Bound By The Baby

He nodded.

“No.”

“Were you seeing someone?”

“In January?”

Was she being deliberately obtuse? Probably. She probably wanted to irritate him. She’d succeeded. If he was the father of her child, and she’d known his name and where he lived, and then had decided not to tell him about the pregnancy, he had reason to be irritated. And furious. He could see no justification for her keeping it a secret from him.

He didn’t answer her question about the month but gave her a look he figured she could interpret.

“I was not dating anyone then,” she said, looking straight out the windshield, a white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel. “And no one since, either.”

Again, no eye contact. He didn’t trust someone who wouldn’t look him in the eyes. In the banking business you learned to trust your instincts about people. Body language spoke loudly. He didn’t like what hers was saying.

He took a step back. “See you tomorrow.”

She didn’t even roll up her window against the chill but backed out of the parking space and sped off.

He watched her go. He’d come to Lake Tahoe as part of a deal he’d made ten years ago. He’d come with a plan to change his life, giving himself the month to work it out, since he was stuck here, anyway.

Now his life was being changed for him.

It wasn’t a good start.

At midnight Nicole wrapped herself in a quilt and stepped onto her porch. She glanced at the thermometer tacked to the porch post—thirty-eight degrees. The roads would probably be icy by morning.

Her breath puffed white in front of her, but the fresh air felt good. Since she’d moved to the area two months ago, she’d come to crave the crisp coldness of Lake Tahoe the way some people yearned for the heat of her hometown, Sacramento. She wouldn’t miss the hundred-degree summers a bit, nor the humidity of Atlantic City, which she’d called home for ten years.

Nicole sat on her porch swing and eased it back and forth, the chains groaning quietly against the overhead hooks, the motion calming.

It wasn’t as if she hadn’t known this day would come. She’d planned to tell Devlin—just probably not until the baby was born and DNA testing could be done, because she knew he would require that.

She couldn’t blame him for not trusting her. They’d been strangers, without reasons to trust each other. All he knew of her was that she’d fallen into bed with him without knowing him, without any prelude at all. The sex had been like nothing she’d thought herself capable of—anonymous, all-consuming and with little tenderness—exactly what she’d needed that night. And even without the reminder growing inside her, she would’ve remembered everything about those hours with Devlin. She’d cried in his arms more than once. He’d never asked her why but had simply held her, then made love to her—with her—again. And again. And again.

In the morning, she hadn’t sneaked out, but woke him up to tell him thank you, kissing him goodbye. That was supposed to be the end of it. No regrets.

Surprise!

Nicole closed her eyes, keeping the swing moving, remembering the exact moment two months after that incredible night when she’d realized that it wasn’t lingering grief making her feel so miserable, but pregnancy. Now in her second trimester, the morning sickness gone, she felt healthy and strong and capable of dealing with Devlin.

She shivered, but whether from the cold or the anticipation of contending with Devlin, she wasn’t sure. She needed sleep, would try again and hope for better results than the past hour of tossing and turning.

As she stood she saw headlights coming up the road. The vehicle slowed at her driveway, stopped for a few seconds, then turned in and eased up the twenty feet to her house. Not recognizing the big black SUV, she sat again, grateful she’d turned off the porch light.

The car door opened and a man got out. Devlin. She held her breath. What was he doing? How had he found her? Did he plan to bang on the door and wake her from what should’ve been a sound sleep?

Apparently not. He just stood there looking around. After a minute he walked around the side of the house, out of sight, then reappeared shortly.

She wondered about his reaction. She loved her little cabin. It was only seven hundred square feet, but cozy and comfortable and hers—or in twenty-nine years and eleven months it would be hers. She’d always rented before.

Dead leaves and pine needles crunched under Devlin’s shoes as he came close again, this time veering toward the porch. His hands tucked into his jacket pockets, he put a foot on the lowest step but went no farther.

“Looking for someone?” she asked, figuring he would spot her soon enough.

He swore, which made her smile. She liked that she’d been the one to do the startling this time.

“What are you doing out here?” he asked, coming up the remaining stairs. “It’s freezing.”

Vanity had her wishing she wasn’t in a robe, flannel pajamas and fuzzy slippers, and free of makeup. “How’d you find me?”

“Typed your name into the White Pages on the Internet. I wasn’t going to knock. I just wanted to see where you live.” Without invitation he sat next to her on the swing. His breath billowed in front of him, as hers did. “You couldn’t sleep, either?”

She shook her head. She was cold to the bone now, but she wasn’t about to let him know that. And her entire body reacted to being so close to his. Memories invaded, warming her, arousing—

“Invite me in,” he said, leaning toward her slightly.

Apparently the word please wasn’t in his vocabulary. “We’ll talk tomorrow, as scheduled,” she said.

“You’re not sleeping. I’m not sleeping. Why not talk now?”

“Because we’re both overtired. One of us is bound to misspeak.”

“I don’t misspeak.”

“Then you must be immortalized in some comic book with those other superhumans.”

“You’re shivering,” he said, ignoring her remark. “It can’t be good for the baby.”

“I don’t do anything to put this child at risk.” What was she doing? Acting like an idiot just to prove a point—that she was doing fine without him and would continue? She’d already been headed into the house when he’d shown up. She was twenty-eight years old and acting like a teenager. “Want some hot chocolate?” she asked.

To his credit he didn’t look smug but stood and held out a hand to her. He’d kept his in his pockets, so they were warm compared to hers. She let go as soon as she was standing, then led the way into the house.

Nicole had almost finished decorating. She had combined yard-sale finds with consignment-shop treasures, had reupholstered, painted and sewed, with only the baby’s room to go.

The living room, dining nook and kitchen were visible from the front entry. She laid her quilt over a chair, tightened the sash on her robe and headed into the kitchen. She pulled out a saucepan, milk and cocoa mix.

“Mind if I look around?” Devlin asked, tossing his jacket atop her quilt.

“Go ahead.” She was glad to have him wander off for a minute. Her bedding was jumbled, but what did it matter? She’d gone to bed, tried to sleep. He would know that. On the other hand, the place was so small he would be back before the milk had even gotten warm.

“Do you own or rent?” he asked, returning and leaning against the refrigerator, watching her.

“Own.”

“It’s small…to raise a child.”

“How much room does a child need?” she countered.