Her Best Friend's Baby

“That’s silly. They can throw that away and get—”

“Put your hand down.” She reached across the table and grabbed his wrist, smacking his hand on the table. “We are not going to put the waitress and the cook to more trouble because I dawdled over my food and let it get cold. They’ll think something was wrong with it. It’s not good karma to send your food back uneaten.”

“But you weren’t eating it.” The back of his hand stung where she’d whacked it against the table, but it was the warm grip of her fingers around his wrist that really bothered him. Her fingers against his skin reminded him of how she’d clutched his shoulders last night while he buried himself in her. He forced himself to stay focused. “The food would have gone back to the kitchen eventually, anyway.”

“Nope.” Her blue gaze held his earnestly. “I would have asked for a doggy bag. Nobody’s insulted if you ask for a doggy bag.” She looked at his hand on the table. “Can I trust you not to try to get the waitress over here?”

“Guess so.”

“All right, then.” She released her hold and went back to eating her cold omelette. “It’s a matter of professional courtesy.”

“I can see that.”

She paused and glanced pointedly at his plate. “Eat up.”

“But I’m not—”

“Hungry? I don’t think that’s the issue. You need your strength.”

He pushed his plate aside. “I’ll ask for a doggy bag.”

“Oh, no, you don’t. If you’re going to force me to eat this cold food, you can do the exact same thing. Start chewing.”

“We’re not in the same boat.”

She shoved his plate in front of him. “We’re in exactly the same boat. I may be physically carrying this baby, but you are the father.”

And the only parent. He went still, bracing himself for the blow if she decided to point that out. She didn’t. She was incredibly sensitive. He hadn’t known that about her. There were lots of things he hadn’t known about her, like the silken welcome she provided for a man in bed. That was one thing he’d be better off not knowing, and the one thing he’d never forget.

“Let’s say you let yourself get run down,” she said. “You weaken your immune system, and there you are, a sitting duck for every bug that cruises by. So you have one illness after another, getting even more run down, and then, when this little girl is born, you’re too full of germs to be in the delivery room, let alone ready to function as her father.” She pointed her fork at him. “What do you say to that, Mr. Pediatrician? Is that fair to anybody?”

“No. No, it’s not.” He picked up his fork. Eating food when you’d rather not had never seemed like an act of courage to him before. But he realized that in Mary Jane’s case, that’s exactly what it was. He could do no less.

“Attaboy.”

He couldn’t help it. He grinned. Yesterday he’d been absolutely sure that smiles and laughter were a thing of the past. But here was irrepressible Mary Jane Potter, valiantly shoving down food she didn’t want and cheering him on to do the same. A person would have to be made of stone not to respond to that.

She grinned back. “But I gotta warn you, it tastes like crap.”

His grin turned to a chuckle.

“You look great when you do that.”

“I never thought I would again.”

Her blue eyes grew warm with compassion. “She wouldn’t want you to stop smiling, Morgan.”

His fork clattered to the plate and his throat closed. He fumbled for his napkin as his grief came flooding back.

“Damn,” she said softly, bolting out of her seat.

He tried to choke out an apology and couldn’t. Through his tears he saw her throw a bill on the table.

“Come on.” She grabbed his hand and led him, stumbling, out of the restaurant.

Bright sunlight gave way to cool shade as she pushed him into an alley. Then she wrapped her arms around him and he clung to her and cried. He felt her shaking in his arms and was ashamed that he’d caused her to lose control, too. But he couldn’t do anything except curl his body over hers, bury his face in her glorious hair and hold on for dear life.

Eventually he managed to stop crying, but he couldn’t let go of her. He lifted his damp face, straightened a little and laid his cheek on the top of her head. “I was going to leave today,” he said. “Go back to New York.”

Her arms tightened around him.

“I won’t,” he said. “Not yet.”

Her grip slackened. Then she sighed, and when she spoke, her voice was hoarse from weeping. “Good.”

CHAPTER THREE

MARY JANE got behind the wheel of her neon-green Super Beetle while Morgan leaned down and moved the passenger seat back to accommodate his long legs. She’d sold her old junker and found a smokin’ deal on this slightly used buggy. It had been love at first sight the minute she’d seen the bud vase set into the dash. Sure, she had monthly payments, but she also had a silk daisy smiling at her every time she climbed into the car.

Before starting the engine, she turned to Morgan. “How long do you think you can stay?”

“A few days, maybe. But I’ll need to call the office and tell them where I am. My partner can probably take care of—”

“You didn’t tell your office you were coming here?”

He looked surprised by the question. “I didn’t tell anyone.”

“Morgan!”

“I haven’t been in the most organized state of mind recently.”

“Well, I know, but people must be frantic! Your office is one thing, but what about your friends, your parents? All sorts of people.”

He regarded her steadily. “I called my parents right after the accident. As I talked to them and felt no empathy at all, I was brutally reminded that they try to avoid anything messy and cruel. When I told them there would be no funeral, so they weren’t required to do anything, they sounded relieved. They told me to call if there was anything they could do. But I knew they didn’t really want me to call.”

Her heart ached for him, but she knew exactly what he was talking about. Her father had been like that after her mother died. He’d promptly hired Arielle as Mary Jane’s nanny and then had proceeded to distance himself from his daughter, who was a constant reminder of harsh realities like death. Arielle had been her family from that moment on, Arielle and the good friends she’d made here in Austin.

“As for friends,” Morgan went on, “I have to confess we weren’t all that close to anyone. We were both busy with our careers, and we didn’t take much time to socialize other than business dinners, meet-and-greet kinds of things. I can’t think of anyone who would be all that concerned as to my whereabouts.”

“I’m sure you’re wrong about that, but you should at least call your office.”

He nodded. “Yeah, I will.”

“Do you have a calling card?”

“Of course.”

She pointed to a pay phone a few feet from the restaurant. “I’ll wait.”