The Baby Jackpot (8 page)

There was no sign of Mia, who must still be at the party.
“What’s all this?” Stacy asked.

“You’re going to kill me.” Her friend clasped her hands
together. “Don’t be mad, okay?”

“Why would I be mad?”

“Well, you know how Mia’s been longing for a kitten,” Harper
began.

“You got a kitten?” Stacy glanced around. No furry little
animal. No bags of cat food or kitty litter, either.

“That would violate our lease.”

“Yes. So?” She didn’t understand why her normally forthright
roommate was beating around the bush.

“Last night at the reception for Una—where did you go,
anyway?”

“Never mind.” Stacy refused to be distracted. “Talk.”

Harper waved her hands. “I told you I’m planning to donate
eggs, right?”

“You said you were considering it.”

“It didn’t seem fair to Mia to get involved in something so
complicated and stressful,” Harper went on. “Especially when I won’t even let
her have a pet.”

Stacy sat on the couch. “I don’t see how the two things are
related.”

“Give me a minute to connect the dots.” Harper fingered her
hoop earring. “At the party, I was talking to Caroline Carter—you know, the
fertility department secretary—and she mentioned a house for rent in her
neighborhood. They allow pets. It’s been off the market because of some major
plumbing work. Once they start advertising, it’ll get snapped up fast.”

Dismay swept over Stacy. The papers on the coffee table must be
a lease. “You’re moving?”

How could she bring a stranger into this situation? Still, it
wasn’t Harper’s job to serve as her caretaker.

“I know this is sudden.” Her roommate studied her worriedly.
“But we always said this was a temporary arrangement. I’m earning more now that
I’m working for Dr. Franco. I guess the whole business with Una made me realize
how I’ve put my life on hold since Sean died. My life and Mia’s, too. This house
becoming available seems like, well, like a sign.”

Stacy didn’t want to put a guilt trip on her friend. Harper had
no idea about her pregnancy, and Stacy decided not to lay that on her right now.
“When?”

“Next weekend,” Harper said apologetically.

“That soon?” How was she going to find a roommate by then?

Her friend produced a sheet of paper. “I made a list of
hospital personnel who might want to share an apartment. Think of the
advantages. No more kid stuff everywhere, and you can bring the rest of your
furniture out of storage.”

Stacy
did
miss the sofa and end
tables that hadn’t fit in the living room, plus she’d save money not having to
pay for storage. But that was a small consolation.

I was counting on you.

Gazing into the apologetic face of the woman who’d been one of
her best friends since middle school, Stacy bit back the words. The two of them
had shared grief over Sean’s and Vicki’s deaths and the demise of Stacy’s
marriage. The rotten timing wasn’t Harper’s fault.

“I’ll throw you and Mia a housewarming party once you’ve
settled in.” Stacy glanced at the list of potential roommates. “Meanwhile, I’ll
start calling some of these people.”

“I’ll help. Thanks for understanding, Stace.”

“Of course I do.”

The bell buzzed. Harper started for the door. “Who do you
suppose that is?”

In the shock of her roommate’s news, Stacy had almost forgotten
about Cole’s visit. “Wait! I’ll get that,” she said.

Too late. The door was already open, and the pair of them were
face-to-face. Unless Stacy intervened, they were likely to tell each other
things she wasn’t ready for them to share.

Chapter Eight

“Dr. Rattigan?” Harper sounded confused.

“Is...? Oh, there she is.” Cole’s expression warmed. As she
approached the door, Stacy caught the enticing scents of basil and garlic from
the sacks he carried.

She yearned to hug him and snatch the food from his hands.

Must be my crazy, mixed-up
hormones.

“Hi, Cole,” she managed to say. “This is Harper.”

Still in the doorway, he returned his gaze to her roommate.
“I’ve seen you at the hospital, haven’t I?”

“Yes. What are you...?” Perhaps realizing that she had no
business cross-examining Stacy’s guest, Harper backed off. “Come in.”

This was growing more awkward by the moment. “Don’t you have to
go pick up Mia?” Stacy asked.

“Not for fifteen minutes.”

“Well, don’t you have to go
somewhere?
” If Harper found out about the pregnancy, she’d be racked
by guilt about leaving. And if Cole learned that Stacy was being left
alone...

He’d do what? Renew his offer of a marriage of convenience?
Seriously, nobody did that sort of thing.

Or he might suggest moving in.

The scary part was, she kind of liked the idea. Having him
around felt safe and comforting. And sexy, too, now that her earlier queasiness
had subsided.

The two of them, living together as she ballooned with his
baby? So much for keeping his paternity secret. Stacy cringed at the prospect of
them becoming the butt of everyone’s jokes. More important, they weren’t in
love. No matter how impractical her attitude might seem to others, Stacy meant
to hold out for the real thing, an all-encompassing, everlasting love like her
parents shared.

“You brought supper?” Harper was asking. “That smells
wonderful. Are you two, uh, dating? Not that I’m trying to be nosy, but Stacy
didn’t mention it.”

This conversation felt like a runaway train. Stacy’s mind
scrabbled frantically, trying to figure out how to throw the switch. “He’s only
being, uh...”

“Supportive, although I’m glad she has such a close friend to
help her through her pregnancy,” Cole said.

Crash. Train derailed. Or, more accurately, smashing right
through the station, littering the ground with casualties.

“Pregnancy?” Harper turned to Stacy. “What pregnancy?”

“I just found out,” she answered weakly.

“When were you planning to tell me?” her friend demanded.
“Before or after I moved?”

Noting Cole’s startled look, Stacy sank onto the couch. Why had
she imagined she could keep secrets from the two people closest to her?

“I’m surprised to hear you’re leaving,” Cole said to
Harper.

Stacy held up both hands. “Stop.” Two pairs of eyes fixed on
her. “I’m not your responsibility. Either of you.”

Harper’s head swiveled as she made the connection between her
and Cole. “He’s the father?”

Stacy had forgotten that other confidential matter.
Blam
went the caboose, toppling what little remained
of the train station. The only course left was to run damage control. “Don’t
blame him. I could have taken a morning-after pill.”

Neither of them responded. They were too busy staring each
other down. “Yes, I am,” Cole announced. “And I’m prepared to do my share.”

That had to be the most unromantic statement Stacy had ever
heard. She felt like crying, which was ridiculous. Why did she keep hoping for
more than the man was capable of giving?

“I can’t unsign the lease, so Stace, you’re moving with us,”
Harper said. “It’s a three-bedroom house.”

“I’d prefer to move here,” Cole said, as calmly as if they were
discussing dinner plans. “But it’s up to Stacy.”

Her decision became sparkling clear. “No to both of you,” she
answered. “I’ll look for a new roommate, and if I can’t find one, I’ll get a
smaller apartment.”

“You can’t live alone.” Setting aside the take-out sack, Cole
joined her on the couch. Earnest, concerned.
Doing his
share.

“He’s right. And afterward, how are you going to manage the
baby?” Harper asked. “Does Adrienne know?”

“I’m giving it up for adoption, and yes, I saw Adrienne
yesterday,” Stacy replied. “I’ll be fine.”

She wished Cole would do something other than gaze at her in a
faintly baffled way. Take her hands. Get down on his knees. Tell her he couldn’t
live without her.

But he wasn’t that kind of man. And the sooner she dispensed
with such childish fantasies, the better.

* * *

C
OLE
ADMIRED
THE
RATIONAL
way Stacy
was handling all this. Having her roommate jump ship must have come as a shock,
yet she hadn’t grabbed at either of the alternatives they’d proposed.

“I’ll help you find a roommate, if that’s what you want,” he
told her. “And if you can’t, I’ll pay half the rent, regardless of whether you
let me move in.”

“That won’t be necessary,” she replied tautly.

“I want to.” From her frown, he sensed that he was missing the
point. This was more difficult than he’d expected.

Cole had done a search on the internet before coming over. He’d
typed in, “What should a man do if he gets his girlfriend pregnant?” Up had
popped a site labeled “What to do if your girlfriend gets pregnant: ten
practical ideas.” Now there, Cole had figured, was the kind of information every
guy ought to have.

The suggestions had included “Act like you care,” which wasn’t
hard, because he did. Also “listen to her” and “be honest about how you feel.”
But what if he wasn’t sure how he felt—or rather, what if his emotions about
babies were evolving, possibly in a direction that she wasn’t going to like?

“Help her decide what to do”—she’d already decided that on her
own. “Be there for her.” He was trying, damn it. The other topics had been
equally useless.

He hated seeing tears darken Stacy’s eyelashes. He’d done this
to her in a moment of selfishness. Why wouldn’t she let him put it right?

If only she’d melt into his arms. He’d pull her onto his lap,
stroke her hair and soothe away those worry lines.

Except, he admitted silently, this situation was no longer
solely about him and Stacy. They had a child on the way. A little boy or girl
who was going to star in somebody’s cell phone pictures and fill someone’s home
with teddy bears and picture books.

Harper checked her watch. “I have to go. I won’t be long.”

“Regardless, this is not a discussion suitable for a
six-year-old to hear,” Stacy said. “Does she know you’re moving yet?”

“Not yet,” Harper admitted. “If I hadn’t signed the lease and
paid the first month’s rent...”

“Go.”

“As I said, I signed already.”

“I meant, go get your daughter.”

“Oh, that.” Harper grabbed her purse. “See you.”

When they were alone, Cole helped Stacy set the food out on the
table. He’d brought several entrées, as well as salad and garlic bread, and she
ate hungrily.

During dinner, he told her about the afternoon’s speech and the
audience reaction. She beamed at him. “You made quite an impression. Well, of
course! You’re one of the world’s foremost experts.”

“Not on reduced sperm counts,” he said. “That was Dr.
Tartikoff’s idea.”

“But you’re a leader in your field.” Stacy swallowed some milk
before adding, “That’s why people listen to you and respect you.”

“Thanks.” Cole hadn’t expected to hear praise over the dinner
table. At the only dinner table he’d regularly shared with anyone, Dr. Colette
Rattigan—aka Mom—had analyzed the day’s mistakes and gone over how to rectify
them.

In other words, she’d given him constructive criticism.

No wonder I’ve always preferred living
alone.

Being with Stacy was different. Cole wanted to move in with her
more than ever, now that he realized emotional support could flow in both
directions.

“I hope you’ll reconsider,” he said as he set slices of
tiramisu on plates for them. “Sharing quarters will have advantages for us
both.”

“Advantages?” She scowled at the layered, coffee-drenched cake.
“Doesn’t this have rum in it?”

Cole hadn’t thought of that when he chose the rich dessert.
“It’s been baked. Surely there’s no alcohol left.”

“Flattered as I am by your reference to sharing quarters, I’ll
pass,” Stacy said. “On the dessert, too. I already feel the size of a barn.”

Pregnant women had a reputation for being touchy, Cole recalled
as he downed his slice of dessert and got started on Stacy’s. She didn’t say
anything more, and his mouth was too full to talk.

The door opened, and a little girl came bouncing in with
excitement. “I’m getting a kitten!” she cried as she raced toward them. Catching
sight of Cole, she paused for an instant, before she found something more worthy
of her attention. “What are you eating?”

“Cake, but Cole took it all,” Stacy grumbled.

Fork in hand, he hesitated over the last bite. She’d refused
once. How was a man supposed to know she hadn’t meant it?

Mental note: When a woman refuses dessert,
ask her again.

“Sorry.” He held out the plate. “If you want it...”

“She’s eaten more than enough sweets for one day,” Harper
commented, coming through the door. “Mia, this is Dr. Rattigan.”

“Oh, you’re a
doctor!
” the little
girl said. “Don’t give me a shot, okay?”

“I won’t. I promise.”

That seemed to satisfy her. Nevertheless, the presence of a
child created a whirlwind atmosphere in the apartment. The girl displayed small
toys from a goody bag while dancing around and chattering about the birthday
party. It had featured a police theme dreamed up by the birthday girl’s
stepmother, a former police officer. Each child had received a badge and an ID
card with his or her own picture. They’d flown toy helicopters around the
neighborhood while patrolling for crimes and arresting “criminals” that Harper
explained were plastic golf balls painted with burglar masks.

“It was like an Easter egg hunt,” Mia told them.

“What fun.” Stacy gave the little girl a hug. “I’m glad you had
a good time.”

Feeling like the odd man out, Cole cleared the table and said
goodbye. Did other men instinctively know what to say to children? Or did it get
easier when you knew them better?

On the drive home—he’d brought the car this time—he sorted
through his turbulent emotions. While he’d enjoyed hanging out with Stacy, he
wasn’t sure how to cope with her moods. Also, he experienced a touch of guilt.
He shouldn’t have eaten her dessert, even after she’d refused it. A gentleman
would have saved it to offer to her roommate, or her roommate’s child. But
was
it even appropriate to give sweets to a little girl
who’d just filled up on birthday cake and ice cream?

He should get some practice babysitting. That would give him a
clearer idea of how one established rules and a routine. Except what would be
the point, since he wasn’t going to be a father other than in the genetic
sense?

He wondered why he kept forgetting that fact. Was it possible
he had paternal instincts?

Cole recalled reading a study that showed men’s testosterone
levels dropped after they became fathers. Researchers had theorized that this
drop might be an evolutionary development to help men commit to their families
and play a larger role in raising them by reducing aggressive behaviors. Perhaps
being in the proximity of Stacy’s maternal hormones was altering his body
chemistry.

At home, Cole sprang up the outer stairs and stepped into his
apartment, expecting his usual relief at finally being alone. Instead, he felt
as if he’d entered a motel room. Aside from the electronics and the table lamp,
nothing inside belonged to him. The place looked bland and impersonal.

He’d never minded before.

Cole switched on the TV. Watching the news tended to calm him.
Even bad news made him appreciate his good fortune.

The screen zeroed in on a car crash, with ambulance lights
flashing and firefighters struggling to free someone from the wreckage. Who was
inside? Had any children been hurt?

What was with this surge of empathy? Maybe his testosterone
levels really
were
dropping.

He switched channels, stopping when he came to a report of a
new earthquake study. Since it dealt with probabilities and scientific
projections rather than any specific event, Cole found the drone of the
announcer soothing. He left the TV on while he went to change into pajamas.

From the bedroom, he heard the name Safe Harbor jump out of the
broadcast, as if it were his own name. But wait, that
was
his name being pronounced—in a tone of doom.

Cole shot into the living room. There, on the screen, loomed
his white-coated image on the stage of the hospital auditorium. “We hear reports
from around the globe that sperm counts are dropping,” he was saying. There was
a quick, almost imperceptible cut, and then: “The man’s condition is involved in
about sixty percent of infertility cases.” Followed by: “Toxins in our food, our
air and our water.” Another cut. “We could be in trouble.”

“That was the prediction today from men’s fertility expert Dr.
Cole Rattigan,” the anchorwoman informed viewers.

“No, it wasn’t!” Cole snapped, outraged that someone had
stitched his words together to create what sounded like an alarming
prophecy.

Annoyed, he changed channels again. Flipping past a hamburger
commercial and a man touting used cars, he landed on another newscast. “Is
mankind’s future in doubt?” a jowly male reporter queried from the screen.
“According to Dr. Cole Rattigan of Safe Harbor Medical Center...”

Cole turned off the news. Preoccupied with his personal life,
he’d put this afternoon’s events out of his mind. He’d certainly never
anticipated such sensationalism.