Baby by Design

by Paula Detmer Riggs

  The intercom kicked on, and Cheyenne's dulcet voice recited the landing instructions. Morgan felt his stomach twist and took a deep breath. His hands were icy and his mouth dry. In his mind he saw a slender pixie not quite five feet three inches tall, radiating energy, waiting for him with open arms. He fought down the image, aware that Raine had no idea he was coming.

  He was scared and hated to admit it.

  She'd told him he could come back. That last morning in her bedroom. He'd replayed her words over and over in his head for nearly two months.

  When he'd finally plucked up his courage to call Arthur Connelly the night before last, her father had said she was fine. The babies were fine. The store was fine. When Morgan had probed for more, all he'd gotten out of the old bastard was a weather report. It was lousy.

  The wheels touched down, and he glanced out the window. The bastard had lied to him. It was a gorgeous day. Bright and sunny.

  Morgan frowned as he undid his belt. Connelly wouldn't lie about his daughter's well-being. Not even he would go that far. Would he?

  The plane was crowded, but one of the perks of first-class was the ability to escape quickly. He felt light-headed and weak as a kitten as he walked up the Jetway. The Saudi doc with the haughty stare had warned him about leaving the hospital too soon, but he hadn't been able to wait any longer.

  He had to know, one way or another, whether he was going home. Or simply stopping by for a visit. No big deal, right? Hell, no. Just his entire future. No, his life.

  The reception area was full. Damn near everyone was smiling, their eyes bright with anticipation. He'd call Paul John first, then grab his bags from the carousel. With any luck he'd be at her place in an hour.

  A flash of purple to the left caught his eye. A small, dark-haired woman was standing there next to a sturdy baby stroller. With two blond baby boys squirming in the padded seats.

  He felt a tug in his gut, then another. His steps slowed, then stopped. People surged around him. But all he saw was Raine. She was smiling, and her eyes looked suspiciously damp.

  "Hey, look who's here," he said softly. His voice wasn't steady. Neither were his hands.

  "Hey yourself," she said, smiling up at him as he made himself move toward her.

  "You were supposed to be here yesterday."

  She smelled like roses and looked like sunshine. He felt his throat tighten. "How did you know?"

  "Frank told me. After I threatened him with a lawsuit for causing me grievous emotional trauma."

  Emotions tumbled through him. His dainty little wife with the soft voice and perfect manner had taken on a man feared on three continents for his acerbic tongue and rude manners.

  "He, um, didn't mention that to me."

  "I told him not to. I wanted to surprise you." She cocked one hip and glared at him. "Next time you change your itinerary, let me know, okay? Do you know how uncooperative those airline people are about giving out information? I had to call the company CEO—"

  He couldn't take any more. He dropped his garment bag and reached for her. In his weakened condition he only managed to swing her around three times before his head began to swim.

  "You're really here," she mumbled into his shoulder as he hugged her. Her arms were fierce little bands of need holding him. She wanted him, he thought in a daze of disbelieve and elation. She really, really wanted him.

  "I've changed jobs," he said as he eased her back far enough to get a clear view of her face. Her cheeks were pink, and her eyes bright.

  "I know."

  "I'm going to be the host of a new show the network's putting together. A lot like '60 Minutes.'" He risked a grin. "But better."

  Her smile was like a rare and precious gift. He hadn't realized until this moment how much he'd counted on seeing it again. "It has to be, if you're part of it."

  "It means a lot less travel, and a lot less money."

  Her eyes sparkled. "Is that a warning?"

  He touched her face and realized it was wet. "Just so you know. You don't like surprises, remember?"

  "I remember." She drew a breath, her eyes suddenly clouding. "You look pale."

  "You look wonderful." His mouth quirked. "Skinny."

  "Not quite, but I'm working on it."

  "Stop. You're perfect just as you are."

  "Really?

  "Really."

  She seemed frozen, her gaze locked with his. He wasn't much better, drinking in the sight of her like a blind man with suddenly restored sight. A cry of outraged impatience broke the spell, and they both glanced down. Two boys stared up at him. Bigger than he'd expected, they were dressed in tiny striped trainman's overalls over bright red shirts, the same color as the basketball sneakers on their fat little feet.

  Two little blond boys with big brown eyes.

  Morgan felt his heart stop. He felt a rush of pain, a stab of grief. "They look like Mike." His voice was thick.

  Raine's hand was gentle on his arm. "At first. Wait until you get to know them and you'll see the differences."

  Morgan nodded, already seeing two distinct individuals. Two unique miniature males who happened to look alike. And yet—

  "This one's hair is curlier." He started to lean down, then stopped himself.

  "That's Alex. Alexander Arthur. His brother is Matt. Matthew Morgan."

  He drew a breath. It wasn't enough to dislodge the lump in his throat, forcing him to take another. Someone brushed by and mumbled an apology. A loudspeaker beckoned a traveler to a white phone. Morgan realized they were still standing next to the Jetway. And he still hadn't worked up the nerve to kiss her.

  "So, where do we go from here?" he asked, nearly giddy with hope.

  She glanced down, then lifted her gaze to his. "Home, to your wife and family."

  He grinned, and realized it felt good. "Yeah? Just like that?"

  "Just like that." She paused, then pursed her lips in a little frown that set his blood zinging. "One word of warning, however. If you ever think about leaving me again, I'll have to get extremely severe with you."

  Morgan laughed, his exhaustion already lifting. "It's a deal."

  He kissed her long and hard, oblivious to the stares of his fellow travelers. And then he reached down and gathered an armful of boys. His sons.

  Epilogue

  « ^

  Raine had had a long, arduous day. The spring term at Portland State had just ended, and her store had been filled with students returning books for credit or much-needed cash. She and Ginny had worked overtime. The air-conditioning had quit around two, and her turquoise cotton dress was a wrinkled mess.

  She arrived to find chaos. No sign of dinner. No welcoming hugs and kisses from her men.

  Her beautiful living room was a mess. Toys littered the rare Chinese rug, and two of the newly re-covered cushions from her sofa were on the floor, one of them sporting a sticky smear of a substance that looked remarkably like chocolate milk.

  "Oh my heavens, look at this place." Raine fitted her hands to her hips and tapped an impatient foot.

  Flat on his back in the midst of the disaster, Morgan glanced up sheepishly. "Uh-oh, guys. We're busted."

  The two towheaded boys busily pounding on their father paid no attention. Raine hid a smile. Her three men had formed a fierce bond. In every way that counted, Morgan was the twins' father. To make sure there would never be any doubt, he had quietly adopted them.

  "I suppose you have an explanation for this…" She waved her hand, at a loss for a precise description.

  "It's called free expression," Morgan said, gathering both boys to him for a fierce bear hug before getting all three of them to their feet.

  Raine hid a smile with difficulty. "You've been watching the educational channel again, haven't you?"

  "Now, honey, don't be mad. We'll clean it all up, won't we fellas?"

  Both boys shook their heads. They were growing like weeds. Their pediatrician was sure they'd be tall. Already, at twenty-one months, they were at the
top of his charts. Morgan was already talking about teaching them to play basketball—after he learned the game himself, of course. He'd already bought a book—and a video.

  "Papa's mess," Alex declared firmly.

  Raine speared her husband with an accusing look. "Perhaps Papa has forgotten he's hosting a poker party tonight in less than three hours."

  Morgan grinned smugly. His show was in summer hiatus, and he was relishing his time off. "Don't worry, love. I have everything handled."

  "I doubt that very much."

  Morgan glanced from one bright-eyed son to the other. "Tell Mama the plan, guys."

  "Gran'pa's comin'," Matt said with a grin.

  "To help," Alex added, his grin fully as smug as his father's.

  Raine blinked. "Trust me, guys. Grandpa will take one look at this disaster and faint dead away."

  Morgan grinned. "Nah, he's really a pushover. You just have to know what buttons to push."

  "What buttons?"

  Morgan gave each boy a smacking kiss before setting them on their feet. "Poker. He's hooked."

  "You mean you got tired of being the big loser and recruited fresh blood."

  Morgan placed a big hand over his heart. Right where he'd gotten paint on his ancient T-shirt this past winter when he was helping her redo the boys' room. "You wound me deeply, wife. I wouldn't do anything so devious, especially to your sainted father."

  "Uh-huh."

  There was a pounding on the door in the kitchen, followed by the squeaking of hinges as someone shoved it open. "Hey, in there," a male voice sounding very much like Case's bellowed. "You guys ready?"

  Alex and Matt were halfway to the door before Raine managed to stop them by blocking their path. "Hey, where do you two think you're going?"

  "Pizza," Alex shouted.

  "With Chwoe and Wiwy," Matt added, beaming. "And games."

  Raine shifted her gaze from the two eager faces of her sons to the smug face of her husband. "Would you care to explain this, Mr. Paxton?"

  Her blood heated as he approached, a familiar glint in his golden eyes. "With pleasure, Mrs. Paxton. Case has graciously volunteered to occupy our hellions for an hour or so while we rest."

  "Rest?" she asked suspiciously.

  He nodded. "In the bedroom. With the door locked. All part of the plan."

  Raine felt a rush of anticipation. "I thought you were trying to be more spontaneous."

  "Alex. Matt," Case called impatiently. "Get your butts out here, or we're gonna leave you behind."

  "Hurry up," Chloe's voice chimed in. "Me and Lily are hungry."

  "Me, too, Mama," Morgan said with a grin she could only label lecherous.

  "Oh, all right, but you boys behave yourself for Uncle Case, you hear?"

  Both golden heads bobbed in unison. "Yes, Mama," said Alex.

  "Yes, Mama," echoed Matt before he nudged his brother into a gallop. Seconds later the back door slammed shut and peace descended.

  "Poor Case is in for a hell of a long hour," Morgan muttered, as he slipped his arms around her shoulders.

  "You're terrible," she muttered, raising her arms to encircle his neck. Her breasts pressed his chest, and his eyes darkened. He trailed one finger along the line of her jaw.

  "But lovable, right?"

  Raine's heart filled with love. His tone was teasing, but his eyes were wary. He'd been generous and loving and playful during the last year and a half. He'd told her that he loved her in every way he could—except with words.

  She would be utterly content, if only he weren't still restless. Still unsettled. She tried not to worry. Tried not to look for the small signs that she knew foreshadowed another leave-taking. But she knew that Bronstein had been calling more frequently. And that Morgan had been terribly preoccupied for the last week or so.

  "Very lovable," she said brightly, kissing his chin.

  "So you're happy? Everything's good?"

  "Very."

  When he tensed slightly, her heart sank. He was going to tell her he was leaving. She knew it. "It's okay," she murmured, bracing. "I understand."

  The wariness in his eyes took on edges. "You do?"

  "Of course. And I want you to know I can handle it, so you don't have to feel guilty."

  "Guilty?"

  "About leaving. I knew it was only a matter of time, but it's okay. Really. The boys are older now, and I'm very busy, so—"

  "Well, hell!" He looked supremely irritated, and more than a little hurt. "You really wouldn't care if I suddenly hauled out my bags and started packing, would you?"

  "Of course I care," she said before she remembered her resolve to give him all the space he needed. "It's just that … that—"

  "That you're bored with me." He drew back and raked his hands through his hair. She was struck with the realization she'd never seen him look more vulnerable. "I knew that would happen sooner or later."

  "What, exactly, would happen?" she asked cautiously.

  "It was the glamour you liked, right? The idea of this globetrotting guy who hobnobbed with famous people and had a closet full of awards. It was … sexy to go to bed with a 'name.'"

  She saw it then—the insecurity that had driven him. The lack of confidence that had tormented him. Beneath the polish and the amazing intelligence was a ragged little boy who'd known precious little love.

  She drew herself up taller and made her expression stern. "Now you listen to me, Morgan Paxton, and listen good. I do not care how many famous people you know, and I do not care how many awards you have shoved in our closet, impressive though they are."

  He opened his mouth, but she refused to let him speak. She was on a roll. "I fell in love with a man who made me forget my shyness because he laughed at my pathetic attempts at humor. The same man who made me feel beautiful when I was waddling pregnant. Who cried in his sleep and begged God to take him instead of an eight-year-old boy he adored."

  His eyes flickered, but she refused to stop. It was time they cleared the air. "Yes, you hurt me, but you also healed me. I love you so much that I have to let you do whatever it takes to make you happy. Now, is that perfectly clear, or what?"

  When he still looked skeptical, she drew back her fist and punched him squarely in the belly. His breath escaped in a whoosh, and his expression turned fierce.

  "It's clear, it's clear," he said, his voice still a little strained. "And for the record, I wasn't planning on leaving—at least not for long."

  "You weren't?"

  He shook his head. "I can't leave this place. I belong here. With you and our boys and all the rest of the families on Mill Works Ridge."

  "You do?"

  His mouth slanted. "In fact, I doubt you could blast me out of your life, honey."

  She drew a breath. "Then what—"

  "I was workin' up to askin' you something," he admitted, his drawl soft. "And I wasn't sure how you'd react."

  She drew a breath. "Okay. Ask."

  He glanced down, then lifted his hands to her shoulders. "You've heard me mention Josefa Hanan?"

  "Your source in Lebanon?"

  He nodded. "She, ah, wants to get married to this doctor in Beirut."

  "Good for her."

  His color deepened. "Right. But there's a problem."

  "Which is?"

  "It turns out she has this daughter who's almost three."

  Raine frowned. Oh no, she thought. Please, no. It can't be Morgan's. She shifted her gaze to his and felt a sudden overwhelming sense of relief. No, she thought. He wouldn't break his vows, not even for the most important story in the world. "What's the baby's name?"

  "Morgana." His gaze was clear and steady. "She's not mine."

  "I know that."

  He didn't move, but she felt some of the tension leave him. "You believe me?"

  "Absolutely."

  "Oh, baby." His voice broke, and he cleared his throat. "She won't tell me the name of the father, only that he's American and doesn't want the child. But neither does her hu
sband-to-be. In fact, he won't take Josefa if Morgana is part of the package."

  Raine felt excitement race through her. "Yes," she all but shouted. "Yes, yes, yes!"

  Morgan blinked at her as though she'd suddenly gone loopy. "You were about to ask me if we'd take her, right?" she said eagerly.

  He nodded, looking dazed. "Well, yeah, but how did you know?"

  "I know you, my darling. Your stubborn ways and your big heart. And I love you so much, it's scary." She reached for him and he went into her arms. "There's nothing I would change about you."

  He drew back to look at her, his eyes soft and full of emotion. "Nothing?"

  She pretended to ponder. "Well, maybe one little thing."

  He sighed. "I knew it." He straightened his spine and drew in a breath. "Okay, lay it on me. Whatever you want, it's yours."

  She felt her eyes sparkling. "Anything?"

  "Anything—unless it involves me leaving. Then you'll have a fight."

  She felt the last of her doubts and reservations fall away. "No, but about your determination to do the cooking."

  He lifted his brows. "Yeah, what about it?"

  "Please, please stop. I can't take another lousy meal."

  He narrowed his gaze. "You said you liked my cooking."

  "I said it was utterly amazing the things you could do in the kitchen. There's a difference."

  Morgan drew a careful breath. His darling little pixie wife had just dealt his ego a major blow. And it felt wonderful.

  "I'll make you a deal," he said, holding her tight. "I won't cook and you'll let me take the lead in bed one time out of five."

  Her laughter was like a soft, sweet caress on his scarred soul. "It's a deal, my love."

  He knew then that he was home. At last, and for good.

  * * * * *

  Inhaltsverzeichnis

  Prologue

  1

  2

  3

  4