You're My Baby. Laura Abbot

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СКАЧАТЬ it is. My neighborhood.” He glanced at her, apparently expecting some sort of reaction.

      “I love it when people rehab these beautiful older areas. There’s much more individuality and artistic expression in these homes. I’ve never been a cookie-cutter subdivision kind of person. I bought my condo because it was the one thing close to school I could afford.”

      “I needed a yard for the rare occasions when Andy visits. Although I had to do a lot of painting and refinishing, the basic structure of the house is sound.” He slowed in front of a two-story brick home with a full front porch and a detached garage. “Here we are.”

      Tall trees shaded the yard and a hardy arborvitae hedge obscured the foundation. He pulled in the driveway beside the kitchen door.

      “Aha! I knew it. There it is.” She pointed toward the backyard, half of which was devoted to a large concrete patio with a basketball hoop at the far end.

      He chuckled. “What’d you expect? This way, when I miss a shot, I’m not visible from the street.”

      “You? Miss a shot?” She poked him playfully. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

      He ushered her to a chaise longue near the grill and excused himself. When he returned, he carried a glass of lemonade for her and a beer for himself. “I guess you’re off alcohol now?”

      “Yes, thanks. That’s thoughtful of you.” She didn’t have the heart to tell him that citrus ate at her stomach lining.

      He busied himself at the grill, while she studied the yard. It could do with a feminine touch. No flowers had sprouted here in a long time and the patio furniture was rusty and mismatched. She studied the lawn, trying to visualize a sandbox or a swing set. It was odd that he hadn’t invited her inside. Maybe that would come later.

      When, at last, he finished swabbing the chicken pieces with a lemony sauce that smelled wonderful, he pulled up a chair at right angles to her and sat down.

      She smiled. “All set?”

      “For now. I hope you don’t mind not going out to a restaurant.” He folded his hands, nervously circling his thumbs.

      “We can talk better here.”

      “That’s what I figured.” He drew himself upright. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking—”

      “Me, too.”

      “I owe you an apology.”

      “What on earth for?”

      He placed his hands palms-down on his thighs. “For assuming you would welcome my crazy idea. You must think I’m about as self-centered as they come.”

      The lemonade soured in her throat. “Wait. What are you trying to say?”

      “This isn’t a business proposition. You need a real family. Not—what do they call it—a marriage of convenience.”

      Pam could literally feel the color draining from her face. “Are you reneging?”

      He leaned forward, his expression anguished. “I would never do that. It’s just that…I took advantage of your…position.”

      “And you don’t think my marrying you would take advantage of yours?”

      “Jeez, Pam, I never should have mentioned it. Logically, I suppose, it made sense, but marriage has to be about more than what’s good for Andy, what’s good for the baby. It would need to be about us. Otherwise, we could never pull it off.”

      “Are you afraid?”

      “Of course I am. Aren’t you?”

      “Is that why you’re calling this off?”

      His jaw dropped. “Are you saying what I think you are?”

      She closed her eyes briefly, then looked straight into his. “I’m saying yes, I’ll marry you.”

      “But—”

      She swung her legs to the ground to face him. “It can be about us. It can be about two friends who have mutual respect for each other. Love may be an overrated emotion. I can’t speak for you, but I’ve never had much luck with it. Surely we can reach an understanding, somehow compromise to make this work.” She hesitated. “Unless you’ve totally changed your mind.”

      “You’re certain about this?”

      “My baby needs a name. And I can’t think of a better one than yours. But I do think it would be prudent to put our understanding in writing. Just so we’re clear.”

      “You mean some kind of contract?”

      “Exactly.”

      He took hold of her hands, then rose to his feet, pulling her up, too. He took a deep breath, then said in a husky voice, “I’ll do my best to make this arrangement as comfortable for you as I can.”

      They stood motionless, their eyes locked. Pam’s face was flushed with an emotion she couldn’t name. It was beyond gratitude, beyond fear. Finally she broke the spell. “Looks like we have an agreement to formalize and a wedding to plan, Mr. Gilbert.”

      PAM AMAZED HIM. Calmly, confidently, she’d agreed to marry him. With a tectonic shift, his plan had lurched from the theoretical to the actual. Detecting the odor of seared meat, he edged toward the grill. “We’ll think better on full stomachs.” Grateful for the excuse to turn his back, he took the chicken pieces off the fire, all the time trying to master his confusing emotions—relief mixed with panic, excitement tempered by anxiety. And fear. Not of the day-to-day stuff—that he could handle. But fear that the unexpected elation welling within him would be short-lived. He’d promised not to hurt her. But, he suddenly realized, he’d given her the power to hurt him, if he let himself care—and it was going to be almost impossible not to.

      Over dinner they agreed to obtain the marriage license in another county the next morning and be quietly married on Saturday. Further, she consented to live in his home. Naturally they would maintain separate bank accounts and, for legal purposes, Pam would retain her maiden name. Besides, all the school rosters would already list her as Carver. That way, she said, it would be easier when…

      But he noticed she didn’t complete the sentence.

      Then, clearing his throat nervously, he said, “I guess I need to reassure you about something. This is a business deal. I wouldn’t expect we’d, uh, have—”

      “Sex.” She completed his thought. “Of course not. That never crossed my mind. We’re just friends, and friends we’ll remain.”

      With all the details committed to writing, they dug into the meal with gusto. Pam even apologized for her hearty appetite. “The little guy needs to grow,” Grant suggested.

      “Little guy?” She looked up with a smile that turned him to mush. “It could be a girl, you know.”

      “Do you have a preference?”

      “Healthy. That’s my preference.”

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