C.J. Carmichael - For a Baby

“How did you ever agree to come back here?”

“It was Mom’s suggestion, after my divorce. Initially I was only supposed to stay long enough for them to go on one trip.”

T.J. scraped the chicken and veggies off the grill onto a chopping board, then proceeded to dice. “I don’t know which of us is more surprised about the way it’s ended up. Me, that I like my father’s business, or my dad that he’s actually enjoying driving that motor home all over the country.”

“Well, he’s worked hard. He deserves a break.” T.J.’s parents were both in their early seventies, a little older than her own mom and dad who still ran their own farm about five miles out of town.

Finished with the chopping, T.J. carried the wooden carving board to the kitchen. Heather followed and watched as he tossed all the food into a large ceramic bowl.

“I’ll let that cool a bit. It’s too hot for a warm meal, don’t you think?”

“Absolutely.” He had an air-conditioning unit running somewhere in his apartment—probably in his bedroom. She could hear the distant hum of the motor. Still, the temperature inside was probably in the high eighties. She pressed her wineglass against the bare skin at the top of her chest, enjoying the cooling sensation.

From across the counter, T.J. watched. She felt a different kind of heat knowing he was familiar with every curve on her body. She wondered if that’s what he was thinking about now, too. When their gazes met—and held—she knew he was.

“You look nice in that dress.”

The words were bland. The expression in his eyes wasn’t.

“Thanks.” She swallowed a sip of her wine and backed up a step. He’d looked at her this way before, and she could remember only too well how those situations had ended. She hadn’t come here to wind up in his bed. This time she wanted his ring on her finger.

WITH SOME EFFORT, T.J. turned from Heather and concentrated on the meal again. In the years he’d gone to university and worked in Calgary, he’d never met a woman with the particular combination of sweetness and sensuality that made her so irresistible to him.

He added slices of avocado and chunks of lettuce to the meat and veggies in the bowl, then drizzled olive oil and balsamic vinegar on top. Finally he crumbled goat cheese into the bowl and tossed everything together. “That’s it.”

“It looks delicious.”

They went out on the balcony to eat. T.J. tried not to notice Heather’s generous cleavage in her strappy pink sundress, or to remember how erotic he’d found the bra she’d been wearing the last time he’d been with her.

Unlike many redheads, Heather had a thing for pink. Even her underwear…

Oh, God. He couldn’t focus when he was around her. He’d never been able to. What was it about Heather? Not just her looks, but everything about her from her soft voice to her kind, generous nature had always appealed to him.

Maybe because she was just so different from him. She always found it so easy to laugh, to praise, to offer help. Whereas he tended to be critical and caustic and reserved. No wonder Lynn had left him…

T.J. pushed aside his half-eaten meal and strode into the house. He found what he was looking for in the filing cabinet in his spare bedroom. When he returned, Heather put down her fork and looked at him anxiously.

“Finished?” he asked.

Her plate wasn’t empty, but she nodded. “I guess so.”

“Good.” With one hand, he pushed aside her plate to make room for the file folder. “I want you to look through these photographs. Tell me what you see.”

He cleared their dishes to the kitchen and took his time cleaning up from the meal. After fifteen minutes, maybe twenty, he carried the bottle of wine out to the balcony and topped up both their glasses.

“Well?” he asked, once he was back in his chair.

“These are lovely, T.J., I’m not sure what you expect me to say.” She picked up one photo, of a man in his early thirties, pushing a preschool girl on a swing. “This is your daughter?”

“Sally. Yes. With her stepdad. Do you see the way she’s looking at him?” Without glancing at the photograph, he could. Sally was smiling with delight, her gaze on the man who had replaced T.J. in her life.

“I see,” Heather said quietly.

“About a year ago I hired a private investigator. I wanted to make sure my daughter was doing okay. Turned out she was fine. Better than fine. They make a nice family, don’t you think?” He saw Heather pick up a picture of the three of them walking along the boardwalk on the edge of Lake Ontario. Sally was in the middle, gleefully skipping, while his ex-wife and her new husband smiled with delight and pride at each other.

“I suppose so, T.J., but—”

“No buts,” he said, interrupting her and not caring. “Lynn and Sally were never that happy when they were living with me.”

He took the file from her hands and closed it firmly. He couldn’t stand to look at the photographs. Sometimes he wondered why he hadn’t burned the entire portfolio the minute after he’d received it.

“When I was married to Lynn, I barely saw her. I worked twelve-hour days at the office and weekends, too. I told myself I was doing it for my family, but I really wasn’t.” With hindsight, he knew he’d been addicted to his job, to the rush he got whenever he closed a deal or made a client happy.

“You were trying to make a name for yourself.”

Trust Heather to make excuses for him. “I was a workaholic. Whenever I was at home, I secretly wished I could be at the office. I hardly saw my daughter. I can count on one hand the number of times I changed her diaper.”

Finally he saw doubt shadow Heather’s eyes. “But you loved her…”

“Frankly, I’m not sure I did. I sure didn’t act like it. As for my wife, I figured a diamond bracelet would do when I didn’t have time to take her out for dinner to celebrate her birthday.”

“T.J.!”

At last, she was hearing what he was trying to say. “I really was a lousy husband, Heather. And even worse as a father. The reason I showed you these pictures is to make you understand. You want what you see in those photos, don’t you?”

Heather glanced down at the happy trio by the lake—mom, dad, child—and nodded.

“But if you marry me, you’ll never get it.”

August

“LOOK AT THAT. They’re starting to frame the Matthew place.” Adrienne dismounted her bike to watch.

Heather stopped, too, leaning over the handlebars and thinking she wasn’t going to be able to do this much longer. Already she could only wear shorts with elasticized waistbands.

She noticed a few of the workmen stop and look in their direction. She supposed they had their eyes on Adrienne. With her dyed hair—a shade between burgundy and purple—and eccentric wardrobe, Adrienne always stood out in a crowd.

“I’ve seen the plans. They’re going to be using cedar shingles and lots of river rock for the veranda. Arts and Crafts style, I think it’s called.” Adrienne read a lot of decorating magazines when business was slow at her hair salon.

“I’m sure it will look wonderful when it’s finished.”

“Don’t all of Julie’s projects?”

Was there just a hint of rancor in Adrienne’s voice? Heather was glad she wasn’t the only one who found the perfection of Russell’s wife a little tiresome. She tilted her head to one side, watching as a shirtless Russell nailed a two-by-four into place. Surely he’d be quitting for the day soon. It was almost six o’clock on a hot, humid Sunday. She bet Russ would really enjoy a swim about now.

Down the street a few houses, his son, Ben, was kicking around a soccer ball with one of his pals. He’d probably started out helping, Heather figured. This house had been a family project from the start. Julie, an interior designer by training, had drawn the plans. Russ had brought them to work and shown the entire teaching staff: a two-story home with a large porch out front, supported by four tapered columns, two on either side of the generous doorway.