Baby Business: Baby Steps. Karen Templeton

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      “And now you do?”

      “Now … I’ll do whatever I have to. If he’s mine.”

      “Well, he is ours,” her mother said in that tone of voice that always raised the hair on the back of Dana’s neck. “So why not leave him where you know he’ll be loved? Without reservation?”

      Showtime, Dana thought, lurching into the living room as if pushed. “Okay, Mama, this is really none of your business—”

      “Nonsense,” her mother replied, completely unperturbed. “This is about family.”

      “I realize that, but this is a bizarre enough situation without having to deal with outside interference.”

       “Interference?”

      “Yes, interference. As in butting in, an activity at which you excel.”

      “Well, I never—”

      “Yes, you do. Every opportunity you can get. C.J. and I haven’t had two minutes to discuss our options—”

      “Do you want him to take the child?”

      She knew what her mother was really asking. And it had nothing to do with C.J. “You mean, because here’s a shot at getting the grandbaby I can’t give you?”

      Her mother flushed. “No, of course not—”

      “For goodness’ sake, I didn’t even know about Ethan forty-eight hours ago! How dumb would it be to start thinking about him as my own this early in the game? Besides which, we already talked about this, how I can always adopt. You’ll have your grandchild, Mama,” she said, tears prickling behind her eyelids. “Someday. When the time’s right. But at the moment, I only want what’s best for Ethan.”

      “And how is it best for the child to send him to live with a man who doesn’t even want children?”

      “Mrs. Malone,” C.J. said quietly, getting to his feet, “I appreciate your concern, which is more than valid. But until I know for sure I’m Ethan’s father, there’s really nothing to discuss.”

      “And anyway,” Dana said, “Trish is a completely unknown factor in all this. For all we know she might well come to her senses and want her baby back. Until then,” she said with a daggered, determined look in C.J.’s direction, the equally determined expression in his eyes making her own sting even harder, “this kid’s going nowhere.” She looked back at her mother. “But I wouldn’t dream of keeping Ethan from his daddy, whoever that turns out to be.”

      A war raged in her mother’s eyes: anger at being dismissed—for that was what Dana was doing—tangling with an unwavering love, that primal maternal desire to see everything work out. To keep her own child from getting hurt. And that, when all was said and done, tamped down Dana’s own annoyance and frustration.

      She walked over to the dining table, picked Faye’s handbag off the table and handed it to her. The older woman hesitated, looking like the last guest at a party who can’t decide how to make a graceful exit, then took the bag.

      “If you hurry, you won’t even miss the first hymn,” Dana said quietly.

      Defeated—though for how long, was anybody’s guess—Faye simply nodded and headed to the door. Then she turned, worry brimming in her eyes. Dana touched her arm. “It’s gonna be okay.”

      “You’re sure?”

      “Oddly enough, yeah. I am.”

      Her mother smoothed away a strand of hair from her daughter’s face, squeezed her hand and left. Dana shut the door, leaning her head against it, staring at her bare feet for a moment. “Well,” she said to the doorknob, “that went well, don’t you think?”

      “You can’t have children?” C.J. said softly behind her.

      Her head jerked around, her insides constricting at the kindness in his eyes. “Nope. Stork took me off his delivery route more than a year ago.”

      “God, Dana … I’m so sorry. Of all people for that to happen to.” He released a sigh. “Talk about not being fair.”

      She nodded toward the now dozing infant slumped against C.J.’s chest. “You should know.”

      He gave her the oddest smile, and something kicked in her stomach, a premonition that she wasn’t going to like what she was about to hear. She walked over to C. J. to remove the slumbering infant from his arms and lower him into the playpen. The man followed, close enough to feel his heat, for that soap-and-male scent to reach right in and yank her idiot libido to attention.

      “I have no intention of taking Ethan away from you, Dana. Especially now.”

      Hanging on to the side of the playpen, she pressed the heel of her hand to one temple, deciding the heat was making her fuzzy-brained. “Then why did you tell my mother you were?”

      “No, what I said was, I wanted him to live with me.”

      She twisted around. Moved over a bit. Frowned. “Is this where I point out that you’re not making any sense?”

      His laugh sounded … strained. “No. This is where I ask you to move in, too.”

      “Get out,” Mercy and Cass both said simultaneously when Dana got to that point in the story.

      After reaching a deal with the owner of the new place, the partners returned to Cass’s (since the store was always closed on Mondays) to discuss the hows and whens of the relocation.

      Only Dana’s insane weekend was proving a much more interesting topic than floor plans and moving company selection. Go figure.

      “Yeah, kinda stopped me dead in my tracks, too,” Dana said, then frowned at the box of gooey, glistening, probably-still-warm glazed donuts Mercy had just plopped in the middle of the tempered glass table out on Cass’s patio. “And you’re blatantly setting temptation in my path why?”

      Curls glistening, the tube-topped elf settled her tiny fanny on the cushioned faux wicker chair. “Not to worry, these have half the sugar of the regular ones.”

      Dana’s frown deepened. “Oh, you’re talking serious crime against nature. Donuts with half the sugar is like sex without … you know.”

      “And sex without ‘you know’,” Mercy said, delicately selecting a long john and taking a huge bite, “is better than no sex at all.” She wagged the mangled treat at Dana. “He’s actually making noises about you moving in before he even knows for sure Ethan’s his?”

      On a heavy sigh, Dana snatched one of the donuts from the box and morosely bit into it, surprised to discover it wasn’t half-bad. As opposed to her life, which was rapidly going down the tubes. She took another bite before mumbling, “He even started talking schedules, believe it or not.”

      “And like most men,” Cass said drily, “he’d no doubt decided that since he’d come up with a solution, it had to be the solution.”

      “Yeah, СКАЧАТЬ