Читать книгу: «Her Baby's Father»

One

She was late. Reese Howard was punctual to a fault. He’d grown up always missing appointments and being left behind, so it was a passion of his. In fact, it was a pet peeve and it added fuel to the simmering fire he felt toward this assignment.

All his life he’d worked to break out of the mold his childhood had shaped for him. Though he hadn’t been destined for success, success had become his. But at what price?

Not even thirty-five, and he had chronic high blood pressure; his doctor had recommended retirement due to a history of heart disease in his family and his workaholic habits. Instead of retiring, he’d changed career paths midstream, leaving a primo job at the Los Angeles Times as an investigative reporter. Going from a man in the thick of things to a fluff-article writer.

This new assignment for the Life-styles section of California Magazine, a lame story series titled “Artificial Insemination—Wave of the Future,” made him wince.

He glanced again at his watch, cursing this ridiculous assignment. He knew his anger was directed more toward himself and the circumstances that had led him here than at the late Ms. MacFadden.

It was a hot summer day. He wanted to be out on the Time Lapse, his thirty-foot yacht, skimming San Francisco Bay instead of lurking outside an artificial insemination clinic. The breeze blew across the bay, stirring the hair at the back of his neck. Reese leaned his head against the sun-warmed stone wall. Feeling older than he had a right to, he breathed deeply and tried to relax.

But he couldn’t relax. He felt like a pervert—afraid someone would see him and think he was a donor.

It grated on him in a core way that sperm banks existed for single women. He understood how a couple experiencing infertility might need to visit a place like this, but a woman on her own—never. A man’s duty was to get his mate pregnant.

Even as the thought rolled through his mind, he knew it was chauvinistic. But there was a reason why God had created two sexes and put them on Earth together, and it wasn’t so that they could procreate without ever touching.

Though he wasn’t domesticated and would probably never have any offspring, his male pride chafed at the idea of a woman having a child on her own. He knew a lot of men dropped the ball on the fatherhood front, but that didn’t mean there weren’t a lot of stand-up guys ready to sign on for the long haul. There were enough guys that sperm banks weren’t necessary.

His magazine had arranged to pay for the procedure for a woman, Sabrina MacFadden, to ensure that she’d tell them all the details of her decision. She must be desperate—probably thirty-eight, never been with a man and looked as appealing as a tight end after a particularly grueling play-off game.

He’d left L.A. for this?

Squinting against the late-afternoon sun, he propped himself against the side of the building to wait for the MacFadden woman. A loud thumping beat of music drew his attention to the parking lot. A classic ’69 Mustang convertible pulled neatly into a front parking spot.

The top was down and the driver wore a bright red scarf tied around her hair and big, flashy sunglasses. She stepped out of the car and removed the covering from her head. Long reddish-brown hair fell in waves around her shoulders. He wanted to bury his hands in her thick curls.

Oh, yeah.

She reached into the car, then pulled out a navy suit jacket. As she tugged it on, the silk shell she wore pulled tight across her breasts. Reese knew he should look away, but he couldn’t.

The woman walked like a dream. Reese briefly considered ditching the assignment and seducing her into going home with him. She was the embodiment of a dream he’d had when he’d been sixteen. His favorite classic car and a sexy woman, both in overdrive.

Pig, he thought.

The woman moving toward him had endless legs. They seemed to start at her armpits and go on forever. The straight skirt ended at mid-thigh and crept upward the tiniest bit with each step she took. He’d never seen such perfect thighs. He felt that she was a dream come to life. He fantasized about those legs as she strode toward him with the fluid grace of a dancer. Maybe this wasn’t going to be a bad day, after all.

The fitted skirt molded to her hips like a second skin. Longing to caress her, he shoved his hands into his pockets. A shadow blocked her face from view, leaving the mundane detail of her identity to his fantasy.

He imagined they were on a deserted beach and she wore a skimpy bikini. Realistically, he assumed her body wouldn’t be as good-looking under her clothes as it was dressed in that sexy bit of nothing his imagination had supplied, but his lusty mind filled in all the details. She would look like a cross between Cindy Crawford and Kathy Ireland, but not too perfect, because perfection was its own evil. She’d have the mind of a nuclear physicist and she’d bake like Betty Crocker, because every woman should know how to cook.

Knowing his eyes were masked by the mirrored shades of his aviator sunglasses, he continued to ogle her body as she stopped in front of him. A soft summer breeze ruffled her hair and carried the scent of flowers to him.

“Excuse me?” she said.

Her designer sunglasses hid her eyes and half of her face, but her nose was perky. He liked that. With her body, classic features would have been overkill.

“Yes?”

“Are you Reese Howard?” she asked, the words reaching his ears in slow motion.

Ah, the fantasy continues. Maybe he’d been in the sun too long. Her mouth intrigued him. He had to shake off his lethargy. But more than anything he wanted to kiss those lips, especially her full bottom lip, which looked as if it were begging for a man’s caress. To nibble there before delving deeper and exploring the secret recesses of her mouth. He wanted to feel that mouth move under his as he thoroughly plundered it.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Great. I’m Sabrina MacFadden. Sorry I’m late.”

She held out her hand and he responded automatically with a handshake. The touch of her delicate fingers shot sparks from his arm to his groin. The sun must have made him dizzy, because never before had touching a woman had such an immediate reaction on his body. Her fingers were long and fine-boned. Her fragile, feminine grip made him feel like a big brute—a masculine warrior. It brought to the fore all of his gut instincts—conquer her and make her completely his.

She removed her sunglasses with her free hand. He stared into eyes the color of the deep Caribbean Sea where he’d spent last summer. Vulnerable eyes that seemed to invite him closer to her while begging him to stay away. Eyes that reminded him of home—not the house he’d spent his childhood in, but that deep sated feeling for which he’d always secretly longed.

Realizing he’d never responded to her, he muttered, “No problem. Let’s go across the street to the Bay Side Café and we’ll start our interview.”

Big problem. This woman was messing with his libido and his protective instincts. He didn’t like it. She was supposed to be older, more maidenly and about as tempting as three-day-old bread. She was young, sexy, vibrant; alive in a way he’d forgotten how to be.

The only time he came close to that feeling anymore was when he was doing something dangerous. Rappelling without a partner in the dead of night, driving his motorcycle through Devil’s Pass at ninety, hanging on by sheer guts. A sense of purity around this woman reminded him of the fleetingness of his own life.

He cupped her elbow to help her across the street. She stiffened. Okay, he knew she didn’t need help but he’d wanted to touch her. Longed to feel her smooth, elegant arm under his hand. He wanted to wrap his arm around her shoulders and pull her flush against his body.

Reese dropped her arm. Hell, he was a professional. He didn’t get involved with his interview subjects. When the light changed and they crossed the street, he shortened his stride to allow her to walk comfortably. Mario, the owner, spotted him and gave him the thumbs-up sign when he saw Ms. MacFadden. Reese held her chair as she seated herself at the outdoor café.

She was the kind of woman men noticed, Reese realized. Certainly not the kind of woman who’d have to have a child on her own. If only she wanted to stay single and childless, he thought. He assured himself that once they sat down and talked she’d lose her appeal.

He’d played the field for a long time. He’d worked hard in L.A. but had partied hard as well. There had never been time for a serious relationship, which was fine with him. He acknowledged that most women seemed the same to him. There was no longer the thrill of meeting and discovering something new.

But here it was. And stronger than he’d ever experienced before because it was so unexpected. Like the excitement he’d found only in his former work, and in the danger he’d chased on sheer rock mountain faces and rivers of roiling white water. He hadn’t felt this alive in a long, long time.

And a woman was making him feel that way.

Not a drugged-out street thug who mistook him for a cop, or even the wild ocean in the middle of an unexpected storm or dangerous rapids on the raging Colorado. It was a woman!

Please, God, let her be ditzy.

Sabrina MacFadden fiddled nervously with her water glass. Reese Howard was not the type of man she’d pictured. She hadn’t expected to feel a spark of desire when they’d touched. She shook hands all the time in her role as secretary to the vice president of sales. It was the kind of job that demanded lots of interaction and hand-to-hand contact, but nothing, nothing had prepared her for the shock she’d felt. More like a sense of rightness. A feeling that she’d met the yin to her yang.

He should have been some stereotypical newspaperman who looked like he belonged in another era instead of the muscle-bound guy sitting across from her. This guy probably had never encountered an obstacle he couldn’t conquer.

His biceps bulged when he pulled over an extra chair. She felt like a ninety-pound weakling despite the fact that she worked out. Well okay, jazzercise really only worked if you went every week, but still.

She’d never felt so feminine. Never been this close to a man whose testosterone level was so high she could almost smell it. He was a man’s man. The kind of guy who could walk into a roughhouse-roadside bar and feel at home.

His touch at her elbow when they’d crossed the street had burned through her thin summer suit jacket. For a minute she’d forgotten why she’d given up on men. But the answer rushed back. There was no mythical Mr. Right waiting out there for her. Just good-looking guys ready for a “good time” and then goodbye. Reese Howard would be no different, she reminded herself firmly.

“Do you like latte?”

“Yes,” she said. She’d become addicted to caffeine early in life when her maternal grandparents had fixed her “sweet coffee” in a demitasse.

He ordered fancy coffee for both of them, in a way that annoyed her. But she let it go because surely she’d annoyed him by being late. He probably needed to reestablish his position of control. Having worked with men throughout her career, she was used to the way they tried to hoard power and had learned to fight the big battles and let go of the little ones.

He propped his elbow on the table and watched her. It unnerved her. She wished she could see his eyes. Was he really looking at her? The mirrored shades showed her nothing but herself.

The woman looking back at her wasn’t one she embraced. It was a breezy day. Her hair seemed to have a will of its own, which dictated that it writhe around her head like Medusa’s snakes. Concerned that he’d give her a bad report to his boss, she tried unobtrusively to tame her hair with her hands.

Worry never solved anything. Calm down.

But she couldn’t. So much rode on the outcome of their initial meeting. What if he went back to his editors and told them to find a different woman for the artificial insemination article? She’d have to find a way to pay for it herself, and money was tight right now because she was saving to buy a house on Mount Tam. And banks liked to see money in your account before they lent you more money.

The only thing she owned of real value was the classic car her father had purchased for her the year she’d been born. And after his death two years ago she’d promised herself to never sell it. She would in an extreme emergency, but right now there was another option. An option that would bring her lifelong dream of being a mother to fruition.

She glanced out over the bay and remembered why she’d started making sacrifices. She had always wanted a large family, but her parents had been in their late forties when she’d been born and they hadn’t been able to have any more children. She missed her mom and dad, craving the bond of family the way some people craved money and others coveted power.

She craved children because a large hole in the center of her soul couldn’t be filled by work or dating. She needed to nurture a small being, to pass on the stories and skills she’d learned from her parents and leave behind a small piece of herself. And she wanted to start on her family before she was too old to enjoy a child.

Her failed marriage had proved the only way she’d have a family was to go out and create one herself. She needed the stability. She missed the love and caring. She wanted to be able to accomplish something meaningful before she died. She’d had one of her closest friends die last year from cancer. Sabrina felt everything happened for a reason. Marcia’s death had convinced Sabrina it was time to make changes. She wasn’t going to live forever.

The sun beat down on the back of her head, and despite an occasional breeze, she was hot. The sea air smelled sweet and she wished she were on the beach. Maybe holding hands with her faceless dream man. The one who always showed up in her fantasies but never in real life.

She wanted every detail of this interview to be perfect. Hopefully, the reporter would be so impressed by her, that he would make his editor understand why it was so important she have a child. She must make up for the ground she’d lost by being late. The magazine hadn’t paid for anything yet—this interview would be the deciding factor.

Once their lattes arrived, Reese removed a narrow pad from his back pocket. “Tell me about your decision to have a child by yourself.”

He removed his sunglasses, and she found herself staring into eyes the color of the darkest night. They had to be brown, she thought, but they were so dark they seemed black. The lines of his face showed signs of hard living and time in the sun. She’d always been attracted to outdoorsy men. Reese Howard was rugged and drop-dead gorgeous—and he’d been eyeing her when she’d walked up to him.

“I’m lonely,” she said at last, thinking of this past solitary Christmas. All of her friends spent the time with family, and though Kayla had insisted she’d be welcome with her family, Sabrina simply couldn’t spend the holiday with her friend.

It would have demonstrated to Kayla and the world what Sabrina didn’t have. It was then that she’d made her decision to have a child. The idea had been in her mind for months, but sitting in front of the gaily decorated Christmas tree by herself had focused her resolution.

He didn’t write that down. He set a ratty-looking pen on the table and leaned forward, bracing his weight on his folded arms. The breeze kicked up again and ruffled the hair that brushed the back of his collar. He needed a haircut, she thought.

“Lonely how?” he asked, his voice raspy. The kind of voice her faceless dream lover had. The sexy tone made her shiver inside her coat and she rubbed her arms to dispel the sensation.

She began to feel more at ease and practically forgot that this wasn’t a casual meeting between friends, but a business interview. He made her feel as if she were the only woman in the world. What she had to say was important to him, she realized. “I have no family. Everyone at work has a family, some are close-knit, some complain about family members, and I have no one.”

He narrowed his eyes and looked out over the bay. Sailboats, wind surfers and water skiers peppered the water. “Are you an orphan?”

“Not really. But my parents died a few years ago.” She let the memory of her dad play through her mind. He’d often smelled sweetly of pipe tobacco, and his embrace had always engulfed her, making her feel cherished and safe in a way she hadn’t in a long time. And she missed her mom’s smile and warm understanding. She wanted one last hug from them, but knew, of course, she could never have it.

She longed to be a little person’s security blanket. The one thing that made a child feel safe in the middle of the night when scary monsters came to call. And later in life, when the teenage social scene left heartbreak, she wanted to soothe the hurt. She wanted to feel as if she was making a difference in someone’s life the way her parents had in hers. But more important, she wanted to share the joy of living with someone else. With family.

“I’m sorry,” he said. And she saw in his eyes that he really was. For an instant their gazes met and she felt that same current charge through her. Something shocking and unexpected, like a stream of warm water in the cool Pacific Ocean.

“Thanks. I still miss them,” she said. Tears burned the backs of her eyes but didn’t fall. She blinked several times and looked away.

“My dad is gone, too,” he said.

“What about your mom?” she asked, though it wasn’t her interview.

“She died giving birth to me,” he said in a way that didn’t encourage further questions.

She glanced back at him and was compelled to touch him. Taking his hand in hers, she rubbed her thumb over his knuckles. He stared at her for a long minute before finally turning away.

Sabrina looked down at their hands, startled again by his size. His hands were tanned where hers were pale. His skin callused where hers was smooth. His touch comforting where her life had been lacking for so long.

She pulled her hand from his slowly, reluctant to stop touching him. Shoving her hands in her lap, she forced herself to be more businesslike. No matter how comfortable she felt with him, he wasn’t her friend. He wasn’t her soul mate no matter how much his deep eyes made him seem so. He wasn’t anything more to her than a stranger.

“Why is having a child on your own terms so important to you?” he asked.

Sabrina looked out at the sea and gathered her thoughts. She knew why she wanted a baby, but she’d never put it into words. It was more a feeling of something that was missing.

“I’m not sure I’ll say this right, but it’s like there’s this big part of me missing. My arms ache to hold a baby—not my friends’ or co-workers’, but my own.”

She glanced up to see if he understood what she was trying to say. It was impossible to tell from his expression. Her feelings about the baby were tied closely to the woman she’d dreamed of being when she was eighteen and about to be married.

She remembered standing in a church filled with family and friends and staring down the aisle at the man she thought would love her forever. The man she thought would father all four of the children she dreamed of having.

Now she once again felt like a woman on the cusp of change. But this time she was in control—and finally on the edge of having her dream come true. All she had to do was convince the man sitting across from her to grant this wish.

She reached for her latte, then took a deep swallow. She felt as if she’d regained the ground she’d lost by her tardiness.

“One last question and we’ll wrap this up,” he said, giving her a grin that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Why don’t you want a man in your life?”