“And you found out you were pregnant.”
A single woman with no great job skills and distant parents who were unlikely to help, she must have been terrified.
This smile was more genuine, but her mother’s eyes were misty. “I never regretted what happened, not the way I should have, because out of it I had you. Please believe that.”
“Oh, Mom!” Lynn catapulted off the sofa and wrapped her arms around her mother, who hugged her back although such embraces weren’t commonplace for them. “I do believe you, because I feel the same about Shelly. It scares me sometimes. I think that I should have realized I didn’t love Brian enough. I shouldn’t have married him. But if I hadn’t…” She shivered and pulled back a little. “Then I wouldn’t have Shelly.”
An odd thought sifted into her mind. No, she wouldn’t have Shelly, but Adam would. The mix-up would never have happened that night at the hospital. Rose was the child who wouldn’t have been born. Quiet, sweet-faced Rose.
The very idea was equally unendurable.
A thunder of feet on the stairs gave warning before the door burst open and Shelly called, “Me and Grampa are home! Did Grandma…oooh,” she breathed, when she saw the bright packages spilling out from under the tree. Puzzlement replaced the dazed joy in her eyes when she saw her mother’s face. “Why is Mommy crying?”
“Oh.” Lynn dashed at her cheeks. “Happiness. I’m just being silly, punkin.” And feeling dizzily as if she had been remade in a new form. She had a father. She would never meet him, but now she knew, which seemed to matter.
Her daughter frowned. “But Grandma’s crying, too.”
Hal Miller laid hands on his small step-granddaughter’s shoulders. “I think she’s crying from happiness, too.”
“But I cry when I’m hurt. Or scared. Not when I’m happy,” Shelly objected.
“Grown-ups do sometimes,” Irene said. She gave Lynn another quick, spontaneous hug. “When they realize how lucky they are.”
“Right.” Lynn blinked back more tears that threatened despite her smile. “You know what, sweetheart? I think this might be a good time for you to open that present.”
Shelly squealed and flung herself to her knees in front of the tree. “I want the best present!”
Hal, gentle, balding man that he was, ignored the undercurrents of emotion and settled onto the sofa with a smile. Lynn’s mother went down on her knees and joined her granddaughter in a colloquy about which present would be the most satisfying, considering she got only one tonight.
Lynn stood back and watched, fighting a strange desire to cry. She had a successful business, a home, her parents, and Shelly. It wasn’t as if her real daughter was abandoned in an orphanage or lived in a home without warmth and love. There would be a beautiful tree in Rose’s living room with ten times the presents under it that Shelly had. Her grandparents—perhaps both sets of grandparents—would be there tonight, and, best of all, her daddy would do everything in his power to insure that her Christmas was joyous.
Once upon a time, Lynn had only wanted to be certain her child was happy and loved. Why, oh why, was that knowledge no longer enough?
Why did grief swathe her in gray that took the glory out of the bright sparkling lights on the tree and the wondering “ooh” in her daughter’s voice as the wrappings gave way to her still-clumsy fingers? Why did she mourn, only because Rose was not here?
CHAPTER NINE
ROSE’S SMALL HAND CREPT into Adam’s. “Do you think Shelly got good presents, too?”
“I bet she did,” Adam said heartily, although he felt sick looking at the torrent of ripped paper and bows and ribbon covering the floor. Toys and new clothes and books formed islands in the midst of the chaos. No, he knew damn well Shelly didn’t get as much.
But then, Rose didn’t need any of it. He’d bought less this Christmas and had made a point of taking Rose shopping to choose gifts for children whose parents couldn’t. Somewhat to his surprise, given her egocentric age, she had helped him, earnestly debating which Barbie would be the most fun if you could only have one, which remote control car was the coolest. She’d learned that word lately from bigger kids at the preschool, piping up in her little girl voice, “Cool.”
Adam’s relative restraint in the gift department was meaningless, however. Her two sets of grandparents had come bearing carloads of goodies. On the one hand, he was glad: even Jennifer’s parents weren’t turning their backs on Rose. Although Angela had given him a couple of wrapped gifts to set aside for Shelly, she hadn’t stinted where Rose was concerned.
On the other hand, he wished they had more time for Rose instead of so much money. Rose would have loved to go to their house one day a week instead of to preschool. But no, they were too busy. Visits instead were special occasions that usually cost a hell of a lot and took the place of something deeper.
He’d begun to realize that the McCloskeys must have raised their only child in much the same way. If Jenny had had a flaw, it was her liking for luxuries and for her own way. She pouted with such charm, somehow he’d never minded, but just lately he had begun to wonder whether that might not have changed. He felt disloyal that the thought had even edged into his mind but couldn’t dislodge it.
Would Jenny have had the patience to be a good mother? Or had she looked forward to having a baby like a child wanting a doll? Of course she was going to do it all herself; she’d read a million books and planned every glorious moment. What she hadn’t foreseen was that having a sobbing baby waking you every couple of hours all night long, night after exhausting night, was not glorious. Those parenting books hadn’t showcased a photo of a three-year-old’s stinky diaper. The whining of a tired child was mentioned, certainly, but the boy in the picture was so cute the reader couldn’t imagine how explosively tired and angry and tense a parent could get.
Sometimes—God help him—his imagination balked at the idea of his Jenny coping. If she’d lived, by now they might have a nanny who would present a sweet-mannered, clean child for a good-night kiss.
He tried to convince himself he was doing Jenny an injustice.
Once again, he shoved the disloyal thoughts under a pile of mental garbage that he hoped would keep them from surfacing again.
“We’ll see Shelly next week,” he reminded Rose. “You can show each other your new stuff. And exchange presents.”
Rosebud’s fingers tightened and her eyes pleaded. “I wish we could see her today.”
So did he.
He wanted to spend Christmas with both daughters. And with Lynn, who was inescapably part of their peculiar mixed family. The day stretched bleakly before Adam and Rose. Both sets of parents had come last night. He’d cooked a huge ham and all the trimmings then. The two mismatched couples had made polite conversation and avoided inflammatory subjects like politics. His parents had left as soon as possible with their usual excuses. He imagined that today his father had gone to the hospital and his mother was working at her wheel and keeping an eye on the red-hot kiln.
Angela and Rob had wanted him to bring Rose to their house today, but he’d demurred. The past week, they’d dropped talk of lawyers and court—the Christmas spirit must have gotten to them—but the threat wasn’t removed, only in abeyance. It tainted his affection for them. Just lately he’d noticed, too, that Rose was nice to them, but not comfortable. She didn’t run into their arms for a hug, or go to Grandma when she bumped herself on the coffee table, or confide in her shy voice to Grandpa.
Not the way she did with Lynn.
“Don’t you want to play with your new toys?” he asked Rose now, as they stood looking at the aftermath of last night’s and this morning’s whirlwind of gift opening.
“Will you play with me?” she pleaded.
Not dolls. Please, not dolls. “Did you get any games?” he asked hopefully.
“Uh-huh.” Her mood lifted. “Chutes ’n Ladders. I’ve played that one at school. And Grandma ’Closkey gave me a clown game. Only, I don’t know w
here it is.”
Oh, God. He supposed he should clean up. Where was his Christmas spirit?
In Otter Beach. The answer came swiftly, certainly.
“Lily,” he said, “let me make a quick phone call.”
“Okay.” She didn’t correct her name, a barometer of how spirited she was feeling. “Then can you help me find my new games?”
He crushed her into a hug. “You betcha, Violet.”
A giggle rewarded him. “Daddy! I’m Rose.”
In the kitchen, Adam dialed and drummed his fingers while the phone rang once, twice, four times. When someone picked it up, “Jingle Bells” was playing in the background. “Hello?” said an unfamiliar woman.
Rose’s grandmother. “Uh…merry Christmas to you. May I speak to Lynn?”
“Of course.” The voice was warm and friendly. “And the same to you.”
Lynn came on a moment later, sounding breathless. “Adam!” she exclaimed, when he’d identified himself. “Did Santa visit?”
Thinking about his living room, he said ruefully, “Big time. Did he touch down there, too?”
“Oh, yeah. Did you want to talk to Shelly?”
“Actually…” Unconsciously he squared his shoulders. “I was wondering. Do you have anything special planned for today?”
Stupid question. It was Christmas, for Pete’s sake. But he didn’t retract it.
“No,” Lynn said quietly. “Except, my parents are here.”
“So you said. Um, what I was thinking is…” Damned good thing he didn’t stumble and fumble like this all the time. He finished more strongly, “That maybe Rose and I could drive over today. She wants to play with Shelly, and your parents could meet her.”
“Today.” Lynn sounded dazed.
“If it’s not convenient…”
“No,” she said quickly. “No, I’d love to have you. I just thought…aren’t you getting together with your parents? Or Jennifer’s?”
“We did that last night.”
“Oh.” He could hear a dawning smile in her voice. “Please. Come. We’d love to have you. Can you stay the night?”
“Your parents…”
“Have a room at an inn.” She laughed. “That sounds fitting, doesn’t it?”
“Rose and I’ll pack up and be on our way as soon as we can.”
“I’m so glad you called.”
He was, too. Suddenly Christmas Day had become joyous.
LYNN CHANAK’S HOME at Christmas was everything he’d imagined it would be. Everything, despite the poverty of her possessions, that his wasn’t.
Her mother and stepfather were warm, uncritical and present not just in a corporeal way, like his own parents. The Millers seemed delighted to meet him and they swept Rose into an affectionate circle of games and stories that soon had her chattering as naturally as she did with him.
Carols played in the background, the delicious smell of turkey and stuffing in the oven drifted from the kitchen, the decorations were more affecting for being modest and homemade. If Shelly hadn’t gotten as many gifts as Rose, she hadn’t suffered. She and Rose would have plenty to do today.
A cold rain fell outside, but the early darkness pressing at the windows suited the season and made him all the gladder for the golden glow of life and liking in here. With four adults and two children, there were hardly enough places to sit; except for the girls and Grandma, who insisted on joining them at the kitchen table, they ate with plates on their laps and drinks carefully set on the floor at their feet. He and Hal Miller, Lynn’s stepfather, talked about the economy and the stock market. Miller had enough investments to be interested and to have some intelligent questions and observations about the recent, unexpected drop in the prime rate. The feds had everyone puzzled.
“I’ve bought shares in several of the more solid Internet companies, even though they’re not making much of a profit yet,” he commented. “It’s got to be the future.”
Lynn made a face. “Don’t tell me you’ve invested in my competition?”
“’fraid so.” He grinned. “Figured we’d better have a cushion in case the independent book business crashes.”
She rolled her eyes, but grinned. “Oh, thank you. I’ll have you know we had a fabulous Christmas season!”
“Weather was good this fall,” Adam said. “Did that keep tourists coming?”
“It didn’t hurt, but tourism is booming over here no matter what the weather,” she answered. “Off-season rates entice people to get away for a few days. I guess an ocean storm sounds exotic and wonderful compared to a Portland or Seattle drizzle. Everyone hopes to find a treasure washed up on the beach afterward. In the meantime, they get here and it’s rainy and cold and they didn’t bring enough to do in their hotel rooms.” She sounded smug. “They come and see me.”
“Ah.” Her stepfather nodded seriously. “Not hard to find something to read in your place. I browsed yesterday.” He glanced at Adam. “Good section on money and investing.”
“I noticed.” Adam had browsed, too. Wanting—well, hell, admit it, he thought—to find out how smart Lynn Chanak was.
Very, he had concluded. She knew her business, which a surprising number of people who hung out a shingle didn’t.
Lynn excused herself to dish up apple pie, à la mode, for those who wanted it. The pie was warm and obviously homemade. Flaky crust, the apples spicy, tart and melt-on-the-tongue soft.
Taking a sip of coffee followed by a mouthful of pie, Adam almost groaned in pleasure. Without a drop of alcohol, he felt as if he’d imbibed a snifter of fine cognac, not enough to get fuzzy, just enough to make him relaxed, benevolent.
In one corner of the living room, Rosebud and Shelly squealed happily over a game that seemed to involve contorting their bodies into absurd positions to put hand or foot on big bright colored circles on a mat. Grandma Miller spun a dial and announced, “Right hand, blue!” and the girls both collapsed in an attempt to move their hands.
The next round, they spun the dial while Grandma and Mom played. Adam savored the sight of Lynn, her nicely rounded bottom sticking up in the air as she struggled to keep left foot on yellow, right on blue, and her hands on two different colors. Her legs, he couldn’t help thinking, were deliciously long, her hair a glorious tousle that tumbled to the mat and exposed a pale, delicate nape. Her cheeks were flushed with laughter, her eyes bright, her groans throaty.
Damn it, he was happy, Adam realized in some astonishment. He and Rose had good times, but it wasn’t the same. He liked being here, or having Lynn—and Shelly, of course—staying at his place. He wished they could do it more often. He was amazingly comfortable with Lynn. As far as he was concerned, she could just move in with Shelly…
Bang. He might as well have walked into a sliding glass door. Dazed, head pounding, Adam saw the answer to everything through the clarity of the glass.
A marriage of convenience. Miraculous convenience. They could share the girls, each have a legal claim on the other one. The grandparent problem would be solved. He could help Shelly and Lynn financially. He didn’t have to miss them. Rose and Shelly would be sisters in truth.
He hardly saw Lynn fall amid giggles, leaving Grandma triumphant but needing a hand to straighten up and unkink her back. Adam was too busy examining his incredible idea.
Yeah, okay, he argued with himself out of habit, he wasn’t in love with her. Presumably she wasn’t with him. But he wasn’t seeing anyone else, and he hadn’t heard even a hint that she was. He liked her. They could talk about things he usually stayed close-mouthed about, and he had an idea she felt the same about him. God knows, they had something profound in common: their daughters.
He wasn’t looking for a love match. Once was enough. But he missed having a woman in his bed and at the breakfast table. He’d been disconcerted by his attraction to Lynn, but what had formerly been a problem now was a bonus. Despite the peculiar beginning, they might make a comfortable, affectionate marriage out of it. It didn’t have to be t
emporary. He could see himself growing old with her.
Assuming she saw the logic of his proposal.
Damn, he thought in astonishment. Proposal? Did he mean it?
“Is something wrong?”
Adam swung his head around sharply enough to crack a vertebra. Lynn had sat down on the couch beside him and was gazing at him with soft concern.
“Wrong?” he croaked. “No. Nothing’s wrong.” It was right. He wanted to shout and seize her hand. Go to his knees.
Now? Her parents were making leaving motions. He could let her tuck the girls into bed, and then ask.
But he wasn’t a man of impulse. No. Wait until the chill gray light of morning and see whether his idea seemed as brilliant. Maybe he’d be dying to escape back to his big solitary house after a look at Lynn Chanak in her bathrobe before a cup of coffee.
Of course, he’d seen her that way before, and she’d looked cute.
Wait. Don’t be an idiot, he told himself. Be sure before you jump.
Morning was soon enough.
ADAM AWAKENED at the damned crack of dawn after another wretched, chivalrous night on Lynn’s too-short couch. He felt as if he’d had more than a snifter or two of that nonexistent cognac. His head pounded, his mouth was dry, and his joints ached. He dreaded the drive home.
Christmas was gone, and with it his cheer.
He couldn’t stand under the hot spray in a shower, because that might wake everyone else up. Disgruntled, he rooted in his overnight bag and got dressed in clean clothes. After gulping a couple of painkillers in the bathroom, Adam went to the kitchen, put water on to boil and dumped two teaspoons of instant coffee into a mug. Then he braced his hands on the edge of the counter and stared at the kettle, waiting for steam and gurgling.
What if she walked into the kitchen right now? Smiled shyly, offered to make breakfast? Adam asked himself. Would he wish her to Hades, or feel his mood lift?
The kettle stayed still. The force of his stare didn’t heat the water.
His thoughts stumbled back into a rut worn by a night’s worth of brooding.
Whose Baby? Page 13
