McCloud's Woman (34 page)

“Make note to buy keyboard,” she muttered. She ought to get an i-Pad.

“The doctor will see you now, Miss Simonetti.”

Maybe she should have made the appointment under her
married name. Maybe she should have gone into Charleston instead of the
local office. She’d never given much thought to prescriptions for birth
control before—probably because she’d been married or about to be. Leave
it to TJ to reduce her to the status of embarrassed adolescent again.
Was there any way of amputating her shy gene?

She squirmed even more at the sight of the doctor. He was
old enough to be her father and to lecture her on the perils of
immorality. He didn’t hide behind a TV-doctor persona of silver,
blow-dried hair and geniality either. He looked at her from over
old-fashioned bifocals, ordered her to undress, and ambled off to do
whatever mysterious things doctors did.

Men ought to be put through this humiliating routine on a
regular basis—it would deflate their egos to manageable level, Mara
thought grumpily, trying to keep the drafty hospital gown modest while
the nurse put her through the usual series of tests. If she ever decided
TJ wasn’t worth the effort, she’d never put herself through this again.
She could swear off men with a snap of the fingers.

She couldn’t swear off TJ. She looked for him around every
corner, stopped by the dig every day, but he managed to stay out of
sight. Smart man. She might fling herself at him again and embarrass
them both in public.

At some point she would have to quit pampering his
screwed-up over-protective urges and call a showdown—but not until she
had better control of this contraception thing. She’d learned her limits
where TJ was concerned. She couldn’t risk having a child.

She wondered if that would bother TJ, but it wasn’t as if
they were talking marriage. At best, they could only manage a
long-distance relationship. She could do that. She wasn’t much good at
the regular kind, anyway.

The thought of any kind of relationship with TJ lifted her
spirits. It was far better than anything she’d dared hope a month ago.
They could meet in romantic hideaways. He could fly to her locations
between contracts. She could do the same. They’d once talked of seeing
the world together; now they could.

The doctor entered, jotting notes in his chart and looking
over his spectacles at her. Perfunctorily, he ordered her to assume the
position. Retreating to the world she was creating in her mind, Mara
submitted to the examination buoyed by new hope.

“You may get dressed now, Miss Simonetti. I’ll see you in my office when you’re ready.”

Definitely old-fashioned, Mara concluded. Doctors never
took time to talk to patients these days. Not that she wanted to talk.
She wanted a prescription and out of here. And then she would hunt down
TJ in his lair.

Dressed and feeling more confident, even though she’d
donned her nondescript librarian’s guise today, she sauntered into the
doctor’s room, glancing at her watch. Not yet lunchtime. She could find
TJ, wring his neck and other parts south, and still have time to get
back to the set before the afternoon scenes. She could make this work.

“What was the date of your last menstrual period, Miss Simonetti?”

Annoyed at being asked to repeat what was right there on
his chart, Mara returned to the moment. “Approximately the second week
of July. I’ve never been regular when I’m off the pill.” It was only the
end of August.

The doctor made another note. “What means of protection have you been using during intercourse?”

“Condoms.” She tapped her toe and glanced at her watch again.

“They’re not always reliable, Miss Simonetti,” the physician lectured.

“Tell me about it. That’s why I’m here.”

“Your records show you aren’t married, Miss Simonetti. Engaged?”

She wasn’t always this slow. The pointed question filtered
into her brain, setting off alarms. “I’m a grown woman.” She tried hard
not to sound like a frightened teenager. “If there’s something wrong,
just tell me.”

“Nothing abnormal, I assure you, just the usual
consequences of unprotected intercourse. Urine tests aren’t always
accurate, but judging from all factors, I’d say you are roughly four
weeks pregnant. It’s a little late to prescribe birth control.”

The doctor’s drone as he recommended vitamins faded while Mara grasped the chair arms unbelievingly.

Four weeks pregnant
reverberated in the hollow left by her fleeing brain.
Too late for birth control.

Instant replay—TJ prowling her room, a seductive red shawl, overpowered, conquered, submitting—

No protection. Tiny little swimmers, full speed ahead.
Pow
. Egg walls breached by TJ’s damned potent sperm. Pregnant.

A helpless little baby growing inside her, all cute little
fingers and toes that would wave in the sunshine as she cooed and
gurgled. A precious baby that would look to her for love...

Oh, damn. Oh, shit. Oh, no.

Blankly, Mara took the piece of paper the doctor handed
her, nodded when the talking paused, wrote a check when presented an
invoice, but dismay filled every synapse, preventing coherent thought.

Four weeks pregnant. Too late for birth control.

This couldn’t be happening. Not now. Not after all these years.

***

“The family will recover, TJ,” Clay assured him, grabbing
the beer the bartender shoved in his direction. “Mom brags about you all
the time. It’s not as if your name is in the headlines or anything.”

“It doesn’t need to be. The funding for the beach project
got pulled today,” TJ replied gloomily. “Good timing. Whoever wants me
out of here had my office lease canceled as of September first. I have
to pack it up tomorrow.”

He didn’t know where he’d go after he did. For fifteen years he’d been on the run. Slamming into a wall now had knocked him out.

“They can’t do that, can they?” Outraged, Clay smacked his bottle down. “A grant is a grant. They can’t pull it midstream.”

“I’m paid in increments. It wasn’t much anyway.” TJ shrugged it off. He wouldn’t starve anytime soon.

He had no excuse to stay and see Mara again.

“What did you mean about someone wanting you to leave?” Clay’s always suspicious mind caught another thread.

“They seem to have given up lately. They trashed my
office, the dig site, sent nasty little notes. I just figured they were
behind the lease cancellation as well. Some local yokel thinks I stand
in the way of progress.”

TJ sipped his beer, aware of the low murmur of
conversation in several corners of the bar. It was too early for Ed and
his cronies to take their places. Or maybe all the strangers had driven
them to more comfortable environs. There was a new reporter here every
night. TJ thought they ought to form a network and save themselves a lot
of trouble.

“Have you heard from Martin?”

“The colonel wouldn’t have anything to do with petty
vandalism,” TJ corrected Clay’s path of thought. “If he’s after my head,
he’ll arrive brandishing a sword.”

“Some friend. You sure know how to pick ’em.”

TJ didn’t bother to interpret that remark.

“McCloud,” a worried voice intruded.

Both TJ and Clay glanced over their shoulders.

The pretentious little producer from Mara’s crew nervously
tapped the cell phone in his hand as he looked from one unmistakable
McCloud face to the other. “
Dr
. McCloud, sorry. Could I speak with you a moment?”

TJ debated telling him where to go, but his curiosity had
always been his downfall. Shoving away from the bar, he followed Ian to
an unoccupied corner. “What is it? I’ll be closing the site shortly. You
ought to be thrilled.”

“It’s Mara,” Ian blurted with uncharacteristic emotion. “I
think she’s having a breakdown. She’s always been clearheaded and on
top of things when Sid lost it, but this time... If neither Sid nor
Mara are in charge of the production—”

Ian choked as TJ grabbed his collar and dragged him toward the door.

“Who did what to her?” TJ demanded, physically heaving the smaller man into the street and following him out.

“No one. Nothing that I know of.” Frantically following
TJ’s giant strides, Ian attempted to straighten his crumpled collar.
“She went out this morning, came back at noon and locked herself in, and
she won’t come out. She hasn’t eaten, doesn’t answer the phone, and
every so often, something crashes against the wall. Katy is concerned
about the antiques in there.”

“To hell with the damned antiques,” TJ shouted, increasing
his pace to a run. “What has Sid done this time?” His stride
outstripped Ian’s, and he didn’t hear the reply.

Racing past the overgrown gardenia and down the drive to
the B&B, TJ tried convincing himself that he didn’t know Mara as
well as he thought. Just because the teenager he’d once known was
temperamentally unsuited to hysterical fits didn’t mean the woman she
was now wasn’t capable of them.

The woman he knew now was capable of fits all right, but
only for a reason. What reason? Panic socked him in the stomach, and his
feet pounded the wooden porch at warp speed. The old-fashioned wooden
screen door slammed against the wall where he threw it.

Katy, the anxious proprietor, stepped out of his way as TJ
took the stairs two at a time. He didn’t hear anything overhead, but in
his present state of mind, even silence was ominous.

He rattled the knob without knocking. Finding it locked,
TJ cursed and pounded the door panel. “Mara! I’ve got news. Open up.”
Her curiosity had always been stronger than his.

Something breakable shattered against the other side of the door. So much for curiosity.

“Throw things at me instead of the door,” he shouted,
frantically seeking some way of reaching her. There’d been a time when
he’d ignored Brad’s tantrums. He had to believe Mara was stronger than
Brad. “Don’t be such a wimp,” he shouted, praying anger would drive her
to throttle him.

A heavy object collided with the other side of the panel,
followed by something that sounded like a book. Experience had taught TJ
how to control panic and seek solutions, but not when it came to Mara.
Terror tore through him at the sound of breaking glass.

“She’s slid the bolt,” Katy whispered from behind him. “The door is solid oak.”

“Windows?” TJ demanded. Mara couldn’t be doing anything too deadly if she still had the strength to heave things.

“It’s second story. We’d need a ladder. The glass is old and the panes are small,” Katy warned.

“Bring me a toolbox.” TJ eyed the old-fashioned backward door hinges, judging the level of difficulty. “And some WD-40.”

While she ran to follow his orders, TJ pounded the door
again. “I’m not leaving until I talk to you. You’ve got to come out
sometime.”

Silence.

That was worse than breaking glass. Frantically, TJ
grabbed the hinge pin and tried to work it loose with his fingers. As he
feared, it was thoroughly hammered in.

“I’ve got Godivas,” he called, his mind racing while suppressing his alarm. “Let’s find some espresso and talk about it.”

Silence again. Then the lock clicked, and nearly
collapsing in relief, TJ closed his eyes in a prayer of thanksgiving.
The instant the door cracked open, he shouldered through the crack,
slammed the solid oak panel closed behind him, and leaned against it to
prevent escape. He stood in a war zone of broken glass and hurled
objects.

“You lied.” Glancing at his empty hands, Mara spun around and stalked to the window, presenting him with her back.

He’d seen enough with his first glance. She looked
terrible. She looked wonderful. He wanted to scoop her up and carry her
away and forget everything that had gone before this.

He knew better than to presume too much.

In these past few weeks, she’d turned everything he’d
believed about himself inside out. His momentary panic over losing her
permanently had drained him, and he needed time to recover. Letting the
door hold him up, TJ watched her pace.

Multi-colored tangles of bleached hair tumbled to her
shoulders. She wore a white cotton bathrobe that revealed nothing of her
figure but her height and slenderness. She wore no makeup, but TJ could
tell she’d been crying. She finally stopped pacing halted and stood
huddled in front of the window seat, and he ached to reach for her, but
after this past week, he really didn’t have that right.

“I’ll break in the drugstore and steal the Godivas,” he offered helplessly. “We can go back to Jared’s for the espresso.”

“I’m pregnant.”

Shock hit TJ’s blood stream like an injection, spreading
slowly but insidiously, until all his vital signs went bonkers and
hammers pounded his brain.

“Pregnant?” he repeated cautiously, still using the door for support. It had only been a week—

His gaze fell on the red shawl wadded up on the bed, and
the vivid image of that maddening evening—how long ago? A month?—filled
his mind. They’d gone at each other like hungry animals. Half-sloshed,
angry, and overheated, he’d responded to her taunts with his prick
instead of his mind.

She was carrying his child
.
His head felt as if was exploding in fifteen directions at once, but concern emerged first. “You’ve seen a doctor?”

“Don’t worry. I’m not keeping it.” She continued staring over the harbor, the robe wrapped tightly around her.

If the door hadn’t been holding him up, he’d crumple to
his knees. He’d never thought about babies, but his gut reaction was
fascination at the idea of fatherhood and horror at the idea of losing a
child.

Trying to think rationally, TJ sought some reply. “We can
get married.” Propriety. Always fall back on prescribed behavior when
all else failed. He began to feel a little better. “I would have asked
you sooner—”

“I’m not having a baby. Save your proposals. I don’t need you or any other man, now or ever.”