His Baby Dream (Safe Harbor Medical) (11 page)

Mia frowned. “Does no guarantees mean it might not happen?”

“That’s right,” he said.

“Oh.” The little girl wandered over and was about to climb onto Harper’s lap when Peter stretched his arm to block her.

“Your mom’s tummy hurts,” he said. “How about sitting on my lap instead?” To Harper, he added, “If that’s okay.”

“It is.”

Without hesitation, Mia scrambled into Peter’s arms and curled against his chest. Her gaze fixed on the feeder until slowly her lids sank shut.

In the last of the dusk, Harper watched the sky shift into blue-black. Peter’s strength surrounded her like a shield, keeping her and Mia safe.

Even without hummingbirds, it was a lovely respite. For this sweet moment, they felt like a family.

Chapter Eleven

The lingering happiness of that special evening with Harper only intensified Peter’s longing to have children and begin his new life as a father. By Friday, although busy with work and preparations for his trip, he almost wished he’d accepted the surrogate’s invitation to attend the egg transfer.

Several times that afternoon, he phoned Vanessa’s husband for updates. A sympathetic man, Tommy Ayres patiently kept Peter in the loop. Dr. Sargent also called afterward with the results. By the time Peter was ready to leave for the airport, he had the good news that three embryos had been implanted and three more were being frozen. The remaining eggs hadn’t become fertilized.

“You go enjoy your sister’s wedding,” Tommy told him after one more call to confirm that Vanessa had arrived home safely and was resting. “My wife already talked to the egg donor. You should have heard them laughing together. They’re as excited as kids at Christmas.”

“Thank you.”
Kids at Christmas.
It was a wonderful image for Peter to hold in his mind as he drove to catch his evening flight.

On the plane, he slept fitfully. The flight lasted just under five hours, and he lost three hours to the time change. Arriving in Baltimore early Saturday, Peter drew on his athletic conditioning to gear up for the day ahead, renting a car to make the hour’s drive to the area where his sister lived.

With her usual efficiency, Betty had hired an excellent wedding planner and double-checked the details herself. The outdoor event took place at a manor home that specialized in special occasions. Tents had been set up in case of rain, but although a sprinkling had fallen earlier, the afternoon was sunny and only mildly humid.

Walking down the aisle on her father’s arm, Betty was transformed from the tightly wound, too-thin woman Peter had last seen during the winter holidays. At four months of pregnancy, her figure was expanding and her skin glowing. The way her face lit up at the sight of her groom, Greg, waiting at the altar, assured Peter that this was not merely a marriage for the child’s sake.

Of course, he mused later as they sat around the head table, he should have realized that his sister, after rejecting motherhood for years, would bring her competitive nature to her new state. Being a mom was the most important job in the world, she informed her family, and little girls—since she was carrying one—were much more fun than little boys.

“Peter may be expecting soon, as well,” their father said.

Betty, who’d been informed of the situation, merely smiled, but Greg’s stylishly groomed mother, Joan, leaned forward with interest. “I didn’t realize you were married.”

“I’m widowed.”

She blinked, taking this in, and quickly moved on, perhaps assuming he had a girlfriend. “Be sure to sign up for the best preschool in your area as soon as the baby’s born.”

“He’s planning to move here next spring,” Greg said.

“Then I’ll give you a couple of preschool names,” Joan said. “I can email you and your fiancée.”

“Mom...” Greg began.

“The waiting lists are years long,” Joan continued earnestly. “Being an unmarried couple isn’t the obstacle it used to be, but you’ll make a better impression if you tie the knot first.”

Peter searched for a way to avoid embarrassing her. “It’s an unusual situation....”

“He’s having a baby by a surrogate,” Peter’s mother said cheerfully.

Joan paused with her mouth open. Then shut it without responding.

“I’m not sure we need to go into this.” The discussion felt awkward to Peter, even though these people were now his relatives.

Greg’s father, a dark-haired man named Len, leaned back from his plate and folded his arms. “Isn’t that risky? What if this surrogate decides to keep it?”

Before Peter could decide how much to reveal, his parents explained that he was also using an egg donor. Their enthusiasm tempered his discomfort at having his personal details thrust into the conversation. Once he moved here, he supposed he’d be seeing a lot of these people, which meant they’d find out, anyway.

New relatives, new surroundings, even different architecture, he reflected, glancing at the Colonial brick manor across the lawn. This would be a stimulating environment for him and his child-to-be. Yet he missed Harper’s low-key ranch house, with its porch glider and brilliant blooms out front.

“Aren’t you worried about the child’s genetic background?” Len ignored the band members setting up their instruments on a pavilion. “This woman’s a complete stranger.”

“The egg bank posts profiles.” Kerry Gladstone had begged Peter to let her have a peek, but he’d resisted.

“People can lie,” responded the groom’s father.

“I have to admit, Mom, with your interest in genealogy, I’m surprised you’re okay with this.” Betty held up her hands, palms forward. “Not that I’m objecting, Peter.”

Everyone seemed to be staring at him. “Actually, I do...” What was he saying? “Never mind.”

“Better finish,” his father muttered. “They’ll peck you to death until you do.”

“No kidding,” his mother said. “Spill!”

Oh, why not? “The donor is an acquaintance.” Seeing eyes widen and eyebrows rise around the table, Peter elaborated. “It happened that one of the donors is the widow of a man I used to work with. Angela and I knew her casually, and she has a delightful little girl.”

“Is she aware that you’re the, uh, father-to-be?” asked his new brother-in-law.

Peter nodded.

“What if
she
wants the baby?” Greg’s father seemed stuck on that idea. He was, Peter recalled, a lawyer like his son.

“Under California law, she has no parental rights,” he said. “Besides, she’s happy with the situation.”

“You’ve talked to her?” His mother appeared torn between fascination and concern. “Maybe we should meet her.”

“Bad idea,” Betty said.

“Very bad,” agreed her father-in-law.

“Let’s make it happen,” Kerry insisted, aiming a commanding stare at her son.

“The surrogate was just implanted yesterday,” Peter told her. “There might not even be a baby. Let’s hold off, please. And as for meeting the folks, I wouldn’t blame Harper if she nixed the whole idea.”

“Harper?” his father said. “Nice name.”

“Why’s she doing this?” Joan asked.

“For the money, obviously,” said her husband.

“I’ve read that egg donors usually have an altruistic motive as well as a financial one,” Betty countered.

Oh, great. Now they were putting Harper under a microscope like a lab specimen.

Mercifully, the bandleader interrupted. It was, he announced over the microphone, time for the bride and groom to take a spin on the dance floor.

Faces alight, Betty and Greg arose. Soon they were gliding around the floor set up beneath the tent while the band played their chosen song, “Can I Have This Dance?” It was liltingly romantic.

Angela would have loved being here, Peter reflected. Yet when he imagined himself taking a woman in his arms, he pictured Harper.

Other guests joined in, and then it was father-daughter time. His dad merrily claimed Betty.

As the others left the table, Peter rose, too. “May I have the honor, Mom?”

“You certainly may.”

Peter enjoyed the dance so much that he claimed his sister for the next one, while their parents slipped into each other’s arms. Last year, they’d celebrated their thirty-fifth wedding anniversary. How wonderful to see them laughing together like newlyweds.

“You look incredible,” he told Betty. That wasn’t an idle compliment. With her dark blond hair loose around her shoulders instead of drawn tightly into its usual bun, his sister had a new radiance.

“I’m glad we’ll have children about the same age.” Her hand rested lightly on Peter’s shoulder. “And that you’re moving here.”

“I only wish Angela could share the experience.” A lump rose in his throat.

“You’re being very loyal, having children this way.” Betty broke off as they navigated around a little boy and girl, dancing together. Both wore earnest expressions as they struggled with the steps.

What fun Mia would have, Peter thought. A father-daughter dance...well, maybe someday, with his child. She’d never be the same as Mia, though.

His thoughts returned to his sister’s comment. “What’s loyal about it?”

“Any other guy would go out and find a new wife,” she said.

“Angela isn’t replaceable,” Peter said. “We were a perfect match.”

“Is there such a thing?” his sister murmured. “I mean, everybody has their differences.”

“I can’t recall us arguing.”

“Of course not.” She made a wry face. “You always gave her whatever she wanted.”

Peter shook his head. “That’s not true.”

Betty winked at her maid of honor, who was dancing with the best man, before returning her focus to him. “I recall that before your wedding, she scratched a couple of your old friends from the guest list.”

“My wrestling teammates?” Peter had forgotten about that. “They tended to get rowdy when they’d been drinking. I’d outgrown them, anyway.”

“A fact you didn’t realize until Angela pointed it out.” Betty regarded him fondly. “I’m not criticizing her. I’m just surprised you don’t recognize that she had an iron fist in a velvet glove. She certainly ruled the roost.”

“Quite the opposite—she waited on me.” Peter had felt loved and cherished, not bossed around. “Cooking dinner every night, even though we were both working.”

“That she did.” His sister came to a halt as the dance segued into something faster. “The relationship suited you both, and that’s what counts. Now let’s go sit down. I’m past the worst morning sickness, but the baby does like to remind me of its presence.”

Betty was wrong about Angela. However, he had no desire to argue.

As he escorted her through the tent to their table, Peter wondered how Harper was feeling. He’d seen her briefly at sports camp during the week, but had missed her yesterday. She must have picked up Mia while he was on a call with Vanessa’s husband.

By now, he was sure she’d recovered from her procedure. She and Mia might have spent the afternoon at the beach or a park, taking photos. This evening, they’d bake brownies and read or watch videos.

What a cozy, domestic scene. He could hardly wait to get back.

* * *

T
HE
MUSIC
POUNDED
SO
loud Harper’s head ached. She steadied her nerves with another sip of her Blue Hawaiian, which tasted of rum, pineapple juice and other delicious things. She confined herself to one drink on outings like this, since she was driving. With this concoction, one round would definitely be enough to relax her.

“I’m glad we’re doing this,” her neighbor Caroline Carter shouted over the music. The vivacious young woman wore a Hawaiian-style wrap dress befitting the theme of the Suncrest Saloon. A white flower tucked in her shoulder-length hair brought out her beautiful milk-chocolate complexion.

“Me, too,” Harper said. “Thanks for suggesting it.”

The third woman at their table, Zora Raditch, poked at her drink with a straw. Caroline had proposed the evening as a way to get both Harper and the ultrasound tech back into the swing of dating.

Since Mia had a sleepover at Fiona’s place, Harper had agreed. Despite her lack of interest in a serious relationship, she needed to meet men. She’d grown too accustomed to hanging out with Peter for her own good—and for Mia’s.

Right now, his family was no doubt introducing him to his sister’s friends. The maid of honor and all those bridesmaids—Harper had no idea how big the wedding was—must be swarming over this handsome new guy. By the time he moved to the area, he’d have a little black book full of phone numbers.

A tap on her shoulder drew her attention to a man who bore a slight resemblance to Peter. He appeared a few years older, and his blond hair was thinning at the temples, but her mood lifted. When he nodded toward the dance floor, Harper ignored her annoyance at his lack of manners—couldn’t he ask politely?—and uncoiled from her seat.

“You go, girl!” Caroline said, and turned to greet a good-looking fellow heading her way.

“Have fun,” Zora mouthed to Harper.

They exchanged sympathetic glances. Both had lost husbands, in very different ways. Harper wasn’t sure which was worse: the death of a good man, or a betrayal that undermined Zora’s confidence and ability to love again. Now, if a man cheated on you and then died, that might not be so bad.

Half a Blue Hawaiian, and she was already coming up with stuff like that? She’d better quit drinking entirely.

The rhythm of the music took over, and Harper threw herself into the pure fun of dancing. Her partner’s habit of glancing at her breasts took some of the edge off, though.

“I’m Rocky!” he called.

Was that really his name, or one he’d invented for the evening? Harper sneaked a glance at his left hand, but in the dim light she couldn’t tell whether he had a wedding ring tan line. Too bad it wasn’t acceptable to demand he present photo ID.

“Harper.” If she made something up, that could lead to an embarrassing situation with her girlfriends. On second thought, if he addressed her as Desirée or Lolita, they’d get the joke. Well, too late.

The music intensified to an even faster pace, and for a while Harper simply enjoyed herself. She ignored the guy, who was trying too hard, throwing in what he apparently intended as sexy moves that came across as middle-aged and cheesy. Still, not all nice guys were good dancers.

Nice guys didn’t lie about their names. But it
might
be Rocky.

“What do you do?” he shouted over the music.

“I’m a nurse.” Now, any chance he’d reply with the truth? “What do you―”

He gave her a wolfish grin. “Want to play doctor?”

“No!” Without a backward glance, Harper marched off the dance floor. Seriously, didn’t the man have any idea how he came across?

“Loser?” Zora asked when Harper sat down. Caroline was visible through the crowd of dancers, shaking up a storm.

“And then some.”

A deep-down longing swept Harper to be held in Peter’s arms, to bury her nose in his hair, to move her body against his. She loathed the prospect of meeting anyone else and struggling through another awkward conversation, even if the guy wasn’t so obviously a jerk. With Peter, words tripped over one another. He had interesting ideas and facts to share, and a dry sense of humor.