Millionaire's Instant Baby

She nibbled the inside of her lip, turning the small envelope over in her fingers. He had nothing to say that she wanted to hear. Or, in this case, read.

“Oh, Emma, honestly. It’s just a card.” She tore open the envelope and pulled out the flat card.

Chandler is blessed to have such a lovely mother.

Emma’s eyes blurred. She looked down at her son to find him looking up at her. “We’re both blessed, aren’t we, pumpkin? I just figured that a man like Kyle Montgomery wouldn’t be able to see that.”

She lifted Chandler to her shoulder and readjusted her clothes. Kissing his cheek, she brought her legs up onto the couch and lay back, cradling him securely.

Then she closed her eyes and they both slept.

Chapter Three

By the next morning Emma decided she owed her mother an apology. Hattie Valentine had had six daughters, managing to feed and clothe them all, for the most part single-handedly.

Emma, however, seemed to be completely out of her element with just one baby. Chandler wanted to eat every other hour, which meant she got very little sleep. Sometime in the middle of the night she gave up on the notion of having the baby sleep in his bassinet and just kept him in bed with her. She stacked diapers and wipes on the floor beside them and slept when he slept. Fed him when hungry, changed him when wet.

This was not at all the way it was supposed to go, according to her Now You Are a Mother! book which spouted tripe about four-hour schedules and other such nonsense.

By midmorning, her small home looked like a tornado had torn through it, leaving flowers and minute baby T-shirts and receiving blankets behind.

Penny came by, took in the chaos without a blink of surprise and shooed Emma into the bathroom where, she assured her, she’d feel better after a nice long shower.

“As soon as I’m under the water, he’ll be hungry,” Emma had protested tiredly. “I’ll shower…oh, I don’t know, when he’s two years old.”

Penny had laughed and scooped Chandler off Emma’s lap. “I think I hear a verse of the baby blues somewhere in there.” She’d waved toward the bathroom. “Go on now. You need a few minutes for yourself.”

Emma wasn’t so sure, but she’d gone. She looked at herself in the mirror, grimaced and turned on the shower. A half hour later she emerged to find her apartment tidied up, Chandler sleeping and Penny nowhere in sight.

“Sure,” she whispered lovingly over Chandler in the bassinet. “Now you sleep.”

A creak on the stairs outside told her someone was coming up. Probably Penny. Emma adjusted the strap of her red sundress and smoothed back her wet hair. “You were right,” she said as she went to the wood-framed screen door and pushed it open. “I do feel better.”

“My sisters always say that flowers make a woman feel better,” Kyle Montgomery said smoothly as he reached the top step and smiled at her. He looked dismayingly appealing in pleated khakis, a whiter-than-white collarless shirt and navy jacket. Laugh lines fanned out from his eyes. “Your landlady said you were up and about. You look very nice in red. Fresh as a wild poppy.”

Emma flushed. Her hair hung straight and wet to her shoulders, her feet were bare, and the poppy-red dress stretched too tightly across her chest. She crossed her arms and moistened her lips. “Thank you for the flowers and card. It was very nice.”

A smile flirted with his lips as he looked at her. “May I come in?”

Emma swallowed. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’ll probably end up being rude to you, and being surrounded by beautiful flowers from you when that happens seems like it’d be in poor taste.”

“Rude? Ah, Emma, I think you’ve just been honest. I’m glad you like the flowers, though. I have one sister who insists roses are the only flower worth receiving, but you didn’t seem like the rose type to me.”

“I’m allergic to them,” Emma said shortly. The last man to give her roses had thoroughly betrayed her. She wasn’t sure she’d ever disassociate roses from that awful time.

Kyle’s eyebrow peaked. “How fortunate I chose otherwise, then.” He reached past her through the doorway to the daisies sitting just inside and snapped off a bloom. He lifted his hand, frowning slightly when Emma gave a startled jump.

She clenched her teeth, flushing again when he tucked the short stem of the daisy behind her ear. She swallowed and stepped away from the door, silently allowing him entry.

He walked to the center of the living area, seeming to dominate the space. “How’s Chandler?”

Emma shut the screen quietly. “Fine. Sleeping at the moment.”

He nodded, glanced at the blank wall opposite the couch. “Why did you get rid of the piano?”

Emma frowned. “How do you know I had a piano?”

He walked over to the spot where her upright had stood for three years. He brushed a leather boot over the permanent indentations the heavy instrument had made in her taupe-colored carpet. “I noticed the marks on the rug earlier. Why, Emma?”

She shrugged. “I’m sure you’ve already come to your own conclusion.”

“You needed the money.”

“I had other payments that were more important,” she corrected.

“How long have you played?”

“The piano?” Not long enough. “Since I was thirteen.” She’d been caught sneaking into the church back in Dooley, Tennessee. But instead of hauling her back to her mother with a few strong words, Reverend Harold Chandler had decided Emma could use the piano twice a week in the afternoons after school. They couldn’t afford lessons, but Emma had used the music books at the church, and by the time she’d graduated from high school, she’d taught herself enough to earn a modest music scholarship.

She owed a lot to Reverend Chandler.

“I envy you,” he said.

She lifted her eyebrows. “Whatever for?”

He shrugged. “I took piano lessons when I was sixteen. Never did get the hang of it. I could play the notes, I guess. Just not…the music.”

Oh, she really didn’t want to hear anything like that from this man. It bespoke a sensitivity in him she didn’t want to acknowledge. It was easier, safer, casting him as the rich man intent on doing a business deal no matter what.

After all, it wasn’t as if her one foray into the man-woman arena had been a terrific success. Her judgment had been faulty, her sensibility nonexistent.

Emma nibbled the inside of her lip and sat down on the couch. “Isn’t it a workday, Kyle? Shouldn’t you be out running your business rather than discussing the finer aspects of being a musician?”

“That’s what I like about you, Emma. You get right to the point.”

“Which is?”

He sat down on the other end of the couch and stretched his arm along the back. His jacket gaped, exposing more of the shirt he wore beneath.

Emma turned her eyes from the sight of his strong brown throat rising from the open collar.

“This is business for me, Emma. You know that.” He looked toward the bassinet situated near the table, presenting Emma with his profile.

It was as perfect as the rest of him. All sharp angles and utterly masculine.

“I was invited to Payton Cummings’s dinner party on Sunday evening. I’ve told him I can’t join them because I’ve other commitments. Family commitments. I’d prefer to back up that statement with some semblance of truth.”

His fingertips were inches from her shoulder and she shifted, putting more distance between them. “You’ve said you have sisters. Make plans with them. It’s less of a lie than using Chandler and me.”

Kyle shook his head. “Tell me what you need in life, Emma Valentine, and I’ll do my damnedest to make it so, if you’ll just help me with this. Forget about this buying notion you’ve got in your head and look at it as one favor for another.”

“I need my son,” she said, exasperated, “but I need no favors from you or any other man.” She pushed to her feet, pacing to the bassinet and back again.

“He really did a number on you, didn’t he?” Kyle’s gaze followed her. “The jerk who was stupid enough to leave you alone and pregnant.”

“You know nothing about it.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “No, I don’t. It’s your business entirely. But I can protect you from him.”

Emma swallowed. Little did he know she didn’t need protection from anyone, least of all the St. James family. They wanted nothing to do with her. Had ensured it. And she didn’t need Kyle Montgomery coming in here, smelling like a dream, reminding her how foolish she’d been.

Kyle rose and stepped close to her, bringing with him his addictive scent. He touched her chin with his finger. “I can protect Chandler.”

There was no wheedling in his voice. Only the simple utterly confident assurance of a man who’d been around long enough to know his abilities. One who’d been around enough to pinpoint the one thing that would penetrate her defenses.

“Come on, Emma. Help me.”

She hesitated. He was so close she could see the darker rim of green around his irises. “Kyle, I—”

“Yoo-hoo, anybody up there?” Footsteps pounded up the stairs outside and Emma blinked, stepping back. She cleared her throat and crossed to the screen door, looking out to see Millie Johnson, her boss at the diner, coming up. “I’ve brought food,” she said when she saw Emma. She lifted the cardboard box that was filled to the brim with foam containers and foil-wrapped packages. “It’ll last you a few days, and then I’ll replace it with more while I try to talk you into taking more than two weeks off with the baby. You need six weeks, and that’s that.”

Emma just shook her head. Her boss, her friend, had a heart wider than the Colorado sky. “Come on in, Millie. I’m not sure where I’ll put the food, though. Penny’s been keeping the fridge stocked, too.” She smiled wryly. “Apparently my friends think I’m in danger of starving to death on my own.”

“Oh, shush.” Millie brushed past her, stopping in surprise at the sight of a man inside. She recovered quickly, though, introducing herself as she strode across to the small kitchen.

Kyle raked his fingers through his hair, squelching an impatient sigh at this latest interruption. He’d been reaching her, dammit. He knew it. He’d seen it in her chocolate-brown eyes. He slid a business card from the inner pocket on his jacket and handed it to Emma. “I can be reached anytime, anywhere, at that number,” he said softly. “But I need an answer soon.”

She hesitated, obviously indecisive. But then she reached for the card, her slender fingers carefully avoiding his longer darker ones as she took it from him. “I gave you my answer yesterday.”

“Think about it,” Kyle suggested. “I’ll be in touch if I don’t hear from you.”

“A threat?”

Her sarcasm didn’t faze him. “I have no reason to threaten you, Emma. We can be on the same side. You’re completely safe from me.” He was making the promise to her as much as to himself, he realized. When she looked up at him with her wide wary eyes, he was reminded of fairy-tale heroines.

Disgusted with the direction of his thoughts, he strode to the door. He’d given up on fairy tales when he was seven. “I’ll look forward to hearing from you, Emma.” He left then, carrying the image of her studying his card with a sober expression on her lovely unadorned face.

After Millie’s brief visit, Emma fixed some lunch for herself and freshened the water for the flowers. Then Chandler awakened and she gathered her courage to give him his first bath. It was a rousing success, and as soon as she finished slipping his wriggling little arms and legs into his lightweight romper, he sighed with his whole little self and went to sleep, perfect as an angel.

Emma sat watching him for long minutes, nearly sitting on her hands to keep from touching him, from disturbing him simply because she wanted to feel his warmth. “My little man,” she whispered, then began humming under her breath. Her fingers automatically moved with the music that was vivid and brilliant in her mind, and realizing it, she clasped them in her lap.

It wasn’t as if she’d never play again, she reasoned. Every week when she worked with the children’s choir at the Benderhoff school, she’d be playing piano. But it wasn’t the same as sitting at her own instrument whenever she wanted, playing to her heart’s content.

“I’ll teach you to play,” she promised Chandler softly. Then she frowned as Kyle’s words whispered through her mind. He’d learned the notes, but he’d known the true heart of the music wasn’t there for him. “You’ll feel the music, too, pumpkin. Whether it’s piano or something else, we’ll share that joy. I know it.”

The afternoon was passing when she again heard feet on the steps outside. This time, however, she was expecting visitors, and she went to the door, smiling at the two women coming up. She’d met Taylor Fletcher and Megan Malone at the Buttonwood Baby Clinic when they’d all been taking the same childbirth classes. Except Megan was Megan Macgregor now, thoroughly adored by her new husband, Mac.

Megan had her baby, Tyler, in her arms and led the way up the stairs, while Taylor, enormously pregnant, followed more slowly.

Once they reached the top, Emma held open the door. “We should have met at the diner or something, Taylor. I just didn’t think about you having to climb the stairs.”

Taylor rolled her eyes and awkwardly settled on the couch, folding her arms across her belly. “Which is worse?” she asked breathlessly. “Me climbing stairs at this stage or you climbing stairs immediately after having a baby?” She looked over at the bassinet. “But you can bring Master Valentine over to see me, if you don’t mind, because I think I’m stuck here on the couch for the duration.”

Megan settled on the couch, too, resting Tyler on her lap. “Yup. Bring him over here, Emma. Let’s compare birthing horror stories and scare Taylor silly.”

Taylor snorted softly and Emma shook her head at the two women. She rolled the bassinet toward them, trying to jostle it as little as possible. Then she handed out glasses of lemonade and set a tray of cookies from one of the foil packages of Millie’s on the metal footlocker and sat down to catch up with her friends.

“So what’s with the floral display?” Taylor finally asked when all the gossip was expended. “It looks like you received flowers from every customer who has ever gone into Mom & Pop’s.”

“Kyle Montgomery,” Emma answered without thinking.

Megan’s eyebrows shot up. “As in Kyle Montgomery, head of ChandlerAIR? I read an article recently about him. He’s—”

“I know.” Emma folded her arms over the edge of the bassinet and gently smoothed Chandler’s hair.

“How did you meet him? I thought you were totally off men after what Jeremy St. James did.” Taylor tried to sit forward to reach the cookies, but couldn’t. Emma leaned over and handed her two.

“I am not off men,” Emma defended. “I just don’t need or want one, that’s all.”

“Famous last words,” Megan quipped.

“Besides,” Emma continued, ignoring Megan’s comment, “he’s not interested in me. Well, not that way.”

“Oh, now this is sounding really interesting,” Taylor said lightly. “Come on, Emma, tell me. Then I can live vicariously on the excitement in your life.”

“I wouldn’t call it exciting to have yet another man try to buy me off.”

Both her friends’ faces sobered.

“Oh, that’s not exactly right,” Emma admitted, feeling frustration well up all over again. “He visited me yesterday morning with the most outrageous proposition.” She told them the bare bones of Kyle’s suggestion. “I told him no, of course.”

“No!” Megan stared at her, dismayed. “But Emma, think of what a man like Kyle Montgomery can offer in return for your help.”

Taylor was nodding, too.

“It doesn’t matter,” Emma insisted. “I’ll manage just fine with Chandler.”

“How?” Taylor asked bluntly. “By selling your television set next? By taking on a third job? Emma, you’re barely scraping by, and only a week ago you told me your latest fantasy was buying health insurance.”

She’d expected her friends’ support. She stood up and began pacing. Among the flowers, she fancied that the memory of Kyle’s aftershave still lingered. “He’s just another rich man thinking he can buy his way through life. I don’t want any part of it. It’s dishonest.”

Megan rose too, cradling her baby in one arm and catching Emma’s hand with her other. “Emma, I know how hard this must be for you. But Chandler is here. You have to think about him. What’s best for him. Maybe taking this offer is something you should seriously consider.”

Emma looked away from her friend’s warm hazel eyes. “You agree with her, don’t you, Taylor?”

The younger woman nodded. “That’s what a good mother does,” she murmured. “Thinks of her child first.”

Emma felt her eyes burn. Taylor had already decided to give up her child for adoption to a family who could provide for her baby in a way she herself couldn’t. She was younger than both Megan and Emma, yet Emma felt that Taylor was quite possibly the bravest woman she’d ever met.

She dashed her hands across her eyes, then propped them on her hips, sniffing hugely. “Shoot-fire,” she said in her best Southern drawl. “This afternoon wasn’t supposed to be a weepy wallow. I’ve told the man no, so that’s all there is to it. He’s probably findin’ himself another young bride as we speak.” Then she focused on Megan. “And speaking of brides, how is married life treating you, Mrs. Macgregor?”

Megan smiled and said that married life was terrific, but her gaze met Emma’s meaningfully. Fortunately, however, she didn’t return to the subject of Kyle, and soon Taylor asked Emma if the labor and delivery was really just a matter of “discomfort” as the leaders of the childbirth class kept telling them.

Emma snorted and Megan laughed. Taylor blew out a huge breath and moaned. “That’s what I was afraid of.” She struggled to her feet to go to the bathroom.

“You’re still planning to return to work next week?” Megan asked Emma.

“To Benderhoff,” Emma said. “Their summer session begins and I’ll be teaching two afternoon classes there.” She’d always enjoyed the classes she taught part-time at the private school. But she was willing to teach this session specifically for the money it would bring. Money that would eventually pay the hospital bill. “Millie says that if I set foot in the diner before two weeks are up, she’ll shoot me with that shotgun she keeps in the back. If she had her way, I’d take off three times that long.”

“What about your fall semester?” Megan asked quietly. “How can you fit in your own classes?”

Emma swallowed, then managed a bright smile she knew didn’t fool her friend. “I’m going to take off next semester. It’ll be a nice break.” She just hoped the one semester didn’t stretch into two. Or three. She’d already spent so long working toward her degree that every delay was frustrating. Even this one.

Taylor came out then, pressing her hands to her back. Emma hugged her friends, thanked them for the baby outfits they’d brought for Chandler and watched them carefully descend the steps before climbing into Megan’s vehicle.

She stood on the landing for a few minutes, breathing in the crisp clear air. Someone was barbecuing nearby. She could smell the distinctive delectable scent of sizzling steak. A dog barked, and someone was mowing a lawn.

It was a beautiful summer evening. She had her health and a perfect child. There was no reason to feel the panic welling in her chest. No reason at all.

She went inside and picked up Chandler, rocking him in her arms as she paced her small living room. She didn’t look at Kyle’s card, which she’d left on the dining table. But she was painfully aware of it sitting there between a bouquet of bright orange day-lilies and a yellow balloon that had lost some of its helium and was hovering an inch over the table.

“I love you, pumpkin. I’ll never let you down,” she pledged, pressing her lips to Chandler’s head. He wriggled and Emma chuckled. “Always hungry. Well, food is something I seem to have lots of for you.”

Kyle called at precisely seven that evening. Emma’s answer hadn’t changed, but she was grateful he hadn’t shown up in person this time. It was difficult enough reiterating her “no” over an impersonal telephone line.

He didn’t sound unduly disturbed by their brief exchange, which made Emma think even more strongly that he probably had several other women waiting as backups. Kyle Montgomery was the kind of man who had best-case scenarios and worst-case scenarios planned to the nth detail.

While Chandler slept, Emma wrote thank-you notes for the various gifts and cards she’d received, then set about looking through the pile of mail she’d been receiving and ignoring for the past week.

There was a long chatty letter from her mother. All about Emma’s sisters—married sisters, that was—Emma’s nieces and nephews, and Hattie’s job at the grocery store in Dooley. There were cards from two of her regular customers at Millie’s and a letter from Benderhoff. Emma slit it open, expecting a note about the baby or about the upcoming session.

What she wasn’t expecting was the polite missive saying that her services wouldn’t be required, after all. She didn’t even rate a thank-you for the past two years.

She read it through twice, sure she’d misunderstood. She’d been teaching at Benderhoff steadily. Her work had always been more than satisfactory, or so she’d been told at each review period. Telling herself not to panic, she went into the kitchen and yanked out her telephone directory. She found the home number of Emil Craddock, the headmaster of Benderhoff and dialed it with a shaking finger. They wouldn’t do this to her. They couldn’t.

But five minutes later she hung up again, knowing that they had. She paced. She added numbers in her head. She thought of ways she could get by without the money—the rather good money—she’d earned at Benderhoff.

She finally pulled out her sofa bed, lay down with Chandler beside her and tried to make herself sleep while he slept. But sleep didn’t come. All she could remember was growing up in Dooley, getting her clothing secondhand from the rummage sales at church, doing the grocery shopping with her two older sisters, following their mama’s list to the letter because they had to pay with food stamps and only certain things were eligible.

At four o’clock in the morning Emma finally climbed out of bed and retrieved the business card from the table. She turned on the light in the kitchen and, heedless of the hour, reached for the phone, dialing hurriedly, before she lost her nerve. It rang only twice. Then Kyle’s voice, husky and deep, answered.

She swallowed, but the enormous knot in her throat didn’t go away. “Is your offer still on the table?”

“You know it is, Emma.”

She drew in a short breath. “Then I accept. I’ll pretend to be your wife until your business deal goes through.”

“I’ll be at your place in a couple of hours.”

A tear leaked from the corner of her tightly closed eyes. She was grateful that he didn’t express any undue pleasure or satisfaction. That his voice was as steady and sure as ever. “We’ll be ready,” she said.

Then she hung up and went to pack her clothes and Chandler’s stretchy little sleepers and diapers. They were the easy things.

She couldn’t help thinking, though, that she was also packing away her honesty. And that wasn’t easy at all.

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