My Best Friend's Baby (16 page)

She quit dancing. "It's a baby rattle. From
one of those exclusive department stores back east."

"A baby rattle?" he repeated. Nick looked at
the cold, hard thing in his hands. Even wrapped in a bow and soft
paper it looked bleak, somehow. He clapped the lid back on. "Not
for your baby, it's not."

"Nick!"

He raised the box overhead, trailing bubble
wrap and ribbon like pastel tears. "He'll knock his teeth out with
it."

Chloe put her hands on her hips and glared
at him. "Babies are born without teeth."

"He'll knock himself unconscious the first
time he lifts that thing. It's not safe."

"Babies have hard heads," she said, reaching
for the box. "It's a built-in safety mechanism to reassure
overprotective fathers." Struggling on tiptoes, she bumped her
belly into him and all-but climbed his feet to get higher. "Give it
to me!"

"No. He'll put his eye out with it."

"You're being ridiculous." She reached
higher, grabbing his upraised arm to steady herself. "You don't
know anything about babies."

"I know more than you do."

Her body went rigid. Chloe shoved on his
elbow to push herself away. Far away.

"That's a low blow, Nick."

"It's the truth," he said. Pretty
irrefutable logic, as far as he was concerned. Obviously, she
disagreed, if her fire-breathing expression was anything to go by.
"Nobody's born knowing this stuff, you know," he added, reaching to
pull her close again.

She stepped back before he could touch her.
Threading her fingers through her hair, she looked out the window,
at the floor ... anywhere but at him.

"It's not the truth," she said in a voice
like ice. Clipped. Precise. Totally Un-Chloe-like. "I've been
taking classes, reading books ... ."

Practicing on Danny, grilling my sisters for
baby tips, he thought, but couldn't say it.

"I know," Nick said. "Inexperience isn't a
crime. I only meant that I'm already an uncle and you're—"

"Leaving," she interrupted. Stiffly, she
held out her hand for the box. "What I am is leaving, before this
gets ugly. You're the king of botched explanations, Nick. Good
intentions with disastrous results. So why don't you just quit,
okay? This time at least, quit while you're ahead."

This time? What was she talking about? And
anyway, he couldn't. Not without one last stab at making her see
reason.

"This isn't a baby gift, it's a—a—" He shook
the box, trying to think up something suitably pretentious, and
then flung his arms wide. "—it's a damned paperweight, Chloe!
What's the matter with you?"

Her hand fisted, then dropped to her side.
Carefully, coldly, she stuffed the note from her father back into
the envelope, then bent to snatch up the few scraps of wrapping
they'd scattered.

"This is an implement of baby destruction,"
Nick protested. "If you want a rattle, I'll get you a rattle. A
nice, safe, well-padded one with something friendly on it like
bunnies, instead of a designer logo."

"It's a family monogram."

"Whatever."

Biting her lip, she raised her hand toward
him, palm upward, and tried again. "Give it to me, please."

Maybe a small concession was called for.
"Okay," Nick said, trying to smile, "so what do I know, right? I'm
just an uncle. I—"

"Please, Nick," she whispered, blinking
hard. A suspicious sheen brightened her eyes, and her lower lip
wobbled with the beginnings of what he could tell was a giant,
stifled sob.

This, from a woman who never cried.

"Awww, hell." How had he done it to her
again? The tears in her eyes had him pressing the stupid box into
her hand even before he realized he'd decided to do it.

"Thanks." Sniffling, Chloe pushed the box
back into the envelope again, then went to the door. "Talk to you
later," she mumbled in a choked voice.

"Wait."

Somehow, he'd botched things big-time. How
had it all gone from jumpy-jivey happiness to tears so fast?
Judging by the way she clutched her damned envelope, he suspected
it had as much to do with his reaction to her father's gift as it
did with what he'd said to her. But why?

A few steps took him to the door, close
enough to smell the coconut shampoo in her hair. Frowning, Nick
slapped his hand onto the thick wood to keep the door closed a
little longer.

To keep her with him a little longer.

"I don't get it," he said. "What's so
special about this, Chloe?"

She swiped her hand across her eyes, then
sniffed and squared her shoulders. "You can't tell, genius?" she
asked.

Her voice was softer than he'd expected, but
the anguish behind it wasn't. He smoothed his hand over her
shoulder. "Nah. Maybe your feminine mystique has got me all
confused."

Her mood swings sure as hell did. So did the
way her father treated her. How, in three years, had he not noticed
it?

Chloe smiled faintly. "It's simple. I'm
having a baby in a few weeks, and the idea of screwing up has got
me scared to death."

Good going, Steadman
, his conscience
poked at him.
Jump right on her big fears, tough guy
. But
how could he have known? She always seemed so ... certain about
everything.

"Chloe, I didn't mean—"

Her choked little laugh cut him off. "Awww,
don't worry, Nick. My mom's been giving me lots of advice over the
phone. I'll be ready."

"And there's always Bruno," he added, hoping
to reassure her. "That package could just as easily have been from
him."

"Yeah," Chloe said thoughtfully, squeezing
the package in question. "Actually, you know, it's funny—I figured
the odds of hearing from my dad were about on par with the odds of
hearing from Bruno."

"Looks like the odds are on your side,
then."

She gave him a funny look. "I guess that's
one way of looking at it."

Taking a deep breath, she twisted the knob
and opened the door. Sunlight and flower-scented air rushed inside,
but all that sweetness and shine held no warmth. Nick rubbed his
arms, fighting the urge to drag her against him and do whatever he
could to make up for the stupid insensitivity of her family. The
proud tilt of her head warned him to stay where he was.

So did her voice, falsely cheerful enough to
make his heart ache.

"Anyway, I told my mom not to mess up her
schedule, but she said she might even be able to drop by the
hospital, when the baby's born," Chloe said, pausing on the
threshold. "If there's time between beauty shop appointments and
husband-hunting down at the bingo parlor."

"At least there she's guaranteed a man who
can count."

She smiled at his joke—quite possibly the
lamest he'd made all year—and touched his face. "I knew you'd
understand."

Her fingers stroked across his temple, warm
and feather-light, then whisked away. "See ya'."

Nick captured her wrist before she could
leave. Briefly, he pressed his cheek into her cupped hand and
closed his eyes.

"
I'll
be there," he promised.

She made a garbled sound and pulled her hand
away. "At the hospital?"

"Sure."

He opened his eyes to see her shaking her
head.

"Are you kidding me? I'm not that mad at
you, Nick. I'm not about to inflict that kind of obligation on you.
No way."

He leaned closer, raised her chin with his
fingertips, and stopped her protest with a kiss. Just a small kiss
... fast, soft, and sweet enough to widen her eyes when it was
over. Nick put his hands around her waist and tugged her a little
closer.

"What if I insist?" he asked.

Her eyes darkened with something only a
blind man would mistake for passion. Chloe shoved at his chest and
stepped out of his arms.

"Thanks for the pity party," she said. "But
no thanks. You'll have to find another gal to play knight in
shining armor with."

"Dammit, Chloe! That's not what this is, and
you know it. You—"

"And anyway," she interrupted, stepping onto
the porch, "It's not as though I'll be all alone. Now that it's
certain my dad and Tabitha won't be there, my mom probably will
be."

She smiled thinly over her shoulder as she
headed for the porch steps, hugging her package as closely as he
wished she'd hold him. "I think the beauty parlor bingo-rama was
just an excuse to avoid running into them."

Nick couldn't think of a damn thing to say
to that. A bitter divorce he could understand. But not neglecting
their own daughter because of it. No wonder Chloe was so hung up on
having two happily-ever-after, crazy in love parents for her
baby.

No wonder.

It would've been hell growing up with that
bunch of marital miscreants around.

"Listen, I'd better run, Sir Galahad," she
said, clomping down the steps in her sneakers. "I've got childbirth
class in an hour or so. I've got to start getting ready."

So do I
, Nick thought, waving
good-bye as he watched her cross from his yard to her
flower-bordered one. Ready for big, important, things.

Big, important,
surprising
things.

And this time, he had more in mind than
inventing beef and tuna flavored Gatorade for Chloe's pets.

Chapter Ten

Chloe spent the ninth month of her pregnancy
in a constant state of red-alert. Every kick, every contraction,
sent her diving for the phone and the overnight bag she kept packed
for the trip to the hospital. She'd stand there, clutching the
birthday bag handle in both hands, gauging the chances that
this
time
it might be the real thing, keeping one eye on the clock's
sweeping second hand ... and the other eye on the view outside her
bedroom window.

The window that faced Nick's house.

And his bedroom.

She never saw him. Although light usually
filtered between his mini-blinds, showing he was home, his shadow
never darkened those tasteful beige slats. His big hand never
reached up to nudge one down, letting him look past their adjoined
yards and into her room. He never sneaked a glance from the edge of
those blinds, wondering how she was doing.

But Chloe did.

She shouldn't. It was stupid and pointless,
and after all he'd said about her father's gift—after all he'd said
about her!—she should've been able to quit caring.
I know more
than you do
.

Ha.
Not anymore
, she told herself,
plunking the birthday bag onto the carpet for the thousandth time.
She'd prepped and planned, grilled Naomi every time she brought
over Danny, befriended all the women in her childbearing class. She
was as ready as a woman could be to bring a new little person into
the world.

"Except for providing the father," she
muttered.

"What?" asked Red on the other end of the
phone.

Chloe had red-alerted her ten minutes
earlier for a Braxton-Hicks contraction, and—between peeks at
Nick's window—they'd been talking since then. Not everyone had a
boss, a surrogate mother, and a birth coach, all rolled into the
same, big-hearted, redheaded pet shop owner.

"You've been provoking the father?" Red went
on. "Well, hon, no wonder you need me to drive you to the hospital,
if you're badgering the fella."

Make that, redheaded pet shop owner
busybody
, Chloe thought grumpily. If Red poked much deeper, she
just might confess everything. Lying to herself was bad enough ...
lying to everyone she loved was even worse.

She re-balanced the phone against her
shoulder and paced through the late-afternoon sunlight splashing
onto her bedroom carpet. "That's not why I need you, Red," she
said, crouching to pet Larry. "I'd drive myself, but—"

"But nothing. I'm driving and that's that."
Her cigarette-roughened voice lowered. "If you'd tell me where to
find that Bruno of yours, I'd bring him, too. He should be there,
hon. Nothing makes a man a daddy like seeing his own child
born."

That's what I'm afraid of
. Chloe
twisted her blinds shut and swiveled toward the hallway, trying not
to think about Nick's assurance that he'd be at the hospital, even
if no one else was. If he did, would he realize the truth?

She'd never find out.

Because she, like a dummy, had told him not
to come.

Anyway, at the rate he seemed to be working,
her baby might be toddling over to pick petunias from Nick's yard
by the time he emerged from the invention-induced haze he was in.
Their contact for the past month had been limited mostly to waving
as they passed each other on the sidewalk, Chloe power-walking with
Larry and Moe and Shep, and Nick scribbling invention brainstorms
on his mail as he carried it inside.

"Anything from Bruno?" he'd ask when he saw
her carrying hers in.

"Not yet," she'd always answer, just as
though a letter might actually arrive someday. In truth, she was
about as likely to hear from her make-believe marine as she was to
fall in love with anyone other than Nick.

On the other end of the phone, Red made an
exasperated sound. "Hon, it's hard to raise a child alone. Ease up
on that pride of yours and call the man," she was saying.

Pride? Was that what it was?

No. It was not being really, truly loved
that was the danger here, to her and her baby both. Chloe paced
down the hallway toward the cordless phone stand in the kitchen,
pausing to snatch a bottle of hot pink nail enamel from the
bathroom vanity.

"I'm sorry about the false alarm, Red," she
broke in.
I'm sorry to tell you only half the truth
. She
dragged in a breath to ease the ache in her chest. "Listen, I've
got to run. See you at the shop tomorrow?"

"You bet, sweets."

Red inhaled, and the faint crackling of her
ever-present burning cigarette came over the line.
I've got to
get that loan, get Red retired, and get her a truckload of
stop-smoking gum
. Maybe Nick could invent something, some kind
of non-smoking ...