Expectant Father. Melinda Curtis
the baby who she’d hoped wouldn’t have to suffer an emotional tug-of-war. This close to him, she could smell the soap he’d used. It reminded her of his body pressed against hers, all hard planes and wiry muscle.
When he didn’t say anything, Becca fought back her panic. They were beyond the parking area now, beyond where anyone else was. The portable lamps mounted on twenty-foot poles cast light beyond the camp’s borders into the woods. Maybe he didn’t know.
Then why was he dragging her away?
“If you want to talk about the fire today, I’ll need my notepad.” The pounding from the cut in her temple that had finally receded to a dull ache resurfaced with a vengeance.
“You’re not going to want to take notes on anything I have to say.” Aiden kept on marching as they entered the edge of the forest. He wore a fresh pair of fire-resistant, forest-green Nomex pants and a Nomex yellow button-down shirt, while she was still in her sweaty, smelly shorts and bloodstained T-shirt, covered only with a worn, red fleece vest.
They moved past pungent, fresh bear scat. Becca shivered, her gaze alternately darting from the ground, looking for bear tracks, and into the shadows, looking for bear. Grizzlies were common in this part of the country and had discovered base camp early, testing the patience and locks of the caterers. There was no food allowed in tents or base-camp packs on this fire, but that regulation hadn’t kept the bears away.
“If you’ve got to talk to me, just say it here.” She struggled to keep her voice even. Between the bear and Aiden, she was trembling.
With a sound of disgust, Aiden released Becca and stepped away. “I’ve been trying for the past two hours to figure out why you did it.”
Still panting for breath, Becca struggled to formulate an answer. Going to bed with Aiden, a stranger, to get pregnant had seemed logical at the time, but now? Staring into his dark, angry eyes, it seemed incredibly foolish.
He circled her. “You must have thought I was stupid. Did I look like an easy mark? That older woman, younger man thing?”
Mutely, Becca shook her head. He’d been perfect up until the point she’d discovered he was a Hot Shot. His team logo—a tree centered on an orange flame—had been permanently etched in Becca’s mind when she’d seen it on a T-shirt on his bathroom floor.
Becca continued to watch him, flooded with feelings of shame, but she would not share this baby with a stranger. She would not stand by and let some man treat her child like a piece of property to be divided, as was happening with her nephew. Nor would she sink to fighting over her child, making them an emotional wreck.
“Why’d you do it? Why’d you make me into a cheater?” He leaned in closer. “Did you have a little spat with your husband? Was he cheating on you? You didn’t even tell me to give me a choice.”
“Hu-husband?”
“Did you know you were pregnant when we slept together?” He was pacing around her. “You must have known because you said you had the birth control covered. I don’t sleep around with married women, lady, especially a pregnant one. You’ve made me something I so did not want to be. Man, this sucks.”
Never much good at lying, Becca’s mouth was still hanging open when Aiden halted his tirade.
“Well?” he prompted.
“You thought I was married?”
He scowled. “Not then. But when I saw you here—pregnant as a house—what was I supposed to think?”
“Uh…” It finally registered in Becca’s tired, stressed-out brain. He thought she’d been cheating on her husband. He didn’t know she didn’t have a husband. He didn’t suspect the baby was his.
A nervous, relieved laugh escaped before she could stop herself.
“Wait a minute.” He peered at her in the gathering darkness. Then he snatched up her left hand. “You’re not wearing a ring.”
Becca pulled her fingers back. “I’m not married.” It was too late for that. While she’d been focusing on her career, her friends and siblings had been getting married, and having babies. She’d just played a little catch-up and skipped a step or two—dating, engagement, marriage. At thirty-eight, she couldn’t wait for Mr. Right.
“But if you’re not married, whose baby is that?” He pointed at the baby nestled in her belly as if it were repugnant to him.
“It’s mine.” Not Aiden’s. She wrapped her arms around her belly as if she could prevent him taking the baby from her.
Under the orange, fire-lit sky, Becca watched the wheels turn in Aiden’s mind.
“Tell me that baby isn’t mine,” he demanded slowly in a voice shaking with anger.
“This baby is mine,” Becca repeated, staunchly walking the line between lying to him and admitting the truth.
“That’s not an answer.” Despite his youth, he was annoyingly smart.
Becca stepped sideways, toward the makeshift parking area. “It shouldn’t matter to you who the biological father was. I’m raising this baby alone.”
He shifted his stance, but kept his dark gaze on her. “Every baby needs a father.”
“Not this baby.” Becca lifted her chin. From what she knew of Aiden—his sleeping around, his wild behavior—she suspected he didn’t really want to know if his sperm had helped create the little one inside her. If she told him, it would only weigh on his conscience, if not now, then later, when he got older. And she didn’t want to open her door one day ten years from now to find Aiden demanding things like visitation and partial custody.
Instead of being relieved as she’d thought he’d be, Aiden grabbed her by the shoulders, tugging her forward until her face was near his. “Who fathered your baby?”
“None of your business. And even if it was, I wouldn’t want anything from you.” Becca’s knees crumpled and she would have fallen if Aiden hadn’t turned his grip from cruel to supportive.
“Too late.” His voice crackled with anger. “You took something from me in Vegas—a choice. And now I have a different choice to make, don’t I?”
SPIDER SANK AGAINST a sturdy spruce as he watched Becca walk back to camp. She moved slowly across the uneven ground as if she were afraid to fall.
Damn her.
Oh, she hadn’t come out and admitted the baby was his. In fact, she’d gone out of her way to give him an out, to let him think what he wanted, as if he were the kind of guy who wouldn’t step up when something like this happened.
He’d decided long ago that he’d never have kids. His father, a career Hot Shot, had been the worst excuse for a dad ever known to man.
His mother, perhaps recognizing too late that Randy Rodas was poor parenting material and that she was no better, had left Spider with his grandmother one fire season and never been seen or heard from since. At first, Randy sometimes made it home for a brief visit around Christmas, leaving as quickly and unexpectedly as he’d come. And then there’d been nothing but a card with a twenty-dollar bill to validate that Spider had a dad. It was the revelation that his father had been spending his holidays and winters with his other families—other kids that he obviously loved more—that had sent Spider into a tailspin in Vegas.
He’d have to do the right thing, whatever that was. Only the right thing looked pretty damn unpleasant at the moment. He could just see coming to Becca’s house to pick up the kid on a Sunday. She’d be cold, looking down that finely chiseled nose of hers as if he weren’t good enough for her or their kid. And the kid would look at him as if he were a stranger.
Double damn.
The one time he’d trusted a woman with birth control—an older woman who should have known better—he’d fathered a child. If his dad was