Father By Choice. M.J. Rodgers

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СКАЧАТЬ Phoebe, Oliver?” Dorothy asked. “What do you think?”

      What both Oliver and Phoebe thought was clear on their faces. Each still wanted access to the contents first. But it was hard arguing with Dorothy’s logic and persuasive techniques.

      Phoebe nodded. Oliver shrugged. And that, Emily knew, was as close to a “thank you for taking on this incredibly time-consuming assignment” as she was going to get from them. But she didn’t care. She was thrilled.

      After seeing that all the items had been returned to the time capsule and the lid closed, Phoebe and Oliver set off for the refreshments and the socializing they both reveled in. Ken waved goodbye to Emily and Dorothy and trotted after them.

      Brad handed Dorothy one glass of champagne and held out the other to Emily.

      She shook her head. “I don’t think Sprout would like it.”

      “Sprout?”

      She rested a hand on her stomach. “That’s its botanical name.”

      He nodded as though in tardy understanding. “Of course, the baby. My apologies, Mrs. Barrett. I forgot.”

      Had he? Or was this a really good act?

      As he sipped the champagne he’d offered to her, she studied him. It could be a coincidence that Ed had brought him today. He certainly gave no indication that he knew she’d had artificial insemination, much less that she’d selected his sperm.

      Ed had promised he’d say nothing to Brad. Maybe she’d been worrying for no reason.

      “Where do you plan to go over the time capsule contents?” Brad asked.

      “My office is on the second floor of the Heritage Museum,” Emily answered. “I’ll see if I can round up the crane operator and his rigger. Between the two of them, I’m hoping they’ll be able to lug it up the back stairs.”

      “Why don’t I give it a try?” Brad offered.

      Emily blinked at him in surprise.

      “Are you sure, Brad?” Dorothy asked. “It has to weigh at least a hundred pounds.”

      “Dot’s right,” Emily said. “You can’t possibly carry it over to the museum, much less up all those stairs by yourself.”

      “Can’t I?”

      He picked up the capsule and held it as though it weighed no more than an empty orange crate.

      “Dr. Winslow, I don’t think—” Emily began.

      “Light as a feather,” Brad interrupted. “Lead the way.”

      Emily’s eyes traveled from the heavy time capsule to the stoic face of the man holding it with such deceptive ease.

      “I’ll wait here to be sure that no one disturbs our skeleton until Ed can arrange to have it removed,” Dorothy offered. “If you need to find me later, I’ll be at the reception looking after things.”

      Still Emily hesitated.

      “Go on, Em. It’ll be all right.”

      At her friend’s urging, Emily gave in and led the way to her office. But she did not have a good feeling about this. And she very much doubted everything would be all right.

      BRAD’S ARMS WERE IN AGONY and his back was killing him. A hundred pounds. Ha! This damn time capsule weighed a ton. And he still had another eight steps to climb.

      What an idiot he’d been, insisting on carrying the blasted thing. He couldn’t imagine what had possessed him.

      Yes he could. Emily had looked so damn sure when she’d announced that he couldn’t possibly do it that the logical part of his brain had ceased to function.

      He was determined to prove her wrong—or die trying.

      The die-trying possibility was looming ever closer. He set the time capsule down on the next step and collapsed beside it, his heart pounding. Easing out of his sport coat, he let it drop to the stairs.

      A bead of sweat rolled across his forehead, zigzagged between his eyebrows and dropped onto his lashes. His arms were so tired that he couldn’t even lift a hand to brush the drop away.

      “I never should have agreed to let you do this,” Emily said. “I knew that container was far too heavy for you.”

      She stood above him on the second-floor landing. When Brad raised his head, the sweat dropped into his eye, bringing with it the sting of salt. Even with that one eye shut, he could see the “I told you so” look on her face.

      “I’m simply taking a breather.”

      He’d barely had the breath to get the words out. The last thing he wanted to do was lift that damn box again. But with her standing there watching him, he knew he was going to.

      Somehow he got himself back on his feet and picked up the capsule. How he managed to carry it up those last steps and into Emily’s office he had no idea.

      She directed him to set it on the floor beside a walnut desk. As soon as it was in place, he staggered over to the nearest chair and collapsed. He closed his eyes and sucked in air, wondering if he was ever going to feel his arms again or be able to breathe normally.

      Time passed—he had no idea how much and didn’t particularly care. He was just thankful that he wasn’t carrying that damn thing anymore. When his breath started to come in a more normal rhythm, he felt a hand on his arm and opened his eyes to find her beside him.

      “I thought you might like something cold to drink.”

      She was holding out a tall glass of water. Gratefully, he took it from her, and downed the contents in one long gulp. By the time he’d set the empty glass on the table next to him, she’d taken the chair behind the desk.

      The small, exceptionally neat office seemed to be darker than when he’d entered. Glancing around, he noticed that she’d drawn heavy drapes across the windows. A couple of low-wattage lamps were all that now lit the room. They shone off spotless glass shelves and wooden furniture, well carved and built to last.

      The room exuded a pleasing calm, not currently reflected in its owner.

      “Why did you insist on doing that?” she asked.

      He met her eyes. “Weight lifting should be part of everyone’s exercise routine. Builds muscle and bone. Makes you strong. Just ask your doctor.”

      She shook her head. “I realize I should be thanking you for bringing the time capsule up here, but—”

      “You’re welcome.”

      “You could have hurt yourself.”

      The worry in her voice was carefully controlled, but it wasn’t superficial.

      “Nice of you to be concerned about me.”

      Her СКАЧАТЬ