet away. In his sky-blue designer suit, Judge Wycliff strutted as if he felt invulnerable. Behind him lurked a muscular fellow—the bodyguard, no doubt.

  “Wait till they’re well clear of the building.” Luckily, they’d had to park some distance away. Ian didn’t want them ducking for cover.

  Pierre removed his lens cap. Ian activated the recorder in his pocket.

  With a cautionary gesture, the bodyguard moved ahead of the judge toward the car. Apparently, the man’s job included not only chauffeur duties but also starting the engine in case of a car bomb. Considering some of the criminals he’d associated with, the judge must have good reason to be afraid.

  Ian almost felt sorry for him. Then he remembered the open-faced seventeen-year-old daughter whose own father had put her innocence at risk.

  “Now!” Pierre sprang up and both men ran forward. Off to their right, the bodyguard bolted from the car. Ian waved a press card at him to forestall a physical attack. Not that the guy wouldn’t still try to oust them, but he might take it easy on the roughhousing.

  “Flash News/Global!” Ian shouted at the judge, who went rigid. Nowhere to hide, unless he dodged behind one of the parked vehicles, and how would that look on video? “I’m Ian Martin.” He halted close enough to see the dark circles beneath his target’s eyes. “I interviewed your ex-wife last weekend.”

  “I ought to sue you,” the judge growled. “Now, beat it.” Off to one side, the bodyguard hovered, as if uncertain how forcefully to intervene.

  “I should think you’d seize this chance to apologize to your daughter publicly.” Ian angled around, blocking the judge’s escape.

  Still, Wycliff could freeze him out. A simple “No comment,” and he’d be off the hook.

  However, the reference to his daughter appeared to rile the judge. “Libby knows I would never do anything to harm her.”

  “So you’re saying this adult movie producer didn’t offer her a job?” Ian prodded.

  Wycliff licked his lips. In the bright sunlight, his complexion had a gray tinge. “My daughter is an aspiring actress. And a talented one.”

  “So you approve of her being solicited for a dirty movie?”

  Pierre shifted the camera back and forth between the two of them. Capturing the whole business.

  “Of course not!” Beads of sweat appeared on the judge’s forehead. “The man’s a friend of mine. Or used to be. He’s a legitimate film producer, as well as—that other stuff. I had no idea he would do something like this.”

  Ian took no pleasure in his subject’s discomfort, but the situation outraged him. “You’re confirming your wife’s account, then? You allowed your underage daughter to be approached about appearing in a sexually explicit film?”

  “I didn’t allow it!” Wycliff burst out. “My daughter was spending the weekend at my new home. I hosted a party, and while I was busy out by the pool with some friends, this lowlife made a…proposition. She got upset and called her mother to pick her up. That’s all that happened.”

  What an infuriating scenario. The worst part was that the judge seemed to think he’d done nothing wrong.

  “I’ve heard what kind of parties you like to throw,” Ian fumed. “What exactly were you doing by the pool, Your Honor? Fooling around? Is that what you consider demonstrating appropriate fatherly behavior?”

  Under the midday sun, sweat ran down Wycliff’s face. “I was making sure my guests had a good time. That’s all. A man is entitled to relax in his own home. There’s nothing inappropriate about that. I’ve never done anything to harm my daughter. Not while I was married, and not since the divorce. Never!”

  An unfamiliar fury churned inside Ian. “Oh, really? What about the way you cheated on your wife? What kind of message did that send to your daughter? It’s a father’s job to protect his family, not treat them like disposable toys. And what about those young women you paid to entertain you? They’re somebody’s daughters. Ever think maybe they had fathers like you, who taught them that men don’t have to respect women?”

  Wycliff’s jaw clamped shut, and Ian could see him struggling to gain control. Raggedly, he muttered, “I’ve already said more than I should. Now, get out of my way.”

  When the man stumped forward, Ian stepped aside. No sense in risking physical contact, and besides, he had more than enough material for a story.

  The guard must have put out an alert, because Ian spotted two uniformed security men heading their way. Pierre, absorbed in filming the judg
e’s retreat to his car, didn’t notice until Ian tapped his shoulder.

  “Oh, crap,” said the cameraman, and they both took off for the bushes, behind which lay a break in the surrounding fence.

  Whether because of their head start or because Security wasn’t eager for a confrontation, they got away. Once they were in the van and Ian had a moment to reflect, he said, “Did Wycliff look like he might feel sick?”

  “He ought to! That was some speech you gave.” Behind the wheel, Pierre let out a whoop. “What got into you?”

  “Did I go too far?” Ian hadn’t meant to lose his temper.

  “I figure you spoke for every outraged Joe Six-Pack in America,” Pierre responded. “They’ll eat it up.”

  “I’m not the story. Judge Wycliff is.”

  “You were part of the story today.”

  He’d been picturing Jennifer and Rosalie, Ian realized. Putting them in the roles of wife and daughter.

  Well, whatever had sparked his outburst, it had pushed Wycliff into responding. Ian felt certain he’d recorded enough comments to fill out a written story as well as the video.

  He wished he had the column already, so he could work in more of his own opinions. But for now, this would have to do.

  ON SATURDAY AFTERNOON, by the time Jennifer and the baby joined Samantha and Lori, her friends had been busy for more than an hour at a strip mall filled with wedding shops. She’d begged their understanding, since Rosalie could hardly be expected to keep quiet during a lengthy shopping expedition.

  “Of course we understand!” Lori said as they sat around a low table, flipping through catalogs in a florist’s shop. “Heck, at least you’re here, which is more than I can say for my matron of honor.”

  Esther had stayed over in Washington for an extra week. According to Lori, her old friend had apparently made arrangements for some mysterious meetings she hadn’t discussed in advance with anyone, including her husband. No wonder Tony had been uncharacteristically grumpy the past few days.

  “You don’t suppose she’s having an affair, do you?” Samantha asked as she handed Jennifer a sample of the silver-and-blue invitations they’d selected earlier.