Baby's First Christmas. Marie Ferrarella

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      “Don’t skulk away.” His father’s voice stopped him just as Sullivan reached the threshold. “I’m just meditating. Can’t a man close his eyes without everyone thinking he’s asleep, or dead?” Oliver pressed the controls on his armrest and brought the motorized wheelchair around. “Well, you certainly took your time coming to me.” He didn’t wait for Sullivan’s reply. “So, did you go through Derek’s effects?”

      “Yes.” Damn, this was hard. He knew how his father was going to take the news, and he dreaded what it would do to him.

      “And it was just another one of his cruel jokes, right?” Watery green eyes looked up at him hopefully, charging him to give an affirmative answer. “He didn’t sell himself, did he?”

      It would be a great deal easier to lie and say it had all been a cruel hoax. But then he would have to eat those words should the information ever come to light. Sullivan exchanged looks with Osborne.

      The old man knew, he thought. Somehow, he knew. But then, he’d always had an uncanny ability to see through them all.

      “No, it wasn’t a joke, Dad. Derek really did go to a sperm bank.”

      Oliver’s jaw slackened, and anger colored his shallow cheeks. “Buy it back!” he thundered. “Hang the cost, just buy it back.”

      Sullivan shook his head. “It’s too late for that.”

      “Too late?” Oliver uttered the question as if air were leaking out of him. “What do you mean, it’s too late? How late?”

      “A woman’s already been impregnated.”

      For a moment Sullivan was afraid that his father was suffering another stroke. The old man’s face turned red, and he looked as if he were struggling to breathe. But he waved both men back when they approached him.

      “Who is she? What kind of woman would do that? No, never mind who she is. I don’t care. The less I know, the better.” Oliver seemed to make up his mind instantly. “I want that child, Sullivan. Do what you have to do. Offer her the moon, whatever she wants, but I want that child.”

      Momentarily energized, he swung his chair around to face Osborne. “We can turn Derek’s old room into a nursery.”

      Sullivan knew it wasn’t going to be as easy as that. He didn’t want his father riding for a fall.

      “Dad—” he began.

      Oliver didn’t want to hear any protests. He was old and had earned the right to have things his way. His oldest son was gone, and now here was another chance to make things right, to do things for Derek’s child the way he hadn’t been able to do for Derek.

      It was as if Providence had smiled down on him again, giving him a second opportunity.

      “Just do it,” Oliver ordered, turning his piercing gaze to the chess board. “I don’t want to play that silly game any more, Osborne. I’m tired. Take me to my room.”

      The pencil-thin man in the black livery rose. “Very good, sir.” The look Osborne gave Sullivan was one filled with compassion.

      Sullivan was left standing in the living room, feeling bone tired.

       Chapter Three

       I t had been one of those extremely long days that felt as if it would never end. Marlene sighed as she kicked off her high heels and entered the living room. The thick rug felt good beneath her stockinged feet, and she allowed herself to absorb the sensation, letting it settle over her. It always took her a while to unwind.

      She had thought, once she had gotten through her fourth month, that she would cease to feel so tired. But she supposed she hadn’t taken into account marathon days that began at six and lasted until seven in the evening. Tonight she felt like the rag that had been used to wipe the benches at Dodger Stadium.

      Sinking down in the wing chair, she raised her feet onto the ottoman. Even that little movement was a tremendous effort.

      She knew she really should make more of an attempt to cut back on her hours. Dr. Pollack had been pretty adamant about it, saying that if she wasn’t careful, she ran the risk of coming down with toxemia. Then she would really be out of commission. That warning had put the fear of God into her. Temporarily. Marlene had compromised by restructuring her work day—down to ten hours from sixteen.

      Except for today.

      A rueful smile lifted the corners of her mouth. God knew she tried, but in reality she didn’t know how not to work. And she had completely forgotten how to actually relax for more than a few minutes at a time. Her usual pattern was to work until she was numb and then collapse into bed.

      Just like Father, she remembered ruefully. The comparison didn’t please her.

      Marlene lifted her hair from her neck. It was the end of November, but she felt uncomfortably warm. She hoped it wasn’t a warning sign that something was wrong.

      Her thoughts returned to her father, making her frown. She liked to think that she was different from James Bailey. Yet here she was, working long hours and still living in the family house, just as he had continued to do after her mother had left.

      The house was hers now, just as the business was. She hadn’t been able to convince him to divide it equally between Nicole and herself in his will. He’d hung on to the feud with Nicole until the day he died.

      After his death, Marlene had tried to persuade Nicole to move in with her, especially after Craig had been killed in a race car accident. But, widowed and pregnant, Nicole had remained stubbornly against it. To this day she wanted nothing to do with her father’s things and insisted on going it alone. There were times when Nicole could be maddeningly independent, Marlene mused.

      Just as she was.

      It was a Bailey trait, Marlene supposed. But it did tend to get in the way when the Baileys’ dealt with each other. It would have been better for Nicole to have moved back in. Just as it would have been better if she had never run off to marry Craig in the first place.

      Marlene let her head drop back against the padded chair. That was all in the past, she thought. Her hand rested on her abdomen. And this was her future, at least a very important part of it.

      The house was almost eerily quiet. Sally had gone to bed after straightening up the kitchen, complaining about the meager dinner Marlene had consumed.

      “You’re doing harm to the baby, see if you’re not,” Sally had announced, her dark brows forming a single accusing line over the bridge of her hawklike nose.

      Marlene had let her grumble. She knew Sally enjoyed fussing over her. The old woman anticipated the birth of the baby almost more than she did. Sally liked to boast that after the baby’s arrival, she was going to add nanny to her résumé, right after housekeeper.

      Sally didn’t need a résumé, Marlene thought. She intended to keep the woman on forever. Without Sally, she would be lost.

      She passed her hand over her eyes. The beginning of a headache was taking hold. It did nothing to improve her mood. She hated these mood swings that insisted on СКАЧАТЬ