Lynnette Kent - Expecting the Best

“For me, too. Kiss me goodbye?”

“Of course.” She meant to give him a buss on the cheek and run off. But Zach turned as she reached him, slipped his arms around her and gathered her close. Her body pressed into his and their mouths touched.

When Shelley pushed at his arms, he forced himself to release her. “Bye,” she whispered. Without another glance, she hurried out the door.

“Bye, lady,” Zach murmured after her. Alone again, he looked around the room, at a loss...and caught sight of the giant plaque. He grabbed it and shot out the door. “Shelley? Shelley!”

She stopped in the process of getting on the elevator and looked his way. “Oh.” Pulling her foot back, she let the doors close. “I—I forgot.” Her hand came up to grasp the award.

Zach let go, reluctantly. “Are you sure you can manage? I could carry it down for you.”

“No!” She glanced into his face and quickly away. “No, thanks. I’ll be fine.”

He relinquished the plaque. “Well, then. Goodbye.” Retreating toward the room, he lifted a hand. “See you.”

Shelley pressed the down button and sent him another cool smile. “Sure.” Then she turned her back on him, which left her facing a wall. But the message came through loud and clear.

With a sigh, Zach returned to the room and waited a meticulous thirty minutes to give her time to get away. Then he picked up his wrinkled tux and headed for home.

CHAPTER THREE

THREE MONTHS LATER, Shelley stared across a tidy desk at the woman facing her. “What did you say?”

Dr. Deb Bryant didn’t blink. “I said your pregnancy test is positive. You’re going to have a baby.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Does that mean you’re considering an abortion?”

“No!” The idea made her sick. But then, she’d been sick a lot lately—that’s why she’d come to the doctor. “How could this have happened?”

“The usual way, I imagine. What were you doing around the first week in March?”

“Working myself to death as...oh.” All except for one weekend. That weekend. The awards banquet. The blizzard. Zach.

She took a deep breath. “But I... we... used protection. Every time.” Not that she could remember how many times they’d made love between Friday night and Monday morning.

“All methods have a failure rate. Now, what do you plan to do?”

Staring at the doctor across the desk, Shelley tried to think and failed. She could only give a gut reaction. “Have a baby, I guess.”

“Then we should choose an obstetrician. Since you’re close to thirty-five, I’d like to recommend a specialist in high-risk pregnancies, just to be on the safe side. We need to get you on iron tablets and vitamins, improve your diet...”

Shelley walked out to her car half an hour later, shaken to the very roots of her soul.

A baby. Zach Harmon’s child.

She went so far as to pick up the car phone, punching out the number she’d memorized twelve weeks ago. But with her finger on “send” she stopped, then ended the call.

They hadn’t seen each other since that Monday morning when she’d rushed off to work, promising to get in touch. She’d never worked up the nerve to call him. Zach hadn’t made contact, either...hadn’t wanted to, she assumed.

Was she going to phone him now and start a chorus of “Hello, Daddy?”

With a moan, Shelley put her head back and blinked away tears. Whatever memories of that weekend remained a blur, Zach’s comments on family had been clear. He emphatically did not want children.

“Oh, baby.” She put a hand low on her stomach. “What in the world am I going to do about you?”

That question became even more crucial when the phone rang about nine that night. Caught in the middle of cleaning out her refrigerator, Shelley answered the phone with some impatience. “Hello?”

“A little tense, aren’t we?”

“Zach?” She held the phone in front of her and stared at it, half hoping she’d conjured his voice out of her imagination. Putting down a bottle of salad dressing, she brought the phone back to her ear. “Zach, is that you?”

“In the fiber optically transmitted flesh. How are you?”

She choked back a hysterical laugh. “Fine, just fine. How are...things?” Why was he calling? He couldn’t possibly know about the baby. She’d just found out. Right?

“Great. But I woke up this morning and realized that June had arrived and I hadn’t heard from you, so I thought I’d see if you were free for dinner.”

“Tonight?” She couldn’t possibly face him tonight.

“Actually, I’m on duty in a couple of hours. I was thinking about the weekend, if that works for you.”

“Um...” How was she supposed to think? What should she say? Could she sit through a meal with him and not blurt out the truth? “I don’t know...”

“Okay.” His voice took on a cooler tint. “I probably caught you at a bad time. Maybe later—”

“No, Zach, wait.” Shelley drew a deep breath. “How about Saturday? I’ve got appointments all week, and I was saving Saturday night for a break.”

“Sounds good to me. I’ll pick you up about seven-thirty. Wear the pink slippers, if you want. They were cute.”

He disconnected before she could think of a clever retort.

SATURDAY MORNING, the Crushers baseball team went into the final inning ahead of Zach’s Falcons, six-two. But the Falcons loaded the bases. With one more good hit, they could win.

Zach squatted beside his star batter as she waited on deck. “Okay, Cinda. AU you gotta do is relax and keep your eye on the ball. Cool?”

“Cool, Coach.” The beads on the ten-year-old’s many braids clicked as Cinda nodded her head. “I’m ready.”

“Go for it.” He stood up and backed into the dugout, just as Tim Johnson swung for his third strike. “Good job, Tim! Way to swing!” Zach ruffled the boy’s hair as he dropped onto the bench to pout. “Can’t hit a homer every time.”

“Cinda does.”

“Just seems like it, Tim.” The pitcher stretched and threw. Cinda swung and missed. “See?” But with the bases loaded, he really wouldn’t mind if this were one of the times she hit big.

Another pitch and another strike for Cinda brought the Falcons one swing away from a loss—or a win.

Beside him in the dugout, the Falcons had set up a cheering squad. Zach joined them. “Good try, Cinda. Keep swinging!”

He heard the crack of the bat before he saw the hit. The ball sailed in a beautiful arc over the pitcher’s head, beyond the second baseman. Cinda galloped toward first, rounded and touched the base, headed for second. Their runner on third crossed home.

The center fielder ran backward, glove high. Cinda’s tremendous hit began a downward curve.

Zach held his breath. The Falcons grew silent, the crowd waited in suspended animation, while the ball fell and the fielder backed up.

With the definitive smack of leather against leather, ball hit glove. The fielder juggled a second, brought his other hand in for help and held up the captured prize. Not a home run—a fly ball, making the third and final out.

The Falcon bench groaned. Zach let out his breath. “Okay, guys, line up for handshakes.” He glanced at one of the more disappointed players. “When you throw that glove in the dirt, Joey, you’re the one who has to clean it.”

Cinda ran in from third with tears in her eyes. “Great hit,” Zach said, clapping her on the shoulder. “Too bad he didn’t step in any of the holes I dug out there before the game.”

She smiled tremulously. “You’re such a goof, Coach.” Then she ran to take her place in line to congratulate the other team.

“Tough break,” said a voice behind him. He swung around to see Jimmy Falcon, their team sponsor, standing behind the fence.