Twin Expectations

As the great man spoke, he motioned to someone with his hand. In seconds, two security guards had Bridget by the elbows.

“Escort Ms. Van Zandt out of the ballroom, please,” Eric instructed the guards. “And see that she doesn’t get back in.”

Bridget looked around with the faint hope that someone would rescue her. Mrs. Hampton, maybe? But she saw nothing but the faces of strangers, some hostile, some amused.

The guards led her away. The crowd parted. People stared. This was the worst moment of Bridget’s life, and she was going to kill Liz when she saw her again.

NICK FELT a strange sense of loss as the security guards led the pretty blond woman away. He had to know what was going on. Normally his staid, oh-so-respectable brother did not make scenes.

“What was that all about?” he asked as soon as he could get his half brother’s attention.

Eric rolled his eyes. “Man, has she got some nerve. She thinks she’ll make a fast buck by naming me as the father of a baby I had nothing to do with. She obviously doesn’t know me very well.”

Despite the brave talk, Eric looked a bit shaken, and Nick couldn’t blame him. Eric had been wary of women ever since a casual girlfriend in college had tried to decimate both his reputation and his bank account by pulling a similar stunt.

Nick wasn’t quite sure how to phrase his next question. As an older brother, he’d often cautioned Eric about the wily ways of women and how to avoid the worst of the pitfalls. But he hadn’t had such a brotherly conversation in, oh, ten years. Still, he blundered forward.

“Um, Eric, you don’t know that woman, do you?”

“You mean know? As in the Biblical sense?” Eric laughed. “I never laid eyes on her till about ten minutes ago. Are you having a good time?” he asked, moving away from the knot of people he’d been conversing with so the brothers could have a rare, private conversation. “I’m surprised you’re here at all. You’ve always hated these things.” He gave a disapproving once-over to Nick’s attire, but said nothing about it.

“Mom did a number on me,” Nick admitted without any real venom.

“She brought up that Steuben vase again?”

Nick nodded. When he’d shattered the vase with a badly aimed Frisbee twenty-five years ago, he’d never dreamed the incident would stay with him this long.

“With me it’s the crumpled fender on her Lincoln,” Eric said ruefully. “Gets me every time. You staying for the auction?”

“Yeah. I promised I’d buy something, though I can’t imagine there’s anything here I really need.”

Eric flashed a wicked grin. “I know the perfect thing, and you’ll make Mother ecstatic. You know how she’s been after you for years to get your portrait done?”

“Yeah…” Nick said cautiously. He’d been on the hot seat about this portrait thing ever since Eric had caved in and had his done—seated in the library, no less, looking a lot like his grandfather had in his prime.

“A local artist donated an oil portrait. She’s supposed to be good. Bid on that. Kill two birds with one stone.”

Sure, why not? Nick thought. It was for charity, after all.

He and Eric caught up on a few business details having to do with the airline, then Nick wandered off. He thought about leaving the ballroom to check on the Van Zandt woman, then realized how misplaced his concern was. If she was ballsy enough to threaten Eric Statler with a paternity suit, she could take care of herself. And she certainly wasn’t anyone he needed to know better.

BRIDGET SAT DOWNSTAIRS in the hotel lobby, her eyes trained on the elevators. Liz would have to come down sooner or later, and when she did, Bridget intended to take a strip off her sister’s hide. Not only would Liz never get a date with Eric Statler, no decent man would come near either of them because they’d be fearful of getting slapped with a paternity suit.

What on earth had Liz said to Eric? Or to Nick, for that matter? They couldn’t have engineered a worse fiasco if they’d tried. No wonder they hadn’t found husbands.

Bridget recognized several of the formally dressed people who exited the elevators. She kept her head ducked, praying they wouldn’t recognize her. She only hoped she didn’t have to move away from Oaksboro after this misadventure. Although the city had grown tremendously and was getting more cosmopolitan every day, it was still a small town. That small-town gossip grapevine was certainly alive and well.

At last Liz appeared, looking worried. “There you are!” she exclaimed, striding over to where Bridget was seated. “I’ve been looking all over for you. What are you doing down here?”

“I was kicked out of the ball,” Bridget said succinctly, glowering at her sister. “Because of something you said to Eric Statler.”

Liz gasped. “Oh, no!”

“Oh, yes. Mrs. Hampton will be scandalized. Mother will go into hiding. What on earth did you say to the man?”

Liz flopped down defeatedly on the sofa across from Bridget. “It was supposed to be funny. You know, just a witticism to get his attention.”

“What…did…you…say?”

“Well, I said something about how grateful you were to him because you were pregnant. You know, because he owns the clinic and all…”

“Oh, Liz! How could you?”

“I had to say something to catch his attention. You saw how swamped he was with people wanting to talk to him.”

“Never mind. I don’t want to hear any more.”

Liz continued relentlessly. “Once I had his attention I was going to explain, and, well, my witticism was about as funny as a nuclear bomb.”

“Yeah, no kidding.”

“How was I to know the man is so sensitive?” She sighed when Bridget didn’t respond. “Wanting Eric Statler to father my child was the stupidest idea I’ve ever had.”

“Amen. Let’s just get out of here. Then we can proceed with the business of moving to Las Vegas and changing our names.”

“Aw, come on, Sis, it’s not that bad,” Liz said as she walked Bridget to her car. “I mean, if you look at it in a certain way, it’s funny. You should have seen Statler’s face. It turned the most interesting shade of—”

“It’s not funny. It’ll never be funny,” Bridget snapped. She paused as she stuck the key into her car door, overcome by a sudden light-headedness. She steadied herself by grabbing Liz’s arm, then took a deep breath. The moment passed.

“Bridge, are you okay?”

Liz’s sudden and very real concern did a lot toward erasing Bridget’s anger. It was hard to stay mad at Liz, who always meant well.

“Just a little dizzy moment,” she said. “Dr. Keller said not to be surprised if I felt light-headed from time to time.”

Pregnant. She was pregnant, and the baby would be born some time around the end of February.

She started to turn the key in the lock when she heard a noise beside her. It was Liz, and she was crying.

“Liz?”

“I w-want to have a dizzy spell,” she said. “I want to be pregnant, too. Now that I’ve blown it with Eric, I’ll have to start all over finding a donor.”

Bridget put her arm around her twin’s shoulders. “It’ll happen, Liz. You’ve got plenty of time to find the right, um, donor.”

“But we’ve always done everything together.”

Bridget realized she’d done her share of fantasizing about her and Liz waddling down the street together, both of them big as houses. Pushing matching strollers to the park. Trading baby clothes.