Millie Criswell - No Strings Attached

Perhaps her unfortunate affair with Tony had soured her on love, or maybe it was just the fact the man she had secretly desired all those years ago—the one whose name she’d written over and over again on her notebooks…Mrs. Jack Turner, Samantha Turner, Samantha and Jack Turner, would never be hers.

And since she and Jack were just good friends, and since she didn’t settle, there was really no point in marrying anyone else.

“THANKS SO MUCH for offering to babysit,” Samantha’s next-door neighbor said. “I really need to get out of this apartment for a little while. I never realized how all-consuming a new baby is.”

“No problem, Mary. We all need a little time to ourselves once in a while.” Samantha peered into the crib at the infant sleeping soundly and felt her heart squeeze. She was pink, perfect and oh so precious. “Melissa’s beautiful. You’re lucky to have her.”

“Jim and I feel blessed. We’ve been trying for years to have a baby, and then when we were just about to give up, I found out I was pregnant.”

The Walkers were a lovely young couple who had moved into the building a year ago, and Samantha was thrilled for them. “Well, don’t worry about a thing. Just take your time and enjoy the afternoon. I’ll take good care of Melissa.”

“I should be back before she wakes up, but in case I’m not, there are bottles of formula right next to the crib. No need to heat them up—she takes her bottle at room temperature. Just pop the nipple and you’re good to go.”

“Sounds easy enough,” Samantha said with a lot more confidence than she felt. She hadn’t spent a lot of time around babies. Most of the kids she’d previously babysat had been a lot older and didn’t poop their pants.

“I’m using Pampers on Melissa,” Mary said, as if reading Samantha’s mind.

“We’ll be fine. Now go and enjoy the fresh air, window shop, have an ice-cream sundae. Relax.”

Mary exited the room with a huge smile on her face, and Samantha tiptoed out of the nursery and headed for the living room, where she’d left her work in progress. Settling onto the sofa, she had just picked up her pen when she heard the first wail through the baby monitor.

Fear and uncertainty filled her momentarily, but she figured she was a lot bigger and smarter than a one-month-old baby. How hard could it be to comfort a screaming infant, anyway?

Turns out, very.

Upon entering the nursery, she made a face at the unpleasant odor that assailed her and knew immediately that Melissa had made a doodle in her diaper. Samantha could have called it shit, but doodle sounded much nicer for an infant.

Picking the baby up, she set out to change the offending diaper while trying to hold her nose closed. But that was easier said than done. Melissa’s tiny legs were flailing as she removed the Pamper. Shit flew everywhere, including in Samantha’s hair.

“Quit being gross, Melissa. I’m new at this so give me a break, okay?” The baby stared back at her intently for a moment, giving the illusion that she had actually listened, but then began squirming again. So much for reason.

Grabbing a handful of baby wipes, Samantha cleaned the mess out of her hair, and then went to work on Melissa. After changing her diaper, she put the baby into an adorable pink stretchy thing called a onesie, and then carried her to the rocking chair situated beneath the window.

Nestling her nose in the baby’s downy hair, Samantha inhaled. Melissa smelled wonderful, like spring blossoms and sweet chocolate cake, all rolled into one. For some reason, babies always smelled good…well, when they were doodle-free, that is. Like new cars, the smell only lasted for a brief time, but it was so distinctive that you never really forgot it.

The baby stared wide-eyed at Samantha, taking her measure, she supposed. Samantha smiled and cooed, and as she held the baby in her arms the strangest thing happened—her heart actually felt so full she thought it might burst.

Samantha had always been so dead-set against marriage that she hadn’t given a great deal of thought to what not getting married would mean. She’d never have a child. She’d never change a poopy diaper or hug a sweet-smelling baby to her breast, and she would never know the joy and pain of childbirth, of experiencing one of God’s greatest gifts.

Then again, she didn’t have to be married to have a baby. She wasn’t saying she would, but if she really wanted a baby, she could have one on her own.

It was an intriguing possibility.

AN HOUR LATER, the baby was finally asleep. But no sooner had Samantha sat down with her work again than a soft knock sounded on the door.

It couldn’t be Mary; the woman had a key. She peered through the peephole to find Jack staring back at her.

“Hi!” he said when she opened the door. “I found your note.” He held it up.

“Ssh! I just got Melissa to sleep.”

He arched a brow. “I’m impressed. I didn’t think you knew much about babies.”

“It’s instinctive for a woman,” she told him loftily, though she had no idea if that were really true. It sounded good though. “Would you like to see her? She’s quite adorable.”

He shrugged, not looking at all comfortable with the idea. “I really just came by to see if you’d picked up the cleaning. I can’t find my new blue shirt.”

“It’s hanging in my closet. I didn’t have time to sort everything out before Mary called. Come on,” she urged. “Come see Melissa.”

“Oh. Well, I guess I can take a quick peek at her.”

They stood side by side in the darkened room, gazing into the crib. Jack had an expression of awe on his face.

“Melissa’s perfect, isn’t she?” Samantha asked.

“She’s so small,” he whispered.

“I know.”

Their hands met on the crib rail, and Jack looked over at her with an expression she’d never seen before. Her palms started to sweat and she pulled her hands to her sides. “Makes you wonder, doesn’t it?” he asked.

“Wonder?”

“What we might be missing by—”

“Oh there you are!” Mary said, entering the nursery and cutting off whatever else Jack was about to say, much to Samantha’s dismay.

But she’d heard enough to start her wondering.

SAMANTHA COULDN’T STOP thinking about babies. Everywhere she went, it seemed parents were hauling their young children around or nannies were pushing baby carriages in the park.

And the more she saw, the more she thought, and the more she thought, the more she yearned.

She wanted a baby. She wanted to have a child of her own. She supposed deep down she always had.

From childhood, girls were raised to be mothers. It was the expected course to take. But that course typically included marriage, and so she’d decided to detour and take a different route.

But suddenly her biological clock was ticking like a time bomb. Samantha wanted to have a baby before she got too old to conceive, with or without the benefit of marriage.

In this advanced day and age a woman didn’t need to rely on a man to conceive—only his sperm. It would have been nice to get pregnant the old-fashioned way, to experience the event with someone she cared about, not some stranger who’d made a donation to a sperm bank, but beggars couldn’t be choosers and she had no daddy candidates on the horizon.

Women of today enhanced their breasts through implants, held back the clock with plastic surgery and achieved orgasms through battery-operated devices, so it wasn’t unnatural or unacceptable to conceive a baby by artificial means. Millions of women had done so successfully, and so could she. Besides, lots of good things came frozen: ice cream, waffles, diet dinners. So why not sperm?