The Pregnancy Clause. Elizabeth Sinclair
And she’d seen them fall when a horse died. She’d watched the joining of a stud and mare, then, eleven months later, seen the fruit of that union in the face of a spindly-legged foal. She’d cried when the foals her father had bred for others had left for new homes. And she’d loved it all, every minute of it.
Could she turn her back on it?
The monotonous, back-and-forth motion of the rocker reflected the rhythm of her thoughts.
One minute the idea of caring for a small, helpless human being scared her so much, she actually contemplated, if just for a split second, giving up the farm. The next, the notion of having someone to love and to return her love, to look up to her for guidance, to laugh with her, to share her solitary life, made her go all warm inside.
After an hour of rocking and thinking, she’d come to some pretty startling conclusions. The idea of having the baby and caring for it didn’t scare her, or at least not as much as other aspects of this mess. What scared her more was the idea of having to allow a man close enough to accomplish the task. As far as Emily was concerned, she’d rather go nose-to-nose with an unbroken horse than trust a man, any man. There had to be a way…
Her stomach growled, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten since the slightly singed toast she’d had for breakfast. The thought of eating another solitary meal made her want to cry. Resolutely, she got up, went inside and grabbed her purse, then headed for her car. Even Tess’s prizewinning gray meat loaf was preferable to another sandwich alone—then again, maybe she’d settle for a side trip to her favorite fast-food stop on the way to Honey’s for some much needed advice.
EMILY AND HONEY shared the top step on the back porch of Amanda Logan’s big, white house. By Bristol standards, the Logan house claimed mansion status. To Em, however, it had always been as warm and welcoming as her own ranch house. She was sure that Honey’s mother-in-law had a lot to do with that.
Sipping iced tea and watching Danny chase the yellow balloon she had brought him, Emily mentally snuggled down into the familiar warmth she always felt here.
Honey ran a finger down her sweating glass, leaving behind a trail of water droplets. “So, have you made any decisions about the farm?”
Emily frowned at her sister. “What do you mean decisions about the farm? I’m keeping it, of course. I’ll have the baby.”
Sitting her glass down at her feet, Honey wiped her wet hands on her denim-covered thighs, then looked Emily straight in the eye. “How many dates have you had recently?” Emily was about to respond, but Honey held up her hand. “Let me reword that. When was the last time you had a date?”
Snapping her mouth closed, Emily searched her memory. Though she struggled for an answer that would satisfy her sister, none came to mind. The last date she could recall was a year ago on New Year’s Eve with Sam Davis, the grandson of one of Rose’s friends. Rose said she had arranged the date because Sam was in town for just a few days and his grandmother was concerned that he’d be alone New Year’s Eve, but Emily wasn’t sure Rose hadn’t had an ulterior motive. If she had, it hadn’t worked. Sam was nice, but certainly didn’t rock the earth beneath Emily’s feet.
Honey leaned back, a knowing look filling her eyes. “I thought so. You haven’t had a date in so long, you can’t even recall when it was.”
“I can too recall it.”
“When?”
“Last New Year’s Eve.”
Honey’s red lips quirked to one side. “That was arranged. It doesn’t count. Besides, Em, that’s over a year ago.”
Avoiding her sister’s censuring look, Emily watched Danny chase his balloon across the lawn, hit it, then bound off after it again. She felt a bit like the balloon. In the past two days, she’d been battered from pillar to post with other people’s conclusions about her life. She needed to come to some decisions, something that would signal she’d taken back control. But Honey usually thought in absolutes and Emily had none, so she couldn’t broach the subject just yet.
Grabbing for something to steer the conversation in a new direction, she settled on one of the other unexpected events of her long day. “Guess who’s back in town.”
Casting Emily an I-know-you’re-avoiding-me look, Honey asked, “Who?”
“Kat.”
Sitting up straight, Honey gaped at Emily. “Kat Madison?”
“One and the same.”
“What’s he doing back here?”
“I saw him working on the old Madison place.”
“Do you think he’s back to stay?”
Denying the hope that surged through her at that consideration, Emily shook her head. “No. I have the feeling he’s fixing it up to sell it, then leaving again.” The thought sat in her stomach like a large rock.
“And?”
Emily stared at her sister. “And what?”
“What happened?”
“Nothing. What did you expect to happen? I haven’t seen the man in sixteen years.” She threw Honey an impatient look and turned her attention back to Danny. Uncomfortable with having to relate to Honey what she’d said to Kat, Emily switched subjects for the second time. “So, what do you think I should do about conceiving a baby?”
A heavy sigh came from Honey’s side of the porch step. “As I see it, as long as you’re determined to go this route, you have three choices—adoption, in vitro fertilization, or the good old-fashioned way.”
Standing, Emily walked to the white, lacy porch railing and balanced herself atop it, keeping her balance by hooking one sneakered toe in the cutout of the vertical boards. “Adoption takes forever. I don’t have forever. And the old-fashioned way is not even a consideration.”
“Why?”
Not believing the feigned look of innocence on Honey’s face, Emily frowned. “Because that entails a relationship with a man, and, if you recall, we just established that my social life is nil. Besides I always felt sex was highly overrated.”
“Hells bells, Em, your first experience was with Joey Sloan. He didn’t know what the zipper on the front of his pants was for until he was twelve. What can you expect? I never did understand what you saw in him.”
“He liked horses.”
Honey snorted, then glanced at her son racing after his balloon. “Sex doesn’t have to be like that. When it’s the right time with the right person, it’s…”
“It’s what?”
Honey turned to her, as if waking from a dream. “Let me make this simple for you. It’s not Joey Sloan in the back seat of his father’s old sedan parked on the overlook above the village dump.”
Emily glowered at her sister, then tapped her cheek with the tip of her blunt nail, not wishing to get any deeper into the subject of her teenage male preferences. Besides, Honey didn’t need to know that an emotional relationship or the possibility of one had no part in Emily’s plan for her future. “Artificial insemination has its possibilities, however.”
“Good grief, Emily, you sound like you’re talking about one of your horses.”
“The problem is—” Emily went on, as if Honey hadn’t said a word “—I’d have to find a donor.”
Honey emitted a very unladylike snort. “Why don’t you just stroll down Main Street stopping every man you see until you find one willing to donate a few of his little guys to the cause.”
Emily threw her sister a disparaging look. “Can we be serious here for a minute? We’re talking about a baby for goodness’ sake.” She shook her head. “I don’t want just any man fathering my child. I want to know who he is.”
“Why?”