Joanna Wayne - Another Woman's Baby

“Don’t worry. I’ll be back to work in January and the baby will be in her new home.”

“Then we’re on the same page. Now take care of yourself,” he said sincerely. “By the way, Lufkin called from the London office. He want’s to know if the meeting is still on for January 12.”

“It’s on. I already have my plane reservations.”

“Then just call me if you need anything.”

“Notice I am not offering you that same option.”

When she finally hung up, stabbing little pains had started building around her temples. She loved her job, but it was demanding and hectic and all-consuming. And working so closely with a man she’d practically left at the altar added an extra layer of tension to the job. She needed this break, needed time to think and to relax and to grieve for the mother of the baby she was carrying.

In all honesty, she’d had her doubts when her best friend had come to her and asked her to carry her child. But how could she say no when Jackie and Ben wanted the baby so desperately? Nine months of inconvenience for her, a lifetime of happiness and dreams come true for them.

Only now there was no Jackie. No Ben. No parents for the baby that kicked and slept and curled into a tiny ball just below her heart.

Her hands shook as she took the carton of eggs from the paper bag and placed them in the refrigerator. Cheese, crackers, canned soup, fruit juices, cereal. She put them away, sliding the canned goods into empty cupboards that would have been filled to overflowing if her grandmother were still alive.

The old house seemed to close in around her as she worked. As soon as she put the last item away, she opened one of the doors to the balcony and took a deep breath. The smell of saltwater filled her nostrils, and all of a sudden she couldn’t wait to walk down to the water’s edge and let the incoming surf wash over her feet and pull the shifting sand from beneath her toes.

It was almost dark, but if she hurried, she could watch the final plunge of the sun as it sank into the Gulf. At least that’s what it appeared to do, and when Megan was a child, her grandmother had had a difficult time convincing her otherwise. Pulling on a light jacket, she hurried down the front stairs in bare feet, moving faster than she had in days.

THE SUN SET in minutes, but Megan was not nearly ready to go back inside. Bending over, she rolled up the legs of her black pants so that she could walk at the water’s edge.

The beach seemed to belong to her tonight. She could see lights from some of the high-rise condos in the distance and the flickering beam of a fishing boat a mile or so out from the coast, but there was not another soul in sight.

That’s why she loved December at the beach. The sandy shores were isolated except for the few determined souls like her grandmother who lived here year-round and a few tourists who dribbled in.

Isolated. The word echoed in her mind, and for a second that same unsetting shudder she’d felt this afternoon in the souvenir shop rolled over her. She forced it away. This wasn’t the city, and she’d walked this beach alone day or night for as long as she could remember. Her grandmother did the same right up until her heart had given out at the age of eighty-eight.

The events of the past month played in her mind. A horrible accident. A deadly explosion. Jackie and her husband both killed instantly. She’d never forget where she was and what she’d been doing when she got the news. Never forget the shock and, finally, the cold hard realization that she would never see her friend again. The knowledge that the baby growing inside belonged to no one.

She turned back to the house, suddenly chilled and tired and ready to curl up with a cup of hot soup in hand. But she wasn’t alone anymore. A lone man was jogging along the beach in her direction, kicking up water and sand as he ran. He was only a few yards away now, and his body took shape. Lean, strong legs, short hair. Familiar. He slowed and her heart raced as she realized he was the man who’d come into the shop while she and Penny were talking.

“Nice night for the beach,” he said, stopping a few feet in front of her.

“Yes.” Her mouth was dry, but she was being ridiculous. The man had every bit as much right to be here as she did. It was the overactive hormones of pregnancy. “It’s warm for December.”

“I wondered about that. It’s my first time in this area.” His gaze traveled to her bulging stomach. “I noticed you in one of the shops this afternoon.”

She rested her hands on her stomach. “It would be hard not to notice me.”

“Is the baby due soon?”

“The end of the month.”

“Do you live here, or are you visiting, too?”

“I’m visiting.” That was about as vague as she could manage, short of telling him it was none of his business.

“I jogged by several private homes, but most of them looked dark. I guess a lot of people close up and go home for the winter. It seems a shame, if the winters are always this mild.”

“It gets cold sometimes. It just doesn’t stay cold.”

“It’s gorgeous now, but the place sure looks deserted.” He let his gaze settle on her face, but his feet shifted restlessly. “Look, if I’m out of line just tell me, but I overheard you tell your friend you were here by yourself. I am, too. Maybe we could have dinner together one night. You seem to know the area, I have no clue where to find the best food.”

“I’m very busy.” Her tone was sharper than she’d intended, but even if he wasn’t dangerous, the man was definitely overstepping his bounds.

“Oops. I offended you. Believe me, I was not trying to pick you up. I’ve never been good at that anyway. You can see why.” He extended a hand. “Let me start over. My name’s Bart Cromwell.”

She took his hand but didn’t offer her name.

“I’m staying just up the beach, so we’ll probably run into each other from time to time. If you change your mind about dinner, let me know. Otherwise, I promise not to bother you.”

“I hope you have an enjoyable stay.”

“You, too. I’ll see you around.” He started to walk away, then stopped. “Take care, and if you’re staying in a big old house all by yourself as your friend said, you need to lock your doors tight. This seems like a safe little area, but you just never know.”

Her thoughts exactly. She picked up her pace as she started back toward the house. A nice-looking man, on the beach alone in December, stopping to ask an extremely pregnant woman out to dinner. Something was seriously wrong with this picture. And he needn’t worry. She would lock and bolt every door tonight.

MEGAN STRETCHED OUT on a slip-covered lounge chair in an alcove that looked out over the Gulf. It was her favorite spot in the whole house, a small, cozy room with a large window that provided a marvelous view of the gulf. She had an avalanche of pillows behind her, a knitted throw pulled over her feet and a cup of hot herb tea on the table beside her. All the essentials for relaxing—only she wasn’t.

She’d walked every room of the rambling house, even climbed to the cupola above the third floor and checked the doors to the widow’s walk. Every door and window was locked tight, but still the uneasiness persisted.

Was it hormones, paranoia brought on by the recent tragedy, or reasonable caution that wouldn’t let her put the stranger on the beach out of her mind? A year ago she’d probably have been intrigued if the rugged, sexy man had tried to pick her up on the beach.

But a year ago it would have made a lot more sense. A year ago she’d been thirty, not pregnant and a perfect size eight. But maybe the guy was gay and didn’t care what she looked like. Or maybe he was hungry and only wanted to know where the best places were to eat. It could even be that he was lonely.