Adopt-A-Dad

“I’m guessing your son’s in agreement, too,” he said. “Will you look at that?”

Jenny wasn’t looking at her bulge. She was looking straight at Michael. “You realize if we’re married—if people found out that you’ve married me, and they will—then people might assume you’re his father. I mean, why else would you marry me? And the immigration people… I don’t know what we’d tell them. But you’ll have a pregnant wife. Even the person who marries us will assume it’s a shotgun affair. That this is your baby. That’s why he’d be a U.S. citizen. I don’t want you to face that. It isn’t fair.”

Michael’s eyes widened.

Hey, things were happening too quickly here, he realized, doubts surfacing thick and fast. He hadn’t thought this through.

But an image, insidious in its strength, slid into his mind and stayed—an image that had been with him all his life. A woman walking toward Maitland Maternity and leaving four babies on the steps.

And then walking away.

Jenny was fighting every way she knew to keep this baby. She wasn’t walking away, and by marrying her, he’d give her the only chance she had.

“I can handle that,” he said, and if his voice didn’t sound so sure to himself, it was convincing enough to cause a flood of gratitude and absolute relief to wash across Jenny’s face.

“You really mean it?”

“I mean it.” He grinned, lessening the tension. “Hey, there’s a few things we should clear up before we make a final pact.” He thought hard. “Like, I hate custard.”

“We’re not living together!”

“Maybe we have to, for a while at least. Tell me you won’t make me eat custard.”

She choked. “Hey, it’s good for you.”

“You make custard, and the deal’s off.”

She managed a wavering smile. “You drive a hard bargain. But okay. As long as I don’t have to eat pumpkin.”

“No pumpkin pies for Thanksgiving?” He sounded shocked, and she chuckled.

“I’ll make you Spotted Dick instead,” she promised, and his brows rose.

“Spotted Dick?”

“My very favorite dessert. England’s soul food.”

“You eat something called Spotted Dick?”

“Sure do.” She chuckled. “And so will you.”

“What am I letting myself in for? Aagh!” He clutched his stomach in mock horror and then managed a shaken grin. “Okay. I guess I can live with that. What else should we work out? You don’t snore too loud?”

“Nope.”

“Or watch WWF wrestling on TV?”

“Nope again.” She smiled. “You?”

“Nope. Promise.”

“And you don’t decorate your apartment with Playboy centerfolds?”

“I’ll move ’em all into my bedroom,” he said magnanimously, and she laughed again. Then her smile died.

“Michael, you won’t expect… I mean…”

He knew what she was asking, even though she couldn’t bring herself to say it. “No, Jenny,” he said. “No way. This marriage is in name only. I promise you that.”

She believed him. Maybe she was being a fool, but she looked into his deep green eyes and she trusted him. Absolutely.

But she’d been down that road before. Trusting a man whose reasons for marrying her weren’t what they seemed.

“You don’t fly aerolites?” she asked, and there was a faint tremor in her voice.

“No, Jenny, I don’t fly aerolites. Do you?”

“What do you think?” She grinned, her good humor flooding back. Okay, this was crazy, but it was better than the alternative—getting on a bus and heading for Mexico alone. A million miles better. “I’d weigh down any aerolite so much it wouldn’t make it two feet off the ground.”

“Only for a little bit,” he said. “Until the ninth earl is born.”

“Not the ninth earl,” she said sharply. “Baby Morrow. That’s all.”

“How about Baby Lord?” he asked. “Does that make sense?”

“I…” She stared at him in confusion. “I don’t know.”

“We have heaps of time to think about that,” he said, and turned on the ignition. “Meanwhile, if we’re getting married today—”

“Today?”

“Can you think of a good reason why not?”

“I…”

“Didn’t think you could,” he said smugly. “Okay, Jenny, let’s go find us a preacher.”

THEY HEADED for the border.

“El Paso,” Michael said as he turned his car onto the highway. He was thinking as he moved, discarding plan after plan and coming up with the one that made most sense. “It’s the only place we can get everything done.”

“I thought… Can’t we marry here? In Austin? Or even Las Vegas? It’d be simpler.”

She was still afraid, Michael thought as he turned the car toward the border. She was expecting any minute that the men in suits would come at them with sirens blazing and cart her forcibly away to the dreaded Gloria.

“By the time you see any immigration official—or Gloria—we’ll be married,” he said softly. “The advantages of El Paso are twofold. First, there’s a judge near there I know from my days on the force. If it’s for me personally and I tell him the baby’s on the way, he’ll waive the three-day license period so we can marry right away. He’d even enjoy it. Second, it’s a border town, so we can fill out all the immigration forms and get the rubber stamps and signatures you need to make you legal. By the time you get back to Austin we’ll be so legally correct, officialdom won’t have a chance.”

“But…” Her voice faltered. She still looked pale, and he couldn’t help noticing how many times she glanced behind them.