A Billionaire And A Baby

“Let me guess,” Chris interjected, deadpan. “You’re not really a Lamaze instructor, you’re actually an international spy.” Not being able to hold it back any longer, Chris grinned as she glanced around at the others. “Sorry, occupational habit. I’ve been bringing my work home with me a lot.”

Joanna nodded knowingly. “Trust no one, right?” A healthy spoonful of cookie-dough ice cream punctuated her declaration.

Chris acknowledged how good it felt to laugh about her work. So much of it revolved around darker elements. “That’s only a rule of thumb when you’re checking out aliens on Sunday nights, Joanna.”

Sherry leaned forward. They were meandering again. That was usually a good thing as far as their conversations went, but Lori looked as if she had to get something off her chest. “What’s your big news, Lori?”

Lori let her spoon all but disappear into the dessert. Sherry noted that, unlike the rest of them, Lori had hardly eaten any of hers. A distant bell went off in her head, but for now she kept her suspicions on ice.

“Well,” Lori blew out a breath, “I don’t know if it’s big—” She hesitated.

Chris was a firm believer in cutting to the chase. Even when she was trying to relax. “Sure it is, otherwise you wouldn’t be hemming and hawing. C’mon, woman, out with it.”

There was no putting this off. Even if Lori wanted to, it would be evident soon enough. And these women had become her friends. Initially, she’d been the one to encourage them to turn to her and one another. Now she needed them. Life certainly had an ironic bent to it.

Her glance swept around the square table. “I think that my ties to this little group are going to get stronger.”

Joanna looked at her, slightly confused before a light slowly began to dawn. The light had already reached Chris, but before she could say anything, Sherry beat her to it. “You’re pregnant.”

Pressing her lips together, Lori nodded.

“And you don’t think you and the dad are going to get together.” It wasn’t hard for Chris to fill in the blanks, given the nature of the expression of Lori’s face.

“Not anymore.” Lori looked down at her dessert. Rivulets of light brown were flowing down along the entire circumference of the tulip-shaped glass bowl, forming a sticky ring around the base. She dabbed at them with her napkin. “My husband is dead.”

Chris looked at her sharply. “Oh, Lori, we’re so sorry.”

“Yes, I know. So am I,” Lori said, her hand inadvertently covering her still-flat stomach, mimicking a motion she’d seen time and again in her classes. She tried to sound positive. “I’ll be all right.”

“Of course it will.” Sherry could see that the woman didn’t really want to talk about it, that what she wanted right at this moment was to have the unconditional support of her friends at a time in her life that could charitably be called trying.

Reaching out, she squeezed Lori’s hand. When Lori looked in her direction, Sherry quipped, “So, how about those Dodgers?”

Laughing, the others took their cue, and the conversation drifted to all things light and airy, temporarily taking their minds away from the more serious areas of their lives.

A great deal of ice cream was consumed within the next hour.

The insidious ringing sound burrowed its way into the tapestry of her dreams, shredding the fabric before Sherry could think to snatch it back and save it for review once she was awake.

The instant her eyes were opened, the dream became a thing of the past.

The only thing she could remember was that it had created a warm haze of well-being within her. Something to do with a man loving her, caring for her, that was it. Instinctively she knew the man had been Drew during his better days, even though the face hadn’t belonged to him.

Was it morning already?

The phone. That horrid ringing noise was coming from the phone, not her alarm clock.

With a huge sigh, Sherry groped for the receiver. It took her two tries to locate it. Her eyes were shutting again, refusing to surrender to the intruding morning. She tucked the receiver against her ear and the pillow.

“This better be good,” she threatened.

By no stretch of the imagination was she now, or ever had been, a morning person. As far as she was concerned, God should have made sure that days began no earlier than eight o’clock, which was still pretty obscene in her book, but at least doable.

“Rise and shine, Cinderella. You told me to call when I had something.”

Rusty. Rusty was talking in her ear.

Her eyes flew open. She struggled to defog her brain. “What do you have?”

“Not overly much,” he warned her.

She knew better. Rusty wouldn’t be calling her at this hour, whatever it was, if it was nothing. He didn’t have a death wish.

“It’s too early to play games, Rusty.” Blinking, Sherry turned her head and tried to focus on her clock. It was barely five o’clock. No wonder she felt like death. “God isn’t even up yet. Talk to me. What did you find out?”

“There’s this mountain retreat. It belongs to someone else, somebody named Fletcher, but Adair likes to go to it just after he does a takeover—I won’t say a successful takeover because when he’s involved, they’re all successful,” he commented. “Going there is his way of celebrating.” The raspy sound that passed for his laugh undulated through the phone lines. “Personally, if I had his kind of money, I’d be out on the town. Hell, I’d be out buying the town.”

Still lying against her pillow, Sherry dragged her hand through her hair. “So he’s shy, okay, we already know that. Where’s this retreat located?”

“At the foot of the San Bernadino Mountains, just outside of Wrightwood.”

She’d been to Wrightwood a couple of times herself. It was a small town, predominantly known for its noncommercial skiing. All the dedicated skiers went to Big Bear, which was located on the other side of Wrightwood. The former offered snow and gridlock during the winter months. Wrightwood offered scenery, charm and relative isolation. She could see Adair going there.

Sherry waited, knowing, even in her semiconscious state, that there was more.

Rusty paused dramatically. “I managed to find out that Adair’s going there this weekend. As a matter of fact, he’s already on his way.”

Sherry took it for granted that what he was telling her was not common knowledge. If it was, Adair would be on his way to a media circus camped out on the front lawn. Given his personality, that would be the last thing he’d want.

She smiled to herself. Rusty never ceased to amaze her. The man was definitely a national treasure. She blessed the day she’d gone to bat with him with their former station manager when the man had wanted to terminate Rusty, saying he wasn’t a team player. It had gained her a lifelong ally.

“I know that I shouldn’t be asking this, Rusty, but how did you find this out?”

She could almost hear his smile as it spread over his generous mouth. He had a nice smile, she thought absently.

“Mrs. Farley keeps religious notes.”

The name was vaguely familiar, but at five in the morning, nothing was overly clear. “And she is?”

“His secretary. Has been for years. As a matter of fact, he brought her with him when he first came to SunCorp.” That was what the corporation had been called before he’d changed the name to Adair Industries. “From what I’ve gathered, Adair trusts her the way he doesn’t trust anyone else.”

That would have been the lioness at the gate, Sherry thought. The woman who hadn’t allowed her to see Adair. She’d asked the secretary for an audience with Adair before resorting to the elevator trick. There hadn’t seemed to be anything remarkable about Edna Farley. Obviously she hadn’t looked closely enough. “Interesting. And you got these notes how?”

“I know a lot of people, Sherry. Some of them don’t stray more than five feet from their computers at any given time.”

Hackers, he’d used hackers. Well, whatever made the world go around, she mused. “Got a location on this retreat?”

He chuckled. She knew better than to doubt him. “Is the Pope Catholic?”

“Last time anyone checked.” Awake now, she opened the drawer of the nightstand beside her bed and pulled out a pad and pencil. “Okay, shoot.”

Rusty hesitated. “Look, instead of my giving the directions to you over the phone, why don’t I just come over in a couple of hours and drive you over there myself?”

Rusty had his own job. She knew for a fact that he couldn’t afford to take time off. The station manager would be all over him if he did. “You’ve already done enough, Rusty.” There’d been concern in his voice. She found it sweet but shackling. “I can take care of myself.”

Rusty huffed. “In case you haven’t noticed, you’re pregnant.”

She hated the fact that people viewed her differently because of her condition. Of all people Rusty should have known better. “Being pregnant doesn’t mean I can’t see over the steering wheel, Rusty, or that I’ve suddenly forgotten how to take corners.”

He laughed gruffly. “I’ve seen how you drive, Campbell. They should have taken away your keys the second anyone found out you were expecting.”

“Sweet of you to worry, Rusty, but I can take it from here. Just give me the directions.”

He knew better than to argue with her. When it came to being stubborn, he’d learned his first week on the job that Sherry had no equal. He rattled off the directions, including which freeway exits she was to take and for how long. He prided himself on being thorough.

“If you change your mind about going alone, you know where to find me. I’ll be the one on the arm of the sexiest cover model in the room.”

“That’s just how I’ll expect to find you.” Laughing, she hung up.

With a sigh, Sherry dug her fists in on either side of her and then pushed herself up into an upright position.

Adair.

The memory hit her like a thunderbolt. The face of the man in her dream, the one who was supposed to have been Drew, had belonged to Adair.

Her eyes widened before she dismissed the thought. Her brain had obviously taken recent events and combined two areas of her life. Either that, or she was hallucinating. The only thing that Adair had going for him was piles of money. Okay, that and looks, she amended. Neither of which meant anything to her. The next time she was going to trust a man, he was going to have to be strong, sensitive and caring.

A sense of humor wouldn’t hurt, either. As for looks, well, she already knew what that was worth. Pretty faces, like as not, usually were the domain of shallow, vacant people. Drew was living proof of that.

With yet another deep sigh, Sherry got off the bed and went to the bathroom. The first visit of many today, she thought wearily.

He liked it here.

Liked the massive wood-framed rooms, the sparse furnishings, the wide-open spaces, both inside and out. He’d driven most of the night to get here after his late meeting with his lawyers to finalize the deal he’d been working on. It was worth it.

Sin-Jin looked through the bay window that faced the mountain and the landing pad where his private helicopter stood, waiting his pleasure. He wouldn’t be using it today. He wanted nothing more than to stay here.

There was no doubt about it. There was something bracing about being alone in the wilderness.

Of course, he didn’t attempt to delude himself that he was the thriving descendent of some savvy, resourceful frontier backwoodsman. He liked his creature comforts along with his solitude. Although he had to admit that he had toyed with the idea of not having a phone here. But in the end his sense of practicality had won over his need to be alone. The compromise was that only Mrs. Farley had his phone number here.

He trusted her implicitly. She wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize his privacy. Privacy had become paramount for him. That was why the cabin he chose to stay in was registered to John Fletcher in the county books. No one suspected he was here today.

Mrs. Farley and he went way back. Far further than anyone suspected. Certainly a lot further than his years as a corporate raider. Other than his uncle, Edna Farley had been the first person to make a positive impact in his life, the first person who had made him feel that he mattered.

Who knew what path his life would have taken if not for her, he mused.

He owed her, owed her a great deal. Though not very vocal, he’d told her as much years ago. All she had ever asked of him was to let her earn her keep. He would have been more than willing to set her up with a lifetime trust fund in any place of her choice. She would have been set for life, but she’d chosen to work at his side. That was typical of her.

He had to admit, he rather liked that. In a way she was the mother his own mother had never been, although Edna Farley never blatantly displayed maternal feelings. They were alike that way, each shut inside with their own emotions. But she took care of him nonetheless. As he did her.

Sin-Jin looked at the gray flagstone fireplace, debating building a fire. The air was nippy up here, a hundred miles away from where he usually resided. It was barely fall, but cold weather found its way faster to this part of Southern California. There was no snow on the mountains yet, but prospects looked good, he thought. The local shopkeepers would be happy.

Maybe someday he’d retire here, he mused. It would be an idyllic life. His mouth curved. As if he could stand a life with no challenges for more than a few days.

The sound of barking in the distance alerted him. Striding across the hardwood floor, Sin-Jin went directly to his gun cabinet and took out a rifle. As he moved to the front door, he loaded the weapon. That was Greta barking. His Irish setter was his flesh-and-blood alarm system and as far as he was concerned, she did a far more effective job than any state-of-the-art laser beams. There were other advantages as well. A high-tech system couldn’t curl up at his feet in the evening and look up at him with soulful brown eyes that helped to ease the building tension of his everyday life.

Pulling the door open, Sin-Jin looked around. The woods were some three hundred feet to his right, but from this vantage point, he saw nothing.

“What is it, Greta?”

At the sound of his voice, the barking increased. As he listened, he placed the direction of origin. It was coming from several yards away. Sin-Jin strode toward the sound, his fingers wrapped around his weapon, ready for anything.

Anything except for what he found.

It was that woman again, that reporter who’d jumped into the elevator with him the other day and tried to waylay him for a story.

Damn it, how the hell did she find this place?

He scowled as he went toward her. She wore a white parka that hung open around her. He doubted that she could even come close to zipping it up around her stomach.

Something Campbell, that was it. Cheryl? No, Sherry.

He grew angrier with every step he took. She had the face of an angel and the body of a lumbering bear all primed for hibernation. Why wasn’t she hibernating?

“You’re trespassing!” he called out to her. “What the hell are you doing up here?”

Sherry struggled to catch her breath. The all-terrain vehicle she’d borrowed from a friend had decided that it wasn’t altogether happy traversing this terrain and had given up the ghost about half a mile down the road. Walking had never been a problem for her, even while carrying around the extra pounds that her baby had brought with it, but this particular half mile had all been uphill. The dog appearing out of nowhere hadn’t exactly helped matters any. Her heart was still pounding wildly. Luckily the dog had decided to be friendly.

“Right now, having car trouble,” Sherry managed to get out.

Yeah, right. You’d think that someone who wrote for a living would be more original than that. “If you expect me to believe that—”

“Go see for yourself.” Turning, Sherry pointed behind her down the mountain. “It’s about half a mile down the road.”

He had half a mind to call the sheriff and have her arrested. That would put the fear of God into her. Fuming, Sin-Jin glared at her. The woman was panting. He eyed her stomach. Her whole body seemed to be vibrating from the effort it had taken to get here.

“Are you out of your mind?” he demanded. Pregnant women were supposed to stay near hospitals, not hike up mountainsides.

“Probably.” She stopped to draw in more air. Her lungs were finally beginning to feel as if they weren’t about to explode. She tried to smile and succeeded only marginally. “I’ve been accused of that on occasion.”

Sin-Jin glanced down at Greta. The dog was prancing around the woman who kept insisting on intruding into his life. It was as if Greta and the reporter were old friends. The barking, now that he thought about it, had been the friendly variety, the kind he was apt to hear when Greta wanted to play. Obviously the animal didn’t see the woman as a threat.

He wondered if Greta was getting old.

Sherry tried to wet her lips and discovered that she couldn’t. Her mouth felt as dry as dust. “I hate to trouble you, but would you mind getting me a glass of water?”

“Yes.” Disgusted, Sin-Jin paused. It would serve the woman right if he sent her on her way just as she was. He sincerely doubted that there was anything wrong with her car. But she was obviously pregnant, and there were beads of perspiration along her brow despite the cold temperature. The walk up here, for whatever reason, had cost her. He glanced back at the cabin. Sin-Jin didn’t relish the idea of taking her in there. “I don’t suppose you want it out here.”

Sherry was beginning to feel very wobbly, as if her legs were turning to the consistency of cotton after being soaked in water. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to sit down.” She glanced at her surroundings and second-guessed what he was about to say. “Preferably not on a rock.”

She raised her eyes to his, the blueness assaulting him. In the light of day they looked even more intense than they had in the elevator. There was something really unsettling about the way she looked at him. His thoughts came to an abrupt halt as he gazed into her eyes.

Probably just the altitude getting to him, Sin-Jin reasoned.

“What a surprise,” he muttered. “All right, come on.” He waved her forward. “But once you’re rested, you’re going back.”

She didn’t bother trying to keep up. Walking was now a challenge.

“My car died,” she reminded him.

“I’m pretty handy with a car. I’ll get it going.” There was no room for doubt in his voice. He glanced over his shoulder to see if she’d heard him. Her mouth was curved. “Why are you smiling?”

“I’ve learned something about you already.” She struggled not to huff as she followed. “I don’t recall reading anywhere that you were handy with cars.”

Sin-Jin blew out a breath, saying nothing. Instead he glanced at Greta, who was prancing excitedly from foot to foot as she ran alongside of the woman, only to backtrack and then begin again. She gave the impression of trying to shepherd the reporter into his cabin.

“Traitor,” he muttered under his breath.

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