A Vow, a Ring, a Baby Swing Page 11

  She was exhausted and couldn’t sleep. Thoughts kept tumbling through her mind. He was willing to assume responsibility for her child! The nobility of that gesture brought tears to her eyes. She blinked them away. As unselfish as his gesture was, it complicated everything.

  “We can stand here all night if you want, but I need some answers.”

  “Give me the questions.”

  “What name goes on the birth certificate? Are you going to lie forever? If so, how can we divorce without the Marchetti brothers looking for the nearest tar

  He folded his arms across his chest and she resisted the urge to sigh at the terribly masculine picture he presented. He was lost in thought for several moments before he finally said, “Actually it was your father.”

  “Daddy? He forced you? When?” Her mind skipped back over the events of the evening. She would bet her favorite “keeper” book that his decision had been spontaneous.

  “No force. It was his look when he mentioned Wayne.”

  “What look? I didn’t see anything.”

  “You did, but wouldn’t know how to interpret it.”

  “So this is a guy thing?”

  He grinned. “Definitely a macho he-man moment.”

  She glanced at the clock. “It’s almost four o’clock. You might want to interpret for me sometime soon so we can get some sleep.”

  “It’s not complicated. You and I both know the Marchetti temper is a well-documented phenomenon. You’re the one who mentioned tar and feathers in the same sentence with the Marchetti brothers.” When she nodded her concurrence, he continued. “Tonight I saw where they got it. If your family believed that Wayne the Weasel fathered your baby and skipped out on you, they would hunt him down and make him pay.”

  “You’re being overly dramatic.”

  “Maybe. Are you willing to take that chance?” He stared at her, and the silence grew. “I’m not,” he assured her, deadly serious.

  “But, Steve—”

  He shook his head. “Trust me on this, Ro. If any of your brothers decided to avenge your honor, someone could wind up in deep water with a leaky rowboat.”

  She had no workable knowledge of the male thought process. If Steve was right and she came clean with her family, one or all of her brothers could wind up in trouble. She would never forgive herself for that. As much as she believed in the truth, she felt she had no choice but to bow to his superior wisdom of the masculine point of view.

  “And what about you?” she asked. If he let them believe he was the baby’s father, the next logical conclusion was that he’d slept with her before they’d married. “There could be another shiner in your future.”

  He lifted his shoulders in a dismissive gesture. “Right now, the worst they’ll believe is that we had to get married because you were pregnant.” He grinned suddenly, the smile that could bring her to her knees. Her heart gave a painful lurch. “Guys, especially the Marchetti brothers, understand stuff like that. I’m prepared to accept responsibility for this baby in every way.”

  “You are the world’s sweetest man.”

  “Good God, don’t spread that lie around.”

  She moved in front of him and stood on tiptoe to cup his face in her hands. He needed a shave. His whiskers scraped her palms as she brought his mouth down to hers. Her crush on him had never been more staggering. “You would be a wonderful father,” she blurted.

  He started to shake his head, but she kissed him. His arms came around her as he straightened, then

  “I don’t know the first thing about raising a kid,” he said, his voice not quite as steady as normal.

  “Neither do I. But your instinct to protect this child is a very good start.”

  An angry frown twisted his handsome face. “Don’t make me into something I’m not.”

  “Okay. As long as you take your own advice. Don’t make yourself into a bad guy. My God, Steve, you’re putting my family first.”

  “It’s no big deal.”

  He was wrong. His selflessness was a very big deal. He was making a sacrifice that would change his life forever. She had to try one more time to talk him out of it. “Let me tell them the truth.”

  “Why? They’ve accepted everything and drawn their own conclusions. They’re very happy. I see no reason to rock the boat.”

  “What about Nick? If past behavior is any gauge, he’ll go ballistic.”

  A shadow stole into his eyes. “He’ll understand.”

  Steve looked at the clock on his office wall—8:00 a.m. His eyes felt grainy, as if he’d walked through a sandstorm with them open. In a way he had. Life with Rosie was one storm after another. He was doing his best to get through with everything intact. But there was still time to mess up. Way too many nights of Rosie in her nightgown, barefoot and pregnant.

  He marked this marriage the same way she counted her pregnancy—in weeks. His torture seemed shorter that way. As a boy, he’d constantly wished his background had been different. Then he’d grown up and decided it was a waste of time, not to mention energy thinking about what he couldn’t change. Until Rosie.

  Take this morning for instance. He’d awakened at the crack of dawn, fresh from a dream of kissing Rosie. Then he remembered the real thing and his thoughts escalated from there. She was just on the other side of the wall, and knowing that had made sleep impossible. Facing her so soon after wanting her so badly was asking for trouble. He’d left the apartment and stopped at his condo to shower for work.

  Now in his office, with the door slightly ajar, he heard the outer one open. He glanced at the clock again—8:10 a.m. It was pretty early for his secretary, but they were busy. There was a lot of corporate activity in the first quarter of the year, personnel shifting, which meant work filtered to him for background checks. Maybe Sandy had decided to come in and catch up a bit before she got sidetracked with the phones. He appreciated her dedication, but hoped she wasn’t doing it at the expense of her personal life.

  Only he was allowed to do that.

  “You know you’re not supposed to be here yet,” he called out

  The door opened and Nick Marchetti stood there. “Who were you expecting?” he asked.

  “My secretary.”

  “The tall blonde?”

  “Yeah. Thanks for sending her to me. She’s very efficient.”

  Nick glanced at his watch. “Do you always expect her before business hours?”

  Steve’s first thought when he’d seen his friend was a flash of hope that he was here to patch things up. Nick’s sarcastic tone crushed that.

  Steve stood and moved from behind his desk. “What do you want, Nick?”

  His black eyes burned with intensity even as his voice remained steady. This Nick Marchetti was too calm for the man Steve knew so well.

  “You don’t look any different,” Nick said.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I’ve known you for over twenty years, but I just found out I don’t know you at all.”

  “You talked to your folks.” It wasn’t a question. He knew about the baby.

  “You underhanded son of a bitch. All this time I never realized what a scheming manipulator you are. I told you my sister had split up with the weasel and you couldn’t wait to sleep with her.”

  “That’s not what happened.”

  “No?” One black eyebrow raised questioningly. “She’s pregnant. I’ve been around the block enough to know she didn’t get that way by spontaneous combustion.”

  “Of course not, but—”

  “You and I were supposed to keep her safe from the bad guys. When did you turn into one?”

  “It wasn’t like that. Nick, you’re my friend—”

  “Friends don’t do this.” The other man pointed an accusing finger. “We had an understanding. Or did

  There was an element of truth in everything Nick said. Steve knew there was little point in defending himself. No matter what, he was damned. He had slept with Rosie.

&nbs
p; “I’m the same as I’ve always been, Nick,” he said coldly. “The dirty kid from the county home that your parents took under their wing.”

  “I never cared about that.”

  “Right. I believe you,” he said. He could play at sarcasm, too.

  Steve glared at him. There was no point in prolonging this. He planted his feet wide apart and lifted his chin slightly. “You get one more shot, Nick. One freebie, then I defend myself. We both know you’re no match for gutter trash like me. Take your best shot, or get the hell out of my office.”

  Breathing hard, Nick met his gaze for several long moments. Then he shook his head. “I just wanted you to know that I finally get what a cheating bastard you are. I love my sister. Unfortunately she showed the poor judgment to marry you. Consider this a warning—if you hurt Rosie, in any way, I’ll get you, Schafer.” He turned and walked toward the door. Stopping, he glanced over his shoulder. “And it’ll be a lot more than one shot.”

  Rosie pressed the elevator up button in Steve’s office building. She’d overslept that morning and found him gone when she woke up. Gone without the work he’d brought home. It might be important. She clutched his briefcase tightly in her hand, firmly reminding not an excuse to see him.

  Her stomach lurched in direct proportion to the speed of her vertical ascent. She tolerated elevators only slightly better than airplanes, but it was the quickest, easiest method of getting where she wanted to go. No way was she walking up fifty-one flights to Steve’s office. What was it about men that made them want to be on the top floor?

  When the car reached its destination, the doors whispered open and she stepped out onto the plush hunter green carpet. It had been a long time since her last visit here. She had learned to treat Steve the same way she did high-calorie desserts. Avoidance. Why torture yourself by looking at what you couldn’t have?

  Now she was married to him. For a few more weeks she had to see him odd hours of the day and night. She felt her self-control slipping. Like last night.

  A shiver coursed through her as she thought about their kiss. When he’d pulled her close, she’d been so sure he wanted her. Then he pushed her away and she found out she was wrong. So wrong. She tried to ignore the little stab of pain as she looked around.

  “Classy, Schafer,” she said, nodding with approval. She’d forgotten how swank.

  She knew he had the entire floor for his offices. There was a large mahogany desk in the center of the reception area. No one manned the station, so she bypassed it and made her way to Steve’s office.

  The door was open a crack, so she went in. He was there with a tall, attractive blonde. Standing side by side, shoulders brushing, they were looking over

  Why did a strong visual send you hurtling back in time to feel the same bad feelings? She was an awkward eighteen-year-old again. Earlier that evening, Steve had bounced her boyfriend for getting too free with his hands. During the confrontation, he’d looked at her and she thought she’d recognized a hunger in his eyes—for her. She had decided to be a woman of action and find out. A short while later she’d found out, all right.

  She’d stood in the doorway to his condo face to face with Steve, bare-chested and wearing boxers. He’d looked at her as if she had purple hair. Behind him was a tall tousle-haired blonde in nothing but his shirt and a cat-who-ate-the-canary smile. Rosie had prayed that the earth would swallow her whole. But even then she’d somehow known that wouldn’t be enough to erase the humiliating moment.

  Time wasn’t the answer, either. Because she felt exactly the same now as she had then—pounding heart, shaky knees and sweaty palms. And don’t forget trembling mouth. She had to get out of there.

  She must have made some noise because Steve and the woman she assumed to be his secretary simultaneously looked up.

  “Rosie. What are you doing here?”

  Was it her imagination or did he sound guilty? She was thinking like a wife. Her mistake. He had been nothing but honest about what this marriage would be. She had no reason to expect anything more. If she

  She set his briefcase down just inside the doorway. “You forgot this.”

  He stood and walked over to her. “Are you all right?”

  “Fine.” She caught her top lip between her teeth to stop the quivering.

  “You didn’t have to come all the way downtown. I could have sent a messenger over to the apartment.”

  “I—I thought there might be something important that you needed.”

  He stared at her. “You’re white as a sheet. Come over here and sit down.”

  His fingers curling around her elbow felt warm through the silky material of her loose-fitting top as he guided her to the chair in front of his desk. Rosie didn’t sit. She already felt short and didn’t want to increase her disadvantage.

  Steve glanced at the blonde. “Ro, I don’t think you’ve met my secretary. This is Sandy Benedict. Sandy, this is my wife, Rosie.”

  The woman smiled with genuine warmth and held out her hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Schafer.”

  “The pleasure’s mine,” Rosie answered, squeezing the other woman’s fingers.

  Rosie met her gaze and realized how far she had to tip her head back to make eye contact. There were many times in her life when she had wished that she’d caught one of the Marchetti genes for height, but never more than now. This woman was five ten, if she was an inch. Her professional business suit didn’t hide her fantastic legs, and Rosie knew—the way a

  Rosie smoothed a hand over her abdomen and faced the fact that if this was a competition she was in no condition to race. She would never be tall. With enough peroxide and tint she could be blond, but she would look like a streetwalker. But even more than her looks, there was something that set her apart. Something that took her out of any real or imagined contest. Something that all the vertical stripes in the world couldn’t disguise.

  She was pregnant—with another man’s child.

  She had no illusions about their marriage. She had no right to expect him to curb his natural inclinations. Steve worked twelve-hour days and she assumed at least eight or even ten were spent with this beautiful woman. Rosie had never felt so short and round and insignificant than she did at this moment.

  Steve stared at her. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

  “Never better,” she lied, forcing cheerfulness into her voice.

  “Can I get you a glass of water, Mrs. Schafer?” Sandy asked.

  “Yes, thank you.”

  The woman moved to the door with catlike grace. Rosie knew her own stride bordered on a waddle. Ducks were never described as light-footed, nimble, willowy, or sophisticated. She’d never heard anyone envied or admired for ducklike gracefulness.

  “What’s wrong, Ro?”

  Her gaze snapped to his where she read concern. “I’m just tired.”

  “Maybe you should take the afternoon off and catch a nap.”

  “I might just do that.”

  If only she could snooze through the rest of her pregnancy and wake up when her baby was born. She could be the opposite of the fairy tales she’d always read. Go to sleep and instead of her handsome prince breaking the spell, when she awoke, he would be gone.

  Then she could pick up the pieces of her life, mend her broken heart and stop hoping for something that was never going to happen.

  Chapter Ten

  Eight weeks after promising to take full responsibility for the baby, Steve followed Rosie into the dark apartment and flipped on the lights. They had just returned from their final childbirth class and Rosie had sworn she needed a crane to get her up the stairs. She carefully lowered herself to the love seat.

  “I can’t believe we’re finished,” he said, sitting beside her.

  She scooted over until the sofa arm stopped her. “I can.”

  He hadn’t realized the major stumbling block to his vow of responsibility would be Rosie herself. She had resisted when Steve had offered to be her labor coach. He ha
d persuaded her with his usual rationale—it would make everyone suspicious if he didn’t. So he’d accompanied her to the six-week course and learned how to help her through the birth.

  It seemed like yesterday that he’d found out about her predicament. The time had passed surprisingly

  It was killing him. There was no way to change his past into something worthy of Rosie, and very soon now he faced a future without her.

  “I can’t believe your due date is just three weeks away,” he said, pleased that his voice revealed nothing.

  Rosie looked down at her stomach and smiled wryly. “I can.” She sighed wistfully. “I can’t believe my figure will ever be back to normal.”

  He had to admit he missed her lush curves, but she had never looked more beautiful to him than she did right now—very pregnant and on the brink of motherhood. The closer they got to zero hour, thoughts crossed his mind that he’d never expected to have. Could he cut it as a dad? Or was he like his old man, the type to disappear, never trying to be a husband or a father?

  He would never make forever-after promises to Rosie because he was afraid he couldn’t keep them.

  He noticed the way she leaned away from him, her body language screaming “Keep your distance.” Ever since the day she’d dropped into his office, she had been reserved, remote, with little resemblance to the Rosie who wore her heart on her sleeve. She’d gone away somehow and he wasn’t sure where or why. It should have eased his concerns about her being okay after they split up. But her behavior worried him. This was so unlike her cheery, upbeat self. The Rosie he knew and...

  His next thought was “loved,” but he skidded to

  Since that day, he and Nick hadn’t spoken. If the Marchettis had business with him, one of the other brothers handled it. The friendship was over, gone—kaput—as if it had never existed.

  Steve tried not to think about that. When the thought intruded, he did his best to ignore the ache in his gut. He missed his friend.