Something Unexpected (7 page)

“I've been cautious my entire life.” She wagged her head, raising a hand to swipe at the tears that were spilling over her lashes. “And obviously I was right to be careful. One misstep and now both of our lives are in complete turmoil. I don't even understand how it happened.” He quirked a brow, and her blush deepened. “I know
how.
But I've been wracking my brain—” she sniffled loudly “—and I can't remember
not
using a condom.” She looked at him in question, biting her lower lip.

Immediately, his groin tightened. He wanted to soothe that worried lower lip with his own mouth. He couldn't help it: he chuckled, drawing a surprised and resentful look from her. “Sorry, but when I think about that night—which I find myself doing frequently, by the way—condoms are hardly ever the first things that come to mind.” Reaching into the bakery bag, Dean pulled out a napkin, but rather than handing it to her, he brought the makeshift tissue to her nose and dabbed lightly.

When she grabbed the napkin to do the job herself, it didn't surprise him. Somehow, in some way, she had been hurt, and he was willing to bet that a man had done the deed.
You nearly messed her up for anyone else, buddy. Nearly.

Bending over her dark, curly head while she delicately blew her nose, he murmured, “So are condoms really all you think about when you remember that night? When you remember us?”

She gasped so hard, he was afraid she might inhale the napkin. He chose not to relent.

“There is an us, you know. Like it or not, what we started that night is something that owns us both now. Two people, one cause. And, like it or not, passion made that baby you're refusing to feed. So, like it or not, I do care whether you eat. I care where my baby is going to live and how easy or difficult it's going to be to get to him. And, I care that that single night in the motel was the best sex I've ever had. In my life. Bar none. You may be over it,
Rosie,
but I'm not. Not by a long shot.”

He sat up straight, reached for his sandwich again and winked at her as he took a bite.

Her eyes were wide and troubled; her soft, plump mouth formed a huge O. A pulse throbbed visibly in her neck, the rhythm reminding him more of a marimba band than a heartbeat.

Yep. He'd made his point.

 

“Your one-night stand lives in the same town you do, and you were together when you found out you were pregnant even though you hadn't seen each other since that night?” Daphne recapped what Rosemary had just told her, her sweet voice rising in disbelief.

“Yes,” Rosemary said, trapping the cordless phone between her shoulder and ear while she rummaged through her kitchen pantry, looking for dinner.

Confused, nervous and tense as piano wire since seeing Dean earlier in the day, she had finally decided to break her silence about the pregnancy. After giving brief—very
brief—consideration to phoning her mother or one of her sisters, she had decided to lean on Daphne, the only one of her friends so baby crazy that news of a pregnancy, no matter how it had come about, would be received with joyous anticipation.

“Do you feel any different?” Daphne asked with keen interest. “Do you feel pregnant?”

“I'm hungry all the time.” She shoved three baked BBQ potato chips into her mouth, grabbed another handful before she made herself roll up the bag then reached for peanut-butter-stuffed pretzels.

“Are you having cravings?”

“Yeah.” The potato chips did a quick disappearing act. “I'm craving food.” Biting the tip off the pretzel, Rosemary sucked out the candylike nut butter. “When I'm not throwing up. I hate throwing up. But I'm dizzy and nauseous every morning the second I open my eyes. It doesn't go away until late afternoon, and then I'm ravenous the rest of the night.”

“Poor baby.” Daphne murmured. “What does your doctor say?”

“I haven't seen one yet. I'm going this Friday for the first time. I found an ob-gyn in Bend. That's over an hour from here, which should minimize the likelihood of anyone seeing me and realizing what's going on. Then if I get the job in Tacoma, I can move before I'm showing, and nobody has to know.”

After a brief pause, Daphne commented, “I can't believe anyone would really care in this day and age. And you said Honeyford has almost two thousand people, right?”

“That's what
he
said,” Rosemary grumbled darkly.

“You could probably keep it private until you're showing, if you really want to,” Daphne soothed then emitted her adorable laugh, confessing, “If it were me, I'd get a Baby On Board
maternity shirt and start wearing it while I was still a size six. I'd want everyone to know.”

Trying to decide between mac and cheese or sardines with mayonnaise and pickle relish on rye, Rosemary made a face into the phone. “I've never been a size six. Do macaroni and cheese and sardines go together?” She was met with silence. “Daphne?”

“I'm sorry. I just threw up a little. Hey, maybe you're superhungry because you're having twins! Are there any twins in your family?”

Rosemary froze with the box of pasta in her hand. “Not on my mother's side. I have no idea about my father's.”

“You should ask your mother.”

“Great. Now I think
I
just threw up a little.” The suggestion that she should consult with Maeve Jeffries about any aspect of this pregnancy temporarily killed Rosemary's runaway appetite. “I doubt my mother knows anything about my father's family. She used to refer to him as The Donor, and she didn't even say it in a derogatory way. She simply didn't see him as essential to our daily lives in any way. When I'd ask her about him, she'd look totally mystified and answer, ‘I don't recall, Rosemary.'” Her best friends had met her mother and sisters and understood that she had not grown up conventionally. Still, she hadn't discussed her family in a while. Frowning, she replaced the box of pasta, exhausted suddenly. “My parents must be the only two people on the planet capable of bringing three children into the world without having a single memorable conversation.”

Daphne, who had the kind of relationship with her dad that every fatherless little girl dreamed of, responded with her customary quiet compassion. “I'm sorry, sweetie.” Then in a tone equally caring, she nudged, “I bet you want something very different for your daughter.”

Whomp.
As if they were playing verbal dodge ball, Daphne's
comment socked Rosemary right in the gut. It was the one hit she couldn't outrun.

“Maybe I'm having a boy,” she mumbled, but she knew the sex of the baby didn't matter. She'd been tagged.

It seemed to take great effort to reach the banquette in her kitchen. Sinking heavily into the cushioned seat, she gazed through fluttering white eyelit café curtains. The street was so peaceful this time of evening. This town was everything she'd dreamed of as a girl when she was growing up in the city.

“I'm scared,” she whispered.

“I know.” Daphne, who was a legal secretary, but should have been a therapist, asked with no judgment in her tone, “How did you get pregnant? It's a little confusing, given that he's a pharmacist and you're an educated woman. I mean, did the pill fail and the condom broke?”

“I haven't been on birth control in two years. And…” Rosemary hesitated, knowing how utterly irresponsible, immature and downright reckless she was going to sound. “I think we forgot to use the condom at one point.”

“At one point? How many times that night did you, um, need a condom, if you don't mind my asking?

Rosemary closed her eyes. “Four. But I think time number three was the problem.”

Daphne hooted. “Rosemary Josephine Jeffers!”

“I know, I know!” Her forehead lowering all the way to the wood table, Rosemary groaned. “It was a crazy night. It seemed to exist in its own cosmos.” She shook her head against the cool wood. “I sound like I'm seventeen on prom night. Except that I was a lot smarter on prom night. I stayed with the group.”

Sitting up, she gazed at two deer picking their way across her front lawn. The does' skinny legs raised and lowered with a kind of slow-motion military precision. Having their
evening feed before they moved to the beds they made deeper in the pines around Honeyford, the deer would sleep for only a couple of hours at a time, their instinct for survival dictating that they never get too comfortable. Smart deer.

“The worst part is I wasn't paying close enough attention,” Rosemary said, “because I felt this…trust when I was with him.”

“Why is trusting him the worst part?”

“Because I didn't know him. Because he picked me up in a bar. Because he's a man, and I could have been any woman. Take your pick.”

“Hmm. He didn't look at you like you could be any woman. He looked at you like he was…smitten.”

Rosemary's emotions responded instantly, before her mind could overrule the reaction. A coil of pleasure sprang up from low in her belly, sending out frissons of electric longing. So much for her survival instinct.

No matter how she'd been raised, no matter how much she'd learned from her own experience or from her mother and sisters' fretful we-told-you-so's after her marriage imploded, she returned over and over to dreams of white picket fences and forever. Her sisters might be slightly rigid in their approach to life, but at least they stayed away from the kind of pain Rosemary apparently courted.

“I should have phoned Vi,” she said. “She'd have been cynical. She'd have reminded me what happened the last time I trusted a man.” Pain choked her voice to a whisper.

“Yes, she'd have said that. And she'd have told you that deep down men will never want the same things as women, so we should cut the poor sods some slack and use them like the toys they were intended to be. But you didn't phone Vi,” Daphne pointed out. “What does your pharmacist/boy toy want to do about the baby?”

“He wants to be involved.”

“How involved?”

Rosemary stood and paced to the living room, where she had no idea what to do with herself. She was so tired, she wanted to crawl into bed and so restless she thought perhaps she should go for a run. “When I told him I was considering moving to Tacoma, he said to let him know as soon as I'd made up my mind so he could start looking for employment there.”

Daphne's soft intake of breath spoke volumes. “Wow. All right, don't take this the wrong way, but that's more than your family would do. It's more than your friends
could
do, Rosemary. Is he a genuinely nice guy? Because that night he seemed like a genuinely nice guy.”

Rosemary halted her pacing in front of her fireplace, fingering the smooth river rock as she tried to steady her thoughts, which flashed immediately to Dean's eyes—so attentive and penetrating—and to his voice, the timbre rich with humor or deep and strong and sober as he set the ground rules for dealing with each other.

“He insists on open lines of communication,” she told Daphne. “He said that if nothing else we should be honest with each other.”

“Oh, my. How did that feel?” Daphne knew that Neil's dishonesty had left Rosemary with a wound that no amount of emotional suturing seemed to close all the way. “On your birthday you said you wouldn't have a relationship again until you met a completely honest man.”

A dull throb filled Rosemary's temples. “Yeah, and Ginger said I'd never date again if that was my criteria.”

They fell silent. Daphne had been hurt plenty by men who took one look at her perfect face and Pussycat Doll figure and were willing to tell her anything in order to start a relationship they had little intention of finishing. Daphne was a diehard romantic who had fallen hard more than once, dreaming of
“forever.” She'd been hurt plenty, and this past New Year's had resolved to be celibate until she heard the words “You may kiss your bride.” Rosemary figured that not even Daphne would suggest she should trust a man simply because he
claimed
to value honesty and communication.

But if he values communication, what was up with that engagement of his?

“Remember when we were in high school and had to carry dolls and diaper bags everywhere for Health Ed?” Daphne's voice was soft and reminiscent.

“And we had to set a timer that woke us up every two hours for an entire weekend.” Rosemary nodded at the river rock.

“Half the class didn't even complete the assignment. Vi left the baby in her backpack.”

Rosemary smiled. “I remember. She said it needed a quiet place to nap.”

“Right.” Daphne's sweet giggle reached across the miles. “You and I were the only ones who never got tired of it.” More seriously she pointed out, “You used to want a family more than anything. We've talked about the guy. The one thing I haven't heard you mention yet is whether you're happy about the baby.”

Tears sprang to Rosemary's eyes. Guilt and regret swelled inside her. “I try not to think about the baby,” she confessed in a miserable whisper. “I don't want to let myself. Oh, Daphne, I never, ever imagined I'd be a single mother. It makes me so sad to think about it.”

“I know.” Daphne's understanding made it feel as if she were in the same room. “It doesn't have to feel the way it did when you were growing up, though. You're completely different from Maeve.”

Emotion made it difficult for Rosemary to speak, so she nodded into the phone.

“Right now you're frightened because you see yourself
repeating your parents' choices,” Daphne said, still with the utmost kindness. “But if Dean wants to be involved, and if he's a reasonable man, maybe you could find a way to work him into your and the baby's life—peacefully. Couldn't you, Rosemary?”

Turning from the fireplace, Rosemary plodded to the downstairs bathroom, wiping the mascara from beneath her eyes. “I have no idea how to make that work, Daph. In my world, there's no precedent for peaceful shared parenting.” She plucked a tissue from a box on the counter. “The Jeffers women take the praying-mantis approach.”