Wanted: Father for Her Baby: Keeping Baby Secret / Five Brothers and a Baby / Expecting Brand's Baby. BEVERLY BARTON
Wanted: Father for Her Baby: Keeping Baby Secret / Five Brothers and a Baby / Expecting Brand's Baby
poker face.
He turned her in his arms. “Look at me, Leenie.”
She lifted her gaze to meet his and saw confusion in his eyes, as well as concern.
“I’m not sure how I feel,” he admitted. “I never thought about being a father. I knew, after my divorce, that I’d never get married again. And I’m just old-fashioned enough to think a guy should get married before he fathers a child. I don’t have unsafe sex. You know that.”
“Condoms aren’t foolproof,” she told him. “And I wasn’t on the pill. Most doctors recommend another form of birth control for women after they turn thirty-five.”
“You don’t have to explain. We thought we were being careful. Responsible. Accident’s happen.”
“Is that how you think of Andrew, as an accident?” Heat suffused her face as her temper rose.
“Don’t put words in my mouth. All I’m saying is that Andrew’s conception was an accident. I just found out today that I’m a father. Give me some time to figure out what I think about having a child. You had nine months of pregnancy and two months with Andrew to figure out how you feel. Did you know immediately when you found out you were pregnant that you wanted the child, that you loved him?”
Well, he had her there. No, of course she hadn’t known immediately that she loved and wanted her baby. When she’d read the home pregnancy test, she’d panicked. And when the doctor had confirmed her condition, she’d stayed in a state of shock for days. She had even considered an abortion. But only for about two minutes.
“You’re right. I was being unfair putting you on the spot that way.”
He cupped her face with his hands. “I do know this—I care about Andrew. And I’ll do whatever it takes to bring our son home to you. Once he’s back in your arms, we’ll figure out where to go from there.”
“Fair enough.” She swallowed fresh tears.
“I realize we’re little more than strangers to each other. We had a whirlwind love affair and we spent most of our time making love, not getting acquainted.”
She nodded.
“I’d like to learn more about Andrew, if you’re willing to talk to me about him. It might help you. Hell, it might help both of us. But if you’d rather not, it’s okay.”
She pulled away from Frank, walked across the room and picked up the most recent photograph of her baby. “This was taken a few weeks ago. It’s a picture of him I took with my digital camera. I enlarged it and framed it.” She held it out to Frank.
He didn’t move for a couple of minutes, as if he were afraid of the picture. Was he wondering how his first glimpse of his son would affect him?
“He’s asleep in this picture, so you can’t see his eyes.” She moved toward Frank, the framed photograph in her hand. “He has blue eyes, like mine. And blond hair. Not much hair, mostly just baby-fine fluff.” He has your mouth, your chin and your hands and feet, she wanted to say, but didn’t. “He’s big for his age. He weighed nine pounds, five ounces, when he was born.”
Frank glanced down at the picture, then reached out and took it. He stared at the photo for what seemed like forever, then smiled and said, “He looks like you. Lucky kid.”
Leenie clenched her teeth to keep from crying.
“I guess he’ll grow up to be tall, huh, since I’m six-three and you’re—what?—five-nine or ten.” Frank looked at her.
She nodded. “He has big hands and big feet. Long toes and long fingers.” She cast her gaze on Frank’s hand holding the frame.
“Like me.” He looked at Andrew’s picture again, then handed it back to Leenie.
She placed the frame on the bedside table and slumped down on the edge of the bed. When she turned back to Frank, she noticed he was headed toward the door. Don’t leave me, she wanted to cry, please don’t leave me.
He glanced back at her. “I need to get my bag out of the rental car. I’m going to stay here with you until we find Andrew, if that’s all right.”
Her heart soared. “Yes. Yes, it’s all right with me.”
He offered her a forced smile, then opened the door.
“Thank you,” she called.
He paused momentarily, but didn’t turn or speak; then he left.
When Frank brought his bag in, Haley Wilson stopped him in the foyer. “Are you planning on staying?”
“Yeah.”
“Good.”
“Look, Ms. Wilson, if you have something to say to me, just say it.”
“All right. Leenie is one of the strongest, most independent women I know. But she’s vulnerable right now. Her whole life is hanging in the balance because Andrew is her life. I don’t know if you can understand that, but as a mother myself, I do. So, no matter what your own feelings are or how you plan to deal with things when y’all get Andrew back, right now, Leenie needs you. She needs your support and your comfort.”
“I agree.”
Haley stared at him, a puzzled expression on her face. “She hasn’t slept since the night before last and she hasn’t eaten since lunch yesterday. I’ve gotten her to drink a little tea, but that’s all. Do you think you could get her to eat?”
“Is there any cheesecake in the house?” Frank asked, remembering how they had devoured cheesecake at dawn, after a marathon lovemaking session.
Haley cocked her head sideways and smiled. “You do know a little something about her, don’t you? As for the cheesecake—I had my husband stop by the bakery and drop one by here a little while ago.”
Frank dumped his bag in the corner of the foyer. “I’ll take her a piece and make sure she eats it.” He looked directly at Leenie’s friend. “I’m going to take care of her. I promise.”
This woman had no way of knowing that Frank Latimer didn’t make promises easily, that when he made one, he kept it.
Five minutes later, Frank entered Leenie’s bedroom. He carried two slices of cheesecake and two cups of hot tea on a tray. Leenie glanced up at him from where she still sat on the edge of the bed. She clutched a damp, wrinkled handkerchief in her hand.
“Snack time.” He walked over, placed the tray on the bed and sat beside her. “Cheesecake and hot tea. Remember?”
“Yes, I remember, but I’m surprised that you do.”
He lifted one plate and fork and handed them to her. “Eat up.”
“Frank, I’m not—”
“Eat.” He picked up the other plate, sliced off a large chunk of cheesecake and slid it into his mouth. After chewing and swallowing, he sighed dramatically. “Nothing better than cheesecake, except—”
“Sex,” she finished his sentence.
Grinning, he took a second bite before placing his plate back on the tray. He eased his hand under her hand to support her plate, then lifted her fork and cut off a piece of the cheesecake and lifted it to her mouth. She parted her lips; he slid the cheesecake into her mouth. As soon as she finished one bite, he gave her another, and then another—slowly, patiently—until three-fourths of her slice was gone.
“I can’t eat anymore,” she told him.
He set her plate on the tray, then handed her the tea. While she sipped the tea, he drank his, watching her all the while. After she drained her cup, he removed the tray from the bed and placed it on the floor.
Leenie was dead on her feet, worn out from lack of sleep and the stress of not knowing where Andrew was or if