“That’s exactly what you must do,” she insisted. “It’s my baby and it’s going to stay that way. I have a contract with the clinic. I requested an anonymous donor.”

“You don’t have a contract with me.”

“Look,” she said, “the sooner you accept the fact that you have no claim, the better off we’ll both be.” How she hoped that she was right about that! “Now I really have to go. Your complaint is with the clinic, not me.”

If she had to, she would get an attorney and fight him, but she prayed it wouldn’t come to that. She made a good living, but lawyers were expensive. No doubt it was Mr. Duncan’s testosterone beating its chest over the situation, but when he really thought about the hassle, surely he’d lose interest.

Mac waited until the next day before he attempted to contact the birth mother again. Meanwhile, he tried without success to get in touch with someone at the clinic. Dennis hadn’t gotten back yet and the director was still out sick. The receptionist’s voice sounded panicky as she confided that things were a little confused right now and there was no one else who could help him at the moment.

Mac wanted to tell her that “confused” was putting it mildly.

“I’ll definitely pass on your message as soon as I know who’ll be filling in,” she added.

“Good grief, how long is the director going to be gone?” Mac demanded.

“I can’t discuss that. All I can say is that she’s ill, but as soon as I know who’s handling her duties I’ll have them call you.”

Frustrated, Mac gave up. Just his luck the clinic was apparently suffering some crisis of its own. Until he could get a few answers from them, he’d just have to deal with Megan Malone directly.

What was she like? He wondered. What kind of mother would she be? How well could she provide for the child? And what were Mac’s obligations legally, financially and ethically? She might refuse his help, but that didn’t let him off the hook, not as far as his own conscience was concerned. The more he thought about the situation, the more questions came up.

A baby needed a father, despite what this woman had said about raising it alone. Once she met him and saw for herself that he was a pretty normal guy and not a two-headed monster, she was bound to relent.

All Mac had to do was convince her to meet with him and talk over the situation. How hard could that be?

Chapter Two

The man was relentless. Megan fumed silently as she deleted yet another message from her answering machine. No one at the clinic would tell her anything about MacGregor Duncan. How ironic that they were suddenly so concerned with confidentiality.

“The man is the father of my baby,” Megan had protested to some underling on the phone. “Thanks to your clinic’s lack of discretion, I already have his name.”

The person she needed to talk to was still unavailable and Megan’s caustic comment had gotten her nowhere. Perhaps she would have to take Duncan’s call after all. He’d certainly been persistent in the face of her unwavering rejection, making her wonder if he had the tenacity of a pit bull or was merely as dense as muffin batter that had been stirred too long. There was only one way to find out.

The next time Mac dialed the Malone woman’s number, listened to her recorded greeting and identified himself, prepared to leave another message on her machine, she picked up the phone. He was so surprised that he nearly forgot what he was going to say, covering his momentary confusion with brusqueness.

“This class we’re signed up for starts next week,” he said. “We need to make some decisions.”

“Don’t worry about it,” she replied, voice cool. “I still have time to find a partner.”

“You mean you don’t have anyone yet?” Mac demanded. Here was his opening, a way to get to know each other. “Does that mean you aren’t married?”

“Why would it matter?” she countered. “Do you have something against single parents?”

Mac struggled for patience. “No, of course not. It just stands to reason that if you had a husband, he’d want to take the class with you.”

“Oh. No, I’m not married.” Her voice thawed a degree or two. “Are you?”

At least she was curious about him. “I’m involved with someone,” he admitted, “but it won’t be a problem.”

“The class is two evenings a week, you know. That’s a pretty big commitment for a busy man.”

“I said my relationship won’t be a problem.” Mac hoped he was correct. How would Justine react to the news that another woman was having his child? They’d only been seeing each other for six months, but his parents were right. It was time he settled down and raised some little Duncans to carry on the family name.

“I was referring to your job, not your social life,” Megan replied. “You do work, don’t you?”

“Actually, I own a business, so my hours are flexible. Making time for the class wouldn’t be a big deal.” Perhaps he was pushing, but it seemed like the only way to stop her from shutting him out of his baby’s life. If he allowed her to do that, he would always feel like part of him was missing.

The thought of his parents’ reaction, if that happened and they found out, made him shudder.

When Megan didn’t say anything, Mac tried a different tactic. “There’s a part of me growing inside of you. We’ve made this baby together. Aren’t you the least bit curious about me?”

“The clinic gave me all the information I needed when I picked you from the donor list,” she said stubbornly, but he thought there was the tiniest hesitation in her voice.

“What did they tell you?” he asked, praying it wasn’t much. Even if she wasn’t admitting it, she was bound to wonder.

“The description I read said that you’re intelligent and attractive.” Had her voice warmed a little more?

“Sounds accurate so far,” he said lightly. “Did you see a photo?” He knew the answer. The clinic didn’t have his picture.

“No, but I have a general description. Your looks weren’t my first priority, Mr. Duncan.”

“Call me Mac,” he suggested. When she didn’t reply, he forged on. “What are you going to tell our child about me? No kid wants its father to be a test tube.”

“I haven’t worked that all out yet,” she said defensively. “I still have some time.”

“But how will you answer the questions when they come?” Mac demanded. “The clinic can’t have told you whether I played baseball or if I like vegetables, or even what kind of person I am. If you don’t have the answers, our child will eventually be forced to go looking for them somewhere else. You’ll lose any control over what he or she finds out. Is that what you want?”

“I hadn’t thought about it,” she admitted. “Maybe you could write a letter, one I could give him when he’s old enough to understand the situation.”

“Him?” Mac asked with a tremor in his voice he couldn’t hide. Did she know the baby’s sex already? Good God, was he going to have a son?

“I’m just guessing,” she admitted. “They offered to tell me, but I don’t want to know.” For a moment there was silence on the line. “I think of him as a boy,” she added softly. “It’s probably silly.”

The tenderness in her voice was nearly Mac’s undoing. Hearing it was both reassuring and heart wrenching. At least she cared for the baby, but what was Mac supposed to do with his feelings? Forget them?

“So you know a little bit about me already, but I don’t know anything about you except that you’re pregnant with my baby,” he said, gripping the receiver tighter. “Dammit, that’s not good enough. I have rights, too.”

As soon as the harsh words had left his mouth, he realized he’d made a big mistake. He was met with a wall of silence. “Can’t you put yourself in my place?” he pleaded, the effort to lower his voice nearly closing off his throat. “If our roles were reversed, wouldn’t you want to know something about the person who was going to be raising your firstborn? Wouldn’t you?”

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” she cried. “I don’t know why you donated sperm and I don’t care, but if you don’t stop harassing me, I’ll report you. I’ll get an attorney if I have to. Leave me alone!”

Before Mac could say anything more, she crashed the receiver down in his ear.

Hell, he’d really blown it with his Me, Tarzan, you, Jane routine.

Before he could think what to do next, the door to his office flew open and one of his men poked his head through the doorway. “Boss, the windows for the Merritt project just came in and we have a little problem,” Archer said, tugging on the bill of his Broncos cap. “Can you take a look?”

Just what he needed—something else to deal with.

“Can’t you handle it?” he demanded.

Archer’s eyes widened. “I don’t think so, but I guess I can try.”

Instantly ashamed of his outburst, Mac muttered an apology. “Show me the problem.” Putting aside his frustration, he followed the younger man out to the large shop where most of the work was done on the custom playhouses they manufactured. This project was a rush job, a birthday surprise for the daughter of a computer guru out on the coast. Like nearly everything Mac’s company created, the playhouse was a miniature reproduction of the family home, right down to the front porch columns and the dormer windows. It was being designed and built in sections here in Buttonwood, using blueprints of the bigger house as well as photos and videotapes. Once the playhouse was finished, it would be shipped and assembled on location.

The windows were one of the few parts that weren’t custom-made at Mac’s plant. Instead they were manufactured by an outfit in Denver.

As soon as he saw them, he recognized the problem. The French doors for the back of the playhouse were supposed to be framed in oak, exactly like those in the main house. Instead they’d been stained a dark walnut color.

“I’ll call Mountain View,” he told Archer. “There’s still time for them to redo the order and express it before our deadline.”

Archer looked relieved as he maneuvered the toothpick in his mouth from one side to the other. Like the other employees, he had worked with Mac for nearly ten years, since Mac had taken Small World from a hobby to a full-time business and moved it to Buttonwood. Before that, Archer had been a house framer with a local construction company.

Mac could still remember with painful clarity his parents’ reaction when he’d announced that he was quitting his job as an architect with a major Denver firm to build playhouses. To say they had disapproved would be a serious understatement. They were sure he’d lost his mind.

It hadn’t been the first time they were disappointed in their only offspring. Given his track record as a dutiful son, neither would it be the last.

“I’ll let you deal with Charlie,” Archer said. “I’ve got a balcony railing to put together.” His tool belt jingled as he walked away.

Mac returned to his office and looked up Charlie’s number at Mountain View. As Mac had known he would, the window manufacturer promised to make up the correct doors and send them right away. Another crisis averted. If only all of Mac’s problems were this easy to solve.

Megan pushed the cart through the produce section of the local grocery store, glancing at her short list of items before she stopped to pick out a plump, radiant tomato. Since her pregnancy, she’d been making a concerted effort to eat healthy. She walked every day, avoided caffeine and took her prenatal vitamins.

The third bedroom of her town home had already been turned into a nursery, its walls painted a cheerful yellow. In her mind she could picture the wallpaper border that matched the curtains she’d sewn herself. A new crib sat next to a matching dresser filled with baby clothes and supplies. In the closet was a safety-approved baby seat for the car. The only thing Megan hadn’t planned on providing for her child was a daddy.

Blindly, she steered her cart toward the seafood counter, replaying her conversation with Mac Duncan in her head as she dodged a little girl pushing a miniature stroller.

If our roles were reversed, he’d said, wouldn’t you want to know something about the person who was going to raise your firstborn?

Was Megan being unreasonable in refusing to let him into her life? She hadn’t thought so when she put down the phone, but now she couldn’t help but wonder. How would she feel if the shoe was on the other foot?

To have a child out there somewhere, not knowing how it was treated, what it was being taught or even whether it was loved would be the worst pain she could imagine. Countless women who’d given up their babies for one reason or another had to live with that uncertainty. Did Megan have the right to make this man endure that same torture?

Her hand drifted to her abdomen. Whatever Mr. Duncan’s reason for donating sperm, he had in essence given her this child. Did that grant her the right to keep it from him or was she just being selfish?

Megan’s breath caught as an idea took root.

Perhaps all he really wanted was reassurance. Once he was convinced that she was a normal, caring person who would be a good mother to this baby, maybe his conscience would be satisfied and he’d just go away.

As Megan swung her cart around a corner, excitement coursing through her, she narrowly missed running into Blanche Hastings, one of the town busybodies.

“Well, hello, honey,” Blanche said, her gaze darting to Megan’s stomach. “How’s our little mother doing?”

Megan forced a smile. She suspected that Blanche and her friend, Flo Harris, weren’t above gossiping about Megan’s pregnancy and her lack of a husband. They prided themselves on knowing everything that went on in town.

“I’m just fine,” Megan replied politely as she maneuvered her cart around Blanche’s. “And you?”

“Right as rain, and glad winter’s finally over. Are you getting ready for the blessed event?”

“Sure am.” Megan didn’t want to get stuck answering any probing questions like the last time she’d run into Blanche and Flo. Lucky for Megan, another of their friends had appeared and she’d been able to make her escape without responding.

“We’ll have to throw you a shower,” Blanche said now, eagle eyes sharp as she assessed Megan’s tummy. “When are you due?”

“That’s so sweet of you.” Megan’s smile felt stiff. “There’s still plenty of time, though.” The last thing she wanted was to be the center of attention in a roomful of women speculating about her circumstances. “I’ll get back to you, okay?”

Before Blanche could fire off another awkward question, Megan stuck out her arm and glanced at her watch with exaggerated horror. “Goodness, I have an appointment in a little bit,” she said apologetically, mental fingers crossed. “Sorry, but I have to run.” Without a backward glance, she hurried down the next aisle.

Too bad there wasn’t someone whose advice she could seek in what to do about Duncan, but she had no family with whom she kept in close touch. Although she’d made a few friends since moving here and a couple of them knew the circumstances behind her pregnancy, this wasn’t something she felt comfortable discussing with any of them. The decision was hers alone, and it was one she would have to make very soon, despite what she’d told Blanche.

Biting her lower lip, she plucked a bag of peanut butter M&M’s from the shelf. There was good health, and then there was quality of life, she reasoned as she headed for the pasta aisle. Hoping she was correct about assuaging the man’s curiosity, she made her decision.

“I’ve reconsidered.”

It seemed that every time Mac heard Megan’s voice, he was so surprised by it that he nearly dropped the phone. Since he’d last talked to her, he’d been swamped with the Merritt project at work, frustrated with the clinic’s continued evasiveness and curiously reluctant to seek legal advice from a family friend in Denver. Cooperation was always preferable to adversity, and he still hoped to resolve the issue between Megan and himself peaceably.

He’d talked to Dennis briefly and the other man had promised to look into the situation and call Mac back, which he hadn’t done yet.

Unfortunately Mac was leaving for Atlanta first thing in the morning to attend a huge trade show. The convention usually provided a few solid leads and he wasn’t about to forgo the trip while he waited for Dennis’s call.

“What exactly do you mean by reconsidered?” he asked her now in a cautious voice. Was she finally willing to listen to reason?

She blew out a breath. “You’re right. If our situations were reversed, I’d want to know what kind of person was raising my child,” she admitted.

Relief pumped through him. “Taking that class together would give us a chance to get to know each other,” he suggested, his mind leaping ahead. “It starts on Tuesday.”

To his astonishment, she didn’t immediately object. “I think we should have a face-to-face meeting before then,” she said instead.

“I’d like that, too. Unfortunately I’m leaving town first thing in the morning and I won’t be back until late the afternoon of the first class.” Mac felt genuine regret. What if they loathed each other on sight? “I’d postpone the trip if I could, but it’s too important.” Would she think his priorities were out of whack? That he should put the child ahead of everything else? He refrained from pointing out that her own stubbornness was the reason they’d run out of time.

Megan gripped the receiver tighter, still clinging to the hope that he’d lose interest in the class and in her soon enough. She couldn’t imagine him giving up two evenings a week for a stranger and a child he’d fathered with so little involvement. If she was wrong about his staying power she’d be stuck with him for the duration, but if she wasn’t and he did drop out, she would probably be allowed to continue the course without a partner, since her due date was so near.

The idea cheered her. She was tired of arguing, tired of dodging him. And it wasn’t as though she’d lined up anyone else to go with her. If the truth be told, she hadn’t even asked around.

“What time are you leaving on your trip?” Perhaps they could still meet before then.

“Early. My flight out of Denver is at eight, so I’ll have to catch the first commuter plane from the county airport.”

Megan groaned softly. She wasn’t a morning person at the best of times, but now that she was pregnant, getting up at dawn wasn’t a sacrifice she was willing to make. “Okay,” she said on a burst of bravado. “If you’re sure you want to go through with this, I guess I’ll see you at the center on Tuesday evening.”

“How will I know you?” he asked.

“I’ll be the pregnant one,” she quipped, suddenly nervous. What was she getting herself into?

He chuckled appreciatively at her lame attempt at humor. “Oh, sure, I hadn’t thought of that.”

“Actually, my hair is kind of long and dark blonde,” she said, gesturing with her free hand even though he couldn’t see. “I’ll be wearing jeans and a red top.”

“And you’ll be alone,” he added with typical masculine bluntness. “I mean, everyone else should be paired up with someone.”

Megan pressed a hand to her stomach, seeking reassurance. “That’s right, two by two, just like on Noah’s Ark.” This was a huge mistake. She just knew it. “And I already have a description of you.”

“Yeah, I remember.” His tone was dry. “Intelligent and attractive. I’ll do my best to live up to that.”

As soon as she hung up, Megan realized that she had completely forgotten to talk to him about ground rules. He needed to understand that just because she’d agreed to take the class with him didn’t mean he was horning into her life.

Mac glanced at his watch as he drove into the clinic parking lot. Of course the plane from Atlanta had been late, and then an unexpected blizzard at the supposedly blizzard-proof Denver airport delayed his commuter flight. Despite all that, it was barely six-thirty. He had hoped to arrive a few minutes early so he could catch his breath and introduce himself to Megan before class began, but at least he wasn’t going to be so late that he made a bad first impression.

While he was in Atlanta he’d talked to Dennis Reid again. The chief of staff had spent the first five minutes of their conversation bragging about his new girlfriend, a “gorgeous babe” named Rachel, until Mac finally interrupted.

“Sorry to cut this short, but I’ve got an appointment in a few minutes. Were you able to find out anything about my situation?”

On the other end of the line, Dennis cleared his throat and Mac’s heart sank. Bad news.

“Truth is, I haven’t learned a thing, buddy. The director’s had major surgery, very unexpected. Then there was a big computer crash. Between you and me, the place is in chaos. Not my department, you understand, but the admin side’s a mess. Like a ship without a rudder. Until they sort things out, it’s not a time to get answers. Wish I had better news.”

Swallowing his frustration, Mac had thanked Dennis for his time and promised to get together for racquetball the next week. Maybe by then Dennis would have found out something for him.

Now Mac pulled his pickup into a parking slot and hurried inside the clinic, following the bright pink signs down the empty hallway. At the far end he could see a small group of people going two by two into one of the rooms. Slightly apart from the rest stood a woman with her back to Mac. She was wearing red and her hair was a tangle of dark honey.

Megan.

As he walked quickly toward her, his footsteps echoing in the hall, she turned around. Some part of Mac’s brain noticed that she was attractive despite her serious expression. The rest of him was too busy staring at the bulge beneath her red blouse. She was a lot farther along than he’d imagined, her body swollen with his child.

His child.

The enormity of it drove the air out of him like a hard fist to the gut. He faltered, his legs suddenly shaky, knowing he was gawking but unable to stop. Somehow hearing about the baby’s existence hadn’t even begun to prepare him for the visual.

“Are you Mac?” Her voice was low, betraying nothing, but her hands were linked in front of her, fingers poker straight. He wasn’t the only nervous one here.

The other people had already gone inside, leaving him and this woman alone in the hall.

“Yeah, I’m Mac Duncan,” he croaked. “And you’re Megan. Hi.”

He must have sounded normal enough to appease her. After a barely perceptible hesitation, she stuck out her hand. Her full mouth relaxed its pinched expression as she studied him, but when he touched her fingers, they were icy cold.

Wanting to stare at the evidence of her pregnancy, he forced himself instead to focus on her face. Her cheeks were gently flushed and her eyes were hazel. He must have looked as dazed as he felt, because a tiny crease appeared between her brows.

“Hi,” she echoed. “I was beginning to think you’d changed your mind.”

Vaguely he remembered the time. “I’d hoped to be here a few minutes early,” he said apologetically, “but the Denver airport’s a mess. It’s snowing there.”

She looked surprised. “Well, at least you’re here now.”

Feeling awkward, Mac ran a hand through his short brown hair. It was probably standing on end. He’d meant to shave in the car, but his razor was packed and he hadn’t wanted to take the time to pull over and dig it out. Some impression he must make—running late, with rumpled clothes and a five o’clock shadow.

Megan, on the other hand, looked neat and pretty despite her extremely rounded figure. Mac hadn’t thought to ask on the phone when she was due. “How far along are you?” he blurted.

The blush on her cheeks deepened as she plucked at her blouse. He hadn’t meant to embarrass her. Good manners had been drilled into him at an early age, but he had no idea what the protocol was for this particular situation.

“I’m due a month from yesterday,” she replied with a gesture toward the open door. “I think we’d probably better go in.”

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