Another Woman's Baby

She turned back to the house, suddenly chilled and tired and ready to curl up with a cup of hot soup in hand. But she wasn’t alone anymore. A lone man was jogging along the beach in her direction, kicking up water and sand as he ran. He was only a few yards away now, and his body took shape. Lean, strong legs, short hair. Familiar. He slowed and her heart raced as she realized he was the man who’d come into the shop while she and Penny were talking.

“Nice night for the beach,” he said, stopping a few feet in front of her.

“Yes.” Her mouth was dry, but she was being ridiculous. The man had every bit as much right to be here as she did. It was the overactive hormones of pregnancy. “It’s warm for December.”

“I wondered about that. It’s my first time in this area.” His gaze traveled to her bulging stomach. “I noticed you in one of the shops this afternoon.”

She rested her hands on her stomach. “It would be hard not to notice me.”

“Is the baby due soon?”

“The end of the month.”

“Do you live here, or are you visiting, too?”

“I’m visiting.” That was about as vague as she could manage, short of telling him it was none of his business.

“I jogged by several private homes, but most of them looked dark. I guess a lot of people close up and go home for the winter. It seems a shame, if the winters are always this mild.”

“It gets cold sometimes. It just doesn’t stay cold.”

“It’s gorgeous now, but the place sure looks deserted.” He let his gaze settle on her face, but his feet shifted restlessly. “Look, if I’m out of line just tell me, but I overheard you tell your friend you were here by yourself. I am, too. Maybe we could have dinner together one night. You seem to know the area, I have no clue where to find the best food.”

“I’m very busy.” Her tone was sharper than she’d intended, but even if he wasn’t dangerous, the man was definitely overstepping his bounds.

“Oops. I offended you. Believe me, I was not trying to pick you up. I’ve never been good at that anyway. You can see why.” He extended a hand. “Let me start over. My name’s Bart Cromwell.”

She took his hand but didn’t offer her name.

“I’m staying just up the beach, so we’ll probably run into each other from time to time. If you change your mind about dinner, let me know. Otherwise, I promise not to bother you.”

“I hope you have an enjoyable stay.”

“You, too. I’ll see you around.” He started to walk away, then stopped. “Take care, and if you’re staying in a big old house all by yourself as your friend said, you need to lock your doors tight. This seems like a safe little area, but you just never know.”

Her thoughts exactly. She picked up her pace as she started back toward the house. A nice-looking man, on the beach alone in December, stopping to ask an extremely pregnant woman out to dinner. Something was seriously wrong with this picture. And he needn’t worry. She would lock and bolt every door tonight.

MEGAN STRETCHED OUT on a slip-covered lounge chair in an alcove that looked out over the Gulf. It was her favorite spot in the whole house, a small, cozy room with a large window that provided a marvelous view of the gulf. She had an avalanche of pillows behind her, a knitted throw pulled over her feet and a cup of hot herb tea on the table beside her. All the essentials for relaxing—only she wasn’t.

She’d walked every room of the rambling house, even climbed to the cupola above the third floor and checked the doors to the widow’s walk. Every door and window was locked tight, but still the uneasiness persisted.

Was it hormones, paranoia brought on by the recent tragedy, or reasonable caution that wouldn’t let her put the stranger on the beach out of her mind? A year ago she’d probably have been intrigued if the rugged, sexy man had tried to pick her up on the beach.

But a year ago it would have made a lot more sense. A year ago she’d been thirty, not pregnant and a perfect size eight. But maybe the guy was gay and didn’t care what she looked like. Or maybe he was hungry and only wanted to know where the best places were to eat. It could even be that he was lonely.

Or maybe not.

She walked to the kitchen and retrieved the phone book from the second drawer of the cabinet. It wouldn’t hurt to call the local police department and check to see if there had been any problems in the area in recent weeks.

She found the number and punched it in, using the wall phone in the kitchen. The woman who took the call put her on hold and then transferred her to someone else.

“Yes, ma’am, how can I help you?”

The Alabama drawl was unmistakable. Just the familiarity of it eased her fears a little. “I’m staying in a private home on the Gulf in the Orange Beach area.”

“Glad to have you. Are you having some kind of problem?”

“No, but I’m here alone, and I was just wondering how safe it is in this area.”

“Exactly where are you?”

“Are you familiar with the Lancaster house?”

“Pelican’s Roost? Sure am. Hey, is this Megan?”

“Yes. Do I know you?”

“I reckon you do. Class of ’88. Hey, hey, hey.”

“Roger Collier?”

“The one and only.”

Talk about a blast from the past. They had gone to high school together, but it had been two years since she’d seen or heard from Roger. He’d looked her up when he’d been job hunting in New Orleans, but she hadn’t been able to help him. Still, it was good to hear his voice now.

She’d had a terrific crush on him for most of her junior year, but he’d been going steady with Jackie at the time. She’d dated him for a while after he and Jackie broke up, but had broken up with him after a few dates. The only time she’d gone out with him after that had been to the senior prom, when neither of them were dating anyone steady. “How have you been?”

“Terrific. Still single and hanging easy. Will you be in town long?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Everybody’s been wondering what you were going to do with that place since your grandmother passed away. If you fixed it up a bit, you could probably sell it for a mint of money. Beach property’s like gold these days.”

“That’s what I hear.”

“Anyway, good to have you back. Now, what’s this about trouble?”

“I ran into a man on the beach when I was out walking just after sunset and he stopped to talk to me. To make a long story short, he made me a little nervous.”

“Did he say something out of the way?”

“Not really.”

“Was he drunk?”

“No.”

“Just a ragged old beach bum, huh?”

“Not that either.” Now she felt foolish. “It’s nothing I can put my finger on. He just made me a little nervous and I thought I’d see if there had been any trouble in the area.”

“The usual stuff. Kids throwing bottles on the beach, getting loud and rowdy, but we haven’t even had a complaint of that since the summer crowd left.”

“I’m sure it’s nothing.”

“Yeah. You know how it is on the beach. The setting breaks down barriers. People who wouldn’t speak to you in town stop and chat. I can send someone out to take a look around if you like, but if he was just out jogging, I doubt they’d find him.”

“No. I’m sure it’s nothing,” she repeated.

“Probably just a guy looking for a good time. Orange Beach is the safest place in the country. But I’ll be here all night. If you change your mind about having an officer come by and check out the house, just let me know.”

“I appreciate that.”

They talked a few more minutes about people they both knew from high school. It always surprised her that so many of her classmates still lived in Orange Beach. It had never occurred to her to settle here, but then this had never really been her home. No place had. She’d only lived here her last two years of high school while her mother lived in Spain with her third husband.

The baby kicked as she started up the stairs. So alive, so much a part of her and yet not a part of her at all. She’d carry it for one more month, and then…And then she’d give it up to strangers.

Pushing open the door, she stepped into the bedroom that had been hers for as long as she could remember. The bed was made, the coverlet pulled back to reveal crisp white sheets and fluffy pillows. All it had taken was one call to Fenelda and the house had been readied for her return. The furniture dusted, the cobwebs brushed from the corners, the wooden floors swept clean and the carpets vacuumed. And all six bathrooms had fresh towels on the racks.

Crossing the moss-colored carpet, she opened one of the sliding doors. When she’d been young, the sound of the surf had always served as an unending lullaby, soothing her to sleep almost before she had time to say her prayers. Tonight might be more of a challenge.

She turned off the light in the bedroom, and let the moonlight provide the illumination as she slipped out of her clothes. With the light off, she could see the outline of the thatched-roof gazebo that sat between the house and the beach, see the swing beneath it swaying in the wind. All peaceful.

The moon ducked behind a cloud. She looked away and took a robe from the closet. When she turned back, her heart slammed against her chest. Someone was out there, standing just past the gazebo. All she could see was the outline of a body, but she could picture the man she’d seen earlier on the beach, imagine him watching her house, knowing she was there alone.

A second later the figure headed off down the beach and out of sight. The baby picked that time to give her a swift kick. She splayed her hands across her stomach. “Don’t worry, little one. I’m not off the deep end, not yet anyway. Just a little paranoia playing games with my overwrought nerves.” Turning away from the balcony, she headed for her bath.

December 5

MEGAN WOKE to the jangle of bells, but it took her a few seconds to realize that it was actually the doorbell and not part of her weird dream. She’d been running across the sand, her feet sinking into it, slowing her down so that whatever she was chasing stayed just beyond her reach.

The bell chimed again. She stretched, kicked out from under the covers and eased her legs over the side of the bed, combing the carpet with her feet until she located her slippers. Grabbing her robe, she tied it around her loosely and headed down the steps, wondering who in the world would come calling this time of the morning.

One peek through the peephole and she breathed a sigh of relief. She should have known Sandra Birney would waste no time coming by to check on her.

She swung the door open, pushing her long dark bangs off her forehead as she did and realizing that she probably looked a total mess. “Come in.”

“I will, as soon as I get a look at you.” She scrutinized Megan from the top of her head to her toes. “My, you are pregnant.”

“I told you.”

“I know, but I just couldn’t picture it.” Sandra brushed past her and set a cloth-topped basket that smelled of cinnamon and nutmeg on the table, before she came back to offer a hug. Southern women always hugged.

“I want to hear everything about the pregnancy, especially how you let someone talk you into it. Will the biological parents be here for the birth?”

“No. I’m going to deliver all by myself—just me and Dr. Brown, and maybe Santa Claus.”

“And me. You know I’ll be there.”

“You like suffering, do you?”

“I don’t mind, as long as it’s not mine,” she teased. “And I love babies.”

Megan started the coffee while Sandra caught her up on news of the happenings in Orange Beach. The high-school football team had won the regional playoffs, the elementary-school principal had retired and the Baptist church was building a new sanctuary.

Megan excused herself to go to the bathroom and brush her teeth while the coffee finished perking. She ran a comb through her hair as well and washed her face. The questions would start as soon as they sat down to coffee and muffins, but everything was under control. She had her story down pat, the details worked out so that no one would suspect that the baby she carried belonged to Jackie Brewster, not even the intuitive Sandra Birney.

The delightfully plump and rosy-cheeked grandma was the same age as Megan’s mother. They’d gone all through school together, had both been cheerleaders and on the homecoming court. And that was where the similarities ended. Sandra had married her high-school sweetheart and was still married to the man. Her life centered around community events and her children and grandchildren, and she’d stayed close to Megan’s grandmother, done the things for her a daughter would have done, had her daughter ever been around. Megan’s mother marched to a totally different drummer.

By the time Megan returned to the kitchen, the coffee had been poured into crockery mugs and the muffins set in white dessert plates bordered with a seashell pattern.

Sandra stood at the open refrigerator. “Would you like butter and jam with your muffin?”

“I would love it, but I wouldn’t dare. I’ll never get down to my normal weight again as it is.”

“Then I’ll just pour us a little half-and-half for the coffee.” She joined Megan at the table with the sugar bowl and a pitcher of milk in hand. “Now, I can’t wait to hear all about this baby. Is it a boy or a girl?”

“It’s a girl.” That was the easy question.

“Who are the lucky parents? They must be very dear friends.”

“They are. The mother is a woman I work with. Medical problems prevented her from carrying her own child, and since she wanted a baby so desperately, I agreed to do this for her.”

Megan’s mind wandered back to the moment when Jackie had first come to her. She’d said no at first, but the look of disappointment in Jackie’s face had nearly killed her. It was as if Megan had taken her friend’s dreams and stamped them into the ground.

Jackie had already had three miscarriages and the doctor had told her that to try again would be exceedingly dangerous due to her increasingly serious problems with diabetes. Yet Megan had feared that if she said no, Jackie would have gotten pregnant in spite of the doctor’s warnings. As it turned out, it wouldn’t have mattered anyway.

Sandra swallowed a bite of muffin. “So when the baby’s born, you’ll just give it to its real parents?”

“That’s the plan.” Or at least it had been. This was the part she couldn’t share with Sandra. Talking about it was painful. Even thinking about it seemed traitorous and cruel, as if she was considering throwing away a part of herself and all that was left of Jackie.

Sandra reached over and took her hand and squeezed it. “I always said you had a heart the size of the gulf. You proved me right again. What does Marilyn think of this?”

“Mother doesn’t know. I haven’t seen her since I made the decision to have the baby.”

“And you didn’t want her input. You are wise as well as big-hearted. Where is your mother now?”

“Living in an oceanfront estate in Acapulco with a new husband, a man who owns a chain of luxury resorts. She insists I come down for a visit. I haven’t made it yet.”

“Is this the man she was telling me about when she came to your grandmother’s funeral?”

“That’s the one.”

“She showed me his picture. He’s very handsome.”

“And rich.”

Sandra sighed. “Of course. Otherwise he wouldn’t have stood a chance with her. She learned her lesson when Bob Gilbert stuck her with all his debts.”

“Husband number three was definitely an eye-opener for her,” Megan agreed.

“She might as well hook up with rich men since she can get anyone she wants. I don’t know how she manages it, but she’s still as beautiful as the day she was crowned Miss Alabama. We all threaten to lock up our husbands when she comes to town.”

“That’s my mom.”

“Does this make husband number five?”

“Six, I think. You probably missed the French diplomat. He only lasted about six months.”

Sandra shook her head, but a smile curled her lips. “That woman. She never fit into Orange Beach. I miss her, though. I still remember when she danced in that play on Broadway. A bunch of us flew up to see her and she got us front-row seats and took us to a cast party. Even in that crowd, she stood out. She was always bigger than life.”

Megan nodded but kept her thoughts on that to herself. Her mother was all those things, and if Megan hadn’t been her daughter, she might have appreciated it the way Sandra did. But it had never been easy being the daughter of a woman who was bigger than life.

They finished the coffee and muffins, and Sandra left after exacting a promise from Megan that she’d come over for dinner soon. Thankfully, there had been no more questions about the baby. Evidently, Sandra had picked up on her hesitancy to talk about it. But it was better that at least that much was out in the open. It would keep the locals from going nuts trying to find out who had knocked her up.

IT WAS ONE-THIRTY in the afternoon when Megan pulled into the parking lot of the Pink Pony. After Sandra had left that morning, she’d dressed and gone for a long walk on the beach. The sun was bright, the sand warm and the water had sparkled like diamonds. It was the perfect cure for the tinges of fear that had coiled around her last night. And there had been no sign of Bart Cromwell.

Now she was starving, craving an oyster po’ boy. Most of the time she tried to eat healthy for the sake of the baby and to curb her weight gain, but the first full day back in town she simply had to have fried oysters.

She took a seat by a window overlooking the Gulf. A couple of young lovers were walking hand in hand along the beach and a man and golden retriever were wading in the water. She didn’t bother looking at a menu. She knew what she wanted.

The door opened and a man walked in alone. She recognized him before he even turned around. The broad shoulders, the easy swagger, the faded baseball cap.

When he turned and saw her, his blue eyes lit up and his lips spread into a broad grin, as if they were old friends.

The troubled, anxious feeling that she’d experienced last night hit again, this time with overwhelming force. The man was following her, and there was no logical, innocuous reason for his doing so.

He walked over and tipped his hat. “We’ve got to stop meeting like this. But since we did, mind if I join you? I hate eating alone.”

Chapter Three

The man stood by her table, cap in hand. “If you don’t want company, I’ll understand.”

Her gut instinct was to tell him to keep moving, but she knew that talking to him might be the best way to put aside any irrational fears she had about him. “Please, have a seat.”

“Thanks. I went to the tourist center like you suggested. Loaded up on maps, booklets, even money-saving coupons. This place was highly recommended for lunch. I understand they have good gumbo here.”

“I haven’t tried it, but I’m sure it’s good.”

He gazed out the large bay window. “It’s a great view.”

“Did you say that this was your first trip to this area?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“So what made you decide to come now, especially in the off-season?”

“I came down from Nashville to go to my sister’s wedding in Mobile. My new brother-in-law suggested I come down here and enjoy some beach bumming and fishing since I had some vacation time left that I needed to use before the end of the year. So here I am.”

Here he most definitely was. So far she’d run into him three times in two days. Now she was sitting across the table from him and still she was picking up strange vibes. Maybe it was because his manner and his motives didn’t really match.

His appearance and demeanor suggested an easygoing personality, but when he looked at her, his gaze was intense, as if he was studying her. He had a magnetism about him, a kind of rugged masculinity that would have gone better with a leather motorcycle jacket than the windbreaker he was wearing.

The waitress came and took their order, then returned a minute later with draft beer for him and a glass of milk for Megan. He lifted his glass in a toast.

“To sun, sand and catching fish,” he said, clinking his glass with hers. “And to an easy birth and a healthy baby.”

“I’ll drink to that.”

“So when’s the little rug rat due?”

“December 27.”

“Wow. Hope that stork doesn’t get run over by eight tiny reindeer. You must be getting excited with the date so close. Is this your first child?”

“It’s my first pregnancy.” It was much easier to stick to the truth minus unnecessary facts.

“Well, you look great. I guess it’s true what they say about women glowing when they’re carrying a child.”

It was an idle compliment, the kind she hated. She didn’t look great. She looked like a beached whale, and having some stranger tell her differently didn’t make her feel any better. But it did bother her that he felt he had to offer compliments, as if he was on the make and she was his prospective pick-up.

He took another long draw on his beer, then drummed his fingers on the table. “Are you always this quiet,” he asked, “or is it the company?”

“I’m quiet. And it’s the company. I don’t ordinarily have lunch with strangers.”

“I appreciate your making an exception this time, though I guess I kind of forced it on you. To tell you the truth, I expected you to say no.”

“I considered it.”

“I can still move to another table if you want, but I’d like to stay.”

“Why?”

“I told you, I don’t like to eat alone.” He fingered the edge of the napkin. “And you look as if you could use someone to talk to. I imagine it’s tough being all by yourself when you’re pregnant, wandering around that big old house all alone. There’s not even another house close enough that someone would hear you if you called for help, you know…if you fell or went into labor or something. You should get a dog, a big one for protection, or do you have one already?”

Apprehension swelled inside her. “How do you know which I’m staying in?”

“I was on the beach this morning. I saw you climbing the steps to go inside.”

“I can take care of myself. Besides, I won’t be alone after today. My husband is coming in tonight.” A baldaced lie, but it made her seem far less vulnerable.

“Really?”

“Yes.”

He dropped the subject, but she had the idea he didn’t believe her. The waitress appeared with the food and she ate hers quickly, forcing it down though her appetite had vanished. As soon as she finished, she took a ten-dollar bill from her billfold and dropped it to the table.

“This should take care of my part of the bill. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have an appointment and I don’t want to be late.”

He stood, a smile on his lips that softened his features and made him look more mischievous than sinister. “I did it again. I don’t know how I manage to upset you every time we talk, but I do. It’s that old foot-in-mouth disease. I have a terminal case.”

“No. It’s just that I have a feeling that you’re following me, and if you keep it up, I’ll notify the police.” She hadn’t meant to be so blunt, but she’d had enough of him. If he was just a friendly tourist, he could think what he wanted about her. If he was dangerous, she’d let him know she wasn’t as vulnerable as she seemed.

She felt his gaze on her as she turned and walked away, but she didn’t turn back to see. Her hands were trembling by the time she got to her car and tears burned at the back of her eyelids. She blinked repeatedly, determined to keep them at bay. The last time she’d cried had been at Jackie’s funeral, and she wouldn’t give in to tears just because—because her life seemed to be falling apart and she didn’t have the emotional energy to deal with all of it.

Bart Cromwell. Her job. John. Dealing with the HMO. Thoughts of her mother. Memories of her grandmother. The baby that grew inside her and belonged to no one, certainly not to her.

So why did she feel such an overwhelming bond to the baby growing inside her? Why did the thought of giving her up for adoption seem to equate with having someone reach inside her chest and rip out her heart?