You're My Baby. Laura Abbot
“I guess, then, you’d better show me the master bedroom.”
He stood aside and let her precede him. The plaid bedspread was drawn barracks-tight over the king-size mattress. His dresser top was bare except for a pewter dish for pocket change, a small portable television set and a basketball trophy. The bedside table sported a lamp, an alarm clock and the biography he was reading. The bare wood floor suddenly looked utilitarian. When, after a few moments, she hadn’t said anything, he couldn’t stand it. “Well?”
She screwed up her face as if searching for the word. “Spartan. Masculine.”
“Is that bad?”
She shrugged, then smiled. “C’mon, you’ve seen my place. The kindest thing that can be said of my taste is organized chaos.”
“But you can bring your things.” He looked around helplessly. “Do whatever you like.”
“Plants?”
He nodded.
“Wall hangings?”
“Sure.”
“A big, old braided rug?”
“Why not?”
“A nest for Viola and Sebastian in the corner?”
“In here?”
“My kitties always sleep with me.”
That stopped him. The darned felines were going to be better off than he was. “Uh, where did you have in mind for us to sleep?”
“Show me the den.”
He led her through the bathroom to the small room crowded by his desk, bookcase and a beat-up daybed. He noticed her studying the bed. “I suppose I could sleep in here,” she said, eyeing the sagging mattress dubiously.
“I thought I would.”
“Grant, look at it. You’re a foot taller than that thing is long. If anyone’s going to sleep in here, it’ll be me.”
“Okay, we’ll try it that way, but I don’t want you and Barney to be uncomfortable.”
“Barney?”
He reddened. “You know. The baby.”
She shook her head, seemingly bemused. “Or Barnette, don’t forget.” She started back through the bathroom, then stopped. “Are you sure you’re ready to share a bathroom with a woman again?”
He had a sudden disturbing image of wet hosiery, like slimy tentacles, draped all over the towel rack and shower curtain rod. He gulped. “I’m sure.”
By the time they reached the living room, which she proclaimed “austere,” he was worn-out.
“I don’t want to intrude into your lifestyle, but—”
“Nonsense,” he said. “This will be your home, too. I want you to be comfortable.”
She sank down into the brown tweed sofa he’d bought at a going-out-of-business sale. It had been cheap and matched his cushy, man-size rust recliner.
She eyed the mantel. “Do you think we could get a shelf for those?” Move his team pictures and state championship trophies? He enjoyed looking at them while he watched TV. “Sure, if that’s what you’d like.”
Her eyes, like some malevolent detecting device, raked the room. “And maybe we could move your chair and turn the sofa this other way, so my chair would fit.”
“I guess.” What was it with women? Did they come wired with the rearranging-furniture gene? Just as he acknowledged his irritation, she relaxed against the sofa, spreading her arms in a gesture of contentment. “It’s going to be fine, Grant, really fine.”
He sought the comfort of his recliner before answering. “I hope so. But it may require more patience than we imagined.”
She eyed him thoughtfully. “Having second thoughts? It’s not too late.”
Second thoughts? Not about her. She looked just right sitting in his living room, even if she was discussing upsetting his ordered existence. “No. I want to marry you, Pam.” Then, grinning, he added, “And that’s my final answer.”
She pulled her knees up to her chest and propped her chin on them, a peaceful expression on her face. “Good,” she said softly.
They sat in silence for several minutes, and he thought how pleasant it was to have this kind of quiet companionship. Finally she spoke up. “If we’re going to hit the county clerk’s office before our eleven-o’clock upper-school meeting, I think you’d better take me home soon.”
“I will, but first…” Curiosity had been eating at him for several days, waiting to be satisfied. “Could you tell me about the man? The father?” Needing to risk the rest, he blurted out the difficult question, “Do you love him?”
CHAPTER FOUR
SLOWLY PAM EASED her feet to the floor, caught off guard by the question, by Grant’s sudden earnestness and by her own disturbing flashbacks. Steven—devilishly handsome in an intense, scholarly sort of way. High cheekbones, dark eyes, thick black hair, and long, tapering fingers with a magic of their own. She couldn’t resist him, even after he told her the truth. But love?
In fairness, she owed Grant an honest answer. This man, not Steven, would be the baby’s father on record. She focused on the emotions Grant’s question had aroused—joy, passion, sadness, resignation. “In a nostalgic, romantic sense, a part of me will always love him. I would never have been intimate with him otherwise.”
She paused, remembering the yearning and pain in Steven’s brown eyes, recalling the apology he’d tried to voice before she had hushed him—before they had come together in mutual need and desire. Pam looked directly at Grant. “I was not promiscuous. Nor did I intend to get pregnant.”
“Have you reconsidered telling him about the baby?”
“No.” She paused, letting the sound of the word die away. “And I won’t. Fate threw us together in unusual circumstances. But he never deceived me.”
Grant appeared to be mulling over what she’d said. He probably wasn’t even aware of the furrow on his brow.
She pulled forth her deepest, most painful memory—one she’d never considered sharing. Until now. “I knew he was married. That he had two daughters, ten and twelve. He’d told me all about Julie, his wife.” Why couldn’t she catch her breath? “But what he said didn’t register until I saw her for myself.”
So vivid and distressing was the memory she was hardly aware of her surroundings or of the man sitting across from her. She struggled to go on. “He was being honored by the university. His family had flown in for the occasion. I hadn’t intended to go, but at the last minute, I couldn’t help myself. That’s when I saw her. That’s when I truly realized why he could never see me again. Never have anything further to do with me.”
“If this is too difficult, Pam—”
“No. I need to tell you.” She drew a deep breath, then went on. “He loves his wife. Dearly, devotedly. I saw that when he pushed her wheelchair onto the platform. When he leaned down to kiss her so very tenderly.” Tears filled her eyes. “Grant, she’s paralyzed from the shoulders down. A skiing accident.” She pulled a tissue from her pocket and dabbed her cheeks. “Now do you see? I was lonely. He was a kind man with needs. I guess you could say nature took its course, and here I am—pregnant. Even so there’s no decision to be made. What do you suppose knowing about the baby would do to her? To him?” She let the question hang in the air before continuing. “I’ve given this considerable thought, and I know the time may come when, either for personal or medical reasons, my child will need the truth. But I’ll wait until that day arrives.”