Baby On The Way (4 page)

“No!” Libby pushed free of his arms.

Her hair was all ruffled, her brown eyes snapping. Del stared at her angry expression in surprise. “You mean you want to be the one to tell everyone?”

“No! I mean I don’t want anyone to know you’re the father. Not ever.”

S
he was overly tired or feverish, Del decided, noting the bright spots of color on her cheeks. Or possibly her raging hormones were confusing her. Soothingly, he said, “Libby, you’re not making sense. People are bound to know I’m the father when we get married—”

“We’re not getting married.”

Seeing the set expression on her face, his noble feeling of self-sacrifice faded. Frowning, he said pointedly, “But we
have
to get married.
You’re having my baby!”

“You know that, and I know that, but nobody else does,” Libby remarked, stepping away from him to resume her seat. She picked up her yarn again. “And that’s the beauty of
my
plan.”

“What plan?”

“To keep you entirely out of this. After all, it wasn’t your fault I got pregnant.”

He raked his hand through his hair, barely resisting the urge to clutch at it. “But we just established it
was
my fault.”

“No, we didn’t. We merely established that you’re the father,” she said, working her needles. “We used a condom. How were you to know I’d get pregnant?”

“No one could know that.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. I did know—or at least I should have.” Libby paused in her knitting and looked up at Del. He was standing in the middle of the room, his expression a mixture of bafflement and anger. Choosing her words carefully to help him understand, she said, “Don’t you see? This baby is the story of my life. Whenever I do something wrong, I get caught.”

His mouth thinned in exasperation. “That’s ridiculous.”

Libby shook her head. “No, it isn’t. My mother’s wild—really wild—but no matter what she does, how outrageously she acts, she never has to suffer the consequences. I, on the other hand, always do.”

Realizing from his skeptical expression he still didn’t believe her, Libby elaborated. “At seven I stole a gum ball—one little pink gum ball from the corner grocery store when I was visiting my dad—and I got caught. My dad was so angry he sent me back to my mom early. At thirteen, a girl handed me her cigarette to hold in the school rest room and that’s when the principal marched in. I was suspended and sent to another school. In college, I went skinny-dipping in the college pool with a bunch of girlfriends one Saturday night, and I was the only one caught totally nude by the local police. Is it any wonder I stayed a virgin until I was twenty-six?”

She sighed, picking absently at a fuzzy ball on the yarn. “That, and the fact that the men I met were usually simply interested in meeting my famous mother. But with you, I felt…special. Hah! So much for trying to be ‘wild and free,’“ she said bitterly.

Del eyed her intently. “Is that what our making love was to you? A chance to be wild and free?”

She nodded. “Instead, I made the biggest mistake of my life.”

About to reach for her again, he paused, his brows lowering over his eyes. “You think this baby is the biggest mistake of your life?”

“Not the baby,” she admitted. He relaxed a little, only to stiffen as she added, “You.
You’re
the mistake.”

Scowling, Del put his hands on his hips. “What’s wrong with me?”

“Well, to begin with, you’re exactly the sort of man my mother always gets involved with.”

Del had no idea what type of man Libby’s mother liked, but instinctively he knew he didn’t appreciate the comparison. “I am not,” he denied.

“Yes, you are,” Libby answered, primly folding her hands on the bulge of her stomach. “To begin with, you don’t want to get married. I don’t know how many times I’ve heard Christine mention it and you certainly made it clear enough before we.got involved. You said your type of job makes marriage an impossibility.”

“It does—for a real marriage. For goodness’ sake, I’m out of the country ten months out of the year. But we don’t have a choice. You’re pregnant and I’m willing to live up to my responsibilities by marrying you.”

“Thank you, but no thank you,” Libby said grimacing. “I’ve made one mistake—I certainly don’t intend to make another. I would never marry a man simply because he feels obligated. In fact, you’re not the kind of man I want to marry at all.”

“Why not?” Del demanded, his scowl deepening.

Libby held up her hand to count off on her fingers. “You’re the kind of man who prefers an affair to marriage. The kind of man who is never around. You’d be a poor risk as a husband, and you certainly don’t seem like father material. I want a man who is steady, family minded and dependable. A man who has an eight-to-five job and comes home every night.”

“And just where do you think you’ll find this paragon?”

“I don’t know. Maybe in Lone Oak,” she said, disregarding his sarcastic tone. “Which is why I want to keep your identity as the baby’s father a secret. People have accepted me here. and I like that,” she admitted gruffly, smoothing down a wrinkle in her jumper. “If they know I slept with you—after only knowing you a couple of days!—their opinion of me is bound to change.”

“They’d understand-”

“No, they wouldn’t. And I refuse to take that chance.”

He scowled. “Are you saying you no longer want a physical relationship with me?”

She took a deep breath. “I’m saying I don’t want any kind of a relationship with you at all.”

For some reason, that statement stunned Del more than learning about the baby. His angry surprise must have shown in his face because her eyes widened and he quickly reined in the revealing emotion, forcing his expression to go blank. She had the right, after all, to terminate their physical relationship. They’d made no promises, exchanged no vows. But still her attitude bothered him. The baby aside, hadn’t she felt the same
hungry yearning for him all these months that he’d felt for
her?

Apparently not.

He tried again. “Don’t you want the baby to know her real father?”

She thought about that a moment. “If during your brief visits to Lone Oak you want to be involved in
his
life, I’m sure we can come to some reasonable arrangement,” she decided magnanimously. “We’ll wait and see how things go.”

“And if I refuse to hide the fact that the baby is mine?” he asked.

“Then I’ll move somewhere else and start over.”

Del met her steady brown eyes. She’d do it, too. That determined expression was on her face again. He sighed in exasperation. Any other woman—any normal woman—would be making demands. But not Libby. How could he have forgotten how independent, how
stubborn,
she could be? He remembered the morning after they’d made love. When he received that phone call from work, Libby had been out of bed and dressed before he was, stubbornly insisting she’d help him shovel out his truck. Nothing he’d said could deter her, and finally he’d quit trying, touched by her eagerness to help.

Now, he wondered if maybe she simply hadn’t been anxious to speed him on his way.

“What about medical costs? Insurance?” he asked.

“My father left me a little money. I can handle the medical costs,” she said firmly.

He should just let her try, he thought, a muscle twitching in his jaw. He should walk out of her life and take the next plane back to Seoul. After all, he’d
come to get Libby off his mind and she was making it easy for him. Why was he arguing when she’d made her feelings all too clear? The passion she’d felt that night—and she
had
felt the full fulfillment of that passion, he had no doubts on that score—was obviously no longer important.

All she cared about was the baby.

Well, he cared about the baby, too. He frowned. Sort of. Despite that kick against his hand, the baby was rather a nebulous concept—not quite real. Unlike Libby, with her hollowed-out cheeks and tired eyes.

His frown darkened. He couldn’t let her carry this burden alone, no matter how much she claimed to want him to. His conscience wouldn’t allow him to abdicate his moral responsibility in the situation—or ignore the drawn expression on Libby’s face. She might think she could handle everything herself, but anyone seeing those circles under her eyes had to know better. Independence was fine, but not when a woman was more than seven months’ pregnant. Unless she was careful, Libby was going to ruin her own health and that of the baby’s.

His resolve hardened. He wouldn’t let that happen. She’d never lived on her own before; she probably was underestimating how much the baby would cost. He’d make her see things his way. But not tonight. All this arguing couldn’t be good for her, and besides, he had time to change her mind before he left. She just needed a chance to realize marriage was the most practical solution.

“Fine,” he said abruptly. “We won’t tell anyone that I’m the father, at least until I see how things go.”

Libby stared at him with wide eyes. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m going to stick around a couple more days to make sure you’re handling everything as well as you think you are.” He frowned, eyeing her consideringly. “You look tired to me.”

Libby stiffened. Setting aside her knitting, she rose to her feet as quickly as her protruding tummy would allow. “That’s not necessary, Del. You don’t need to stay,” she protested, her voice rising. “I’m doing fine—everything’s fine.”

“Good. Then it won’t matter if I make sure.” Ignoring her stuttering protest, he raised his hand for quiet, listening as a car drove up. “That has to be Chris. I’ll tell her to park in the garage and we’ll unload in the morning. You need to get to bed.”

“Wait! We haven’t settled this yet,” Libby said on a panicky note.

“Yes, we have, so don’t waste any more time arguing,” he said, striding to the door. With his hand on the knob, he turned to look back, his blue eyes gleaming. “You might as well face it, Libby. Once again, you’ve been caught.”

E
ven the next morning the memory of Del saying the words—with that mockingly satisfied tone in his voice—had the power to infuriate Libby all over again.

‘I have not been caught,” she firmly told the small brown teddy bear sitting innocently on the mahogany dresser in her bedroom.

Teddy regarded her blankly with black, shoe-button eyes and Libby admitted, “At least not by him. By the baby, now that’s a different story.”

Yes, she’d definitely been caught by the baby. The realization continually amazed her. How could she love anyone as intensely as she loved this unknown small person nestled beneath her heart?

When she had first suspected she was pregnant, panic had welled up inside her. Alone in her tiny bathroom, nervously fumbling through the directions on the home pregnancy kit, she’d never felt so scared in her life. She didn’t want a child; she was just starting to get her own life on track. She’d been accepted at Southern Oregon State to finish up her master’s degree and she’d found a part-time job at the department store to help meet her expenses. Yet when that little indicator
stick had turned pink, a tide of joy had lifted inside her, filling her with a deep satisfaction that hadn’t changed from that moment on.

No, not morning sickness, financial worries—not even problems with Delcould make her regret this baby.

Reaching out, she idly sifted the soft fur on Teddy’s belly through her fingers, admitting, “I may not have started off right, but I plan on being the best mother there ever was. I told Del I’m handling everything just fine, but he won’t listen to me.”

Her mouth twisted wryly. Which was ironic, now that she thought about it. It was because he had listened so intently, his eyes fastened on her face in the candlelight while she revealed feelings she’d never shared with anyone before, that had made her feel so close to him during that long-ago snowstorm.

What an illusion. You’d think, coming from her mother’s house where no one was ever what they appeared to be, that she would have been smarter. And yet she still hadn’t learned. Even last night, she’d been in danger of falling for him all over again. How could she have thought, even for one brief second, that there might be something more behind his proposal than obligation? Held tight in his arms, feeling so secure resting against him, she’d almost expected him to say he—cared about her.

She picked up Teddy and gave him a gentle shake. “It’s not me he’s concerned about—or even the baby. He just wants to placate his conscience before he takes off again. Well, I have no intention of obliging him. I’m completely over him, I tell you. He’s nothing more to me than my landlady’s brother—”

Libby paused, a soft knock interrupting her. A second later Christine popped her head inside the door, her dark hair tumbling around her mischievous face. “Hello, is this a private conversation or can anyone join in?” She returned Libby’s smile before her gaze fell on Teddy. Her blue eyes lit up. “Oh, what a darling! Where did you get him?” she asked, coming closer to admire the small bear.

“Dorrie Jean brought him over yesterday.” Libby

relinquished the stuffed toy to her friend and sat down on an old wooden rocker in a corner of the room. With a small sigh, she picked up her knitting. “How sweet of her!” Christine exclaimed. “What did Mrs. P. bring?”

Libby unraveled her yarn—how did it always manage to get so twisted?—and started another laborious line of purling. “More warnings on the terror of childbirth,” she said dryly.

Christine hooted. “As if she’d know—Dorrie Jean was adopted.” Still smiling, she flopped back on Libby’s bed, then turned to prop her chin on her elbow, cuddling the bear next to her.

Libby smiled at her, thinking, as she always did, how much—and how little—Christine was like her brother. Even to the most casual observer, the resemblance between the two was obvious. Both were tanned and long limbed, with dark curls and brilliant blue eyes. But Del clipped his curls short and combed them ruthlessly back, while Christine’s hair bounced rebelliously to her shoulders. Del’s masculine nose had a slight bump from being broken at some time. Christine’s nose was small and straight.

But the biggest difference between the two was their
expressions. Del’s was usually guarded, hiding his thoughts, while Christine’s was open and friendly, reflecting a lively interest in the people around her.

Christine examined the polish on her long nails, saying, “Mrs. P. means well, you know.”

“I know,” Libby admitted.

“In fact,” Christine added, buffing her nails on her shirt and checking them again, “Del means well, too.”

Libby’s heart skipped a beat. She looked up, meeting her friend’s eyes with a question in her own.

Christine grinned. “I’d have to be an idiot not to notice what an interest he took in you.” Her brow puckered. “Although, I’ve never seen Del act so domineering before. Of course, he always tries to boss me around. I guess because you live in our house, he’s treating you like a sister, too.”

Breathing a thankful sigh of relief that Christine hadn’t guessed the true reason for Del’s behavior, Libby resumed her knitting, saying, “There’s no reason for him to feel that way.”

“I know, but you’ll never convince him of that. Del’s a real take-charge kind of guy. Which isn’t all bad,” Chris added fairly. “When Dad died, Del was only sixteen, but he stepped right into the role of man of the house.” She winced. “And believe me, with a house this old and big, that was quite a job. Something always needed fixing—the wiring, the plumbing—and money, of course, was pretty tight. It became even. more of a struggle when Mom died a few years later. It wasn’t until Del finished up college and found a job with Visatek that things started loosening up again. He really loves that computer stuff.”

Libby had seen the computer Del used while at
home. The machine, stolid and imposing, dominated a corner of the study. She paused in her knitting. “Do you think he’ll stay long?”

“Probably no more than a day or two. The jobs he handles are usually pretty much a one-man operation.”

Libby regarded her friend with a slight frown. “What exactly does he do for a living, Chris,” she asked slowly. “You’ve never really said.” And neither had he.

“Haven’t I?” Christine looked surprised. “I guess I assumed you knew. He’s an electronic engineer specializing in reconnaissance systems—if that tells you anything. His background is in computer imagery, information systems—” she made a face “—boring stuff, like that. Thank goodness he can’t talk about it. The projects he works on are code ‘black’—which means even the titles are hush-hush.”

“I see.” Libby rocked a minute, mulling that over. It sounded like such a lonely life, and yet. “He must enjoy it,” she said, thinking aloud.

“He’s enjoys the challenge—and he’s good at it,” Chris replied. “Not only at data analysis, but at the technical stuff, too. He can fix just about anything. There were a ton of companies that wanted him and with whom he wouldn’t have had to do so much traveling, but Visatek offered too much to resist. He insisted on putting me through college, you know. I got out as quickly as I could.”

Libby knew Christine had finished four years of college in three, then jumped right into her job as a buyer. Libby, on the other hand, had spent more than eight years trying to reach her goal of a master’s degree and
a teaching credential and still hadn’t succeeded. She had at least another semester to complete. “You’re lucky to be doing what you want to do,” Libby said.

Chris smiled ruefully. “Del said a degree would help me get the job—and he was right. Mom, too, had always wanted me to get at least a bachelor’s degree. She said a college education was an investment in the future.”

Libby tried to imagine Liz giving such practical advice. She couldn’t. Her mother lived in such a dreamworld—plunging into each new role with wholehearted fervor, riding on a never-ending emotional roller coaster—that Libby had finally realized she’d have to get away if she ever planned to have a real, “normal” life of her own.

It hadn’t been easy to leave. Especially since in the past few years Liz had begun to rely on her as something of an unpaid “social secretary,” always available to handle whatever “crisis” should arise-and crises were always occurring around Liz, who thrived on the drama of emotional chaos.

But Libby didn’t. And eight months ago, when once again a manufactured “emergency” of her mother’s forced Libby to drop another class in order to find time to deal with the problem, she’d packed up and left immediately afterward, ignoring her mother’s tirade about her daughter’s “selfishness.”

Libby had transferred her credits to Southern Oregon State University, choosing the college for two reasons: First, because it was close enough to get home quickly if Liz should ever
really
need her; and second, because the campus was close to Lone Oak,
the small town Libby had once driven through on a trip with her father and had never forgotten.

Her knitting dropped into her lap and she rocked a couple of moments, staring unseeingly out the window. Yet, once again, in spite of her efforts, she’d gotten offtrack. “Maybe I can finish up my degree when the baby is born.”

“Plenty of time to worry about that later,” Christine said, a comforting refrain she’d used often during the past several months whenever Libby fretted about the future. Chris fiddled with one of Teddy’s stubby arms as she gave a considering glance around the small room. “One thing you should do before the baby comes, though, is to move to a room downstairs—or at least to the second floor. Del said he thought you looked worn-out, and the climb all the way up here has to be hard on you. There’s a large bedroom next to his that’s nice.”

“I’m fine up here,” Libby said firmly. So she looked worn-out to him, did she? How flattering. Well, she had no intention of moving closer to Del—or his bedroom with all its memories of that night. “I’m not tired at all,” she added for good measure.

Christine gave her a skeptical glance and Libby amended the statement, saying, “Okay, maybe I am a little bit but that’s normal for a woman in my condition. Besides, I love it up here,” she added truthfully.

The third floor—her “flat” she considered it-had been the maid’s quarters once upon a time. Smaller than the first two floors, it consisted of three cramped rooms tucked under a sloping ceiling, a closet-sized bathroom and a narrow angled passageway. The room they were now in was the smallest of the three, but
feminine and bright. The ceiling pressed down, but a west-facing dormer window boxed in the afternoon sun, while even on the cloudiest of days the morning light flooded in through the two knee-high windows opposite to dance among the tiny pink roses scattered on the cream-colored wallpaper. “I’m going to paint the little room next door blue for the baby and use the back room for a sitting room,” Libby told her friend.

Chris smiled. “Sounds great. If you need more furniture, check the loft in the garage. I think there’s a bassinet up there.”

“Thanks.” Libby looked fondly at the worn antiques around her—a tarnished brass bed, a mahogany dressing table with a clouded mirror, the broad rocking chair in which she was sitting. She loved the aura of timelessness surrounding the old furniture. Her mother’s taste had run to brash, modern pieces that looked “artistic” but never felt comfortable when you sat in them.

Rocking absently, she gazed out the window at the oak leaves fluttering in the light morning breeze. The thought of the way the building had sheltered family after family charmed her. “This is such a wonderful old house,” she said softly.

Christine made a face. “You think so? Personally, I’d rather have an apartment in a big city where there’s a chance of some excitement—and I will as soon as I snag another couple of promotions.”

“Really?” Libby said in surprise. “You’d prefer an apartment to this?”

Chris nodded. “Yep, give me a modern, low-care condo any day.” She wrinkled her small nose. “No matter what you do, old houses always smell like
musty books and lemon polish. I think Del feels the same but this house has been in our family for generations, so he’s hesitated to—omigosh!”

She bolted up so suddenly that Libby squeaked in alarm, drawing her feet up beneath her off the wooden floor. “What is it! A mouse?”

Chris looked at her in surprise and then laughed merrily. “Good gracious, no. I just remembered Del’s waiting for us in the parlor. He piled all your presents in there.”

Bouncing to her feet, Christine headed for the door carrying Teddy with her, only to pause as a thought struck her. She looked back at Libby, who hadn’t moved from the rocker. “Why, have you seen a mouse lately?” she demanded.

Libby nodded reluctantly. Chris declared, “I’d better tell Del,” and bounded down the stairs before Libby could protest that she didn’t mind a little mouse running around. Well, she did, but she certainly didn’t want Del to kill it.

“Libby!” Christine called from the stairwell. “Are you coming?”

“Be right there.”

Setting her knitting aside, Libby forced herself to get up and went to the dressing table. Picking up her brush she ran it through her hair. She wasn’t anxious to see Del again. Already her stomach was twisting and turning and for once it wasn’t because of the baby’s antics. Thank goodness he was only staying a day or two. She didn’t have the energy for any more.

She leaned forward, eyeing herself in the foggy glass. She did look a little peaked; she’d have to ask the doctor for a stronger iron pill or something. But
for now—She picked up some cover-up and daubed the makeup on the mauve circles beneath her eyes. There! Surely Del wouldn’t notice them now.

Del noticed as soon as she came in the parlor. He glanced away, pretending to examine a couple of gift boxes to hide his frown. He’d hoped a good night’s sleep would erase her air of fragility, but obviously it hadn’t done the trick. Libby moved slowly, without energy, settling into an armchair with an unconscious sigh.

His lips straightened into a firm line. No doubt about it—he needed to accompany her to the doctor and find out if her tiredness was normal or not. She wouldn’t like his decision, he knew, so he didn’t comment on his plans, saying instead, “Chris says you saw a mouse.”