A Vow, a Ring, a Baby Swing

If only it had been for her ravishing beauty, to-die-for body and irresistible charm instead of her shocking announcement. With all her heart, she wished that she could take those words back. Why in God’s name had she blurted out her news like that? Her excuses lined up like ducks in a row: shock and hurt and anger, mixed with a down-and-dirty desire to shake him out of that damn complacency he wore like a pair of sexy jeans.

And fear. Terror had pushed the words out of her mouth.

She’d had the situation under control. She’d planned to marry Wayne and give her baby a name and a father. She’d been determined to make the best of their relationship. She would have made it work, too. But her well-meaning family, with Steve’s eager cooperation, had raced to her rescue. Now she was out of the frying pan and into the fire.

Above all, Rosie did not want anyone else to know she was pregnant. At least not yet. But she knew she’d get more secrecy from a tabloid reporter than Steve. He’d been dispatched by her mother to take care of her; he would feel obligated to report that she was going to have a baby.

There were two reasons she didn’t want them to know. Number one: she was afraid the shock would send her mother back to the hospital with another heart attack. Number two: she didn’t think she could stand to see the hurt and disappointment on her parents’ faces when they found out their only daughter had messed up so badly.

No. She had enough to handle without taking that on just now. Since she couldn’t rewind and edit, she had to do some serious damage repair. But how?

“You’re pregnant?” he said finally.

“Gotcha!” She pointed at him as she tried her best to grin, the last thing she felt like doing.

But turning it into a joke was all she could think of to do. How else could she make him go away? She needed to deal with the fact that her fiancé hadn’t loved her enough to resist her family’s meddling. Surprisingly, she didn’t feel as if she was going to fall apart, but lately she couldn’t tell. Her hormones were pretty whacked out. If she decided to have a good cry, she wanted privacy. The last person on earth she wanted to witness her breakdown was Steve Schafer.

“You’re trying to tell me that was a gag?” he asked. He didn’t believe her.

“Okay, it’s not very funny. I’m not in an especially good mood. Put yourself in my shoes. How would you feel if I sabotaged your wedding?” Did he know she was lying? She was no match for the man who put the “cyn” in cynical. He could see through anyone. But she wouldn’t go down without a fight.

The look of pity on his face at the chapel had nearly been her undoing. If he knew about the baby, there would be a mega-dose of that expression and she would rather walk naked into a hailstorm than see it again.

Tension crackled between them and Rosie couldn’t stand it. “Next time, stay out of my life when my mother asks you to do her dirty work.”

Something crossed his face. A shadow. He almost looked guilty. Well, he darn well should. She was pregnant and not married. Thanks to him she never would be.

He folded his arms across his chest and leaned back against the cherrywood desk, looking far too comfortable, as if he were settling in for a heart-to-heart. A long time ago he had turned his back on her, given up his claim to soul-baring chats. He didn’t need her, and she would never need him again. Lord, she wasn’t feeling well. If her stomach decided to rebel, a frequent occurrence of late, she would never get rid of him.

“I’m not going to argue with you, Steve.” How could there be arguing when she was the only one talking? The fact that he didn’t rise to her bait and bicker back was immaterial, irrelevant, and completely unimportant. Not to mention frustrating and annoying. “Actually, I’d like you to leave. Go back to my mother and tell her ‘mission accomplished.’”

“I plan to go. But not without you. I have two plane tickets for Los Angeles, and we’re going to use them. Right after we have lunch. It would be a shame to waste this food.”

“You eat. I’m not hungry.” Why was he still trying to feed her? She folded her arms against her increasingly agitated stomach.

“You’ve got to have something. Since when do you turn down a meal?”

“Since I got stood up at the altar. A broken heart tends to put a girl off eating.”

He tensed. “I wish there had been another way. You know I hate this as much as you do.”

He really did look sorry. In fact, he looked terrible. Tired, as if he hadn’t slept in days. She pushed. the thought away. She’d give the man no quarter, no sympathy.

“You couldn’t possibly feel like I do.” He wasn’t pregnant. And if he was, not only would it be a miracle, but there were any number of tall, leggy blondes who would drop everything to make an honest man of him.

“I wish things could have been different, squirt.”

“Yeah. Me, too.”

He looked apologetic, an expression just this side of feeling sorry for her. If he went to the pity place she wouldn’t be held responsible for her actions. No jury of her peers—girls from interfering families who’d paid off a fiancé—would convict her for any mayhem she decided to wreak upon his decidedly hunky person.

“Why don’t you try to eat? I got your favorites.” In a single fluid motion he straightened and lifted the metal dome from one of the plates on the room service tray beside him. “Steak, potatoes au gratin, asparagus.”

She sniffed and her stomach lurched. Brought down by the smell! She put a hand over her mouth and raced to the bathroom, slamming the door. It didn’t take long to get rid of the small amount of breakfast she’d been able to choke down. When she was steady, she rinsed her mouth out.

She was staring at her chalky-white face in the mirror when Steve knocked on the door.

Her humiliation was complete.

“Ro?”

“Go away.”

“Are you all right?”

“Fine. Go away.”

“Can I come in?”

“No. Go away.”

The door opened. He took one look at her face, quickly but gently sat her on the side of the tub, and then wet a washcloth. He sat next to her and started to bathe her forehead and the back of her neck.

Even though she had ordered him out, she admitted to herself that the warmth of his body, the support implied by his actions, felt good. Too good. As much as she hated to admit it, this was more consideration than Wayne had given her since she’d told him about the baby. But at least he’d agreed to marry her. Now she had to get used to the fact that she was on her own. Thanks to Steve. She had to make him leave.

And she would. Real soon, she thought with a sigh as her eyelids drifted closed while he pressed the wet cloth to her forehead. “What part of ‘go away’ did you not understand?”

“When’s the baby due?”

Her eyes snapped open and she pushed his hand aside. “What baby? This was just nerves, delayed shock—”

“Look, I didn’t just fall off the turnip truck, Rosie.” He rested his wrist on his thigh and let the damp washcloth hang from his fingers between his widespread knees.

“And that means—what?”

“Wayne told me you were going to have a baby. I thought he was lying to get more money out of me. You really are pregnant, aren’t you?”

She met his blue-eyed gaze for a few seconds, then nodded miserably.

He put his arm around her, ignoring her token resistance as he drew her closer to his side.

She rested her cheek on his solid, comforting shoulder, torn between wanting to push him away and needing to stay there forever.

“Before you ask, it’s Wayne’s baby,” she said.

“I wasn’t going to ask.” He hesitated, then tensed. “Do you want me to find him? I’ll—”

“No way.” She pulled away from the security, shelter and warmth of his arms and stood. Retreating from him, she leaned against the sink. “It’s just too pathetic. I wouldn’t marry a man who took money from my family to break us up.”