The Baby Battle (5 page)

Unable to find words, he nodded.

“Which puts us at an impasse.”

Having regained some of his composure, he asked, “How so?”

Lifting her chin, she said, “You can follow me for the rest of my life, but I’m never giving you my son.”

“Brave words, considering one phone call could shut you out of Flynn’s life forever.” He hated playing the tough guy, but facts were facts. Hours in the car had given him too much time to think. While a part of him
had had it with this woman’s stunts, there was another part that totally got where she was coming from. Had the tables been turned, he couldn’t say he wouldn’t have pulled the same runaway game.

“Y-you wouldn’t be so cruel?” she asked, words soft and shaky.

“What do you think your running off like this was to me? If a gut instinct hadn’t told me to follow you, I might never have had the chance to hold our son. You don’t think that’s cruel?”

Her silence said it all. That she knew damn well she’d made a huge mistake. The tears streaming down her cheeks also said she hadn’t had another choice. With her back against the wall, she’d chosen to tunnel under.

“I get it,” he said, stroking his son’s back, “but you have to know I mean you no harm. The last thing I intended was to deprive this baby of his mother. I just want him to also have a father. How can that be such a threat to you?”

Groaning, hands fisted, she paced.

“What does that mean?”

“That I’m confused, all right? For the record, Flynn hates strangers. Whenever old ladies at the grocery store ask to hold him, he screams so hard that his face turns red and splotchy. So why is it that with you holding him, he acts as if you’re long-lost pals?”

“Think about it,” Tag said, lowering the baby to a cradled position, affording him a better view of Flynn’s little nose and mouth and closed eyes. “Half of him is
me. You and I might be strangers, but this little guy and I, by our DNA, are intimately acquainted.”

In front of a paned window looking out on the darkening forest, she froze. “You have a valid point, but Flynn’s just a baby. I’m still breast-feeding. The logistics alone are—”

“Complicated,” he interjected. “I get that, but not insurmountable. It’s agreed that as long as you’re still his…primary, um, food supplier, then Flynn should stay with you. But in the meantime, what if you and I spend the next few days at least trying to become friends? That way, when Flynn is old enough to spend time with me, maybe the idea won’t be so abhorrent.”

“So that’s it?” she asked, turning to face him. “We become
besties
, and all of a sudden I’m happy turning my son over to you?”

Sighing, Tag said, “All I’m asking for is a chance to work this out in a civil manner—for Flynn’s sake. Trust me, in a perfect world I’d take
our
son and never look back. The only reason I haven’t already had you charged with kidnapping is that given the right circumstances, I might’ve run, too.”

She’d again turned away from him, and though Tag couldn’t be certain from his perch on the end of the bed, judging by her slumped shoulders and slight tremble, she was crying.

He rose, took two steps to reach her. Trying to come across as a friend rather than enemy, he said, “Give this a chance. You don’t want to spend the rest of your life
running any more than I want to spend mine chasing. Think about Flynn’s well-being. How are you planning to educate him if you’re on the lam? How are you going to earn a living? Where will you sleep? Bathe? Eat?”

“Stop!”

Olivia’s shrieked command startled Flynn from his light sleep. His show of displeasure began with a fitful cry that, as he opened his eyes to find himself with a stranger, morphed into a full-on screaming fit.

“Nice move,” Tag said, trying unsuccessfully to calm the infant.

“I’m sorry,” she said, reaching for the baby. “If you’ll just let me have him, I’ll help him calm down.”

Wary, Tag handed Flynn over and, sure enough, within a minute the infant’s mother had him quietly sucking his tiny fist.

“Just guessing,” Tag said, arms folded, “but that’s the first time our son has been scared awake by angry words?”

“Of course. And for the record, the only reason he was this time was because you goaded me into it.”

Hand clamped to his throbbing forehead, Tag asked, “When are you going to stop playing the victim and see that I’m struggling with this as much as you? Fact—like it or not, you wouldn’t have Flynn if it weren’t for my sperm.”

“But I didn’t choose you.”

“Just like I wasn’t even aware I’d become a father. But here’s the beauty of it—instead of this being a lose-lose
scenario, if you’d just be civilized, we could turn it into a win-win.”

“The logical part of me understands that, but…” Cupping the back of Flynn’s head, she said, “I can’t—won’t—share
my
son.”

“So the way you see it, there’s no amicable way to work this out?”

“Guess not.” She lifted her chin higher, her expression unflinching. Gone were her tears. Now she’d taken on the same hard edge she’d had in court. The same one that had swayed the judge to rule in Tag’s favor.

With a sarcastic laugh and shake of his head, he said, “You don’t strike me as being a fool, so why are you acting like one?”

“Oh—I’m a fool for not wanting to hand my baby over to a stranger? For all I know, you could be some crazy person who collects kids for a…a—I don’t know. Like a circus, or something.”

“You don’t for a second really believe that, do you?”

“No, but…” Her bottom lip quivered. Was she on the verge of crying again? “Awful stuff like that happens all the time. Just watch the news.”

Softening his tone, he approached her. He wanted to keep what she would hopefully perceive as a safe distance while at the same time conveying the fact that he wasn’t going anywhere soon. “Suppose for a moment I’m not a maniacal circus freak, and you’re the rational, intelligent woman I suspect you normally are. You know
full well from all of the court documents that I have a clear criminal record, make a more than decent living and have never even considered donning a pair of clown tights.”

At that she laughed through sniffled tears. “You might. You know, like late at night when no one’s watching.”

Clutching his chest, he teased, “Thank God that secret didn’t get spilled in court.”

For a few awkward minutes neither spoke.

What was going through Olivia’s head? Remembering her courtroom persona, he’d bet her tears were the first vulnerability she’d shared with anyone in a while—if ever.

She turned away from the window. “I’m sorry. You’ve made some valid points, but please don’t expect too much too soon. The whole idea of sharing my son is…” She blanched. “I can’t even find words to explain.”

“Which is why you don’t have to. Let’s take this slow, okay?”

Sniffling, she nodded. “Thanks. But for the record, if I see you in tights, I’m bolting.”

Grinning, thankful beyond words that the woman was at least open to trying to make shared custody work, Tag said, “Agreed.”

“That’s the last of it,” Tag said, setting the laundry tub filled with food on the cabin’s kitchen counter.

“Thanks for your help.” Though Olivia had suggested they bundle Flynn in blankets and leave him in his carrier while they unloaded the car, Tag had insisted that he do the task. Looking at the pile of stuff, she was in awe of how much she’d managed to squeeze into the sedan.

“No problem.” Shutting the cabin door behind him, he said, “It’s feeling more like February outside. Want me to build a fire?”

“That would be nice.” Though everything between them was quite civil on the outside, on the inside she was still reeling. Not just from the realization that by running she very well could have permanently lost Flynn, but from the fact that Tag wasn’t the monster she’d instinctively made him out to be.

Had their roles been reversed, would she have called the law on him? The moment he’d first held Flynn had been spellbinding. The big tough oilman had vanished, and she’d been witness to silent tears. An unexpected
vulnerability. What was she supposed to do with that? Fighting she was familiar with, but dealing with nice guys didn’t compute. “Need help?”

“Nah. Seeing how the fire’s pretty much laid out save for adding a match, I’m good. I am hungry, though. Any idea what there is to eat? I’m not a big fan of pureed peaches.”

“Me, neither.” Though she hadn’t planned to, Olivia laughed. Something about Tag’s dry delivery struck her as funny.

Would Flynn have his father’s sense of humor?

The thought was as foreign as reading a take-out menu written solely in Chinese. How would she ever come to grips with the knowledge that the safe, predictable life she’d spent years planning had been turned upside down? She’d known all the important details of Donor A-178954. The most important of all was that she and her son would never have to factor the anonymous donor into their lives.

While Olivia set up a makeshift changing station on a low dresser, Tag lit the fire. In no time the flames filled the room with merry light and crackling. Under different circumstances, the scene would’ve been idyllic.

Too bad that currently, Olivia’s stomach churned.

Washing his hands at the kitchen sink, Tag said, “Does this place have a room-service menu?”

“I think so. But only up until seven or so.”

He glanced at his watch. “We have ten minutes. Happen to know where the menu is?”

“No doubt somewhere beneath all of this stuff.” Just looking at the sheer amount of baby gear needing to be sorted brought on a headache. “Want to put the grate in front of the fire and hike over to the restaurant?”

“I suppose. What do we do with the baby? I mean, judging by all of these essentials the guy travels with, he’s not exactly portable.”

Again finding herself smiling, Olivia said, “Watch and learn.”

F
IVE MINUTES LATER
Flynn, sporting a fresh diaper, hat and sweater, sat in his carrier, gumming a circular teething ring. Olivia had tugged a brush through her hair and grabbed a black cardigan. “We’re ready if you are.”

“That was fast,” he said, taking Flynn’s carrier in one hand and holding open the door with the other.

“I’m not the high-maintenance type.”

“Good to know.”

Without conversation they crunched down a gravel path that wound past twenty or so cabins, a winterized pool and tennis and shuffleboard courts. The cabins lined a hillside, at the bottom of which was a lake. She imagined glowing citronella candles in the summer. Children playing hide-and-seek and catching fireflies, couples sneaking kisses in rowboats.

On this night, the sweet wood-smoke-flavored air was nippy, but not too cold. An owl had taken up residence in one of the trail’s oaks.

Only a few of the cabins had lights on inside,
meaning that for the most part, they had the resort to themselves.

Mounting the lodge’s rear steps, Olivia forced a deep breath. “Did you rent your own cabin?”

“Right after you settled into yours.”

Mulling on that, Olivia made obligatory pleasantries with a teenage hostess/waitress who told them to take their pick of the dozens of mostly empty tables.

Tag deferred to her judgment, so Olivia picked an out-of-the-way alcove far from the room’s other diners.

Once they were seated, the waitress brought menus and water. “Sorry, but in the off season, our selection’s pretty limited. If you’re hungry for breakfast, we can hook you up, but the only things we have for dinner are meat loaf, stuffed green peppers and spaghetti. Mashed potatoes and green beans come with everything.”

“Thank you,” Olivia said.

Tag echoed the sentiment. Once the bubbly blonde was out of earshot, he leaned across the table. “So much for the steak I’ve been craving.”

“Meat loaf isn’t your thing?” Olivia asked.

“Not unless it’s Grandma’s.” He squeezed the lemon that had been catching a ride on the lip of his water glass.

“Is she still alive?”

“Yes, ma’am. Myrtle is ninety-three and still mows her own lawn with a hand-pushed reel lawn mower.” After stirring the lemon into his water, he added, “Of course, her lawn is the size of a doormat, but still, I’m
impressed every time she asks me to haul the thing out of her garage.”

“She’s in Little Rock?”

He shook his head. “Tucson. It makes my mother crazy. Still, we visit every chance we get.”

“What do they think about your news?”

“You mean about Flynn?” He shrugged. “Truth is, they don’t know. Till I held the little guy in my arms, I didn’t want to get their hopes up. Losing Maria wasn’t just hard on me, but the whole family. She was like the sun that our solar system revolved around.” Fingering the edge of the menu, he said, “Sounds corny, but none of us are the same without her.”

Eyes misty with unshed tears, he feigned great interest in the resort’s limited menu.

Olivia did the same.

Myrtle sounded amazing. Like a woman she would very much like to meet. Strange, but she hadn’t given much thought to the fact that by denying Tag his rightful custody of Flynn, she was also denying his family their heritage. Flynn, his heritage. Yes, he had her side of the family, but how much richer would his life be with two sets of loving grandparents doting on him.

“Okay?” her dining companion asked, having regained his composure.

Swallowing the all-too-familiar knot in her throat, she nodded. “I’m thinking the cheese omelet and toast seem the safest way to go. How about you?”

“I’m a risk taker,” he said with much playful bravado. “Gotta go with the meat loaf.”

T
AG, A FORMER MARINE
, had had gunshots wounds that hurt less than this! Puking for what felt like the hundredth time in a row, he’d have killed for a Sprite. However, thanks to Olivia, who would henceforth be known as Ms. Runaway, he was stuck in the middle of nowhere in a cold, creaky hut that was half the size of hers and not nearly as nice.

Inching from the bathroom to the phone, he called her cabin. It rang about twenty times before she answered. “Hello?”

“Hey,” he said. “It’s me. Tag. Sorry to bug you, but I’m over here dying from the killer meat loaf and wondering if you have a Sprite?”

“Oh, no. I told you to stick with a nice, safe egg.”

“Look,” he managed while holding another dry heave at bay, “spare the lecture for the morning. Did you happen to see a vending machine anywhere on the grounds?”

“Yes. Let me bundle up Flynn and I’ll be right over.”

“Bless you. Oh—and if a miracle box of saltines fell from the sky, that would also be welcome.”

Ten minutes later a knock that sounded more like a series of kicks landed on his cabin door. Before he summoned the power to move, it groaned open. Management really needed to invest in a can of WD-40.

Olivia appeared like an angel dressed in burgundy paisley pj’s and a black satin robe. Lord, even in the dead of night she looked ready for court. Working in her favor, though, was the fact that she presented two cans of cold Sprite and a fistful of individually wrapped crackers.

“You’re a saint,” he said, gripping his screaming stomach.

“No.” She set Flynn’s carrier next to the sofa, then foraged in the kitchenette for a glass and ice. “What I am is horrible for dragging you out here.”

“Forget it,” he said after the first delicious sip. “Crap happens. I forgive you. Where’d you find the saltines?”

“Alongside the vending machines was a small snack station. At this time of night the coffee would probably kill you faster than the meat loaf, but the crackers looked safe.”

“Mmph…they’re amazing. Thank you.”

Olivia graced him with a cautious smile.

“What?” he asked after another swig of soda.

“It’s just interesting to see this vulnerable side of you. It’s nice—not that I wanted to see you sick, but…”

“I know what you mean. We have spent a lot of time in battle.” Easing back on the sofa, he asked, “Have you much experience with nursing guys back to health?”

“Some.” Was it his imagination, or did her sudden obsession with Flynn’s hat signal she’d like to change the subject? Selfishly, Tag didn’t care. He needed to
know what made a beautiful, successful woman turn to a sperm donor to have a child.

“Care to elaborate?” he probed.

“No, but thanks for asking.” Her exaggerated smile didn’t come close to reaching her eyes.

“Are we agreed that you running off after the judge’s verdict was a tactical mistake?”

“Yes,” she said, eyes narrowed, tone wary.

“Then, seeing how I agreed to keep your secret, you kind of owe me, right?” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. Something about the late hour, the weakened state his body was in, made him incapable of B.S. “I want to know why you didn’t have a baby the old-fashioned way.”

Standing, her cool, controlled lawyer mask in place, she said, “I’m glad you’re feeling better. See you in the morning.”

“Will you, Liv?” He stood, as well. “Are you planning to run again? Should I take your car keys?”

Turning her back on him, she spat out, “You’re not only being ridiculous, but insulting.”

He shrugged.

“We might share a child, Tag, but that’s it. I don’t owe you my soul.”

“Did I say you did? I just asked a simple question. You’re the one getting all bent out of shape.”

U
PON RETURNING
to her cabin, Olivia nursed Flynn, changed his diaper, then tucked him back into his crib.

Lying in her own bed, she closed her eyes, but just kept seeing Tag. Who did he think he was, grilling her like that?

Her reasons for choosing to be a single mom were none of his business.

Outside, wind clattered branches against the windows. The owl was back to doing his thing. The darkness was a little too complete, making her wonder why she’d chosen such a remote locale to run off to. A luxurious high-rise Dallas hotel would have been a much better choice. Maybe then she and Flynn might have gotten lost in a crowd.

Then what?
her conscience interjected.

Tag had been right on one thing—she couldn’t run forever. But she also couldn’t stand any more of his pointed questions. Why? Honestly, because they hurt too badly. They reminded her of the relationship she’d thought had been perfection. Her former fiancé, Phil, had been everything she’d ever wanted in a man. Tall and blond and handsome, so handsome. A fellow attorney, he’d always seemed to know the right thing to say, no matter the circumstances.

Even on the night he’d shattered her heart.

Weary of reminiscing about matters she would never fully understand, she pushed back her covers and padded barefoot to stand in front of the dying fire. Glowing embers cast a comforting glow, but the radiant heat only brought on a fresh wave of matters best forgotten.

The August night she’d found Phil making love with
her supposed friend, Dena, had been sweltering. Then a defense attorney at the prestigious D.C. firm of Wright, Patterson and Long, Olivia had just won a groundbreaking case. Phil had thrown a surprise party in her honor. Their Georgetown, turn-of-the-century brick bayfront had been packed to the rafters with friends and business associates. Aerosmith and rum punch were flowing—though Olivia hadn’t touched a drop of the latter.

In what was not one of her finer moments but an awful lot of fun, Olivia had been dancing on the coffee table with her secretary and one of the firm’s law clerks. Life had never been sweeter, and when throbbing rock faded into a slow song, she’d wanted the man who was to be her husband in just four short weeks to hold her in his arms.

Their wedding, to be held at the Mount Vernon Inn, would be divine. Their Fiji honeymoon even better. Even Olivia had to occasionally pinch herself in fear that her life’s perfection was but a dream.

After a thorough search of the house had netted zero results in finding Phil, she’d ventured outside to the candlelit patio. The center cherub fountain was tinkling, fragrant wisteria was still in bloom. Since she’d discovered she was pregnant, the flowers’ sweet scent turned her stomach. Ignoring the rush of nausea, she ventured down the garden’s winding stone path. In the yard’s far corner was a small pagoda, looking out over a reflecting pond. Phil had had it installed as a housewarming gift for her when they’d first purchased the home. Careful
not to stumble in the dark on the stones’ uneven surfaces, she called out, “Phil?”

No answer.

Rounding a Chinese maple, the feathery leaves brushing her cheek, she grasped the handrail of the bridge gracefully arching over the pond. “Phil!”

A giggle?

Oops. Was she on the verge of disturbing a tryst? Ken and Marlene had been dating forever. Had Ken finally found the cojones to propose? Excited for her friend, Olivia stepped off the bridge, only to see a flash of bare skin.

“I’m so sorry,” she said in front of the pagoda, shielding her eyes. “Please carry on. I’m just looking for Phil.”

“Olivia…” a man said.

She froze. “Phil? Is that you?”

“F
ORGIVE ME
?” Tag, still a little sore but otherwise on the mend, took the empty seat across from Olivia. The lodge’s dining room was surprisingly full, leading him to the conclusion that even the locals knew the only safe time to eat here was breakfast.