Courtney's Baby Plan Page 8

  “Afraid I’m taking them?”

  She gave him a steady look. “Are you?”

  “I flushed them,” he said flatly. “And no. I don’t plan to get more.”

  She probably had no idea the way her eyes could soften.

  But he did.

  “Good for you.” Then she blinked and was all back-to-business. “I still need a shower before I take you to visit my parents. If you want to change clothes before we go, let me know.”

  He exhaled, watching her walk away. Again.

  Impatience rolled through him. Just because she clearly considered this baby business a closed subject didn’t mean he did. When he heard the slam of her bedroom door, he turned back to the computer.

  He didn’t live under a rock.

  He knew there were lots of reasons—some very good reasons—why individuals chose the services of a sperm donor.

  But Courtney?

  It just didn’t go with his vision of her and the wholly perfect life she was supposed to have someday.

  With someone else.

  Someone deserving. Someone good enough for her.

  He shoved half the sandwich in his mouth, even though it tasted like sawdust, and choked it down with water. He swallowed the pills.

  He could hear the faint sound of water running.

  He shook his head and grabbed the crutches. His back twanged warningly when he moved too fast, but he didn’t slow.

  He reached her bedroom and knocked. When she didn’t answer, he pushed open the door.

  Plato was lying on the floor next to her bed, and he lifted his head, giving Mason a steady glare.

  Mason ignored him. The door to her en suite bathroom was ajar, steam rolling out near the floor, and he walked past the dog to it. “What do you mean, means?” he said loudly through the opening.

  He heard her squeak of alarm, followed immediately by a low sound from the dog behind him. “Don’t you dare come in here!”

  He hadn’t been planning on it, but Courtney’s warning sure did make him want to. He pressed his forehead against the white-painted door frame and reminded himself that he wasn’t a complete bastard. “What means?” he asked again.

  The rush of water cut off. He heard the rattle of a shower curtain being drawn, and for half a second, his brain took a short circuit along the path of her nude, wet body.

  Then the door was yanked open, and she stood there, covered from neck to red-painted toes in a thick pink robe. Her hair was a tangled mass streaming down her back. Her face was shiny clean, her amber eyes sparkling between water-spiked eyelashes. Heat streaked through him.

  “Financial means,” she said crisply. “Thanks to you, I can now afford to get pregnant. And sooner rather than later!”

  Then she shut the door right in his face, the click of the door lock sounding loud and final.

  Chapter Six

  Courtney’s Friday night shift, Mason learned later that day, ran from 7:00 p.m. to 7:00 a.m.

  Practically the only words she’d exchanged with him, once she’d finally come out of her bedroom, were whether or not he wanted to get out of the invitation her mother had extended.

  The fact that she’d obviously hoped he did want to get out of it was the only reason he’d said he didn’t.

  And they said that women were the contrary creatures.

  Which was why he found himself awkwardly positioned in the backseat of her little car after enduring the humbling activity of having to enlist her aid just to put on a cut-up pair of jeans.

  She hadn’t seemed the least bit fazed by any of it. Thank God he’d been able to manage the shirt on his own.

  “How soon?” he asked to the back of her head as she drove through town.

  “Until we get to my parents’ house? Not long.”

  “How soon until you plan to knock yourself up?”

  “Lovely phrase,” she said drily.

  “Isn’t it accurate?”

  He saw her shoulders shrug. “I have to see an OB first. My sister-in-law, Mallory, is one, so I’ll see if she’s willing to sign off on my paperwork with the cryobank and perform the procedure. Hopefully, I’ll be pregnant by the end of the year.”

  He could see the smile on her face through the rearview mirror. “I can see the future now. Little Johnny or Mary comes to Mommy and asks where they come from. And she says…from a procedure.”

  “I cannot believe you’re so bothered by this.”

  “I’m not bothered,” he denied. “Just…playing devil’s advocate. You’ve figured out how to get pregnant without a man around. But what about after that? Raising a child is an expensive proposition. It isn’t just the cost of having a baby. Or in your case, buying some guy’s—”

  “I get it,” she cut him off. “And I’m well aware of the cost. From conception to college.” Her gaze met his in the rearview mirror. “Fortunately, this little gig with you while you recuperate is going to get me at least through the conception part. It’s not exactly covered by my health insurance.”

  He grimaced. Her words didn’t sit well. Not when every cell he possessed—even the ones still broken and bruised—tripped over themselves wanting to do a little baby-making the old-fashioned way. With no baby as the end result, of course.

  He nearly got a rash just thinking about it.

  “Okay. So forget the cost. Bringing up a baby on your own isn’t going to be an easy task.”

  “I have a very involved, very loving family,” she returned, her voice beyond patient. “I’m never alone.”

  “You know what I mean. Statistics show that two parents are better than one.”

  “I’m not interested in your statistics, Mason.” Her voice turned cool. “Please drop it. And please keep your thoughts to yourself about this when we get to my parents’. I hardly want to break the news to them while you’re there, glowering.”

  “Thought you said they would jump for joy at the news. And I’m not glowering.”

  She snorted. “What I said was that they’d be supportive when the time comes. And you most certainly have been glowering. Ever since you saw the website on my computer. I get it, all right? You don’t approve.”

  “I think there are better ways.”

  She pulled up to a stoplight, one of the few that the small town possessed.

  She looked over her seat at him. “Like what? Getting pregnant by a man I have no intention of becoming involved with?”

  “Isn’t that what you’re planning to do with one of those spermsicles?”

  She rolled her eyes and turned back to the road in front of her. “That’s a horrible term.”

  “Stuff comes frozen, doesn’t it?”

  The light turned green, and she started through the intersection with a jerk. “What did you do? Read the frequently asked questions section on the website? Or do you just happen to have a lot of knowledge about the subject?”

  He had read the FAQ section…mostly with a fair amount of morbid interest.

  “You’re young and beautiful. You should have the world by the tail. Why the hell do you want to order this stuff off the internet?”

  She turned off the main road onto a narrower, curving one. “Because it’s convenient.” Her voice was crisp. “There doesn’t happen to be a sperm bank in Weaver, in case you hadn’t noticed, and I can’t exactly be running off to Montana every week to browse through their catalog until I decide who I want to father my baby!” Her voice had risen.

  “How do you know it’s even legit?”

  She made a groaning sound and pulled up in front of a sprawling house surrounded by enough pine trees to populate a Christmas tree lot. “Grant me some credit, would you please? I’m not a fool. I’ve done my homework. The cryobank I’ve chosen is very well regarded. It’s not like they allow people to put orders in like you would for a book! You have to be under a doctor’s care, remember?” She shoved the car into Park so abruptly that he rocked against the seat in front of him. She looked back at him. “Sorry. Now, can we d
rop the subject before we go inside?”

  She didn’t wait for an answer but pushed open her car door and got out. Then she opened the passenger door, pulled out his crutches, which were lying across the floor, and gestured. “Come on. Give me your hand.”

  He looked across at her. “When’re you going to order up your frozen future?”

  Her lips pressed together, but then she shook her head and let out a laugh. “Oh, my God. Would you please stop?”

  He realized he had a faint smile on his face, too.

  Dammit.

  He stretched his good arm toward her, and her palm slid against his until her long fingers wrapped securely around his forearm. Her other hand went beneath his leg cast to help guide it. Using his good leg for leverage, they managed to slide him far enough along the seat so that he could plant his shoe on the ground and finish extricating himself from the car.

  She handed him the crutches and then helped him stand.

  Whether he liked it or not, she was good at what she did. She gave as much assistance as he needed, until he could power himself under his own steam, and managed not to hover.

  Too bad every time she touched him, his nerves danced a damn annoying jig.

  “We’ll head around to the side door.” She gestured toward the house, which was fronted by a walkway formed of several sets of shallow brick steps. “No stairs.” She didn’t ask him if he needed help, which he appreciated, as she began walking off toward one side of the house.

  He planted the crutches and slowly followed. Knowing that he was watching her hind view didn’t get him to stop, even when the bottom of his cast caught on an uneven piece of brick.

  He’d already landed on his face because of his clumsiness. At least if he landed on his face this time, it’d be because he was admiring a human work of art.

  She reached the side door and turned to wait. “Sure can tell it’s going to be October in a few days,” she said conversationally. “It’s getting downright chilly.”

  He schooled his gaze on her face.

  She raised an eyebrow as if she knew perfectly well where his thoughts were.

  She probably did. Women who looked like her grew up with men’s stares. In that regard, he was no better than anyone else. Maybe he was worse, because he knew exactly what he was doing.

  “I suppose I should warn you,” she said, “that it’s not just going to be my folks here.” She jerked her chin. “That’s my grandfather’s truck parked back there. And if I’m not mistaken, those are a few of my uncles driving up right now, too.”

  He followed her gaze. A big black pickup was turning toward the house. Almost on its heels was a low-slung sports car.

  When he looked back at Courtney, she gave him an almost pitying smile. “Don’t worry. They’re all harmless. Mostly.”

  In the course of his work with Coleman Black, Mason had had plenty of opportunity to become acquainted with several members of Courtney’s extended family. Some of them had their own history with Cole. Some didn’t.

  Harmless wasn’t one of the words he would have used for any of them.

  He exhaled and crutched the rest of the way. “Let’s get on with it, then.”

  She pulled open the wooden screen door and stepped out of his way. The second he went inside the house, they seemed surrounded by people.

  Not just Courtney’s parents, Sawyer and Rebecca. And her grandparents, Squire and Gloria, and her aunts and uncles. But also cousins. And cousins’ spouses.

  And children.

  He’d seen the Clay family en masse before, so it wasn’t seeing them now that seemed a particular shock. But that first time—save the notable night he’d spent in Courtney’s bed—he’d been in Weaver on an assignment to help protect Axel’s now wife. He’d seen the family through the eyes of a Hollins-Winword agent. He didn’t have that particular benefit this time around.

  He wasn’t sure why it made a difference, but it did.

  Now, being around all of these people—these family members—made him itchy. On edge.

  As if they were all looking at him, wondering what the hell kind of business he had staying under their precious Courtney’s roof.

  “Here.” The woman in question appeared next to where he was sitting—feeling like the elephant in the room—in the center of an oversized leather couch, with his cast propped on an ottoman. She was holding a plate loaded with an immense helping of steaming lasagna and crispy garlic bread. She also was holding a plate with salad on it. “Mom doesn’t believe in small helpings, so I hope you’re hungry. Which one do you want to start off with?”

  “I’m not exactly working off a lot of food these days,” he said wryly, as he took the lasagna.

  There were so many people there that nobody attempted to crowd around the long table in the window-lined dining room, but instead used every other available seat, including the floor.

  “It’s no fun being laid up.” A petite, slender blonde sank gracefully to the floor next to the couch, her legs folded beneath her. “Even less fun feeling like you’ve lost your independence as a result. I’m Lucy Buchanan. Courtney’s coz.” She smiled at him, her aquamarine eyes twinkling. “I’d shake your hand, but mine are presently full of food.”

  It was an excuse, he knew, because his was stuck in a cast, making a handshake awkward. “You’re new,” he told her. He was good with people’s faces and their names. She hadn’t been in Weaver when he’d been there before.

  Courtney laughed. She’d kicked off her rubbery clogs that she wore at the hospital, and sat cross-legged on the couch beside him. Her shoulder brushed against his, but she didn’t seem to notice as she tucked her fork into the salad. “Luce just moved back home from New York,” she told him. “She got engaged a few weeks ago. Speaking of…where are Beck and Shelby?”

  “I’m here.” A lanky man about Mason’s age, bearing a plate as loaded as Mason’s, sauntered into the room. “Shelby’s spending the night at her friend’s.” He didn’t have the quick tact of his fiancée and stuck out his hand to Mason. He made a wry face when Mason lifted his hand, cast and all. “Ah. Casts suck.” Instead of shaking what was visible of his fingers, Beck bumped his knuckles against Mason’s. “Beck Ventura.”

  “Mason Hyde. And yeah. They do,” he agreed. “Who’s Shelby?”

  “Beck’s daughter,” Courtney said. “She’s six.”

  Mason could practically see the gleam in Courtney’s eyes. He figured she was imagining her own future six-year-old daughter.

  Rebecca walked into the room. “As you can see, Mr. Hyde, our get-together got a little out of hand.” She was wearing jeans and a sweatshirt and was holding a baby on her hip, looking as different as she could get from the white-coated doctor he’d met earlier that day. “That tends to happen around the Clays.” She tucked her dark hair behind her ear and grinned.

  Courtney had her eyes, he realized. And her grin. “Make it Mason, please.”

  At the sight of her mother and the baby, Courtney promptly set aside her partially eaten salad and held out her hands. “Gimme.”

  Rebecca surrendered the tot, who was wearing a green-footed thing, giving Mason no clue whether it was a boy or a girl. Courtney snuggled the baby close, kissing the child’s round little cheek.

  “This,” she told him, after she came up for air, “is Aidan.”

  Mason gave the baby a closer look. “Axel’s kid?”

  “Mmm-hmm.” She looked up at her mother. “How’d you get drawn for babysitting duty?”

  “She didn’t.” Another woman wandered into the room. She, too, had long brown hair and was holding a plate of food. Mason recognized her as Axel’s mother, Emily. “Aidan’s spending the night with Jefferson and me.”

  She turned her pansy-brown gaze on Mason and smiled. “But we heard you were coming for dinner and crashed.” She leaned over and brushed her cheek against Mason’s. “So good to see you again. I wish it were under better circumstances for you.” As if they were old friends, instead of ba
re acquaintances through his association with her son, she sat next to him on the arm of the couch. “You’re letting that lasagna get cold, darling, and you can’t heal if you don’t eat. Eat.”

  “Just easier to listen to her,” a tall man drawled in a quiet voice as he pulled a chair from the dining room table closer. “That’s what I’ve learned after all these years.”

  “Jefferson,” Mason greeted. The older man was a legend in the murky world of Hollins-Winword, even though he’d gotten out of the business decades earlier. “How’s the horse-breeding business?”

  “Not as interesting as the cow business,” answered a steel-haired man as he stomped into the room with his cane. “Try telling my son that, though.” He gave Jefferson an annoyed look even as he grabbed a chair and planted himself next to him.

  Well aware that her grandfather’s ornery tones hid a heart as wide as Wyoming, Courtney grinned. “My grandfather,” she told Mason. “Squire Clay, this is Mason Hyde. He’s the patient renting my spare bedroom.”

  Squire lifted a hand. “I remember, missy. Not senile yet. We met when Axel was chasing after Tara…and thinking we didn’t know what was up.” He fixed his sharp, blue gaze on Mason. “He was staying under her roof and getting up to mischief. You gonna do that with my granddaughter?”

  “Squire!” Courtney nearly choked.

  “Stay out of this, girl.” Her grandfather didn’t even spare her a look.

  “Sir, if you’ll pardon my saying so, I’m lucky if I can get up to take a leak,” Mason drawled. “Mischief’s pretty much out of my immediate future.”

  Squire let out a bark of laughter and tapped the end of his cane on the floor. “Always like a man who speaks the truth. So. Hear you managed to save that little girl in the process of getting all broke up.”

  Courtney jerked. She looked at Mason. The vaguely good-natured smile on his face had disappeared. “Little girl? What little girl?”