Alison Kelly - The Baby Deal

‘Gotta say this is a surprise, A.J.—’

‘My name is not A.J.’

‘So what’s the deal? Your family just heard a bridge got put in in the twenties and curiosity had you itching to see how the other half of Vaughan’s Landing lived?’

‘No, I—’

‘Nah,’ he cut in. ‘I didn’t think so. Your lot can’t even bring themselves to acknowledge there is another half. I reckon the last time any of the illustrious Vaughans crossed into this part of town must’ve been on horseback in the 1890s, when old Walter Vaughan founded the place.’

Her expression was a combination of impatience, condescension and definite discomfort as she flicked her gaze from the deserted road around the equally deserted petrol station. He could tell she was mentally calculating how many rungs her social status would slide if anyone happened to see her here. The urge to delay her for as long as possible in the hope that Mrs Kelly, the root of the town grapevine, would arrive to pick up the FJ while she was here was strong. But so too was the desire to get rid of her as soon as possible and once again relegate her to the deep recesses of his memory. The women at Gunna’s party might lack the cool, elegant class of Amanda-Jayne Vaughan, but they would also lack her icy, superior attitude.

‘So what do you want?’ he asked, blocking out an egotistical voice reminding him he’d once managed to very thoroughly thaw A.J. ‘Petrol or water?’

‘Neither. I’m here because—’

‘Never mind,’ he said, now spying the worn offside rear tyre on the car. ‘I can see why you’re here.’

She seemed so comically astounded by his statement, Reb was more amused than insulted by her reaction. After all, in her social circle it was automatically accepted that people of his ilk uniformly had double-digit incomes and single-digit IQs and nothing he said would ever change that opinion. Not, he reminded himself, moving to inspect the tread wear on the front tyres, that he gave a stuff about changing that opinion.

Bracing the driver’s-side front wheel in his hands, he gave it a solid shake. The action brought a female yelp of, ‘Reb!’

The sound of his name froze him rigid, all interest in the wheel’s stability instantly fleeing. His reaction was partially due to the fact that she’d finally used his name, but also because the bemused, startled tone was a blood-stopping reminder of another occasion when she’d gasped his name.

‘Reb…wh-wh-what are you doing?’

He straightened, wondering if he’d imagined the faint uncertainty in her tone. The tight-lipped glare she shot him down with when he chanced a wink and said, ‘Why? Shaking you up a bit, am I?’ pretty much labelled his imagination as uncontrollable even before she snapped,

‘Don’t try and be smart!’

‘Gosh darn,’ he drawled facetiously, more angry with himself than her. ‘There I go forgettin’ my lowly station in life again. I sure am sorry, ma’am.’

Her chest rose on a long, exaggerated indrawn breath and Reb couldn’t pull his gaze from it until it lowered on an exasperated exhale. ‘If you’re quite through acting the comic,’ she chided, ‘you might be ready to hear why I’m here.’

More like I was acting the fool! he berated himself, before saying aloud, ‘Like I said, I can see why you’re here.’ He shook his head. ‘I don’t know what you’re paying your regular mechanic to maintain this baby, but, sweetheart, he’s ripping you off. Your two rear tyres are as bald as bowling balls and the front ones are barely legal. You’re in desperate need of a wheel alignment and balance—’

‘What?’

‘I don’t have the time to do that now, but swing the car into the workshop and I’ll fit the new tyres.’

‘But…but I don’t want new—’

‘Look, sweetheart, I know you wouldn’t be familiar with the saying beggars can’t be choosers, but the fact is it’s after closing time on New Year’s Eve and there’s nowhere else round here you’re going to get tyres fitted before Monday.’

‘Would you please not interrupt me and listen? I don’t need any tyres!’

‘Ha, don’t kid yourself! Sweetheart, I’ve seen erasers with more rubber on them than this car! Now, I don’t doubt you can afford the price of a defect fine, but the bottom line is those wheels are going to cause you a serious braking problem, or worse, real soon.’

He grinned. ‘But lucky for you I have this thing about protecting fools from themselves, so I’m going to help you out. Now, swing your car over there and—’

‘I will do no such thing,’ she said hotly. ‘I already know that what meets your standards of protection don’t meet mine!’

‘Oh, right, like your knowledge of tyres extends beyond knowing they’re made of rubber and should be kept round,’ Reb said dryly, resenting having his mechanical reputation and skills called into question.

‘For your information, Ms Vaughan,’ he continued, wondering why he simply didn’t just tell her to take a hike, ‘I never use anything but top-of-the-line tyres on my vehicles! The only reason I don’t stock your brand of choice is there’s no point me carrying expensive brands that none of my regulars can afford to buy. I do, however, ensure that those I stock offer excellent protection under emergency braking conditions. Something yours won’t—’

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake! I don’t care a whit about what sort of budget tyres you use! It’s your choice of inferior personal protection that’s a problem!’

Reb felt himself stagger. ‘My what?’

‘You heard me!’

‘Yeah, but I’ve having a rough time keeping up with your conversational leaps.’

‘Yeah? Well, if you think that’s tough, try this—I’m having a baby!’

She delivered the words with a ferocity that not only stunned him, but seemed to have shocked even her for she sagged back against her seat, shaking, then buried her face in her hands.

‘You’re pregnant?’ Reb wasn’t so much questioning her as trying to come to terms with the idea. Amanda-Jayne Vaughan was pregnant? Of all the women he knew in this town Amanda-Jayne Vaughan was the last one he’d have picked to end up a single mother. It was a joke in this part of Vaughan’s Landing that if a girl wasn’t pregnant by the time she was eighteen her parents usually threw a party or started questioning her fertility. Sadly, the low socioeconomic situation seemed to continually foster kids who repeated their parents’ mistakes. But Amanda-Jayne Vaughan…

For starters she was in her late twenties and from one of the richest families in the state, which meant she should have been smart enough to avoid slip-ups and wealthy enough to cover them up if she didn’t. Reb, therefore, could only assume she’d chosen to go the ‘fashionable’ solo mother route. He personally didn’t approve of the trend, but it was nothing to him what the up-market Ms Vaughan did. Why she’d imagine he’d be the least bit interest—

Suddenly his brain began putting two and two together, arriving at an answer that brought pure panic. Oh, hell!

‘Are…are…?’ He gripped the door of her car, barely able to get the words out. ‘Are you say…? You’re pregnant, to me?’

At the minuscule nod of her head, Reb felt every drop of blood rush to his feet.

‘You’re having my baby?’

‘Please keep your voice down,’ she hissed. ‘I have no intention—’

‘You can’t be!’

‘That’s what I said. But we’re both wrong.’

This couldn’t be happening to him. Nah, it was a joke! he told himself. Except the face of the woman in front of him wasn’t smiling.

‘Are…are you sure about this?’ he heard himself ask. ‘I mean, maybe you’re just late. Have you seen a doctor?’