A Father for Her Baby

Spinning back, she glared at him, holding in the pain that using the diminutive form of her name caused. Today she would not lower herself to plead that he refrain from using it. Instead, she slapped a hand on her hip and, barely resisting tapping her foot, waited.

‘Sorry. Sasha.’ His chest lifted, fell back into place under that navy jersey that fitted him like a second skin, accentuating all the details of his chest she’d prefer to forget. The tip of his tongue appeared at the corner of his mouth. ‘You might want to take a few more minutes and finish getting dressed.’

What? She glanced downwards. Great. Her blouse was only half-buttoned, exposing her new, getting-bigger-by-the-day cleavage. Her feet were bare. Heck, she hadn’t put any make-up on yet or done her hair. ‘Make that ten minutes.’

* * *

Grady watched as Sash did that spin-on-her-heel thing again. Her back was straighter than straight, her long, mussed hair bouncing as she charged away. And his belly squeezed hard on the boiled egg he’d eaten half an hour ago. Did those golden locks still feel like silk? Did she still enjoy having them hand-combed by someone else?

The wind roared across the lawn, pelted his back with cold and knocked the door against the wall. He stepped inside and closed winter out. Now what? Did he wander through the house like he was welcome? Or wait here just inside the door like a nervous kid outside the headmaster’s office? Like he’d ever done that.

He strode towards the door opposite where Sash had disappeared, hopeful of finding the kitchen. What if her partner was there? Then he’d front up, introduce himself and explain why he was here. He would not say he’d deliberately come by to meet him, to find out who he was and see if they already knew each other.

That baby bump was still there, hadn’t disappeared overnight. Hadn’t been a figment of his overactive imagination. Breakfast rolled over. Regurgitated egg tasted disgusting. Hadn’t tasted that flash first time round, come to think of it. He’d eaten on autopilot, knowing he’d regret it later if he didn’t have breakfast but not overly interested in what he ate. His head space had been filled with images from last night of Sash. Angry, cautious, smiling—not at him—shocked, and very, very protective of her unborn child.

The cupboard that was obviously the kitchen was empty. No partner here. Grady didn’t know whether to feel relieved or disappointed. The moment of reckoning had only been delayed.

‘Right, let’s go.’ Sasha’s hand appeared in the periphery of his vision as she snatched up keys lying on the bench.

‘Sasha.’ Grady knew he should stop right there but the words kept on coming. ‘Do you live here alone?’

‘Yes,’ she called over her shoulder, as she strode away to the front door. Her hand on the door handle tightened then she whipped around to face him, her annoyed-looking eyes locking with his. ‘Yes,’ she repeated more emphatically. And then she waited, apparently understanding what he wanted to know and not making it easy for him.

‘The baby’s father doesn’t live with you?’ What part of living alone didn’t you get?

‘Definitely not,’ she snapped, then blinked and turned away, tugging the door open, but not before he saw anger flicker across her face, widening her eyes.

Not sure how he should be feeling right now, he followed her outside. If there wasn’t a father in the picture then maybe he could spend some time getting alongside her and see where that led. Probably fooling himself, setting himself up for heartbreak.

What about that baby? Do you want to be a part of its life? Because if you’re wanting Sash back then she comes with extras.

Something to think about. Though his need to get alongside Sash might override any concerns about the child. At the moment, anyway.

Watching her closely as those keys she’d snatched up flew from one ring-laden hand to the other and back while she waited for him to come outside, he had to resist the urge to wrap her up in a big hug. Nothing sexual. A completely caring and friendly embrace. A hug to take away some of that despair she was valiantly trying to hide behind anger.

The front door closed with a bang. Then the locks on that canary-yellow car popped. Sash’s feet slapped hard on the pavement as she closed the gap to her vehicle then swung back to face him. She’d applied make-up in those few minutes she’d left him standing around, yet her face appeared ghostly pale. But her spine had clicked dead straight again.

‘I am going to be a solo mother.’ Fierce words spoken in her don’t-screw-with-me attitude. So Sash. Watch out anyone who gave her a hard time over that. And there’d be plenty. Small communities might turn out to support anyone who needed them but there was always the gossip doing the rounds, too. Which was why her brother had left so long ago.