Sue Swift - His Baby, Her Heart

Dena shook her head. She didn’t want to get close to Alex in any way. He was her sister’s husband. Intimacy would seem just plain weird.

She remembered the touch of his hand on her cheek, which had been the first time a man had touched her for years. The gentle stroke had felt warm and tingly. Good. Too good.

She reminded herself that the caress had been accidental, and his concern for her based on the fact that she’d be the vessel for his child.

They’d never liked each other and probably never would.

In some strange way, driving Tamara’s sleek, silver Jag made Alex feel closer to her. Yet even this fuzzy-warm nostalgia for Tami couldn’t mask his nervousness at the thought of seeing Dena again. He fingered the bundle of papers on the leather seat as he turned onto Fair Oaks Boulevard, fighting rush-hour traffic all the way.

Dena hadn’t taken a copy of the surrogacy contract with her when she abruptly left Gary’s office. Although a secretary could have mailed it, Alex liked having an excuse to drop by. He needed to visit Dena. He wanted to keep tabs on the woman who would carry his child.

Why had Tamara selected her half sister? Alex tapped the steering wheel with exasperated fingers. Would matters be easier with a stranger? Perhaps, but Dena was an honest person who wouldn’t break her word. She’d give up the baby to him when the time came, so Alex could devote himself to his and Tamara’s child.

He made a right turn onto Shadownook. At the end of the tree-lined cul-de-sac stood the old house that the Randolphs had bought when they discovered Dena’s pregnancy. Set back from the shallow curb, the rambling two-story home looked as though it had been designed for a houseful of kids. The open garage held her old clunker of a truck. Nearby, gardening tools hung on the wall in neat rows.

When Alex parked at the end of the driveway, he could see the twins’ tree house nestled on a low branch of one of the huge old oaks rimming the property. Raised-bed gardens, clothed in new spring leaves, dotted the wide lawn. Kneeling, Dena dug in one, intent upon some unknown task.

He could see Jack and Miri playing on the lawn with Dena’s golden retriever. Smiles lit the twins’ grubby faces. Their dark hair stood up in spikes; the knees of their pants were torn and dirty.

Alex opened the Jag’s door. Now he could hear the kids at play. The twins’ raucous shouts changed to squeals of delight.

“Unka Alex! Unka Alex!” Oblivious to his charcoal-gray three-piece suit, Miri hugged him around the knees. She left smears of mud on his slacks.

Alex repressed a wince, knowing that the suit could be cleaned, but a child’s broken heart might never mend. He picked up the little girl, allowing her to give him a big kiss, sticky with some mysterious snack she’d eaten. All the Cohens—even the Cohen-Randolph kids—were very touchy-feely, unlike the Chandlers. Alex hoped to achieve a happy medium with his child.

“Uncle Alex!” Jack hollered, his little legs pumping as he raced toward Alex. “Mom! Uncle Alex is here!”

Alex walked toward Dena, still carrying Miri. Jack trailed behind.

“Hello, Dena.”

She looked up. Knee-deep in the loamy bed, which was half-planted with strawberry seedlings, Dena epitomized the perfect gardener. Wearing a battered straw hat, knee pads strapped around her coveralls, and sturdy gloves to protect her hands, Dena was dressed to kill…weeds.

She swiped a stray red hair off her face, leaving a streak of dirt on one high cheekbone. “Hi, Alex.”

“Mommy, can Unka Alex stay for dinner?” Miri asked. “You said we have to love him more now that Auntie Tami’s gone.”

Smiling, Dena met Alex’s clear blue gaze. “Of course Uncle Alex can have dinner with us, if he wants.”

Alex felt his neck flush. So they’d discussed him. Not surprising. The Cohens were chatty as well as touchy-feely. Embarrassed but pleased, he said, “I’d like to stay if it doesn’t inconvenience you. There are a few things I want to go over later.”

“Yay! Uncle Alex, Uncle Alex!” Jack tried to climb up Alex to join Miri.

“Jack, don’t grab at Uncle Alex’s belt. He’ll pick you up when he’s ready.”

Miriam smirked.

“Miri, stop that. Both of you, go play catch with the dog. Goldie!” Dena’s high, sharp whistle sliced through Alex’s eardrums.

Dena’s golden retriever trotted up, two tennis balls clutched in her jaw. Goldie’s tail waved and she rubbed against Alex, leaving a load of her blond hairs on his pants. She looked at his face with adoring brown eyes.

Alex put down Miriam. “Miri, get a ball from Goldie and go play.” He didn’t want dog spit all over his hands.

The twins scampered away with the dog. “Alex, could you keep an eye on them?” Dena asked. “After I get the rest of the strawberry sets planted, I need to shower and make dinner.”

“Oh, sure.”

“If you want to stay out of the firing line, you can sit on the porch.” Dena nodded at the screened veranda circling her weathered, redwood home.

While the kids romped with Goldie, Alex took his briefcase and the contract from the Jag, then retreated to the enclosed porch. He settled himself on a rattan couch upholstered in a flower print. Dividing his attention between Dena and the twins, he flipped through the Wall Street Journal.

Dena soon finished and went into the house. She emerged a few minutes later with two beers in hand. She plopped down next to Alex on the couch, offering him a bottle.

“When can you go to the doctor’s office for the implant procedure?” Alex gave her the copy of the surrogacy contract she’d left in Gary’s office.

She dropped it onto the couch between them. A symbol of their divisions, he thought.

But she sat close enough to touch. “When do you want this baby born?”

He caught her scent, something flowery. To cover his unease at her nearness, he took a swig of his beer. “I never thought about it. Does it make a difference?”

“It may be an old wives’ tale, but a lot of people think that children born in the spring and summer have a better chance at life.” Dena twisted off the cap from her bottle.

“In what ways?”

“Higher birth weight, lower infant mortality, that sort of thing.” She sipped her beer.

Alex winced at the thought of infant mortality. How could Dena sound so casual? “But we’d have to wait until August to have a baby born in May. That’s five months away.” Besides, he didn’t want to base anything about his baby on rumors or myths. He preferred research. “I think we should start right away. The first implant might not take.”

“You mean I might have to do this procedure more than once?” Dena set her bottle onto the floor next to her feet.

Alex faltered. “I’m afraid so. Remember what happened with Tamara? We could never get an embryo to stay.”

Dena’s soft, full lips tightened. “I’m sorry you and Tamara had to go through that. We can start whenever you’re ready. Just give me enough notice so I can reschedule my jobs and find child care for the twins.”

“Can Irina watch the twins? I’d volunteer, but I’d like to be nearby.”

“Hmm. If you want Mom to baby-sit you have to check with her. Obviously she’s my first choice, but we have to work around her catering jobs and her production schedule. The director won’t allow the twins on the set.”

Dena’s mother, caterer Irina Cohen, starred in a cable television show, Irina Cooks! It had made Ashkenazi Jewish cuisine wildly popular in the Sacramento area. “Why not?” Alex asked.

“You didn’t hear? Oh, this happened when you took Tamara to that cancer place back east.”

“Sloan-Kettering.” The treatments there had left Tami sick and bald. Alex swallowed down the painful memories with a gulp of brew.