A Wedding For Baby (Baby Boom)

by Laura Marie Altom

  She didn’t.

  “Anyway,” he continued, “aside from falling for Ben, you seem to have a pretty good head on your shoulders.”

  Rolling her eyes, Gabby left for the kitchen, rubbing her aching lower back

  Unfortunately, Dane followed.

  On the kitchen counter sat dozens of cookies. Sugar. Snickerdoodle. Chocolate-laced oatmeal.

  His size dwarfing her once-adequate kitchen, Dane rummaged in the cabinets for a glass, poured himself some milk and then helped himself to a seat on one of the three counter bar stools.

  “Comfy?” she asked, arms folded, lips pressed together.

  “Yes, ma’am. Thanks for asking.” While she stood fuming, he downed three cookies, and then finished off his milk. “Ben was right. These are seriously good. Why aren’t you a professional?”

  She laughed. “Like a baker?”

  “Yeah, why’s that funny?”

  “Only because in a way, with my massage oils, I kind of am—you know, like a specialized pastry chef. Mixing this and that to turn out just the right confection.”

  “Any plans of starting your own spa?”

  “Maybe.” She fought the urge to tell him to mind his own business. “Right now, my Internet sales are enough for me to live off, and all of the labor is subcontracted. Getting in touch with my clients, brightening their lives, is where my heart truly lies.”

  Eyebrows raised, he asked, “Getting in touch?”

  “Ha, ha. For the record, I only have female clients—most of whom are middle-aged and overly stressed with the knotted muscles to prove it.”

  “Sorry,” he said, and, to his credit, reddening. “I guess that stereotypical sexy masseuse image is tough to get out of my head.”

  “Why, Mr. Bocelli,” she sassed with some sarcasm, “I wasn’t aware that your big head had any room for thoughts of little old me.”

  After clearing his throat, he nodded toward the living area. “Moving on to a safer subject, this place is amazing.”

  “Thanks.” For some odd reason, it warmed her to her toes that he enjoyed her eccentric decorating taste. Dane being Dane, she’d figured him for the type who’d look down on her mismatched home. “I’m addicted to antiques stores and flea markets. Yard sales, too. You just never know what you might find. Which I guess is why I have a decorative representation from every era.” Climbing onto the stool beside him, she added, “I’m particularly proud of my orange seventies sofa.”

  Laughing, Dane said, “It’s actually in pretty decent shape, considering it’s older than either of us.”

  Gabby smacked his shoulder.

  “Hey,” he complained, rubbing his wound, “that hurt.”

  “So did your dig at my furniture.”

  “Sorry. I was teasing. It’s incredible how you pulled all of this together. Kind of like you made a home for everyone’s leftover junk. Only it’s not junk anymore, because you made it nice.”

  “Thanks,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “I think.”

  Tucked between comfy brown leather armchairs was a fifties side table crowned with a Tiffany lamp. Fawn-toned walls provided the perfect backdrop for Gabby’s heirloom needlepoint collection, as well as oil-painted landscapes. Leafy ferns and bamboo palms brightened corners. Set at an angle was a rattan chaise fitted with a downy cushion that made it perfect for lazy afternoons spent reading.

  “What are all of these?” he asked, gesturing to her most prized collection of trinkets she’d grouped on a glass-topped sofa table. The tiny boxes were shaped in everything from pea pods and carrots to the Taj Mahal.

  “Limoges. They’re hand-painted from France.”

  “Cute. How long have you been collecting?”

  “Years. They’re all over the house.” Crossing to a glass-fronted china cabinet, she pulled out a tiny pink VW Bug. “This was my first. My parents gave it to me—along with the real deal—for my college graduation.”

  “They gave you a pink car?”

  “Red car,” she said with a reminiscent grin, thinking back to that special day. “My dad used to decorate it for Christmas. He made a giant goofy hat from felt.”

  “You don’t have it anymore? To put on your Jeep?”

  “No.” Putting her box back in the cabinet so Dane wouldn’t see the tears forming in her eyes, she said, “Now that Mom and Dad are gone—and Ben—I have a tough time with Christmas.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said, his tone softer than it’d ever been before.

  “When my parents were alive, Mom always made a big deal out of the holidays. I’ve got all of her decorations. I’m thinking that for the baby’s first Christmas I’ll start our own traditions. We’ll make it a big deal.” Forcing good cheer, she asked, “Want to come?”

  “Sure. I love a good party.”

  You do?

  Seeing how, to the best of her knowledge, always-dependable Dane avoided partying like the plague, she took his statement as a stab at a joke. Ben was the family good-time boy. Everyone loved being around him. He was one of those people who instantly lit up a room. Just being around him had been magical. Kind of like Christmas—but in human form.

  After an awkward silence, Dane cleared his throat. “This should be a special year for you, what with the baby and all.”

  “Uh-huh.” Drawing her lower lip into her mouth, Gabby nibbled at it tensely.

  “You don’t look especially excited.”

  “I am,” she said, heading for the kitchen pass-through counter where she’d set the cookie platter. Taking one, she bit a peanut butter ball rather than her lip. “Just scared. Tired. Overwhelmed. Wondering if I’m being foolish in thinking I can handle it all, but not really having much choice.”

  “Fair enough.” After more silence broken only by a copper fountain’s trickle, he asked, “If the subject is off limits, and feel free telling me to butt out, but what happened between you and Ben? I mean, other than him just taking off? I thought you two were solid?”

  Wow. Where to start? For that matter, considering who she was seated alongside, did she even want to start? Oddly enough, even though she was still livid with Ben, a part of her was still loyal to him. Especially knowing how Dane seemed to take every opportunity to slam his brother down.

  “Um…Long story short? He found out I was pregnant and freaked. About two weeks in, the night I’d expected him to propose, he announced he was sorry, but wasn’t ready to be a father. Too many wild oats left to sow.”

  “Jackass…” Dane mumbled under his breath.

  “I shouldn’t have even told you,” she said in Ben’s defense. “Why do you hate him so much?”

  “I don’t hate him. For crying out loud, he’s my brother, but what’s wrong with you? What kind of hold does he have on you that here you are, about to pop with his baby, you haven’t so much as heard from him in months, yet you’re still jumping to his defense?”

  “I’m sorry. He is the father of my child. Shouldn’t I owe him some loyalty for that?”

  Dane snorted. “If you were an adoring poodle. Aren’t you the least bit angry for what he’s done?”

  “Duh. But what good is getting mad going to do? I don’t even know where he is. How can I rail on him?”

  “But you would? If you could?”

  What a loaded question. Would she? Really, let Ben have it?

  Sometimes, yes.

  Sometimes, no.

  Obviously, if she’d loved Ben enough to make a baby with him, her feelings ran deep. Yes, she wanted him to, along with her, take responsibility for the child they’d be bringing into the world, but who wanted to force a guy to marry you? It was kind of like having Mama Bocelli approach Dane about helping out with Lamaze coaching—humiliating. Granted, Dane, with his overblown sense of family pride, most likely would’ve stepped in regardless of what his mom wanted him to do, but that was beside the point.

  Gabby had her own inborn sense of pride, and it would’ve been nice if at least one of the Bocelli men had wanted to be wit
h her out of love. Or, in Dane’s case, friendship rather than duty.

  Still, considering what a monster of a time she’d had assembling the crib, and how badly her back had been hurting, it was a wonderful feeling knowing she wasn’t completely on her own. Even if he had been coerced into it, Gabby was profoundly grateful for Dane’s help.

  WHILE GABRIELLE CONTINUED to bake, Dane finished the changing table. He couldn’t say what had gotten into him to have gone off on her. Maybe since the first time Ben had sung her praises, Dane had been secretly resentful. Why would such a seemingly perfect woman even want Ben?

  For that matter, why did he even care?

  He suspected it had something to do Naomi, who’d once claimed to love Dane. Right. Which must be why she’d dumped him for Ben after meeting his brother at a Sunday family dinner. Dane had been so certain about Naomi having been the one.

  He’d wanted to marry her.

  Start a family with her.

  Which was yet another reason helping Gabrielle was fulfilling yet maddening. The fact that in a perfect world, he’d be assembling furniture for his own son or daughter. Instead of getting easier, being around Gabrielle and her bulging Lamaze buddies was growing harder by the day. The closer they came to giving birth, the more he wanted a kid of his own.

  “Looks good.” Leaning against the open door, Gabrielle nodded toward the changing table.

  “Thanks,” he said, gathering his tools. “Your latest batch of cookies smell great.”

  Shrugging off his compliment, she said, “Sorry you got roped into helping me yet again. I’m sure you’ve got better things to do.”

  Shrugging, he said, “There’s still plenty of time left in the day.”

  “Yeah, but….”

  He glanced her way, only to get a shock. Her color wasn’t just off, but lurking somewhere between the shade of a café latte and Pepto-Bismol. Abandoning his gear, he rose. “Is your back bothering you?”

  “No.” Clenching her jaw and pressing her hand to her lower back, she turned to leave the room.

  “Not so fast,” he said, lightly grasping her upper arm, wishing her pained expression didn’t oddly slice through him. “Has this been going on awhile?”

  “No. Not long.”

  Stealing a moment to ponder the statement, he asked, “Yeah, but wasn’t your back hurting the night of our last Lamaze class?”

  “No,” she lied, tugging free from his hold. “I probably just need a nap. That’s all.”

  “Uh-huh. Where are your shoes?” he asked, eyeing her fuzzy, tie-dyed slippers.

  “For Saturday afternoon, I’m wearing them, see?” She gave a sassy foot wiggle.

  “Gabrielle,” he said, noting the forced lightness of her tone, “this is no joke. You’re, like, a year pregnant. As a favor to me, please, let’s run you to the E.R. We’ll be back before you can say Baby GÜnter.”

  “That’s right,” she quipped, tottering down the hall. “Because I’m not going any—” Wincing so hard tears escaped the corners of her eyes, she clutched the wall.

  “That’s it….” In about two seconds, he’d scooped her into his arms. “Where’s your purse?”

  “Put me down,” she protested. “If, after my nap, I’m still hurting, I’ll get Steph or Olivia, or even your mother, to take me to the doctor.”

  “Trust me, if you call Mom, Nana will want to come, and then the two of them will make you feel even worse.”

  She couldn’t help but laugh at his joke—especially seeing how it was probably true.

  “Like it or not,” Dane said, “you’re going with me.” Assuming the oversize designer bag on the counter to be her purse, he snatched it on his way out the door.

  “Put me down,” she ordered along with a wriggle that made it tough to keep a strong hold on her and search for her keys. “This is ridiculous. I’m—”

  “Holy crap, Gabrielle, quit fighting me and hush. Whatever’s going on with you, I felt it. It’s like your whole body tensed.”

  Forehead beaded with sweat, she nodded, resting her cheek against his shoulder. “It probably wouldn’t be a bad idea to get this checked out.”

  “You think?” he said with a strangled laugh. Eyeing a front porch swing, he gingerly set her there while he fished through her monstrosity of a purse. Her key ring featured a stuffed, red-sequined heart. When he clutched it, an obnoxious electronic version of “That’s Amore” filled the sweltering early-September air.

  “I-isn’t that cute? Ben found it for me in Eureka Springs.”

  “Swell.” Door locked, his own keys in hand, Dane navigated the jungle of hanging and potted ferns, flowers and gnomes, to find his way back to her. “Your insurance card in your wallet?”

  Eyes closed, biting her lower lip, she nodded. “B-but if you’d just call Olivia, she knows all of my vitals. We exchanged info—j-just in case.”

  Ignoring her latest protest was easier than hefting her back into his arms. Even though she was only twenty-nine weeks into her pregnancy, she looked ready to pop.

  “I can walk,” she complained.

  “I’m sure you can,” he said, footfalls heavy on the porch’s whitewashed, wood-plank floor. Lord, but it was a scorcher outside. “How’re you doing?”

  “G-great,” she said, teeth chattering as he headed down a winding stone path to her driveway, temporarily setting her to her feet while opening the passenger door of his black Escalade. Chattering teeth? On a blazing-hot, pushing-triple-digits day? Not a good sign. “I just need a good nap.”

  “Right.” With the door open, his aching back wasn’t too happy about hefting Gabrielle onto the passenger seat, but the task was soon enough finished. Once he’d buckled her in and, since she had no lap, set her purse on her slippers, he shut her door and circled to his own side of the car.

  Behind the wheel, he asked, “You okay?”

  “I-I’m good. Feeling m-much better.” Her sideways panicked grin told a different story.

  Revving the engine to life, he peeled out of her drive, aiming the powerful vehicle probably way faster than he should’ve down the quiet, maple-lined street.

  With Gabrielle’s each breathy moan, panic seized him.

  “Is my baby going to be okay?” she asked, voice faint, as if drifting through a fog.

  “Damned straight,” he said through gritted teeth, zigzagging around traffic on the more heavily used main artery.

  “C-can you please f-find Olivia? And Steph?”

  “Sure,” he said, wanting to hold her hand but, considering the vehicle’s current speed, needing both of his on the wheel.

  “Promise? It r-really hurts, and I’m—”

  He was on the verge of telling her anything to ease the worried frown between her brows, when she slumped over in her seat.

  “Gabrielle?” Checking her out, he fishtailed.

  The guy behind him honked, then flipped him off.

  “Gabrielle!”

  With the hospital a mere block away, he pushed the vehicle’s speed to well over the legal limit.

  Tires squealing, he rammed the car to a stop beneath the E.R.’s covered portico.

  Leaping out, and nearly strangling himself on his still-fastened seat belt, he left the car running while bolting for the E.R. entrance.

  Out of breath, but full of determination, he stormed to the front of a three-patient-deep line.

  “Sir!” the scrub-wearing clerk shouted above already hostile protests. “You’ll have to wait your turn!”

  “Sorry,” he said, “but my—” What was Gabrielle to him? Not his wife or girl or mother of his child. An acquaintance, really.

  “Your what, sir?”

  “My, um, friend…” Dane finally decided upon. What was wrong with him? His chest tightened. Was he having a freakin’ heart attack? “I’m afraid she’s losing her baby.”

  Chapter Four

  “Did you ever find Olivia and Steph?” Gabby asked, squeezing Dane’s hand as he walked beside the gurney toward the eleva
tor leading to the hospital’s fifth-floor labor-and-delivery unit. A brief examination had determined her to be seven centimeters dilated, but her water hadn’t broken. After having read nearly a dozen pregnancy books, how could she have been so foolish as to not recognize signs of early labor? “I’m not ready. This can’t be happening.”

  “It’ll be all right,” he said, smoothing stray hair from her forehead when her nurse stopped the gurney and pressed the up button. “I’ll find them.”

  “Your mother and Nana? I changed my mind, and do want to see them.”

  “Absolutely,” he assured her. “I’ll find anyone you’d like. But I’m sure this will turn out to be no big deal.”

  Though she nodded, the searing pain that was now not only in her back, but abdomen made her doubt his words. Was her baby in danger? Throughout her pregnancy, she’d worried about an event just like this. Had she done something wrong? Not paid close enough attention to her diet? Pushed herself too hard at her biweekly expectant mothers’ yoga class?

  With a ding, the elevator doors swished open.

  The gurney’s jostle over the threshold worsened her pain. To keep from crying out, Gabby bit her lower lip. The overhead fluorescent lights were mercilessly bright, so she closed her eyes on them. On the reality they forced her to face. Behind closed eyes, her baby was fine and so was she. The screaming pain was gone and she was back home, her son in her arms, seated in the cozy new rocker she’d only recently had delivered.

  “We’re almost there,” the nurse said when the elevator jolted to a stop.

  “Sir, as the baby’s father, you’ll need to stop at the desk to fill out a few forms.”

  “I’m not—”

  “He’s not—”

  “Dr. Pool!” the nurse called, ignoring them both.

  A woman Gabby had never met jogged their way. “Mrs. Craig?” she asked with a warm but concerned smile.

  “It’s Ms.,” Gabby said. “I’m going to be a, ah, single mom.”

  “Oh.” After a glance Dane’s way, the doctor made a notation on her chart. She asked him, “Are you a family member?”