The Baby Agenda (12 page)

The rest of the day so far, nothing had felt quite right. She both wanted and didn't want him to fuss. All this emotional tumult annoyed her, it was so unlike her prepregnancy self.

Hormones. And the aftereffects of last night's scare.

I'm fine.
Lying in bed so that she faced the side Will
had slept on last night, she stroked her stomach and turned inward.
You're fine. Oh, baby, I was so afraid.

If Will hadn't been here…

She'd have managed. As it turned out, she could have driven herself. Or called Gray, or 911. Or even Joan Phillips next door. She didn't
need
Will.

Eyes wide, she stared unseeing at the wall. Tonight he'd return to her guest room across the hall, and she wished that wasn't so. If they were really married… But she didn't know whether they were or not.

He said he was committed, he said she was more important than his project in Africa, but…he'd also said that when the baby was a few months old, they'd talk. And
that's
why panic swirled among all her other emotions, because it would be much, much worse to let herself believe he was really hers if he was only here on loan, so to speak.

She didn't know if she could bear it if that's all this was, all he was offering.

Oh, God,
Moira thought,
I'm falling in love with Will.

She was all but hyperventilating.

I'm already
in
love with him.

And he was so totally not in love with her, or he wouldn't have screwed her then slipped away into the night the way he did, not bothering to get in touch until he found out she was pregnant with his baby.

He was a good man doing the right thing, and how could she let him know she was starting to feel things that would tie him to her even more tightly? Her love would probably feel like ropes of guilt on top of his sense of responsibility. He probably thought they were becoming friends; wasn't that what always happened to her? And
friends didn't want to wake up every morning for the rest of their lives with each other.

Instead of agonizing in silence she could ask if he saw himself going back to Africa in a couple of months. She lay staring at the ceiling knowing she didn't dare. What if he said yes? Think how miserable she'd be having to depend on him then, once he'd confirmed her fear that her need was all that held him here!

But if he didn't—if he said of course not…would she believe him?

Moira closed her eyes. No. No, she wouldn't.

 

W
ILL COULDN'T FIGURE OUT
what was going on with Moira, but he was damned if he was going to give her the space she clearly wanted. What had she thought? He'd go snowboarding up at Stevens Pass and leave her alone for the day after she'd spent two hours in the emergency room the night before?

He kept getting this cold feeling. He had been wildly attracted to her from the minute he set eyes on her, but maybe for Moira he really had been nothing but a substitute. A bird in the hand, and she was tipsy enough not to be too particular, but now to her horror she was stuck with him.

God. What would he do if that's how she felt?

His throat almost closed up. Let her go. What else?

In a fit of frustration and something that might have been anger but was probably wounded feelings, he threw the paperback book across the living room, then winced when it thudded against the wall. Way to go. Throw a tantrum. What if she came out to see what the noise was?

Will made himself pick up the damn book and toss it on the coffee table. Then he went out on the front porch, needing the bite of fresh air. The neighborhood was quiet
at this time of day, with most people at work and kids in school.

Half the houses or more already had Christmas lights up. Maybe he'd finally put up Moira's tomorrow, if he could get her to agree to stay put at Van Dusen & Cullen. She'd like to see the lights up. That might make her smile.

Shit. What did it mean that he was still thinking of them as
Moira's
lights?

A sound escaped his throat, one he couldn't even identify. Despair, disgruntlement, who knew? For only a moment, Will had a longing vision of the highveld in Zimbabwe, vivid green fields of tea leaves, a kraal of round, thatch-roofed huts housing the workers, tumbled slabs of granite topping a ridge. Some uniquely African baobab trees that would look so alien if they were transported here. His nostrils flared, trying to catch smells nothing like the sharp, cold air of winter here in the Northwest, air that carried a whiff of wood smoke. And that probably illegal, with the frequent burn bans aimed at reducing smog.

Then he remembered the way Moira had looked at him last night as if he was her everything, as if she did need him, and the angry tension left him. Just like that.

What an idiot he was. He was expecting too much, too soon. He had his own mixed feelings, of course she did, too. There must be times he felt like an intruder to a woman who had indeed taken care of herself just fine for…years. Had she ever lived with anyone else after she'd left home at eighteen?

Yeah, she was probably wrestling with the adjustment, the same as he was. He'd been careful not to let her see any of his regrets, and he needed to keep it that way.

Will shivered. It hadn't gotten above freezing today.
Ice still glittered on the lawn. And he was standing out here in his stocking feet and shirtsleeves.

Feeling like an idiot, he went inside.

Yeah, Christmas lights along the eaves tomorrow. That would be good. Right now, he'd think about dinner. One thing Moira hadn't objected to was his cooking. Evidently, she wasn't real fond of cooking. So that was something he could do for her.

But give her space? No, Will decided. With her so wary, it was up to him, if he really wanted this marriage to amount to anything. And maybe he was still a little stunned over the right turn his life had taken, maybe he still wrestled with some doubts and some regrets, but he also knew he'd never walk away from Moira and his baby, not of his own volition.

A big empty pit opened in his stomach when he thought of having to walk away because she sent him, because she didn't want him.

She was a complicated woman with secrets he hadn't yet plumbed, but he had to believe she could come to trust him and maybe even love him.

They were married. Last night, they'd shared a bed. And as far as he was concerned, continuing to share a bed was a step in the right direction. Actions were what counted, not words.

 

H
E WAS A BULLDOZER
. A steamroller. Moira already knew that, but wasn't thinking it when, at nine o'clock, she said good-night.

Will stood. “I think I'll go to bed, too.”

Feeling him practically breathing down her neck as they went down the hall, she was glad to turn into her room.

“Leave your door open,” he said.

She hesitated. Was that an order? A request? But truth was, the closed door was more symbolic than anything, and maybe she would feel better knowing he'd hear her if she called out. So she nodded. “All right.”

She plucked her nightgown from under the pillow and went to her bathroom. She'd corralled her hair in a loose braid that morning, and now she decided to leave it. Who cared what it looked like? She dutifully flossed and brushed her teeth, dropped her dirty clothes in the hamper, and, after taking one alarmed look at her naked self in the tall mirror on the back of the door, hurriedly put on the gown.

I'm pregnant. Not fat.

She had to tell herself that ten times a day. She'd once been fat, and she wasn't going to be again. She tried really hard not to think about the way her weight had climbed. Even more with Will cooking. According to the doctor, she was doing fine, so she shouldn't recoil every time she caught a glimpse of herself. But…wow. She
looked
fat.

Feeling more hippopotamuslike than ever, she got herself settled in bed and was reaching for the lamp switch when Will strolled into her bedroom as if she was supposed to be expecting him. Last night, she'd been too shaken up to notice how sexy he was wearing nothing but a pair of flannel pajama pants hanging low on his hips. Those shoulders were so broad and powerful. Dark hair dusted a wonderfully muscular chest and narrowed into a line that disappeared beneath the waistband of the pajama bottoms. Despite herself, her gaze lowered, taking in the whole length of him. It didn't help that she
knew
what was below that waistband.

“What are you doing here?” Her voice squeaked.

He stopped at the foot of the bed. “I'll sleep better here with you.”

She felt silly, sitting up and clutching the covers to her like some Victorian maiden afraid of being defiled. Even so, she heard herself say, “Well, maybe I won't.”

“Moira, we're married.”

“You agreed we wouldn't—”

“I'm not trying to seduce you. I only want to sleep with you. You scared me last night. I like being here where I can touch you. Hear you breathing.” He paused. “Didn't you find it a little bit comforting to have my arms around you last night?”

Oh, God. Yes.
Yes.

Moira opened her mouth and nothing came out. She closed it, opened it again. Every instinct screamed,
Don't let him this close or you won't be able to save yourself,
but the truth was, she wanted him here. The idea of his hand spread protectively over her belly made her feel warm and weak enough in the knees it was lucky she wasn't standing up.

“Okay,” she finally said, in a small gruff voice, and lay down.

Will didn't smile or say anything. He simply climbed into bed. He didn't reach for her the way she half expected. Hoped.

Moira turned out the light. She lay completely still, excruciatingly conscious of Will beside her.

After a minute, she whispered, “I'm sorry.”

The pause was so long, she wasn't sure he was going to respond. “For what?” he asked.

“I've been awful today. I know I have. I just, uh…” She just what? Was scared to death, not of losing the baby but of losing Will?

As if he had known right where her hand was, his closed over it. “It's okay,” he said, his voice low, rough. “Believe it or not, I understood. Sometimes I should back off, but…”

A bubble of laughter rose, warming her chest and catching her by surprise. “You're a bulldozer. I've noticed.”

“Sometimes ground needs clearing.” Now there was a smile in his voice.

“Sometimes it does,” she admitted, and realized she was smiling even though he wouldn't be able to see.

“I like being here with you.”

“I, uh, kind of like it with you here, too,” Moira said shyly. “I'm…not used to it.”

“I'm not, either.” He squeezed her hand. “We can get used to it together.”

“Okay,” she whispered.

“Would you mind if I cuddle you?”

She shook her head, realized he couldn't see her. “No-o. Except I do get up several times a night, you know.”

“I know.” She heard his amusement. “Even with the door shut, I can hear water running in the pipes after you flush the toilet.”

“Great,” she muttered.

He laughed, let her hand go, then gathered her firmly into his arms. She found her head right where it had been when she woke up this morning, and had the fleeting wish that she wasn't wearing a nightgown. She would have liked to feel his skin against hers. But despite the strangeness of being held like this, it felt so good that a soft, whispery sound of pleasure escaped her lips.

Will's chest vibrated with a silent chuckle. His hand on her distended belly moved in a soothing, circular pattern.

Moira was smiling as her eyes drifted closed.

F
OUR DAYS BEFORE
C
HRISTMAS,
Moira had scheduled a site inspection. The client was mad because he'd carried a tape measure on a walk-through of his framed-in house and found that the downstairs powder room was six inches narrower than the plans showed. If he was right, she wasn't going to be happy, either. What she specified was what got built. Now, by God, she and the contractor were going to measure every room, wall and door opening.

Well, probably Will would find a place to tenderly deposit her while
he
and the contractor measured. He was a bully that way.

He'd left her alone for the morning, but came into the office at noon, several white bags dangling from one hand, a plastic grocery sack from the other. In jeans, heavy sweater and down vest, he looked even bigger and more imposing than usual. He brought in a rush of cold and the scent of winter. White flakes dusted his dark hair.

“It's snowing?” she said in surprise, turning to look out the window.

“Yep. Just a skiff, nothing to worry about.” He smiled and set the bags on her desk. “Lunch, as promised.”

“I suppose it's wholesome,” Moira said gloomily.

She liked salads, mostly. Or the veggie wraps from The Pea Patch. Just, once in a while… Her nostrils flared and she snatched at the first sack. “Do I smell…?”

“I thought you deserved a treat.” He sat on the same
corner of her desk Gray had made his own. “Burgers and fries.”

Moira moaned and took out a small carton of French fries.

Will laughed, but something flared in his eyes as she popped the first deliciously salty fry into her mouth.

“Damn, woman,” he muttered.

She swallowed and reached for more. “Better eat, or there won't be any left.”

He shook his head, still laughing. “Want a drink?”

“Please, please tell me it has caffeine in it,” she begged.

“Apple juice or milk.”

“Well, damn.” She waffled briefly. “I guess I'll forgive you. Given how very, very grateful I am for the cheese-burger. It does have cheese on it?”

“Would I leave it off? You've got to get your calcium.”

This was absolutely the best lunch she'd had in weeks. The worst for her, but he was right: she did deserve a treat, and she wouldn't feel guilty.

“Milk,” she decided. “Unless you'd prefer…?”

“Juice is fine by me.” He unscrewed the lid from the bottle and took a long swallow. “I got something else you'll like, too.”

Moira paused with a burger halfway to her mouth. “A present?”

“Not exactly, but it's Christmassy.” He shook his head before she could say a word. “Patience, patience. You have to wait to see.”

He entertained her while they ate by telling her about all the children he'd seen that morning, from what he swore was a brawl being conducted on an elementary-school bus he'd followed for blocks—the driver oblivious
in front—to a baby that screamed nonstop the entire time Will was in the grocery store.

“Man, it was like a fire engine,” he reminisced. “Undulating. When that kid hit the high notes, the glass on the freezer cases shivered.”

“It did not.”

“Cross my heart.” He did just that. “The glass wasn't all that shivered. I did, too. What are we in for, Moira?”

“Sleepless nights?” She wadded up her lunch wrappings and dropped them in the trash can, then heaved herself out of her desk chair. “I suppose we'd better go.”

Gray arrived and stood there smirking as Will bundled Moira into her parka and checked to be sure she had gloves and a knit hat.

“My mommy used to do that for me.” He paused.

“When I was four.”

Moira made a rude face. “Will's being a gentleman.”

Her partner's chuckle followed her and Will out.

A very few flakes of snow still floated lazily down from a sky that was pearly gray. Maybe they'd have a white Christmas. The moment she saw Will's pickup, she smiled with delight. He'd affixed a big evergreen wreath decorated with holly leaves and berries as well as a fat red bow onto the hood so that it hung above the license plate. It was an unexpectedly frivolous note on his utilitarian, slush-and mud-splattered, black vehicle.

“It is Christmassy. Thank you.”

“I deserve a kiss, don't you think?” her husband suggested.

Wow. As always when she thought of him that way, Moira felt a punch of surprise.
Her husband.

When he bent down, she brushed her lips over his. His tongue took a lazy swipe inside her lips before he lifted his head. “Milk,” he murmured.

Tingling from the pleasure of a too brief kiss, she ran her own tongue where his had sampled. “Apple juice.”

Will opened the passenger door for her and boosted her in. “We live wild.”

“Right.” Moira groaned.

On the verge of shutting the door, he yanked it back open. “What?
What?
”

“I just remembered we have the childbirth class tonight.”

“God.” Will pressed a gloved hand to his chest. “Don't scare me that way.”

“Wimp.”

He snorted and slammed her door. Once he'd gotten in behind the wheel, he said, “So, where are we going?”

The development was on the west side of the freeway, just north of Lake Ki. She told him, saw him nod and make mental calculations, then put on the turn signal. She'd been impressed by how quickly he'd learned how to get around the north county, as if he'd drawn a mental map in his head. Moira got lost easily. She had to go someplace two or three times before she could reliably find it again without her GPS.

“Expect problems?” he asked.

She told him about the call from the homeowner and he grunted.

“Well, that sounds like fun.”

“Yes, and it will get us all into the holiday spirit.”

Their holiday spirits did lift when they arrived at the house-in-progress to find that Christmas lights were strung along the eaves and were plugged in. The lights, twinkling against unfinished wood, seemed to represent hope.

“Oh.” Moira smiled, feeling suddenly more forgiving even if Ralph Jakes, the contractor, wasn't responsible.

Will parked behind three pickups, then came around to help her out. The raw, uneven ground was frozen solid and she had to pick her way. Moira had never been more grateful for Will's strong supporting arm.

She could hear the whine of a circular saw, the rhythmic punch of a nail gun at work, male laughter. The front door, still lacking knob and dead bolt, stood open.

“Hello,” she called as soon as they were inside, and the saw paused.

Ralph appeared at the top of the roughed-in staircase. “Moira.” He nodded resignedly. “I hear we screwed up.”

“So Chuck says.”

“Hell, we're already tearing it out.”

She relaxed. She'd worked with Ralph before, and had believed him to be solid. “You checked other dimensions?”

“Yeah, but I'll bet you're going to do it again.”

She grinned at him. “Yep. Will and I will. Have you met my husband, Will Becker?” She
had
gotten almost used to introducing him that way. In fact, instead of uneasiness she'd begun to feel a small surge of proprietary pleasure in claiming him.

Unease tiptoed down her spine. What if by spring he was gone, and she had to tell all these same people that she was getting divorced?

She wouldn't think about that. Not now.

A flicker of interest showed in Ralph's eyes at the introduction. “Becker Construction?”

“My brother Clay is currently heading it.”

“You're the one went off to…was it China? Something like that?”

“Africa.” Will's voice was neutral. “That was me. I'm back.” His hand moved in a seemingly unconscious yet
reassuring way on the small of Moira's back, under the parka.

The contractor's attention switched to her. “Hell, Moira, you look like you're going to pop any minute. You sure you should be out here?”

She sighed. “My design, my job, Ralph. Though Gray will be stepping in for a few weeks.”

He left them alone. She heard him yelling at someone upstairs.

Moira unrolled plans on a sheet of plywood atop two sawhorses that was being used as an impromptu table. Then she held one length of the metal measuring tape and let Will do most of the work. He referred frequently to the plans. It took them an hour to be confident the powder room was the only foul-up. She was pleased with how the house was going up otherwise. On a cold, clear day like this she could appreciate the way the sweep of windows took advantage of a view of the lake, the privacy gained by her having angled the house slightly to tuck it behind a mature stand of fir and cedar. She still thought the kitchen would have worked better without quite so much floor space, but the client had insisted.

Ralph walked them out so that he could discuss a couple of minor problems, one of which was going to necessitate her tweaking plans. With electrical in, he reminded her, an inspector would be out after the new year.

“We're winding up tomorrow,” Ralph told her, “then taking the week between Christmas and New Year's off.”

“Makes sense,” she agreed. “You can't get wallboard up until we clear the inspection.”

As she and Will started the drive back, he said, “Something I've been wondering.”

Still thinking about the tweak she'd be making, she made an absentminded, questioning noise.

“Your house. Looks like it's, what, 1940s?”

She started paying attention. “Uh-huh. Postwar.”

“You're an architect. Why buy an older place? Why haven't you designed your own?”

She asked herself that once in a while. The stock answer was easy enough, though. “When I first came to West Fork, I was focused on the building that houses our office.”

Will glanced at her with interest. “You designed that?”

“Yes. We own it. Gray and I.”

“So you're landlords.”

Moira smiled. “We have trouble-free tenants. No one has trashed an office yet.” She shrugged. “As for my house…I thought about renting for a while, then building like Gray was doing, but I didn't like the idea of having to move twice in a short time. So I went ahead and bought. I guess…” The snow had quit falling and barely dusted the pasture beside the road. A promise, like the Christmas lights on an unfinished house. She concluded, “I wasn't ready.”

“Because you didn't have a family to share it with?”

“Maybe,” she admitted.

“But Gray did build his own place right away, and he wasn't married, either.”

Will and she had been to Gray and Charlotte's for dinner a couple of times already, and she'd been able to tell how much he admired the house.

“He's different. I've told you what Gray's like. He had a plan.”

“A plan?”

“Choose town. Check. Establish firm. Check. Build
house. Check. Get married. Took him a
lo-ong
time to put a check there. I think he was a little disconcerted that his perfect woman didn't appear on schedule. Everything was supposed to fall into place.” She found herself smiling as she remembered. “And when she did appear, Charlotte wasn't so sure she
wanted
to cooperate. Gray isn't used to being thwarted.”

“But he got his way in the end.” Will sounded reflective. It occurred to Moira, not for the first time, that the two men had quite a bit in common. In their own, equally agreeable ways, they were both bulldozers. Steamrollers.

“Gray usually does,” she said simply.

Will drove with effortless competence. She suspected he was being particularly careful for her sake not to take corners sharply or stop too abruptly. She noticed that he never got in that first thing he didn't glance at how she'd positioned the two straps of the seat belt around the increasingly gigantic swell of her belly. It was probably a surprise that he didn't minutely adjust the belt before he was willing to start out.

From her peripheral vision she caught Will's quick glance. His tone, though, betrayed nothing but mild curiosity. “So he had a plan, and you didn't.”

“Didn't I say Gray always has a plan?”

Will's hands flexed lightly on the wheel. “Because he's an optimist.”

She frowned a little. “I suppose that's it.”

“And you? You're a pessimist?”

Disconcerted, she took a moment before she answered. “Not in some ways.”

“But your personal life. Hard not to tell that you have trouble expecting the best for yourself.”

Maybe that's because she'd never gotten it.

The whisper came from deep inside. It wasn't so much bitter as sad. And it shocked her.

She hadn't had a terrible life. She'd had a happy childhood. She loved her mother. They'd stayed close, even when other kids her age were all rebelling against their mothers. And Gray. She'd been so lucky to find him. His friendship had changed her life.

Still stunned, staring blindly ahead, Moira thought,
Yes, but…

There had always, in her mind, been a
but.
Maybe rooted in the fact that her father hadn't wanted her, maybe not. Deepened by those painful years when she'd been overweight and therefore self-conscious, when she hadn't been so much teased as friendless. Then later, even after she'd lost the weight, she hadn't really known how to flirt, and the boys she'd grown up with had gotten used to seeing her in a certain way so she didn't date. She didn't get invited to her senior prom.

She had felt such hope when she went off to college. It would be her new start. And it had been, in some ways. There was Gray, and she did date, and eventually she'd had a serious boyfriend for most of a school year. But—yet another
but
—even that romance had fizzled, and though she'd dated off and on in the years since, the relationships never passed casual. Men didn't fall in love with her. They didn't want her passionately. And knowing that hurt.