Righteous Lies (Book 1: Dancing Moon Ranch Series) (6 page)

There
were
some redeeming qualities in the man
though. He did care about the baby. But he had to understand that what he
wanted he couldn't have. She would not let him direct her child's life. After
knowing him for only two days, she could see him micromanaging what her son
ate, who he played with, what he watched on TV, and on and on. And she'd have
no control over where Jack took him during visitation. Her divorced friends
were going through that with their ex's and it was hell. And when she got down
to it, Jack was like an ex. A man who'd fathered her child, but was as far
removed from a man she wanted to be married to as any man could be...

"I got
some things for you," Jack said. "Can I come in?"

"Sure."
Grace eyed the bags, curious about what Jack might have brought, suspecting
they were filled with baby things. But she already had a nursery set up at her
house with everything the baby needed. What Jack had would be his way of making
a kind of quasi
Notice of Intent to Claim
Paternity
, like a check for five-hundred dollars.

Jack walked
over to the bed, and Mei Ling took the opportunity to jump down and weave in
and out of his legs. Jack looked annoyed but didn't try to stop Mei Ling.

"Just set
the bags on the bed," Grace said when Jack seemed at a loss what to do,
with Mei Ling sashaying in figure eights between his legs. When Jack set the
bags down, Grace noted that they came from a chain of stores that stocked craft
and hobby items.

"I picked
up some stuff that might help you pass the time," Jack said, pulling out
what looked like a paint-by-numbers set.

Grace took the
kit from Jack's hand, noticing that he'd cleaned his fingernails. She also saw
that he was clean shaved. And more handsome than before. Her heart gave a
little annoying patter. She didn't want to be attracted to the man. She wanted
him out of her life. "Thank you," she said, returning her attention
to the paint-by-number kit. The picture on the canvas board appeared to be a
cat sitting on a pillow.

Jack searched
in the bag and brought out a tube of paint and handed it to her. "The kit
didn't come with gray," he said, his mouth curving slightly. "I
thought you'd want it."

For some
completely unexplainable and embarrassing reason, Grace's eyes misted over, and
before she could stop them, tears welled. "This is ridiculous," she
said. She set the painting kit aside so she could swipe the tears from her
eyes.

"You don't
have to paint it if you don't want to," Jack replied, sounding
disappointed.

"That's
not it," Grace said, even though it was... But it wasn't. It was Jack. He
hated Mei Ling but he knew she loved the silly cat, and this was his way of
dealing with it. And she was touched by his thoughtfulness. "I told you
pregnant women get emotional," she said. "The painting kit's nice.
I'll start the picture today." She smiled at him and said, with irony,
"If it turns out okay you can hang it in your house to remind you of Mei
Ling."

Jack smiled
back, and this time, his lips curved up at both ends. He had a nice smile. And
very... interesting lips...

"I also
picked up this." Jack rummaged in the bag and pulled out a cross-stitch
set. "I couldn't find a cat so I thought nursery blocks would do. You can
put it in the nursery when it's finished. There's a place where you can stitch
in his name when we decide."

"His name
is Marc," Grace said, although she wasn't so sure now. Somehow, the name Marc
didn't fit the child she imagined inside her. Already he seemed more like a
Jack. Or maybe a Paul, as in Paul Bunyan. Something that would fit a very big
man.

"There's
time to decide," Jack said, ignoring the fact that she'd just told him the
baby's name was Marc, even though she wasn't sure herself for the first time in
nearly eight months. "Thank you for the cross-stitching and the painting set,"
she said. "They
will
help pass
the time."

Jack reached
for the other bag. "And here's some wool and knitting needles and a book
on how to knit if you don't already know how. I thought you might want to knit
hats or socks or little sweaters. I didn't know what colors you'd want so I got
several."

Grace looked at
the man. He was out of a different century. Women didn't sit around knitting
clothes for their unborn children anymore. And she'd only knitted once in her
life. But then, sitting in bed was already getting tedious and knitting would
help pass the time. She took the book and paged through it. Maybe a blue hat to
match his blue eyes...

Brown. Grace
had to remember. Her baby's eyes would be brown. Brown eyes, brown hair. Maybe a
yellow hat would be better. And a pair of matching socks on his little feet.
Big feet, she corrected, moving her hand around on her tummy.

"You
okay?" Jack asked, brows gathered in concern.

"I'm
fine," Grace replied. "I was just feeling around for a foot while
trying to determine what size socks to knit."

"Big,"
Jack said. "He'll wear size fourteen boots someday." To Grace's
surprise, Jack sat on the bed and placed his palm where hers had been, and
said, "I want to feel him kick."

Grace said
nothing, just sat still while Jack held his hand against her belly. Before
long, she felt the warmth of Jack's palm, along with the flutter of a kick. And
the expression on Jack's face was one of pure joy. But after a moment, he moved
his hand and put his ear where his hand had been and listened. It was an odd
moment, a man who'd been a stranger three days before, with his head on her
belly while he listened to the heartbeat of his son. She looked at Jack's
profile against her belly. He had a face that wouldn't be difficult to look at
over the years. Even in his untidy state at the clinic she'd noticed him. Most
women would.

"It's a
strong beat," Jack said. "It's amazing. One egg, one sperm, and from
that a child will grow into a man. I want to be there when you deliver."

"Oh
no," Grace replied. "Just because I was forced into an embarrassing
situation at the hospital doesn't mean anything close to that will happen
again. I'll let you listen to the baby's heart and feel him kick, but you're
not my husband, and that's as far as we go."

Jack stood and
faced her. "Grow up, Grace," he said. "I'm thirty-three years
old. I've seen my share of naked women. But get used to the idea that I'll be
in the room when you give birth to our son, whether he's delivered by a midwife
or a doctor."

"Not if I
won't allow it," Grace snapped. "There's nothing legal establishing
you as father."

"There
will be by then," Jack said. "I have lab tests proving I'm the
father, and I've already filed a
Notice
of Intent to Claim Paternity
. I will be with you during labor, and I will
be there to help make decisions if our son has medical problems when he's born.
Like I said, he's not just your son, Grace. He's mine too."

Grace glared at
the man. If the welfare of her baby wasn't at stake she'd leave. But she was
stuck. And the father of her baby was the most infuriating man she'd ever met.
There was no in-between with him. It was his way or no way. The thought of
having the man around for the next eighteen years was almost inconceivable.

She turned
abruptly on the bed and reached for her robe…

And a pain shot
low in her belly, doubling her over and drawing a groan from her.

"You're
having contractions again," Jack said.

Grace shook her
head. "Just a stitch in my stomach— Ohhh... Umm." She pressed her
hands to her belly. "I guess you'd better call the midwife."
 

"You need
a doctor," Jack said.

"I refuse
to see a doctor," Grace replied. "I have a midwife. Her number's in
my purse."

Jack handed
Grace her handbag, and after she got the midwife's phone number and handed it
to Jack, she said, "I think I'll take a nap until she gets here. It's been
a long day."

Jack took the
paper. "Just to set things straight, you don't have to worry about me
taking advantage of you whether it's holding your hand during contractions or
anything else you need. You're the mother of my son and I'll do whatever it
takes to keep you healthy for him, and that's all." He gave her a little
half smile. "And if he's still sitting on your bladder, I'll carry you to
the bathroom every fifteen minutes if that's what it takes." He looked
steadily at Grace with sincere eyes that told her he meant every word he'd just
said.

And for the
first time since she'd met Jack, Grace wanted something more than just being an
incubator for his son. But for the life of her, she didn't know what it was.

***

Grace awakened
from her nap to hear Dorrie, the midwife, and Jack, in the hallway just outside
her room, Jack relaying to Dorrie about their trip to the hospital and what the
doctor said, using the same jargon the doctor had, so Dorrie knew Jack had been
present during the exam. And from the way Jack talked, Dorrie would assume he'd
been a part of Grace's life far longer than three days. Weeks in fact, and
she'd soon set things straight.

But after the
examination, Dorrie called Jack into the room, and said, as if Grace wasn't
there, "She needs bed rest and lots of fluids. I'm leaving some cramp bark
for her. She won't like the taste so give it to her by the dropperful and
follow with a chaser of orange juice whenever she has contractions. It should
stop them within an hour."
 

Jack seemed to
be taking it all in, which didn't surprise Grace. Then to Grace's dismay,
Dorrie said to Jack, "If you want to be Grace's doula, start coming to
birthing classes."

"What's a
doula," Jack asked.

"He
doesn't need to know because he's not going to be one," Grace announced.

"You'll
need someone," Dorrie replied, then said to Jack, "A doula's like a
labor coach, usually the father. The doula reminds the mother to breathe right,
and he walks with her, and helps her change positions when she's in hard labor.
Come to the classes with Grace and you'll watch some movies and learn what to
do." She reached into the pocket of her lab coat. "Classes are every
Tuesday night. Here's my card with the address." She handed a business
card to Jack.

Jack looked at
the card, and said, "I don't like the idea of Grace having the baby at
home. He's a big baby. What if she needs a caesarian?"

"She
shouldn't," Dorrie said. "Obstetricians insist on having women on
their backs when giving birth, but a woman on her back has trouble pushing a big
baby out, but with an upright or squatting position, she can deliver a big baby
without problems. If there looks to be trouble, you can take her to the
hospital. But it's nice and quiet here, and the hospital's only twenty minutes
away."

"I'm
not
having the baby here," Grace
insisted. "I'm only here for another week then I plan to go home and stay
there. Permanently!"

Dorrie patted
her arm. "The best place for you is here, with Jack to look after you so
he'll be around when you go into labor, which could come early. You're not out
of the woods yet."

Grace pursed
her lips and said nothing. But after Dorrie left, she said to Jack, "I
feel like you're taking over my life when in fact you've had no personal
involvement in this baby. I'm the one who's been carrying him for almost eight
months, and who went through morning sickness, and have back pains, and
premature labor pains, and who'll be going through hard labor and getting up at
night to breastfeed. All you did was supply a cup of semen, and from the looks
of you, I doubt it took more than a few minutes to produce." She focused
on his crotch, although she didn't realize it until she looked up to find Jack
smiling.

"Actually
about thirty seconds," Jack said. And the smile broadened.

His eyes went
to Grace's breasts straining beneath the gown, and for the first time since she
met him, Grace got the feeling that Jack was looking at her as something more
than simply an incubator for his son. To her alarm, she found the idea arousing.

Grace awakened
sometime in the middle of night to the sound of muffled voices coming from the
direction of the kitchen. She recognized the woman's voice as Susan, who
sounded inconsolable. Disregarding everyone's advice to stay in bed, she
slipped her robe over her gown and crept down the hallway to stand just outside
the kitchen.

Through the
narrow opening in a kitchen door standing ajar, she saw Susan sitting on a
kitchen chair, with Sam crouched in front of her holding her hands, Jack pacing
the long room, a troubled look on his face, and Flo, the housekeeper, standing
in her robe and looking as if she was called in to be the referee in some kind
of family dispute, which she affirmed when she said to Susan, "It's a
terrible mix-up, but give it time. Life has a way of straightening things out.
The important thing is that your baby is healthy."

"He's also
the child of a stranger," Susan said in a wavering voice bordering on
panic, as she looked up at Flo. "And
that
woman Jack brought here is carrying the child I should be having who might be
Ricky's cure. It's not fair. I don't want a stranger's baby." Gasps and
sobs stopped her tirade.

Flo looked as
if she were about to say something more when Sam said to Susan, "Honey,
it's going to be okay. The baby's not the one we planned but he'll still be a
member of our family."

"I got the
sperm of a dead man!" Susan sucked in a ragged breath, and continued in a
high-wavering voice. "I feel violated, like I've been raped. And
that woman
Jack brought here has a baby
that should be mine—"

"That woman's name is Grace!"
Jack burst out, stopping his pacing to glare at Susan. "She's the mother
of my son. And you're not the only one who's been wronged here. For months
Grace thought she was carrying her husband's child. How do you think she feels
with you carrying a child that's supposed to be hers?"