The Baby Agenda Read online

Moira reached for the lamp and plunged them into darkness. After a moment, he felt her moving, settling. He reached out a hand and found she’d turned on her side facing away from him. Probably on the very edge of the mattress. No surprise. He gently rubbed her back. “Sleep tight, sweetheart.”

  After a moment of silence, she whispered, “Good night, Will.” Yet another pause. “Thank you. For…being here tonight. For…I guess for being here at all.”

  He smiled. “You’re welcome.”

  Then he waited. Waited until she relaxed, until he heard her breathing deepen and slow. Only when he was sure she was asleep did he move the last foot closer to her, slide his arm under her head, and spoon their bodies together. He went still when her breathing hitched, but she sighed and, it seemed to him, snuggled against him.

  He lay there in the dark, her springy hair tickling his chin and throat as it hadn’t since that first night, and smiled again. Very carefully, so as not to awaken her, he splayed his hand on the large mound of her belly. Then, his wife and child held safe and close, Will let himself welcome sleep.

  WILL HOVERED THE NEXT DAY. There was no other word for it.

  At first it was kind of nice. But nice wore off, and after a while, his edginess made hers worse. She’d stand up to go to the bathroom, and he’d automatically rise with her, as if she was bound to collapse going ten feet. She’d look up and discover he wasn’t reading at all, he was watching her.

  In case she didn’t notice gallons of blood gushing forth.

  By midafternoon, she was snapping at him. When all he did was raise an eyebrow, she huffed out a breath. “Maybe I should go into the office.”

  “No, you shouldn’t.”

  Moira’s eyes narrowed. “You know, I’m usually pretty competent at taking care of myself.”

  Will was sprawled in her easy chair, leaving the couch to her. He smiled. “I imagine you are.”

  “Last night excepted.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “I freaked. I admit it. Today, I’m fine.”

  “Good.”

  “You’re looking at me like you expect the worst.”

  “Maybe you should go take a nap,” he said gently.

  “Are you going to come in and stare at me while I sleep?”

  He fiddled with the book he so obviously wasn’t reading. “Can I check on you a time or two?”

  “No.” Moira rose from the couch and marched out of the living room. He was smart enough not to follow her.

  She closed her bedroom door behind her with a satisfying click. Not quite a slam because that wasn’t justified. But firm enough to make a statement.

  She didn’t even know why she was mad. Maybe it wasn’t at Will at all. Maybe she was upset about her own predicament, for which God knows she bore almost all the responsibility, whatever Will said to the contrary. Yes, it took two to make a baby, but she’d practically shanghaied him. And now he was being so damn kind, and she was all mixed up because it felt so good to have someone to lean on, but it was also scary and unsettling because she’d gotten so used to not having anyone. All these emotions seemed to tangle inside her, like a knot that got tighter and more complicated the more she picked at it trying to separate one strand from another.

  She would never in her life forget how it had felt this morning to surface and find her head pillowed on his biceps, his warm, strong body touching hers from neck to calves. His breath had tickled her hair and raised goose bumps on her nape. His other arm enclosed her firmly and his hand lay open on her belly. One of her hands had clutched his arm as if to make sure he didn’t get away. And she had loved waking up that way. She couldn’t help thinking about the night she met him, the night they made this baby, and how much she had wished he’d still been there the next morning. How maybe everything would be different if he’d hung around. This awful, almost painful longing swelled in her chest.

  And, damn it, she had to pee! So instead of lying there quietly savoring the experience of being snuggled by this man, or at least trying to deal with all these complicated feelings he brought to life in her, what she did was wriggle out from under his arm and rush to the bathroom. And by the time she came out he was awake, and his eyes on her embarrassed her, so she collected clothes and went back in the bathroom to shower—aka to hide out.

  The rest of the day so far, nothing had felt quite right. She both wanted and didn’t want him to fuss. All this emotional tumult annoyed her, it was so unlike her prepregnancy self.

  Hormones. And the aftereffects of last night’s scare.

  I’m fine. Lying in bed so that she faced the side Will had slept on last night, she stroked her stomach and turned inward. You’re fine. Oh, baby, I was so afraid.

  If Will hadn’t been here…

  She’d have managed. As it turned out, she could have driven herself. Or called Gray, or 911. Or even Joan Phillips next door. She didn’t need Will.

  Eyes wide, she stared unseeing at the wall. Tonight he’d return to her guest room across the hall, and she wished that wasn’t so. If they were really married… But she didn’t know whether they were or not.

  He said he was committed, he said she was more important than his project in Africa, but…he’d also said that when the baby was a few months old, they’d talk. And that’s why panic swirled among all her other emotions, because it would be much, much worse to let herself believe he was really hers if he was only here on loan, so to speak.

  She didn’t know if she could bear it if that’s all this was, all he was offering.

  Oh, God, Moira thought, I’m falling in love with Will.

  She was all but hyperventilating.

  I’m already in love with him.

  And he was so totally not in love with her, or he wouldn’t have screwed her then slipped away into the night the way he did, not bothering to get in touch until he found out she was pregnant with his baby.

  He was a good man doing the right thing, and how could she let him know she was starting to feel things that would tie him to her even more tightly? Her love would probably feel like ropes of guilt on top of his sense of responsibility. He probably thought they were becoming friends; wasn’t that what always happened to her? And friends didn’t want to wake up every morning for the rest of their lives with each other.

  Instead of agonizing in silence she could ask if he saw himself going back to Africa in a couple of months. She lay staring at the ceiling knowing she didn’t dare. What if he said yes? Think how miserable she’d be having to depend on him then, once he’d confirmed her fear that her need was all that held him here!

  But if he didn’t—if he said of course not…would she believe him?

  Moira closed her eyes. No. No, she wouldn’t.

  WILL COULDN’T FIGURE OUT what was going on with Moira, but he was damned if he was going to give her the space she clearly wanted. What had she thought? He’d go snowboarding up at Stevens Pass and leave her alone for the day after she’d spent two hours in the emergency room the night before?

  He kept getting this cold feeling. He had been wildly attracted to her from the minute he set eyes on her, but maybe for Moira he really had been nothing but a substitute. A bird in the hand, and she was tipsy enough not to be too particular, but now to her horror she was stuck with him.

  God. What would he do if that’s how she felt?

  His throat almost closed up. Let her go. What else?

  In a fit of frustration and something that might have been anger but was probably wounded feelings, he threw the paperback book across the living room, then winced when it thudded against the wall. Way to go. Throw a tantrum. What if she came out to see what the noise was?

  Will made himself pick up the damn book and toss it on the coffee table. Then he went out on the front porch, needing the bite of fresh air. The neighborhood was quiet at this time of day, with most people at work and kids in school.

  Half the houses or more already had Christmas lights up. Maybe he’d finally put up Moira’s tomorrow, if h
e could get her to agree to stay put at Van Dusen & Cullen. She’d like to see the lights up. That might make her smile.

  Shit. What did it mean that he was still thinking of them as Moira’s lights?

  A sound escaped his throat, one he couldn’t even identify. Despair, disgruntlement, who knew? For only a moment, Will had a longing vision of the highveld in Zimbabwe, vivid green fields of tea leaves, a kraal of round, thatch-roofed huts housing the workers, tumbled slabs of granite topping a ridge. Some uniquely African baobab trees that would look so alien if they were transported here. His nostrils flared, trying to catch smells nothing like the sharp, cold air of winter here in the Northwest, air that carried a whiff of wood smoke. And that probably illegal, with the frequent burn bans aimed at reducing smog.

  Then he remembered the way Moira had looked at him last night as if he was her everything, as if she did need him, and the angry tension left him. Just like that.

  What an idiot he was. He was expecting too much, too soon. He had his own mixed feelings, of course she did, too. There must be times he felt like an intruder to a woman who had indeed taken care of herself just fine for…years. Had she ever lived with anyone else after she’d left home at eighteen?

  Yeah, she was probably wrestling with the adjustment, the same as he was. He’d been careful not to let her see any of his regrets, and he needed to keep it that way.

  Will shivered. It hadn’t gotten above freezing today. Ice still glittered on the lawn. And he was standing out here in his stocking feet and shirtsleeves.

  Feeling like an idiot, he went inside.

  Yeah, Christmas lights along the eaves tomorrow. That would be good. Right now, he’d think about dinner. One thing Moira hadn’t objected to was his cooking. Evidently, she wasn’t real fond of cooking. So that was something he could do for her.

  But give her space? No, Will decided. With her so wary, it was up to him, if he really wanted this marriage to amount to anything. And maybe he was still a little stunned over the right turn his life had taken, maybe he still wrestled with some doubts and some regrets, but he also knew he’d never walk away from Moira and his baby, not of his own volition.

  A big empty pit opened in his stomach when he thought of having to walk away because she sent him, because she didn’t want him.

  She was a complicated woman with secrets he hadn’t yet plumbed, but he had to believe she could come to trust him and maybe even love him.

  They were married. Last night, they’d shared a bed. And as far as he was concerned, continuing to share a bed was a step in the right direction. Actions were what counted, not words.

  HE WAS A BULLDOZER. A steamroller. Moira already knew that, but wasn’t thinking it when, at nine o’clock, she said good-night.

  Will stood. “I think I’ll go to bed, too.”

  Feeling him practically breathing down her neck as they went down the hall, she was glad to turn into her room.

  “Leave your door open,” he said.

  She hesitated. Was that an order? A request? But truth was, the closed door was more symbolic than anything, and maybe she would feel better knowing he’d hear her if she called out. So she nodded. “All right.”

  She plucked her nightgown from under the pillow and went to her bathroom. She’d corralled her hair in a loose braid that morning, and now she decided to leave it. Who cared what it looked like? She dutifully flossed and brushed her teeth, dropped her dirty clothes in the hamper, and, after taking one alarmed look at her naked self in the tall mirror on the back of the door, hurriedly put on the gown.

  I’m pregnant. Not fat.

  She had to tell herself that ten times a day. She’d once been fat, and she wasn’t going to be again. She tried really hard not to think about the way her weight had climbed. Even more with Will cooking. According to the doctor, she was doing fine, so she shouldn’t recoil every time she caught a glimpse of herself. But…wow. She looked fat.

  Feeling more hippopotamuslike than ever, she got herself settled in bed and was reaching for the lamp switch when Will strolled into her bedroom as if she was supposed to be expecting him. Last night, she’d been too shaken up to notice how sexy he was wearing nothing but a pair of flannel pajama pants hanging low on his hips. Those shoulders were so broad and powerful. Dark hair dusted a wonderfully muscular chest and narrowed into a line that disappeared beneath the waistband of the pajama bottoms. Despite herself, her gaze lowered, taking in the whole length of him. It didn’t help that she knew what was below that waistband.

  “What are you doing here?” Her voice squeaked.

  He stopped at the foot of the bed. “I’ll sleep better here with you.”

  She felt silly, sitting up and clutching the covers to her like some Victorian maiden afraid of being defiled. Even so, she heard herself say, “Well, maybe I won’t.”

  “Moira, we’re married.”

  “You agreed we wouldn’t—”

  “I’m not trying to seduce you. I only want to sleep with you. You scared me last night. I like being here where I can touch you. Hear you breathing.” He paused. “Didn’t you find it a little bit comforting to have my arms around you last night?”

  Oh, God. Yes. Yes.

  Moira opened her mouth and nothing came out. She closed it, opened it again. Every instinct screamed, Don’t let him this close or you won’t be able to save yourself, but the truth was, she wanted him here. The idea of his hand spread protectively over her belly made her feel warm and weak enough in the knees it was lucky she wasn’t standing up.

  “Okay,” she finally said, in a small gruff voice, and lay down.

  Will didn’t smile or say anything. He simply climbed into bed. He didn’t reach for her the way she half expected. Hoped.

  Moira turned out the light. She lay completely still, excruciatingly conscious of Will beside her.

  After a minute, she whispered, “I’m sorry.”

  The pause was so long, she wasn’t sure he was going to respond. “For what?” he asked.

  “I’ve been awful today. I know I have. I just, uh…” She just what? Was scared to death, not of losing the baby but of losing Will?

  As if he had known right where her hand was, his closed over it. “It’s okay,” he said, his voice low, rough. “Believe it or not, I understood. Sometimes I should back off, but…”

  A bubble of laughter rose, warming her chest and catching her by surprise. “You’re a bulldozer. I’ve noticed.”

  “Sometimes ground needs clearing.” Now there was a smile in his voice.

  “Sometimes it does,” she admitted, and realized she was smiling even though he wouldn’t be able to see.

  “I like being here with you.”

  “I, uh, kind of like it with you here, too,” Moira said shyly. “I’m…not used to it.”

  “I’m not, either.” He squeezed her hand. “We can get used to it together.”

  “Okay,” she whispered.

  “Would you mind if I cuddle you?”

  She shook her head, realized he couldn’t see her. “No-o. Except I do get up several times a night, you know.”

  “I know.” She heard his amusement. “Even with the door shut, I can hear water running in the pipes after you flush the toilet.”

  “Great,” she muttered.

  He laughed, let her hand go, then gathered her firmly into his arms. She found her head right where it had been when she woke up this morning, and had the fleeting wish that she wasn’t wearing a nightgown. She would have liked to feel his skin against hers. But despite the strangeness of being held like this, it felt so good that a soft, whispery sound of pleasure escaped her lips.

  Will’s chest vibrated with a silent chuckle. His hand on her distended belly moved in a soothing, circular pattern.

  Moira was smiling as her eyes drifted closed.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  FOUR DAYS BEFORE CHRISTMAS, Moira had scheduled a site inspection. The client was mad because he’d carried a tape measure on a walk-through
of his framed-in house and found that the downstairs powder room was six inches narrower than the plans showed. If he was right, she wasn’t going to be happy, either. What she specified was what got built. Now, by God, she and the contractor were going to measure every room, wall and door opening.

  Well, probably Will would find a place to tenderly deposit her while he and the contractor measured. He was a bully that way.

  He’d left her alone for the morning, but came into the office at noon, several white bags dangling from one hand, a plastic grocery sack from the other. In jeans, heavy sweater and down vest, he looked even bigger and more imposing than usual. He brought in a rush of cold and the scent of winter. White flakes dusted his dark hair.

  “It’s snowing?” she said in surprise, turning to look out the window.

  “Yep. Just a skiff, nothing to worry about.” He smiled and set the bags on her desk. “Lunch, as promised.”

  “I suppose it’s wholesome,” Moira said gloomily.

  She liked salads, mostly. Or the veggie wraps from The Pea Patch. Just, once in a while… Her nostrils flared and she snatched at the first sack. “Do I smell…?”

  “I thought you deserved a treat.” He sat on the same corner of her desk Gray had made his own. “Burgers and fries.”

  Moira moaned and took out a small carton of French fries.

  Will laughed, but something flared in his eyes as she popped the first deliciously salty fry into her mouth.

  “Damn, woman,” he muttered.

  She swallowed and reached for more. “Better eat, or there won’t be any left.”

  He shook his head, still laughing. “Want a drink?”

  “Please, please tell me it has caffeine in it,” she begged.

  “Apple juice or milk.”

  “Well, damn.” She waffled briefly. “I guess I’ll forgive you. Given how very, very grateful I am for the cheese-burger. It does have cheese on it?”

  “Would I leave it off? You’ve got to get your calcium.”

  This was absolutely the best lunch she’d had in weeks. The worst for her, but he was right: she did deserve a treat, and she wouldn’t feel guilty.