Her Baby's Father

“Let’s take a look,” Pam was saying. “I always love to see your work. Did you use that antique armoire that I admired so much?”

“I think so.”

Pam peered at her. “You look a little…pale. Are you feeling okay?”

“A little sleep deprived, I guess.”

“Sorry I got you up so early.”

“It’s okay.”

Pam wiped her palm on a pants leg in an uncharacteristic show of nerves. “I’m glad you’re here. Since that murder last week, I’ve felt kind of spooked, staying in a vacant house by myself.”

Murder? Sara scrambled to dredge up what Pam was referring to, then remembered that a woman real-estate agent had been raped and murdered in an empty house where she’d been waiting to meet a client. The man had showed up and taken advantage of the isolated location. So far the cops had no leads, and it seemed all of the women in the local real-estate business were on edge.

Sara had thought about that when she’d been working at this three-acre property early in the morning. But Peter and Brad had been here most of the time. They’d only left a little while ago—and taken her truck back to the warehouse space where she stored the furniture and knickknacks she used in her work.

The real-estate agent hurried up the front steps and stepped into the house.

Sara followed more slowly, marveling at how much easier it was to walk without all the extra weight of advanced pregnancy. She’d forgotten how it felt not to be dragging around the equivalent of a couple of gallon jugs of water.

No, wait. Had she really been pregnant? She was still having trouble sorting reality from…what?

Not a dream. More like a different reality.

When Pam glanced back, Sara hurried to catch up. Inside, her gaze swept over the work that she’d completed this morning, starting with the antique side table that she’d centered along one wall of the large foyer. On the polished surface sat a whimsical elephant lamp and one of the orchids that she kept in the greenhouse in the back of a friend’s garage. They were easy to grow, bloomed for months and always added a touch of elegance.

On the wall was an ornate mirror that she’d patched up with spackling compound and refinished herself.

Finding and fixing up pieces that would work as part of the rooms she furnished was both her skill and her pleasure.

“The elephant’s a nice touch,” Pam remarked. “Garage sale or auction?”

“Garage sale. The base was coming off, but I superglued it back together. Love that stuff.”

Pam headed for the kitchen where Sara had used Dansk Kobenstyle casseroles, tall glass jars of preserved herbs and red-and-white-checkered dish towel accents. The round table was set with more garage-sale plates and goblets. The centerpiece was a bowl of mixed citrus fruit.

Pam eyed the display. “Aren’t those old casseroles expensive? Where did you find them?”

She was glad Pam had asked. The questions about her work were tying her more firmly to the present. And she was relieved to discover that the answer came more easily than she might have expected. “On eBay. I get ones that have hard use and fix them up.”

Pam made a dismissive sound. “How can you fix up a metal casserole?”

“With spray paint.”

“Clever.”

“Of course, you can’t put them in the oven,” she added, anxious to make a full disclosure.

“Nobody’s going to cook in them. And they’re a lot more interesting than the plastic food you see in so many model houses.”

As Sara showed Pam the property, the scene became increasingly real to her.

She remembered carefully draping the colorful Peruvian shawl on the tan sofa and arranging candles in the fireplace.

She and the boys had done only one bedroom, but it was a masterpiece of sophistication, using earth tones with touches of bright color.

“If this doesn’t hook Ted Morgan, nothing will,” Pam murmured.

Ted Morgan? Not the right Morgan. “I’m sorry. I forgot who he is,” she stammered.

Pam took in her perplexed look. “Come on. Morgan Enterprises. They’re into everything from construction projects to oil exploration.”

“Uh-huh,” she murmured.

Pam put a hand on Sara’s arm. “Stay here with me after he arrives, okay?”

Sara’s heart started to pound. She remembered this conversation from the first time.

“You’re nervous?” she managed to ask.

“A little. Ted’s a big deal around here. He’s getting married, and he wants a family home.”

“This is the kind of house where the kids and the parents would never have to see each other.”

Pam laughed. “If that’s what he wants, fine with me. He’s a very rich man who can get me a six percent commission on two million dollars.”

“Well, that does put him into perspective.”

Sara knew Pam was doing well as a real-estate agent and living a high-flying lifestyle she wanted to maintain. Sara, on the other hand, wasn’t into “lifestyle.” Instead she was willing to live modestly to build her business. Money had never been that important to her. Well, it had become more important when she’d discovered she’d need to support a baby on her own. And the Morgans were doing their best to make her want to move away. But that was getting way ahead of herself.

There was no baby. Not yet.

She shook her head, grappling with the continuing confusion of what was then and what was now. But she suddenly knew what day this was. The day she had met Jack Morgan. The father of her child.

Because she couldn’t simply stand there, she turned and headed back to the kitchen to stow her purse in one of the lower cabinets. Straightening, she gripped the kitchen counter, the hard surface helping to anchor her.

Outside, the sound of a car pulling up made her heart begin to pound inside her chest with a mixture of excitement and dread.

She understood the excitement and struggled to banish the dread.

Pam rushed to the window and peered out. “He’s here.”

She kept staring, and Sara waited to hear what she was going to say.

What if this was the wrong day? What if Sara was totally crazy?

Pam’s next words settled the question. “I guess Ted doesn’t trust his own judgment. Or he wants outside approval. He’s got someone with him. I think it’s his older brother, Jack Morgan.”