Expecting the CEO's Baby

Then in a matter of moments, she went from speechless astonishment to fiery indignation. It flared in her beautiful brown eyes as she jumped to her feet, glaring at Blake as if he were crazy. “I don’t know who you think you are, Mr. Winston, but I want no part of your money. This baby is mine, and I’m not giving her or him up to anyone.”

Pretty before, she was beautiful now, and Blake felt a startling bolt of desire shoot through him that he couldn’t deny. Ignoring it, he stood, too, and faced her. “Why would you want to keep a child by a man you don’t even know?”

The question didn’t throw her as he’d expected it to. “I might not know you, Mr. Winston, but I know this child. I’ve been carrying him for six months. I love this baby. I’ve sung to him, felt him moving inside me. I will never give him up.”

Blake’s shirt stuck to his back, and he could feel sweat beading on his brow. “You might not have any choice.”

His warning rattled Jenna. He could see the fear in her eyes as all the implications of their situation became clear.

Hurrying to the door, she opened it. “I think you’d better leave.”

No one dismissed Blake. After Preston Howard—the father of the girl Blake had imagined himself in love with—had done that to him nineteen long years ago, Blake had vowed no one would ever dismiss him again. Standing his ground, he said evenly, “With the money I’m offering, together with the settlement from the clinic, you’d be set for a while.”

Her spine straightened and her shoulders squared. “Obviously, Mr. Winston, you don’t know me. If you did, you’d realize I’m more sentimental than I am practical. Bonds and family mean more to me than money ever could. So don’t bother making your offer again because I won’t accept it. Please leave or I’ll call the apartment complex manager.”

This time he did as she demanded because he could see her hands were shaking and her chin was quivering. She was pregnant with his child, and he didn’t want anything to happen to the baby or to her. Yet he couldn’t let her think she’d won, either, because she hadn’t.

Before he crossed the threshold, he looked her squarely in the eyes. “You’ll be hearing from my lawyer.”

When Jenna closed the door behind Blake Winston, she almost collapsed against it. The emotions from everything that had happened today, along with the heat, seemed to press against her, making her short of breath. She knew she couldn’t let her emotions affect her physically. She had this baby to protect, and she would do that with her dying breath.

Closing her eyes for a few moments, thinking of the ocean and sand and waves, she calmed herself and her breathing became more even. Spinning around, she peered out the peephole. Blake Winston had indeed left. Not wasting a moment, she crossed to the cordless phone, picked it up and went to the window to catch a breeze. She pressed redial and hoped Rafe Pierson hadn’t left his law office. She hoped he wasn’t with a client. She hoped he could allay her fears. When she reached his receptionist, she gave her name again and the woman put her through.

Jenna had met Rafe’s wife, Shannon, through the elementary school where she taught. Shannon was a psychologist who used equine-assisted therapy to help troubled children. Three years ago, Jenna had heard about her success rate and recommended her services to the parents of one of her students. Shannon had invited Jenna to the Rocky R to give her a glimpse into her methods. She’d stayed for supper and gotten to know Shannon as well as her husband, Rafe, and their two girls. Grateful for the friendship that had begun before B.J. had died, Jenna couldn’t imagine discussing all of this with a complete stranger. Her upbringing as a minister’s daughter had taught her to keep her own counsel, to watch whatever she said and did because it would reflect favorably or unfavorably on her father. She’d never wavered from that course until she’d decided to be artificially inseminated with B.J.’s sperm. Her father had disapproved, but this time his disapproval hadn’t mattered.

“Jenna?” Rafe asked, his voice carrying honest concern. “What’s wrong? Has the clinic contacted you again?”

“No. Blake Winston has. He made me an offer he thought I couldn’t refuse to become a surrogate for him.”

Rafe swore. That was the first time Jenna had ever heard him use a vulgarity. As a former D.A., he usually kept his temper well in check. “What did you tell him?”

“I told him the child is mine. It is, isn’t it, Rafe? He said his lawyer would be in touch. He can’t really take this baby away from me, can he?”

There was a long moment of silence. “This is an area of the law that’s changing day by day. I can’t tell you Winston doesn’t have a leg to stand on because in reality, he is the biological father. If this was anyone but Blake Winston…”

“I don’t understand. Do you know him?” Rafe hadn’t mentioned knowing him in their last conversation.

“No, I don’t know him. I know of him. He has plenty of money and just as much influence. He grew up in Fawn Grove, then made a fortune in L.A. in security systems. He’s the CEO of a company that not only installs security but arranges it for politicians and stars.”

“And he lives in Fawn Grove?”

“He returned about three years ago and set up a branch of his company in Sacramento. He bought the Van Heusen mansion.”

Truth be told, Jenna didn’t read the paper often. As a teacher, her nights were spent correcting papers or doing lesson plans. Nevertheless, she knew the Van Heusen house and grounds. It was located at the northern end of town. As a child, she and her brother Gary had taken walks past it, wondering what it would be like to live in a house like that.

“And you believe his money will make a difference?” she asked, more than worried now.

“It’s not his money, Jenna. I’m just as concerned about his influence. Hold on a minute. Donna is passing me a message that came in on the other line.”

Jenna wondered how a judge would look at Blake Winston’s money and his mansion, as well as what he could offer a child.

“Jenna?”

“Yes, I’m still here.”

“The clinic called and they want a meeting.”

She’d given the clinic Rafe’s name and number, knowing she was going to let him handle this for her. “What kind of meeting?”

“They didn’t say, but I’ll find out. Are you free tomorrow?”

School was closed for summer vacation and her only commitment was filling in for her father’s secretary when Shirley left on vacation at the end of the week. But she’d fit in this meeting anytime. “Yes, I’m free.”

“Good. I suspect Winston and his lawyer will be there, too. In the meantime I’ll research case law on this. We’ll go in there as prepared as we possibly can be.”

“Rafe, I know I should give you a retainer or something—”

“Right now I’m your lawyer because I’m your friend. If it gets drawn out, we’ll talk about retainers. Okay?”

“I really don’t know how to thank you.”

“I’ll tell you how you can thank me. This has been a rough day for you. Get yourself a lemonade, put your feet up and try to do something mindless until tomorrow. I’ll get back to you with the time of the meeting.”

After Jenna had thanked Rafe again and given him her cell phone number, she hung up knowing she couldn’t stay here in the apartment in the heat. She’d stop at the ice cream parlor for a frozen lemonade and then go to the library. Maybe there in the air-conditioning, she could use their computers and do research concerning custody cases on her own. What bothered her the most about all of this was the quickening of her pulse and the roller coaster waves she’d felt when she’d looked into Blake Winston’s eyes. B.J. had been the salt of the earth, the consummate common man. He’d been a roofer and never aspired to more than that, living each day as it came. Through their years together, he’d convinced Jenna to do the same. She’d loved him with all her heart.

But she’d never had the reaction to B.J. that she’d had to Blake Winston. This rich man, the father of her child, made her pulse race in a way that had nothing to do with her pregnancy. That troubled her, almost as much as Blake’s warning that she’d hear from his lawyer.

As Rafe escorted Jenna on Tuesday afternoon into the same conference room where the bomb had been dropped on her yesterday, her gaze passed over her physician, Dr. Palmer, the clinic’s director, Thomas Franklin, the clinic’s counsel, Wayne Schlessinger, and a man she didn’t know. Then her gaze locked to Blake Winston’s. His smoky-gray eyes told her he was a complicated man. The fluttering of her stomach, which she’d like to attribute to anxiety and fear—but couldn’t if she wanted to be honest with herself—told her something else entirely. Seated at the end of the conference table, he was wearing a light blue polo shirt, navy casual slacks and supple leather loafers. Just noticing all of this made her feel as if she were betraying B.J.’s memory. Yet noticing Blake Winston’s clothes was a far better distraction than noticing the width of his shoulders, the beard line along his jaw, the vitality of his thick black hair.

“Mrs. Winton,” Wayne Schlessinger said in greeting.

“Mr. Schlessinger,” she acknowledged, and gave a little nod to everyone else, including her adversary.

After Schlessinger shook hands with Rafe, he motioned Jenna and her lawyer to two chairs on the opposite side of the table from the clinic’s representatives. Jenna found herself seated beside Blake, and an uncomfortable situation became unbearable. She was too aware of his cologne, too aware of his appraising glance as his gaze passed over her white-and-blue smocked maternity dress.

Schlessinger addressed Rafe. “I take it you’ve carefully read our settlement offer?”

“Yes, I have. But I haven’t advised Jenna to sign it.”

“May I ask why not?”

“I want her to be sure that she’s ready to waive her rights to any future lawsuits before she signs anything. It was unfair of you to pressure her to take the offer yesterday.”

“There was no pressure, Mr. Pierson.”

Jenna clasped Rafe’s arm, telling him she wanted to speak for herself. “Having a $100,000 check ready for me to endorse was pressure in itself, Mr. Schlessinger.” She looked at Blake. “Are you taking their offer?”

He repeated what he’d told her yesterday. “The clinic’s money isn’t the issue. My child is.”