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“Don’t you think physical compatibility is important in a marriage?”
“I think you should have your head examined.”
“Why won’t you at least consider it?” he challenged.
“Because I still have a dress hanging in my closet as a memento of the last man who promised to love me forever.”
She saw the shadows pass over his face, like clouds blocking out the sun. “I won’t make you any promises I can’t keep,” he said. “But I will take care of you and our baby and I will be faithful.”
She felt as if her heart was breaking—not just because she wanted more than he was offering, but because he believed he wasn’t capable of giving more. She had faith in the healing power of love, but Craig’s statement proved that the scars left by his mother’s abandonment still hadn’t healed and she had to wonder if they ever would. And she refused to set herself up for heartbreak by marrying someone who couldn’t love her.
“We made this baby together,” he continued when she didn’t respond. “And we should share that responsibility. Not just for the next eight months, but forever.”
Then he kissed her lightly on the cheek and walked out.
Chapter Two
Two weeks later, after the shock had worn off and he’d had time to think, Craig kept circling back to the same place. Maybe marriage and a baby weren’t a lifelong dream of his, but he owed it to Tess—and their baby—to do the right thing. And as much as he racked his brain for another solution, he’d started to believe that marriage was the best one.
He wanted his baby to have a father and he wanted to help Tess, and marrying her would accomplish both of those objectives.
Which is exactly what he told her when he stopped by her office Friday afternoon.
“We should get married.”
Tess turned around so quickly when he spoke that she knocked her coffee mug, spilling its contents all over the papers spread out on her desk. She swore under her breath as she moved her equipment out of the way of the spreading puddle.
As Craig hurried to the small kitchen to find a roll of paper towels, he realized he probably shouldn’t have blurted it out the way he had.
His mother often teased that he had a way with words and a natural charm that could persuade anyone to do what he wanted. He’d thought Tess would appreciate a straightforward approach. The silence that stretched between them as they worked to clean up her desk caused him to question that assumption.
She didn’t say anything at all until her wastebasket was filled with wet towels and illegible pages and the remaining papers had been spread out to dry.
“In the future, you might want to open a conversation with ‘hello’,” she suggested.
“Sorry,” he said. Then he smiled. “Hello, Tess.”
“Hello, Craig,” she responded politely.
He dropped into the chair beside her desk. “Now that we’ve dealt with the social niceties, can we get to the reason I’m here?”
“Please,” she agreed. “I’d like to know what’s behind the sudden change in your attitude about marriage.”
“The baby,” he admitted. “Our baby needs a father.”
She was quiet for a moment, considering his statement, then she nodded. “I don’t disagree,” she said. “But do you really want to be the baby’s father—or do you just want to do what you’ve convinced yourself is the right thing?”
“I want to be a father.” Parenthood wasn’t something he’d ever looked forward to in the abstract sense, but now, knowing his best friend was pregnant with his child, he found it was true.
“I’m a little surprised,” she admitted. “But I’m also relieved. I think our child will benefit from having both of his parents involved in his life.”
“His?” he wondered aloud.
She shrugged. “I don’t know yet, of course. But it doesn’t seem right to refer to the baby as ‘it’.”
He could see her point and while he hadn’t given much thought to the gender of their child, he found he liked the idea of having a son. A little boy who might grow up to take his place in the business Craig’s grandfather had founded. Of course, a girl could do the same thing. And when he thought about it, he found himself intrigued by the idea of a daughter—a little angel who looked just like her mother.
“Whether the baby’s a boy or a girl,” he said. “I don’t just want to be involved, I want to be there for him, or her, every day. I’ve been thinking about this since you took that test—I’ve hardly been able to think about anything else— and I really believe marriage is the perfect solution.”
“I didn’t ask you for a solution,” she said.
He took a deep breath, tried to figure out what he’d said or done to put her back up. Because it was obvious to him now that her back was up about something.
“I’m only trying to help,” he said.
“Just like you were helping when you took me home that night?”
She winced, and he knew she regretted the words as soon as she’d spoken, but that couldn’t erase them. Nor could it alter the truth in them. She blamed him, as he blamed himself.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “That was out of line.”
“No,” he denied. “You have every right to be mad at me. If I’d been thinking about what you needed instead of what I wanted, I would have just been your friend that night.”
She managed a weak smile. “I think I was pretty clear on what I needed.”
Yeah, she had been. But he should have looked beyond the invitation in her eyes, beyond the softness of her lips and the yield of her warm curves. Except that having Tess in his arms had been a dream come true and he hadn’t wanted to let her go.
Her smile faded as she folded her hands on her desk and faced him solemnly. “I’m not angry with you,” she said. “But maybe you should be angry with me.”
“Why?”
“Because—” she hesitated, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip. “Because I’m not sure I didn’t get pregnant on purpose.”
He frowned. “What are you talking about?”
She looked down at the fingers laced together in front of her and took a deep breath. “You know how much I’ve always wanted a family of my own,” she began. “Especially since my mom died. When I broke off my engagement to Roger, that dream seemed to slip away from me and that hurt more than anything else.”
She swallowed. “I didn’t set out to get pregnant. At least, I don’t think I did. But I wonder if, subconsciously—”
“Tess,” he interrupted gently. “The condom broke. It had nothing to do with your conscious or subconscious desire for a family.”
She dropped her gaze again. “The condom broke because it was more than a year past its expiration date.”
He stared at her, stunned, as the events of that night replayed in his mind.
He mentally fast-forwarded through all the hot, sweaty stuff to the relevant moment when he’d realized they were in the guest room and his condoms were across the hall in his bedroom. He’d intended to go to his room to get them, but Tess had surprised him by admitting there were some in her purse. Since her purse was on the dresser beside the bed—a helluva lot closer than the night table in his bedroom, which was at least thirty feet away—they’d used the ones in her purse.
The out-of-date condoms.
“I didn’t know it at the time,” she said quickly. “I didn’t know until I checked the box when I got home.”
“Why didn’t you check the box before you bought them?”
Her cheeks colored. “I did. But I bought them a couple of years ago—when Roger and I first started dating. But he always took care of protection and I never really thought about it afterward.”
“You’ve been carrying those condoms in your purse for two years?” he asked incredulously.
She shook her head. “I only opened the box a couple of months ago when I decided that I was going to prove to myself that I was over Roger. But I didn’t have any need for them…until that night.”
“Not until that night, huh?” He couldn’t fight the smile that tugged at his lips.
Tess eyed him warily. “You’re not mad?”
Maybe he should be angry, at least annoyed. But he knew Tess, and he knew, despite her own concerns to the contrary, that she would never have gotten pregnant on purpose.
“Do you believe in fate?” he asked.
Her expression grew more wary. “I’m not sure.”
“I’m not sure, either,” he admitted. “But I can’t help thinking that fate has been sticking her nose into things since you broke mine.”
“That wasn’t fate,” she scoffed. “That was you staring at Barb MacIntyre instead of paying attention to the baseball game.”
His smile widened. “I was fifteen and Barb MacIntyre had breasts.”
Tess shook her head, but she was smiling now, too. “You should have been paying attention to the skinny kid with the bat.”
“I’d never known a girl who could smack a line drive like that,” he told her, wincing a little at the memory. But he’d sure as hell paid attention after that. Not just because he’d been impressed by Tess’s athletic abilities, but because something in her wide blue eyes had tugged at him when she stood over him—as he’d lain bleeding all over the dirt at third base—and asked if he was going to die, too.
Several weeks later, he’d learned that was the same day she’d buried her mother—and been taken directly from the funeral to her new foster home. She was a fourteen-year-old orphan with more guts and attitude than he’d ever seen, but he recognized that the stubborn tilt of her chin and the angry glint in her eyes only masked the pain she carried inside. And he knew— even then—that she would wreak havoc on his life. What he didn’t know and couldn’t have guessed, was that she’d also become the best friend he’d ever had.
He rubbed a finger over the bump on the bridge of his nose.
Tess’s eyes followed the motion and the corners of her mouth twitched as she tried, not entirely successfully, to hold back a smile.
“You’re not still mad about that, are you?” she teased.
He shook his head. “That broken nose was one of the best things that ever happened to me. I didn’t think so at the time, of course,” he confessed. “But in retrospect, I can appreciate that it’s the reason we became friends.”
“What does any of that have to do with now?”
“I think in another fifteen years we’ll look back on this and realize your pregnancy was the best thing that could have happened.”
“I already know it is,” she confessed softly.
“Then why is it so hard for you to imagine that us getting married could be another one of those things?”
He didn’t quite manage to disguise the impatience in his voice, and Tess sighed.
“It’s not that I can’t imagine it,” she admitted.
In fact, it was almost too easy to picture herself married to Craig, sharing the joys and responsibilities of parenthood with him, building the family she’d always wanted with him.
But although her heart yearned for the whole fairy¬ tale package, she knew it could never exist outside of her dreams. Because he wasn’t her Prince Charming and her pregnancy wasn’t something they’d planned for or dreamed about together. As far as she knew, Craig didn’t even want kids—it was just his deeply-ingrained sense of responsibility that refused to let him walk away from their baby.
“Then what is it?” he demanded.
She didn’t know what to say, how to explain the battle that had been waging inside her since she’d seen those two lines on the stick. She could do what was easy—or she could do what was right. And she really wanted to do what was right.
The buzz of the intercom saved her from answering, at least for now.
“Carl’s on line three,” Elaine, the receptionist, announced.
Carl Bloom was one of the owners of SB Graphics and, therefore, one of Tess’s bosses. Which meant she needed to get Craig out of her office and her mind back on the job.
“Thanks,” Tess replied. Then to Craig, she said, “I have to take this call.”
“I can wait,” he said.
“I’d rather you didn’t. This is probably going to take a while and I have a meeting with Owen Sanderson—” Carl’s business partner and her other boss “—later this afternoon that I still need to prepare for.”
“We need to finish this conversation,” he said.
“I know,” she agreed. “But not now.”
“Then come to my place tonight for dinner.”
She stared at the blinking light on her phone as she considered his invitation, the light flashing like a neon “danger” sign inside her head. But what was the danger in sharing a meal with a friend?
“Okay,” she agreed. “I’ll see you later for dinner.”
“Seven o’clock,” Craig said as he rose from his chair. “I’ve got steaks we can barbecue—red meat has lots of iron, it’ll be good for both you and the baby.”
She shook her head as he walked out the door.
When she’d first suspected she might be pregnant, she’d worried about telling Craig. She’d tried to anticipate his reaction and had guessed that he would either balk at the idea of being a father and slowly but inexorably distance himself from her and the child she carried, or he would resign himself to the consequences of their actions and fulfill his responsibilities with respect to child support and weekly visitation. She hadn’t expected him to embrace the idea of parenthood.
Then again, the idea might be easier for him to embrace than the reality. Once their child was born, he might change his mind about what he wanted.
Or he might not, she admitted on a sigh. And that was an even greater concern for Tess, because she’d never known Craig to give up on something he really wanted.
She pushed these disquieting thoughts aside and reached for the phone to talk to her boss.
The software program Tess was revising was being especially stubborn, and the last couple hours of fighting with it had caused her hands to cramp from too much keyboarding. She raised her arms over her head to stretch out the tight muscles and glanced at the clock above her desk, surprised to note that it was already quarter to seven. She was supposed to be at Craig’s for dinner in fifteen minutes.
She saved the program, then shut down her computer and called to let him know she’d be there soon.
Making a quick trip to the ladies room, she wasn’t surprised to find that all her coworkers had gone and the outer office was empty and dark. When she’d first graduated from DeVry University, she’d accepted a position at a huge software company in Arizona. She’d enjoyed her work there, but the hours had been long, her bosses demanding. She’d come back to Pinehurst even knowing that her chances of landing a job as a programmer were less than slim because she’d wanted to have a life outside of her work and because she’d wanted to be closer to her stepsister’s family and Craig. She’d been thrilled—and very lucky—to find SB Graphics.
