My Best Friend's Baby (20 page)

"Oh ..." Red made a face, rolled the crimson
polish bottle between her palms, then sighed. "All right, hon. But
I make no guarantees if those contractions speed up."

"It's a deal."

Almost an hour later, Chloe had ten
perfectly polished toenails, one updated and wrapped pregnancy
journal, and one very antsy soon-to-be-ex-boss.

"I'm the labor coach!" Red cried, dogging
Chloe's heels all the way to her bedroom as she pulled on her coat
and took one last look around to make sure she hadn't forgotten
anything. "I can't be late!"

"
You
can't be late?" Between
contractions, Chloe grinned as Red snatched the packed birthday bag
right out from under her fingertips and hustled out of the room.
"What about me?"

On the front porch, Chloe carefully locked
the door behind them, feeling strangely calm now that the time to
head to the hospital had irrevocably arrived. She hugged her
finished pregnancy journal to her chest, gazing across the yard at
Nick's house. The journal, detailing her thoughts and dreams for
their baby, described her pregnancy all the way from the
contortionist pregnancy test she'd taken to the contractions she'd
been having this morning. It was only one of the concessions she
wanted to make, just one way to share what he'd missed with Nick.
What would he say when he read it?

Red stopped halfway down the front walk.
"What are you dilly-dallyin' for?" she hollered, jangling her car
keys. "That baby's not waiting all day."

Then she turned, saw Chloe's desperate
clutch on the pregnancy journal and her equally desperate watch on
Nick's house, and her expression softened. Her footsteps clomped up
the walk.

"Giving him that is the right thing to do,
hon. I know it," she said, draping her arm over Chloe's shoulders
and squeezing. "He was madder over your keeping the baby a secret
than over fathering him, you know."

"Or her." Then I'll teach her to play
football anyway.

"Sure." Red held out her hand for the
journal. "I'll make sure he gets it."

Red pulled. Involuntarily, Chloe's fingers
clamped harder onto the vibrant fabric-covered book. "I can't!" she
wailed. "Oh, Red—what if I'm making a big mistake?"

"You're just scared 'cause taking a chance
on that man wasn't something you planned on doing," Red said
gently, prying Chloe's whitened fingers one by one from the book.
"But hon, love never is."

Fear clutched at Chloe's belly. Or maybe
that was another contraction. Either way, it hurt like crazy. But
sticking with her Bruno alibi hadn't worked, keeping the truth from
Nick hadn't worked ... and fooling herself any longer was
impossible. She had to give Nick the chance to love them, her and
the baby both. She had to trust him to be the best friend he'd
always been.

And more.

"Okay," she said, giving the journal one
last squeeze for luck. Then she gave Red her sternest look. "But he
doesn't get this until tomorrow. Not until after his investor
meeting."

"Now hold on—"

"Not until Wednesday afternoon, Red. I mean
it." She was willing to try being flexible about things for a
change—all except for this
one
thing. "I won't wreck Nick's
shot at making his invention a success."

Red rolled her eyes.

"I'm not changing my mind."

She rolled her eyes again and clucked her
tongue, too. Disagreement personified.

Chloe wavered and grabbed the porch railing.
"Ohh," she moaned. "I think I feel a sit-down strike coming on.
You'd better alert the media and call up the—"

"All right, all right!" Red yelled, throwing
up her hands. She yanked the journal the rest of the way out of
Chloe's grasp, grabbed her arm, and hauled her to the car. "I heard
ya' the first time. Not until Wednesday afternoon."

"I'll look forward to receiving the
agreements," Nick said, smiling at the man who, upon signing those
agreements, would soon become his growth accelerator's first
investor. "Thank you for meeting with me, especially a day
early."

The man, who looked about as patrician and
big-business as he imagined Chloe's absentee father did, smiled
too. "It's our pleasure, Mr. Steadman. And this—" He nodded,
indicating the video camera and remote conferencing set-up Nick had
arranged. "—is nothing less than we'd expect from an innovator like
yourself."

Nick was just glad it had worked. The video
conference—his first step toward cutting back his work hours and
putting some balance back into his life—had linked him with his
California investor in less than a quarter of the time it would
have taken to attend the meeting in person.

Chloe and Danny would've been so
proud
, he thought. Out of camera range, he smoothed his fingers
over the soccer finals map while he formally wrapped up the
meeting.
I'm finally doing the right thing
.

By doing less of the right thing. It had all
the makings of a new Steadman family tradition.

On his computer screen, his new investor's
image beamed with satisfaction at a job well done. "And that just
about wraps it up," he said.

"Good doing business with you," Nick said.
"I'll be in touch."

He signed off and shut down the equipment,
then looked around the empty room. He slapped his hands on his
thighs, grinning like an idiot.
He'd done it
!

And news this momentous was meant to be
shared. Still smiling, Nick tromped down the hallway to his bedroom
and lifted the mini-blind slats with one hand. He'd never spotted
Chloe gazing across their adjoining yards the way he did, but it
was the fastest way to find out if she was at home.

And the fastest way to make a good mood
plummet
, he realized when he saw her lights were out and no
curvy, Chloe-shaped shadows moved behind her dusky windows. Should
he go over anyway? He'd been waiting—since she'd been the one to
walk out on him at the baby shower—for her to let him know she was
ready to talk things out. It had seemed the best way to make sure
he didn't make her, the woman who never cried ... cry.

Again.

Nick waited a few minutes, then looked
again. Okay, mixing business with pleasure he could take.
Maintaining a balance in his life he could handle. Waiting for
Chloe to make her move was another story altogether.

He was going in.

He opened his front door and stepped onto
the porch, and nearly squashed the package waiting there for him.
The name and address written on it in purple ink confirmed it was
for him—whatever it was—and the minute Nick recognized Chloe's
squat, round handwriting, he knew his make-up mission was going to
have to wait a little longer.

He ripped open the wrapping and pulled out
the vivid, color-splashed notebook inside, then slowly sank to a
seated position on his front porch steps. Nick started to read.

He was hooked from page one.

But it was the final entry—dated earlier
today—that made him thrust the journal into his coat pocket and
sprint toward his motorcycle. He just hoped he wasn't too late.

Chapter Thirteen

"Try to get some rest," the nurse told
Chloe, reaching beside her shoulder to affix the call-button more
securely to the hospital bed's mattress. She pulled up the crisp
white sheet and tucked it in snugly, then smiled and squeaked
toward the door in her super-pumped cushioned athletic shoes.
"We'll let you know just as soon as baby Carmichal wakes up."

"Thank you," Chloe whispered as the nurse
left, pulling the thick hospital room door halfway closed. "I'll
try."

She'd never felt more deeply tired, more
utterly relieved, more proud of herself then she did right now.
Looking around her flower-bedecked, private room—arranged, somehow,
by her father's number-two secretary Lucinda—Chloe had also never
felt more lonely.

Because Nick wasn't coming.

Naturally, the baby looked just like him.
Except a little more squashed. Also smaller, pinker, and slightly
more adorable. But otherwise, their child looked exactly like his
father. Sighing, Chloe gazed out her window at the velvety,
starless night ... until suddenly the view blurred and she had to
look away. Funny how tears made everything look soft-focused and a
little more sparkly.

She sniffed and blinked and her hospital
room came back into focus. It would've looked just like home—if
home was a really, really antiseptic log cabin.
Okay,
concentrating on ambiance isn't helping
. Chloe closed her eyes
and thought about the baby instead. She felt pretty sure no one
else in history had ever had a more perfect child.

A ghost of a smile quirked her lips. If only
Nick were here, everything would be wonderful. Maybe it had been a
mistake not to call him. She reached for the phone.

Before she could dial, someone knocked on
the door. "Ms. Carmichal?"

Hallelujah
! The baby must have woken
up, and one of the nurses was bringing him in. Chloe bunched the
pillows in the small of her back and sat up higher so she could
hold him again.

"Come in," she called, fiddling with the
neck of her gown.

A hospital worker entered, carrying ...
something that
wasn't
the baby. It looked like ...

A length of white picket fence, about as
high and as wide as her hospital bed, and just as dazzlingly
bright. The worker unfolded it, magically erecting a three-sided
white picket fence beside her bed.

She blinked. It was still there. Chloe
whipped her gown closed again.
This
situation definitely
didn't call for the football hold the nurse had suggested for
breast feeding.

"What's this?" she asked.

"I'm just delivering it like the fella
asked." He jerked his thumb toward the doorway and shrugged. "I
guess some folks don't think flowers are enough." He looked around.
"You got plenty of those, though."

She had, thanks to her father and Tabitha
and her mother and her new bingo partner. They'd all sent gorgeous
bouquets, and her mother had even phoned. Twice. And at length.
With advice. Clearly, grandparenthood hadn't effected any drastic
changes in her family yet. Certainly none that would call for
delivery of a white picket fence.

Chloe stared in amazement at it. From Nick?
But Nick was probably in California for his meeting by now, come to
think of it. Maybe Red had thought ...

"Ms. Carmichal?"

"Y—yes?"

A tall, thin man entered, carrying a black
velvet box on a silver platter. Without a word—but with a grin
wider than his waistband—he took up a position beside the bed, just
inside the fence.

"Chloe?"

"
Red
? Do you know what's—"

"Hang on, you're about to find out," Red
interrupted, calling over the sudden murmur of voices coming from
the hospital corridor.

Visitors? Chloe pulled up the covers and
patted her rat's-nest of a hairdo. How could she have enough
visitors to create an audible
murmur
?

Looking flushed and excited, Red came into
the room, followed closely by Jerry. "And don't kill me over
delivering that journal, neither," she added, but Chloe was too
busy staring at the paper banner they carried between them to
question what she meant.

As they neared the bed, Sun City's newest
retirees-to-be unfurled the paper.
And here he is
, it said
in fancy foot-high block letters.
A man who loves you
!

Chloe gasped. It couldn't be ...

"Hiya, blondie."

Nick.

He came into her room carrying a
white-wrapped bundle of snoozing baby. His face was luminous. If
Joy wore faded blue jeans, it would've looked just like Nick. And
as he neared the bed and slipped inside the white picket fence,
Chloe knew she must look exactly the same way. That radiant feeling
shimmered all through her, leaving her trembling beneath his
smile.

"I got here as fast as I could," he said. "I
had some things to arrange first."

A silly, nervous giggle burst from her lips
as she looked at the fence, the banner, the man with the silver
platter. "I—I—so I see."

Nick folded back a portion of the blanket
and gazed down at the child in his arms. His child.
Their
child
. His smile could've lighted the midnight outside her
window.

"He's as beautiful as his mother," Nick
murmured, stroking his finger along one pudgy baby cheek. "Only a
little less well-coiffed."

Laughing, Chloe swept her palm over their
baby's sweet-scented swirls of fine blonde hair. "Give him time.
He's just getting started."

"So am I."

Nick nodded to the platter-bearer, who
opened the hinged black box and displayed its contents to Chloe
with a flourish of silver. Glittering back at her, both fragile and
timeless, was a gold and diamond engagement ring.

"Oh, my!"

Carefully holding the baby against his
chest, Nick bent to one knee beside the bed and reached for her
hand. His fingers quivered as they touched hers, then squeezed.

"Chloe, I brought you the white picket
fence, the ring, and the man who loves you ... that's me, by the
way—"

"I know." Tears prickled her eyes. Suddenly
Nick was all soft-focused and sparkly, and Chloe didn't care, just
as long as he was with her. "Oh, Nick! I love you, too," she
whispered.

His hand clasped hers tighter. "There's only
one thing left, and the fairy-tale ending will be complete." He
smiled, kissed the baby's forehead, and hugged him close. "And
that's you. I need you, Chloe. I love you so much I'm crazy with
it."

"You're not crazy, you're brilliant."

"And you're beautiful."

"Brainiac."

"Blondie."

"Beloved," she murmured, and the tenderness
in his gaze sent her smile into overdrive all over again.