A Baby...Maybe? & How to Hunt a Husband (9 page)

“I'm goin', but I'm not promising nothin' else.” He did an about-face, going back to his chair. When he had his butt seated once again, he leaned forward, like the rest of the old men, elbows on knees, chins supported by the palms of their hands, and watched Cara and Rex with great intensity. Not one of those geezers so much as blinked.

 

C
ARA KNEW
, deep in her heart, there was no reason on earth to be embarrassed about having an artificial-insemination conversation with a doctor. Only, that was before she found out the doctor was her cowboy, her very own Romeo.

She had done her research. She knew she would ask intelligent questions. Except now she was all flus
tered, so she doubted anything she said would sound intelligent.

What worried her most was giving the impression of being desperate, as if this was the only way she could have a baby. Some people might take that to mean that no man found her desirable or marriageable. She was afraid she would sound lonely and needy, as if she thought a baby would fill her life because there wasn't a man to do it.

None of that was been true, but how could she explain without sounding as if it were all true?

She knew she had to bite the bullet and keep going. She would pretend Rex was ugly and old and undesirable. It would be hard to do. She wondered if he ever conducted interviews where the woman kept her eyes closed. If she had hers closed, she might be able to get through the process without jumping out of the chair, wrapping her arms around him and begging him to donate to her cause.

She was trying hard to think of the words she needed to get the conversation about sperm and eggs rolling, when his blue eyes captured her gaze and all rational thought momentarily left her. Without him saying a word, she was drawn toward him, as if his eyes had some kind of magnetic force impossible to resist. Which they did.

“Come here with me,” he said, and she followed him to the reception desk. The desktop was neat and orderly, nothing that looked out of place except for some girlie magazine called
Proliferation.
Whether the doctor saw her looking and was embarrassed by being caught reading that kind of rag, or whether he was only straightening the desk, she couldn't know, but he pushed the magazine aside and put another piece of paper across the top. She could still read most
of the big bold letters on the cover though. The title of the lead story, as much as she could see, said, “Ustling A Profitable Business.”

All right, so she'd admit she was a tiny bit disappointed. But, well, it wasn't as if Cara didn't know men were flawed. She'd been subjected to Erie's less than finest over the last month. She should be used to it by now.

Not that the doctor's liking pornography mattered anyway. She was here today, not on a personal matter, but on business, strictly business. Although as far as sperm went, when she looked at him, she wanted to get downright personal.

“Are you okay?” He sounded concerned.

“Why?”

“Your breathing seems forced.”

She put her hands in front of her, palms facing toward him. The bracelet tinkled. “I'm fine. I promise.”

“I hope we can help you.” His grin was warm and friendly.

Not
we,
you,
she thought as she slowly lifted her gaze from the desk and looked up at him.

“I'm sure you can help me,” she said.
I've been waiting for someone like you my whole life. Oh, Mama, if you could see me now.
On second thought, she wanted to keep her mother out of this. “But I have a lot of questions.”

“I'm here to answer every one of them.”

She knew she couldn't keep staring at his face, his beautiful, handsome face, so she looked around the room. The men in the lobby were all talking about her and the fact that the doctor had climbed a tree to see her last night. She picked out those words very easily.

Some of the men were chewing gum. Some were
chewing their toothless gums. They still held on to their little cups. Then one of them spit into the receptacle.
Oh, God. That's gross. Unsanitary.
“I don't want that one's.” She pointed.

“That one's what?”

“You know what. In fact, I don't want any of theirs.” She stared at the candidates for fatherhood by proxy.

Some had balding heads, others wore sweaty cowboy hats, so who knew if there was hair under those hats. She noticed a few with hair growing out of their ears. And chewing tobacco. Filthy, dirty habit.

They couldn't possibly be a sampling of the men who donated sperm to the Noble Sperm bank. Could they? She had to ask. “I gather these gentlemen are donors.” Her hand swept the air, pointing randomly at the waiting room and its occupants.

“Every one of them,” the doctor replied with such obvious pride and affection that it took her back. “I wouldn't have a business if not for them.”

That was a little bit discouraging. She didn't want them. She wanted Dr. Noble. He was so handsome. So downright sexy in his jeans that fit over muscled legs, and those legs, she knew, could perform miracles. She'd seen him climb a tree, after all.

He was everything a girl dreamed a man could be, and then some. One glance into the waiting room and she also knew that one day he, too, would be old, potbellied and bald, with hair growing out of his ears.

She had to wonder if the sperm stock from the Noble Sperm Bank was old and decrepit, like the men in the waiting room. If so, was it hard to find donors that were young and handsome like the doctor himself?

Rex handed her a clipboard. A form was there to
fill out and a pen hung from a string tied to the clip. “Do you know what your needs are? We stock many different varieties, and all come from championship lineage.”

Cara made a sudden, surprising and totally out-of-character decision to go straight to the point. So she put on her best smile. “My needs are very simple, Doctor.” Then, without taking a breath, not wanting to lose her courage, “I want your sperm.”

S
INCE
“I
WANT
your sperm” was the boldest, the most outrageous statement Cara had ever made in her entire life as a good girl, she was braced for a little reaction from Rex. A positive one like, “All right. Let's go for it,” or a negative one like, “I'm going to wash your mouth out with soap,” which is what her mother would have said. What she didn't expect was for Rex to level those gorgeous blue eyes at her and say with a perfectly serious face, “That's why everybody comes here. For my semen. Or eggs.”

She gasped. “You make eggs too?” This she hadn't counted on. He didn't look like a half-male, half-female type. If she were forced to describe him in twenty-five words or fewer, she'd just say, “pure male,” and save herself twenty-three words.

His eyes twinkled a little and his mouth quirked at one corner. “Sure. Raw or hard-boiled. Maybe scrambled. You want over easy, you're in trouble.”

Cara heaved a sigh of relief and smiled back. He was joking. He was talking about breakfast. “Thanks anyway,” she said. “I'll handle my own eggs.”

“Fine with me. Seriously, though—” and he did look very serious all of a sudden “—you wouldn't believe how many people think they ought to be cooked first in case they're carrying the E. coli virus.”

“I'm certain that my eggs aren't carrying an E. coli virus,” Cara said firmly. It had never occurred to her she might have to have her eggs cooked first, nor did
she have any intention of cooking them. “You're talking about artificially inserted eggs, aren't you?” she asked hopefully. “Not the ones that appear naturally.”

“Well, yes.” A puzzled looked crossed his face before he said, “I only mentioned it because many clients who want semen also want eggs. I wanted you to be aware we're a full-service operation here.”

Of course. It was beginning to make sense to her. Some women not only didn't have semen handy, but also couldn't make their own eggs. How sad. “I should have realized that.”

“You're a first-timer. You can't be expected to know everything. But, let me tell you, we do whatever it takes to make a client happy.”

She doubted that included a personal donation—
without
the cup. However, he did touch her arm, and where his fingers touched, she burned. He must feel it, too. He had to feel it. Right this minute she felt hot enough to cook her own eggs. “As far as I know, I'm not having a problem with eggs. So we won't have to worry about whether they have to be cooked or not. Although I would certainly trust your judgment if I did have a problem,” she added, to let him know how much trust she had in him. It was also important to her that he know she was in great physical shape, a good candidate despite her marital nonstatus.

“That's good.” He nodded in a very friendly, professional way.

That wasn't good. She wanted him to get personal. She wanted him to feel the fire. She wanted him the way he was last night. Only not in the tree. She wanted him on the balcony with her. Under her sheet, not looking at her in the sheet.

With a lot of discipline, Cara, who didn't want to look anywhere else except at him, made herself drag her gaze away from Rex Noble and look around the
lobby again—not a great view after Rex. She didn't want to think about these old guys as possible father material for her unborn—unmade—child. If her donor were one of the old guys, she might want her eggs cooked after all, just to be safe.

Rex was so colorful in his red plaid shirt, the sleeves folded above his elbows, his faded blue jeans, his beautiful blue eyes and his dark brown hair. By contrast the lobby area could only be described as sterile with its dove-gray tile and grout. The walls were gray, too, and blended so well with the tile that she would be hard pressed to tell where the floor ended and the walls began.

Hanging on the walls, where she would have expected to see paintings of pregnant women or mothers nursing their babies or even bouncing babies on mothers' laps, anything to indicate the success of the Noble Sperm Bank—instead she saw oil paintings of cattle.

The paintings were lovely. She could never dispute that they weren't. Cows nursing calves, others of big bulls similar to the one on the billboard that Cara had driven over to see that morning. And what a bull that was!

The old men were now sitting together in the middle of the lobby. When she arrived at the clinic, they'd been seated exactly two chairs apart from each other and each sat beneath a picture of a bull, not a cow.

“They're fixtures,” Rex said, nodding toward the men.

And yet not quite fixed. Cara slowly moved her gaze back to him. “Are they here all the time?”

“Every day.”

“Don't they work?”

“They work at being here.”

Everything was so different in Texas. Or maybe it was just Pegleg. Maybe the cow pictures were part of a subliminal message to women because cows pro
duced milk and milk and babies went together. As for the bull pictures…well, every man would want to be built like a bull, especially like the one on the billboard. So the pictures must symbolize fertility. And fertility was the name of the business after all.

“Take the application with you, and you can fill it out in a private room.” He smiled at her, that killer smile. “You can ask me anything you want, I'll do my best to answer everything.”

Once they were in a private room, how could she possibly pour out her hopes and dreams to this man? He was all mixed up inside her. She wanted him, she wanted his vital bodily fluids, but she also felt an urgent need to kiss him senseless and have her way with him. Correction, he wasn't mixed up. She was.

The bottom line, though, was that she wanted a baby, and how could a man, even a doctor, understand the depth of her longing for a child? She must have had this longing for years but had suppressed it, she realized. The whole idea started to take form and come alive when she saw the billboards and realized there might be a possibility of doing this without marriage.

“This is a very difficult decision,” she told him.

“I'm here to help with anything I can,” he said. “I know this business like I know the south forty.”

She didn't know what he meant by the south forty, but when he said he would help any way he could, she immediately thought a cupful of the doctor would be the best possible thing he could do to help. She'd even be willing to help with the collecting. The thought of the collecting process, her touching him, bringing him to point that he spilled over with joy made her throat dry up, her skin feel clammy. It made tiny tingles zigzag right through her.

Meanwhile, the old men in the lobby were all holding their cups kind of outstretched, looking expec
tantly at her. No, that would be totally out of the question. She wasn't an equal-opportunity collection processor.

The doctor was grinning. Oh, that grin of his. She wanted to melt her lips right on top of it. “I have a lot of questions. My not being married might make the semen process unattainable.”

He looked puzzled. “I can't imagine why,” he said slowly, gazing at her with a thoughtful look on his face. “I don't have a problem with it. Not at all.”

“She wants your semen, Doc. Quit talkin' so much and go give it to her. Then take the lady out to eat so you won't have to be climbin' trees.”

“Don't take the first male you see,” Barbara added, pointing out to the lobby. “Choose carefully.”

It looked as if she was pointing to the pictures, but she couldn't be. She had to be pointing to the men.

Clyde scraped his chair forward, too, holding out his cup, positively beaming. “You betcha she does. We've got the best. Which one do you think she'll take?”

“There's a lot of choices,” Jasper said.

Cara glared at Rex. “I thought you said they were hard-of-hearing,” she hissed.

“They are. They just get excited at the thought of a sale.”

“You're not funny.” Cara's hands were clenched so tight the knuckles turned white. She shook, not from fear but from anger. “I have been open with you and they're making fun of me.”

“Cara.” He did something totally unprofessional, and something she desperately craved. He wrapped both arms around her, and she almost sank her breasts into his chest. She needed to get that close, or closer. “That's what we're here for. To provide semen. That's our business.” His voice was soothing, a typical doctor voice talking to a distraught patient.

“Those old men?”

“An integral part of the business.”

“That's disgusting.” She pushed out of his arms. “Exploiting old men like that. They need to be retired from service. The products they produce can't possibly be as healthy as young ones.”

“Money is money,” Rex argued, “and they have every right to participate, every right to make a profit. Or don't you believe in free enterprise?”

“You're being patronizing again.”

“No, I'm not. Come on, let's go into the conference room, I'll explain the process, and you can ask me as a many questions as you want.”

She nodded. She had nothing to lose. Staring back at the lobby, she doubted right now, with those as her choices, she'd gain a lot either.

“I understand. I want to help you any way I can. I want to make it an enjoyable experience. One you'll remember always. Since this is your first time, it should be all the more special.” He draped an arm around her shoulders and looked back at the lobby. “We're going to talk about her options,” he threw back to the men. “In private.”

“You don't know how hard this whole thing is for me. To have come to this decision to use artificial insemination. It's not an easy decision to make,” she told him as they walked down a long hallway toward his office.

“People use this method for all kinds of reasons. It shouldn't be a hard decision to make, though. We do provide the best product.”

“Are you sure?” she asked, turning her head to glance again at the men in the lobby. Okay, maybe he was just as delusional about his business as her mother was about the business of getting a daughter married. It was possible. More's the pity.

He stopped in front of a closed door. The wall was
glass, and inside she could see a long wood conference table with at least twelve big leather chairs surrounding it.

Rex opened the door, stretching out his arm, holding it open for her. He stood so tall, with shoulders the size of ten football fields and tanned, muscular, pumped-up biceps that were so steely-looking they seemed to call out to her to touch them, feel them, have them wrap his arms around her and protect her for life.

For life. That could only mean marriage. That's not what she wanted. She wanted a baby and that was it. She knew she'd consider having it the old-fashioned way if he'd agree. They could have fun. It could be a noncommitment kind of thing. What was the difference anyway, whether it was shot through some kind of injector, or whether he personally injected her. She sighed, and he asked what was wrong.

“Nothing,” she said. “Just thinking. Big step, that's all.”

He nodded. Two long, thick fingers, gently rough, grazed under her chin as he applied gentle pressure to lift her face so she could gaze into his eyes. “I'm sure it is, Cara. I know there are breeders who feel the begetting and the begotting should only be done one way, the old-fashioned way, whether you're talking cattle or humans. But sometimes the old-fashioned way doesn't work, and that's where the Noble Sperm Bank Association comes in. We provide the service when nature, for whatever reason, doesn't.”

Not that she didn't love the feel of his fingers on her chin, not that she didn't find gazing into his eyes a dizzying experience, but what went through her head was, “Why is he talking about cattle?”

Suddenly she knew. The evidence ticked by like a movie in her head. The bull and cow billboards. The
ancient cowboys in the lobby sitting under pictures of bulls. The magazine
Proliferation.

She whispered, “May I look at pictures of your donors?”

He gave a soft, sexy chuckle. “Now, if that isn't just like a woman. She wants to see what they look like, not the stats.” He turned away from her, went to a bookshelf and pulled a huge, leather-bound volume out. “Here they are, but I'm going to cut to the chase. The donor you want is LuLu.”

“Lulu?” Cara felt she was seriously in danger of fainting.

With a flourish, Rex flipped the book open and gestured toward the picture on the page. There he was, Rex's prize donor, bigger than life in every sense of the word.

“That
is
a bull,” Cara said. “I've made a terrible mistake.”