The Daddy Verdict

“Camille, this is your wedding night. Why would you care what we talked about? You should be thinking about later, leaving tomorrow morning on your honeymoon.”

“Oh, I am, but you know me, I can multitask.”

Knowing her friend deserved the honesty with which they usually spoke, Sierra said, “I told him about Travis.”

Camille studied her. “There’s more going on here than two people who just met each other.”

That was an opening, so Sierra took it. Leaning close to Camille, she murmured in her ear, “I’m pregnant. Ben’s the father. I wasn’t going to tell you now, but you’re pushing.”

Camille tried to recover from her astonishment. “You are going to tell me when, where, how and why.”

“Not now, not here. I just told Ben last week. I want you to forget about it until you get back from your honeymoon.”

Camille laid her hand on her friend’s shoulder. “Are you all right?”

Although the crème brûlée was lying heavy in her stomach, she assured Camille, “I’m fine. I’m going to figure it all out.”

“With Ben’s help?”

“We’ll see.”

Camille whistled through her teeth. “Ben Barclay. Who would have thought?”

Sierra’s quelling look didn’t intimidate Camille. “So that’s why you told him about Travis. Was that so you could get closer to him or push him away?”

Her friend never ducked the hard questions and Sierra had to think about that one. “I’m not sure.”

Her stomach felt even queasier. To distract both of them, she swiveled in her chair to face Camille. “So describe this resort where you’re staying in Aruba.”

“You’re changing the subject.”

“You bet I am.”

“It’s supposed to have everything, but Miguel and I probably won’t be seeing the outside of our room. I can’t wait to have nine whole days with him, without interruptions, without hi-and-goodbye schedules. I’m glad I quit my job last month to help with the wedding details. I know it will help us get a good start on our marriage.”

As an art history major, Camille had been working in one of the galleries in Santa Fe since she graduated from college. “Do you think you’ll go back to work?”

“Miguel doesn’t want me to. We’d really like to start a family, but I think part-time work might be nice. We’ll see how things go until after the New Year.”

Miguel was vice president at one of the Santa Fe banks. He’d also inherited a trust fund from his grandmother, so if Camille didn’t want to go back to work, they didn’t have to worry. But if Camille didn’t get pregnant quickly, Sierra suspected she’d tire of being a stay-at-home wife.

The nausea Sierra experienced was increasing, becoming more intense.

Camille studied her. “You’re looking a little green.”

Suddenly Sierra knew she needed to make an exit to the bathroom and fast. “Be right back,” she managed to mumble as she hopped up from her chair and made a beeline toward the ladies’ room. She just made it in time into one of the stalls and lost her supper when Camille rushed in after her.

“Are you okay? Ben’s right outside, he’s worried.”

Sierra stood and took a deep breath. Actually she felt much better. Pushing the door open, she told Camille, “I’m fine now, really,” and went to the sink to wash her face.

There was a knock on the ladies’ room door.

Camille’s brows arched just as the door opened an inch and one very masculine voice demanded, “Sierra? Are you all right? Can I come in?”

Seeing Ben right now was the last thing Sierra wanted.

Chapter Four

It had been a very long time since Ben had worried about anyone besides his brothers and his father, took care of anyone or even wanted to. But he found himself wanting to take care of Sierra.

Because she might be carrying his baby?

That was it, of course.

“Don’t let him in!”

Ben heard Sierra’s plea to Camille as he stood outside the ladies’ room door. Her words ratcheted up his concern.

Opening the door a little wider, he asked calmly, although he wasn’t feeling calm, “What’s wrong, Sierra?”

Camille stepped in front of him. “She’s cleaning up. Give her a minute.”

Ben peered around Camille and saw Sierra at the sink, water dripping from her face, a drop or two falling on her beautiful gown.

She groaned. “I don’t want anyone to see me like this.” After she glanced at Ben in the mirror, she must have realized her wish to be alone wouldn’t keep him out. She sighed and explained, “I shouldn’t have eaten the crème brûlée.” She produced a weak smile, took a paper towel and dabbed at the droplets on her face. Then she looked down at her gown. “I’ve made a mess.”

She looked like a little kid who’d dropped ice cream on her shoe, and he was ready to take a few steps toward her when Sierra’s face suddenly turned a little greener and she made a beeline for the bathroom cubicle again.

Camille whispered to him, “Don’t embarrass her. Let me handle this.”

He didn’t want to let Camille handle this. No one else handled his responsibilities but him. But then he thought about Sierra, her pale face, her weak smile, the way she’d left his room because everything had become too intense.

He always knew what to do, and he hated the fact he was teetering on the brink of indecision now. “Five minutes,” he agreed. “I’ll wait outside for five minutes. But if you’re not out, I’m coming in. I’m taking her to a doctor if I have to.”

“She doesn’t need a doctor,” Camille assured him with a shake of her head. “She just needs some soda and a few crackers. Men. If they had to have babies—”

“Okay, I won’t stay for the lecture.” With a last look at the bathroom stall, he closed the door to the ladies’ room to wait.

The five minutes were almost up when both Sierra and Camille stepped outside the door. Sierra was holding her purse, twisting the silver chain. “I’m fine.”

She did not look fine. He remembered her high color that day in his office, as well as upstairs in the bedroom. She was unnaturally pale and looked a little shaky.

“I’m taking you back to the hacienda.”

Sierra turned to Camille. “I don’t want to leave the reception.”

“I’m just going to throw the bouquet and then we’re off, too,” she said. Gently taking Sierra by the elbow, she guided her to a chair at the periphery of the room. “Do you need to sit for a few minutes?”