No Regrets (13 page)

“You don't want to do that, Molly.”

For not the first time, Molly admired—and envied—the nun's unwavering belief that she knew what was right not only for herself, but for the younger members of the order, as well.

“Sometimes I do.” Molly dragged her attention away from the romantic portrait of the Mother of God floating up to heaven on that gilt-edged, puffy white cloud and forced herself to meet her superior's hawklike gaze with a level look. “There's a little boy who used to be a Frequent Flyer in the ER—”

“Benny.”

“Yes.” Molly belatedly recalled fretting about the young boy's plight in this very office on more than one occasion. “I used to fantasize about running away with him.”

“Fantasies are normal. So long as they don't get out of hand,” Sister Benvenuto tacked on. “Anyone who knew that unfortunate child might briefly imagine doing exactly the same thing.”

“I imagined being his mother.”

“Again, not unusual.”

“The same way I imagine being a mother to this baby.”

The nun's expression didn't change, but Molly detected the faint gray cast that moved like a warning shadow over the remarkably unlined olive complexion.

“It's merely hormones,” the nun said finally. “I'm neither a nurse nor a mother, but I do know pregnant women are famous for their mood swings. Factor in the little matter of your working too hard, and it would only stand to reason that your mind might indulge itself in harmless daydreams.”

She folded her hands atop the desk, drawing Molly's attention to the slender gold ring that was a twin to Molly's own. “So long as you understand that these are fantasies, and not a viable alternative, I can't see that any harm's been done.”

“It doesn't feel like mood swings. It feels like something primal. Something deep in the bone.” And, heaven help her, in her flesh, which seemed to have become too warm and painfully sensitive lately. Just yesterday Reece had accidently brushed against her in the cubicle in treatment room B, leaving her feeling as if he'd taken a torch to her ultrasensitive breast.

“You've always had difficulty surrendering yourself to the desire of God. You must pray for relief from your doubts. And for guidance. Believe me, Molly, if you open your heart, Our Lord will not abandon you.”

Sister Benvenuto stood up, signaling that in her mind, at least, this interview was over. Not having the strength nor the inclination to argue any longer, Molly pushed herself out of the too-soft chair and left the book-lined office of the Mother House.

Although it was her day off, she returned to Mercy Sam for her daily visit with Alex, arriving during his
physical therapy. Although he'd regrettably ended up losing both legs in the accident, the wonders of modern prostheses had him up on his feet again. Now all he had to do was work out the glitches.

She stood in the doorway, watching as he held on to the parallel bars on either side of his still-strong body, each step an obvious effort. His pain and frustration were evident—sweat had beaded on his brow and above his top lip and he was cursing beneath his breath—but Molly was not at all surprised when he refused to stop until he'd reached the end of the bars.

“That's wonderful,” she said, clapping her approval.

He glanced back over his wide shoulder, his grimace instantly turning into a grin. “I'm not exactly ready to take on Michael Jordan in a game of one-on-one, but it's coming along.”

“You've improved so much since the last time I watched,” she assured him as she entered the room.

“Anything to get out of this damn chair.” He glared at the electric wheelchair the therapist was helping him into.

Molly couldn't think of any man who'd be more frustrated being confined by such a chair. In her mind, Alex Kovaleski had always epitomized the great American West's outdoorsman. When he wasn't working, he was hiking, camping, hunting, and shortly before his accident, he'd even terrified Molly, Lena and Theo by taking up rock climbing during a vacation in Yosemite.

She took a tissue from a nearby box and wiped his damp forehead. “You'll be walking again before you know it,” she assured him.

“Don't forget dancing,” a throaty voice from behind the pair offered.

Molly turned to see Theo standing in the door, dressed in a bright cotton dress emblazoned with giant red poppies. Molly didn't believe that the dress, cut nearly to the waist in back, and ending high on Theo's still-firm thighs, had been designed for a woman of her years. But she had to admit that it worked.

Her hair was blond again this month—“My summer shade,” she'd announced when she'd shown up for Sunday dinner at Reece and Lena's last weekend—and bounced on her tanned shoulders as she walked into the therapy room with a familiarity that suggested she'd spent a great deal of time here.

Ignoring Molly, or, more to the point, Molly decided, unconcerned about any audience, she bent down, held Alex's face between her hands and gave him a long deep kiss that demonstrated their relationship had definitely flowered since New Year's Eve.

“Lucky guy,” the male therapist standing beside Molly murmured as the kiss went on and on in a way that had her mutinous skin beginning to burn again.

Although she felt uncomfortable witnessing such open sensuality, Molly thought Alex and Theo were extremely fortunate to have found each other. Since they were two of her favorite people, she was thrilled by their romance.

“I'm sorry, Molly,” Theo said when the couple finally came up for air. “I didn't mean to ignore you. It's just that whenever I get within kissing distance of this big teddy bear, my heart just runs away with my head.”

Theo seemed more than comfortable with their situation, but to Molly's amusement, Alex blushed furiously. His face looked every bit as warm as Molly's felt.

“Dammit, woman, if you'd only learn to use a modicum of restraint—”

“You'd be miserable.” Theo cut him off cheerfully. “We both know the reason you're working overtime to get back on your feet is so you can take me dancing.” She glanced over at Molly. “He gets so jealous thinking about all my other male admirers.”

“You haven't wanted any other men since the day I waltzed into your life,” he growled.

Theo sighed dramatically and pressed her hand against her chest. “Heaven help me, I have no idea why I'm so fatally attracted to overly confident macho men.”

“Man,” Alex corrected firmly. But with a gentleness that Molly found endearing.

Theodora's expression softened. Her eyes, accented by a sweep of sea green shadow, warmed. “Man,” she agreed.

They exchanged a long look that spoke volumes and had Molly suddenly feeling like the third wheel at a junior high school dance. “Well,” she said, clearing her throat, “it's getting late and—”

“Oh, dear, now we've embarrassed you,” Theo said.

“Actually, I think you're both sweet.”

“Sweet?” Alex looked aghast at the suggestion.

“Sweet,” Molly repeated with a grin. She turned to Theo. “By the way, I'm glad to see you. I've been meaning to tell you that was a dynamite article about you in last week's
TV Guide.
”

“It was nice, wasn't it?” Theo agreed.

“They even gave her the cover,” Alex pointed out. “And called her the Diva of Daytime Drama.”

“Which may have been a bit of an exaggeration.” Theo's false modesty almost made Molly laugh.

“Not if what they said about you increasing ratings is true. And the story line you've created sounded fascinating.” Fascinating and convoluted. Molly had lost track of the cast of characters' layered relationships halfway through the flattering cover article.

“Don't tell a soul, but it gets even better,” Theo confided. “Poor Allison's going to discover that the man she's fallen madly, passionately in love with is her brother.”

“That
is
a complication.”

“A rather touchy one, I thought. I still haven't figured out how she's going to respond. I was considering having her join a convent, but I discovered that's already been done by
Days of Our Lives
back in the seventies and I hate the idea of being derivative.”

“I'm also not certain a failed love affair is a valid reason to embrace a religious life,” Molly couldn't resist adding.

Alex laughed, a rich bold laugh that triggered countless warm memories of all the times he'd been there for Molly and Lena while they were growing up.

“You're in trouble if you're looking for reason in a soap opera, sweetheart. From what I've noticed, it's all storm and drama and incest—”

“And don't forget murder,” Theo added with gusto. “And the secret babies, and…” Her voice drifted as she realized what she'd said. “Aw, hell. I'm sorry, Molly, dear.”

“It's okay.” Molly smiled. “I'm well aware that if you wrote my life story, no one would believe it. Especially with this latest twist.”

“Oh?” Theo gave her a sharp look. “Have you been holding back on us, darling?”

Molly decided that since it had been her idea in the first place, and neither Lena nor Reece had asked her to keep it a secret, she may as well confide in the other two members of her small family group.

She paused for a heartbeat, decided she was behaving as dramatically as Theo, then said, “Reece and Lena are going to adopt my baby.”

There was a moment of stunned silence. Theo was the first to break it. “Why, isn't that wonderful!”

As hugs were exchanged, Molly failed to see the concerned look Theo and Alex exchanged over the top of her head.

U
nfortunately, Tessa's opportunity to become television's newest star fell through when she discovered that auditioning for the part involved a lot more than reading lines.

Her agent, the legendary Terrance Quinn, who had signed her after the meeting Miles had arranged, proved nonchalant about the incident.

“Sleeping with Sands is part of the deal,” he said with a shrug. “Some girls find it worth their while.”

“Not me. I'd rather dress up in a gorilla suit and deliver singing telegrams.”

His lips quirked in an almost smile. “I doubt if it will come to that. You're getting commercials. And you still have a shot at that new sitcom.”

She'd recently had a first reading for two guys who'd graduated from the UCLA film school, professed to be
bored with L.A. faces and were searching for a new look. After numerous callbacks, Tessa—and more importantly Terrance—began to realize that she was at the top of a very short list for the role of the star's man-hungry sidekick.

“Meanwhile, you're not a vegetarian, are you?”

“No.”

“Good.” He made a notation on the back of a business card and handed it to her. “You've got a commercial for a new hamburger chain that shoots tomorrow night in Westwood. Think you can look as if you're experiencing an orgasm from a cheeseburger?”

“You bet.”

The hamburger shoot was quick and fast, paid the rent and definitely beat screwing Darren Sands, who'd appeared about as old as dirt and just as inviting.

Even better was the commercial for a Porsche dealer who turned out to be impossibly rich, good-looking enough to be an actor himself and made her feel like the sexiest, most desirable woman on the planet during the shoot.

Wallowing in guilt instilled from her Catholic upbringing, the morning after her impulsive tryst Tessa was waiting for Jason when he arrived home from night-shift patrol.

“So you slept with the guy,” he said with a shrug after she'd confessed.

He took his police pistol, laid it on the kitchen table, opened the refrigerator and pulled out a beer. He offered Tessa orange juice which she refused. But when he offered a pill he promised would cure her pounding hangover headache, she accepted.

“Jesus, Tessa, I don't own you. You don't owe me any apologies. Or explanations.”

Tessa couldn't quite make up her mind about how his nonchalant attitude made her feel. On the one hand, she was relieved that he wasn't angry. Or hurt. On the other hand, she was disappointed that he wasn't at least a little bit jealous.

“Was it good?” he surprised her by asking.

“Not as good as with you,” she said truthfully. She took another sip of the orange juice.

Although he hadn't moved, she felt a shift in the air. Dressed in his dark blue uniform, with the metallic badge of authority pinned to his starched shirt, he seemed larger, more powerful.

With his eyes still on hers, he took a long pull on the dark brown beer bottle as he waited for the pill he'd given her to click in. The roofie was related to Valium, but ten times stronger. One of the side effects was blackouts with a complete loss of memory. After busting a street dealer for what was becoming known, in police circles, as the “date rape drug,” he'd kept a bit of the merchandise for his own personal use.

“But not bad, either?” he coaxed.

He moved closer. So close, Tessa had to tilt her head back to look into his face. “I don't think we should be talking about this.”

His hand cupped her cheek. “I do.” She could feel the imprint of each of his long fingers against her skin. “Did you bathe before coming over here?”

“I took a shower.” There was no way she was going to come here smelling of sin and sex.

“Too bad.”

“Why?”

He shrugged. “No reason. Just an idle thought…. I want to hear all the details.”

“Why?”

“Because it'll turn me on.”

“I thought
I
turned you on.”

“You do.” His fingers trailed down her face, then curled around the base of her throat where her pulse had begun to hammer. “But a little variety is always nice.”

“I don't understand.” But she did. Too well.

His fingers tightened, ever so slightly. “Are you afraid of me?”

“No,” she lied.

The pressure on her skin increased. “You should be, you know.” He kept his tone conversational even as his vaguely threatening demeanor made Tessa wonder why she'd ever believed Miles to be the more dangerous of the twins.

“I think I am,” she admitted on a whisper.

“Afraid of what I'll do to you?”

Tessa nodded, knots of fear, and, dammit, need, tangling in her stomach.

After putting the beer bottle down on the table, he tangled his hand in her hair and pulled her head back, forcing her to look up into his eyes. “Say it.”

“I'm afraid of what you'll do to me.”

“Afraid you'll like it.”

“Yes.”

“Believe me, baby, you will.” He leaned forward, close enough for her to feel the heat emanating from his body. “Tell me everything the guy did to you.” Although his voice was rough and raw, it possessed the confident
tone of a man assured of getting his own way. “And I'll do exactly the same thing.” The hand circling her throat moved down to cup her breast. “And then you can make a real comparison.”

Tessa felt guilty about her impetuous night of passion with the Malibu car dealer. Now she felt embarrassed, as well. But his touch was beginning to make her head spin and she felt inexorably drawn into the sexual fantasy.

“First he made me strip for him. Then, when I was naked, he had me kneel down on all fours in the middle of the bed.”

“That's a start.” He backed away. “Do it for me, Tessa. Just like you did for him.”

“I'd been drinking,” she demurred.

Somehow, last night, drifting on a soft haze of alcohol, submitting to the sensual demands of a total stranger hadn't seemed so wrong. Now, in Jason's kitchen, with the buttery yellow morning light of a spring day streaming through the window, his suggestion seemed vulgar and offensive.

As if deciding to change tactics, he softened his stance. And his voice. “I can open some champagne,” he suggested helpfully. “And get you another pill. Just to take the edge off.”

Tessa knew instinctively that to say no to Jason would be to lose him. And she wasn't prepared to do that. Not when there were so many gorgeous, willing substitutes waiting in the wings. “Maybe a mimosa.”

His smile, as he heard the capitulation in her tone, reminded her of the gold stars the nuns used to put on her spelling papers. “And a pill.”

The last of her resistance ebbed. Tessa knew she was lost. She had to do whatever Jason wanted. Everything he wanted. Because she had no choice. “Perhaps, just a half.”

In the end, she ended up drinking nearly half the bottle of champagne. And taking at least two of the pills.

When she woke up hours later, Jason had gone back on duty, leaving a hastily scrawled note on the pillow assuring her that it was the hottest, best sex he'd ever had.

A maniac was banging away with a sledgehammer behind her eyes and although Tessa had no memory of what they'd done, the bruises he'd left on her body told their own story.

 

The pains came shortly after midnight. Lying in bed, her hands splayed across the hard expanse of her swollen abdomen, Molly assured herself that she was experiencing false labor.

Beneath her fingers, her muscles tightened. The hardening began above her pubis, spread toward her groin, and encompassed her entire uterus, then softened like the ebbing of the tide. Indeed, the feeling reminded Molly of the ocean waves she could hear outside the bedroom window of the cliffside home—gathering, breaking, subsiding.

By the time a soft, silvery pink predawn glow had settled over the room, Molly knew these were not false contractions. The baby she'd carried all these months was about to be born.

She waited for the wave—stronger than any so far—to crest, then pushed herself into a sitting position and picked up the telephone beside the bed.

Five minutes later, she was tapping on Reece and Lena's bedroom door. Seconds later it opened.

Although she'd certainly seen Reece wearing less out by the pool and on the beach, there was something uncomfortably intimate about viewing him standing in the open door to his bedroom, clad in a pair of royal blue silk boxer shorts. She dragged her gaze from his tanned chest to a point just beyond his left shoulder.

“I hate to bother you, but I think I'd better get to the hospital.”

“How close together are the contractions?”

“About ten minutes apart.”

“Ten minutes?” His voice held a very undoctorlike panic. “How long have you been in labor?”

“Since about midnight.”

“Midnight? And you waited until now to let me know?”

“There wasn't any point in waking you up earlier.” She decided, since he wasn't technically her physician, not to add that her water had just broken.

Lena was now out of bed, as well, looking beautifully ethereal with her sleep-tousled auburn hair floating around her shoulders. She was wearing an exquisite, lace-trimmed white cotton gown that made Molly feel vaguely like a pregnant street urchin in the oversize Kermit the Frog nightshirt Yolanda had given her as a gag gift.

“Oh, Molly!” She reached out and took both her older sister's hands in hers. “How wonderful.” Her smile belonged on one of the angels that had been painted on the ceiling above the altar at the Good Shepherd Home. “It'll only take me a couple minutes to get
into some clothes. Meanwhile, you should probably put on a robe. No point in getting dressed, since they'll undoubtedly make you put on one of those ugly old hospital gowns as soon as we arrive.” She turned to Reece. “You'd better call Dr. Carstairs.”

Amusement at his wife's take-charge attitude seemed to make Reece relax. He grinned. “Yes, ma'am.”

“I've already called Dr. Carstairs,” Molly revealed. “She said she'll meet us at the hospital.”

“Well, then.” Even though her expression stayed calm, anticipation and excitement were more than a little evident in Lena's tone. “What are we waiting for?”

After they'd arrived at the hospital and Molly had been checked into a labor room, Lena, who'd been her coach during her birthing classes, remained by the bedside, holding her hand, reminding her to relax, massaging her back and stomach, timing her contractions, wiping her forehead with cool cloths and providing the same constant moral support and encouragement she had during the long months of Molly's pregnancy.

To the amusement of both of them, Reece proved to be a basket case. By the time Molly had reached transition, her obstetrician, Dr. Carstairs, fed up with his continually second-guessing her treatment, sent Reece downstairs to the cafeteria for coffee.

“I liked it a lot better when prospective fathers were kept outside,” she muttered. “Where they could pace, smoke and worry to their heart's content without getting in the way.”

Molly managed to laugh even through a contraction so hard and lasting so long, it literally took her breath
away. The pain increased, sucking red tides that seemed endless.

When the doctor finally declared her eight centimeters dilated and gave her a paracervical injection, Molly could have wept with relief. She was moved to the delivery room, lifted onto the table, her legs put in stirrups and draped.

Through the exhaustion clouding her mind, Molly vaguely heard the doctor telling her to push.

“Okay, the baby's crowned. The hard part's over now, so you can lie back for a minute, Molly,” Janet Carstairs said. “You're doing great.”

“Better than great.” Lena smiled a bright, watery smile of encouragement as she pushed the damp, stringy hair off Molly's forehead. “You're spectacular, Molly. Just like I knew you'd be.”

Molly, who was panting, huffing and puffing like a blowfish, couldn't answer.

And then she was pushing again and heard the doctor say, “Just one more now, Molly.” A moment later, Molly felt something wet and slippery slide effortlessly from her body.

“You've got yourself a little girl,” Dr. Carstairs announced.

“A beautiful little girl,” Lena echoed.

“Do you want to hold her?” the doctor, who knew all about the adoption arrangement, asked Molly.

While she hesitated, the baby began to cry. At first the sound was faint and ragged and stuttering. But as it grew stronger, Molly felt something unbidden stir in her heart. The pull was deep and private, as old as the earth and every bit as strong.

“Molly?” Lena was smiling down at her. Happy tears were streaming down her cheeks. “Whatever you want, honey. You did all the work, it's your call.”

The crying had escalated to a scream. “Perhaps if she could just nurse, for a minute or two, it might comfort her,” Molly said finally.

Reece, who'd missed out on the actual delivery, arrived just in time to see the still-wet infant placed on Molly's stomach, where it instinctively nuzzled its head against her breast, rooting for her nipple. With each tug of the tiny rosebud mouth, as the baby suckled the clear fluid from her breast, Molly felt a corresponding pull deep in her uterus.

Mine.
The reckless thought reverberated dangerously in her head.
My daughter. My heart.

“Isn't she beautiful, darling?” Lena asked Reece as they stood beside the bed, hand in hand, watching the baby nurse.

“Gorgeous,” Reece murmured, running his finger down the satin cheek. “She's got hair.”

“Of course she does,” Molly countered on a voice choked with unshed tears. She ran her own fingers over the wet black strands. “You didn't think I'd give birth to a bald baby?”