The Baby Bargain

The hell with polite.

The meeting was out of his control, the first time he recalled that happening ever, and he had five feet, six inches of curving Betty Crocker to thank for it.

When the plate of cookies made it back to their end of the table, she reached in front of him and held it aloft. Unshakably pleasant, she offered, “Cookie? Only—”

“Three Weight Watchers points?” he recited along with her. “I heard.” Smiling with no humor at all, he reached for a perfectly round disk studded with chocolate chips. Examined it. “It looks good. And sweet.”

Returning the cookie to the plate, he curled his lips into something feral. “But I’m an Atkins man.” He leaned toward her, his words for her ears only. “See, I have a goal. Don’t think for one second that I’m going to let a little sugar get in my way.”

Chapter Two

“Then he looked at me with his beady eyes all scrunched up and nasty and said, ‘Don’t think for one second I’m going to be nice about this!’ Or something like that. That was the idea, anyway.”

Eden sat on an Elmo beach towel spread atop the grass in Woodstock Park and recounted the afternoon’s weirdness for her best friend and housemate, Liberty Sanchez. Eden’s accent, modulated and subtle on a typical day, sounded particularly twangy when anger became her overriding emotion. “Oh, mah Gaawwwwd, what a weasel.”

Snatching a red grape from the bag she’d brought for their dinner picnic and popping it into her mouth, Liberty shrugged with the fatalism she’d developed over her thirty years. “Sounds like a typical businessman. You get in his way, you’re dust.” Her near-black eyes narrowed. “Was it so important to make your point, Eden? I mean, I know you care about your business, but as long as what’s-his-face—”

“Lawrence Logan, Jr., rich boy.”

“As long as Junior saves the day, does it matter so much how he does it?”

Eden cast her friend a look of disbelief. “Since when did you decide the end justifies the means? I do like that you called him Junior, though.”

Remaining worked up, she slapped her hand on the towel, close to her playing son, who dropped his Elmo phone. Swiftly, Eden retrieved the toy and handed it back. “Sorry, honey. Mommy is in a snit, all right. You gotta bear with me. Some people get under my skin, and I just can’t scratch hard enough.”

“Maybe,” Liberty said with her usual dry brand of calm, “the problem is you scratch yourself and think the other person is going to bleed.”

Eden scowled at her best friend since middle school. “You have got to stop going to those twelve-step groups. You’re absolutely ruining my resentments.”

Liberty said nothing more. Wrapping up the grapes and stashing them in a plastic container along with a tofu quiche she’d made for their dinner, she stowed the container in a nylon backpack and slipped the straps over her shoulders. While Eden got Liam ready for the short walk home, Liberty shook out their blanket.

Watching her friend, Eden knew, as she’d always known, that although she and Liberty had reacted differently to their life circumstances, they’d both grown a protective armor that functioned as a second skin. Most of the time they understood each other quite well. They were excellent roommates and good friends. Moreover, Liberty was studying at night to be an ob-gyn nurse. Eden had wondered whether introducing a baby to the mélange would encourage Liberty to look elsewhere for housing, but her roommate’s enjoyment of babies had smoothed the path so far.

Fitting Liam into his front carrier became easier with an extra set of hands as Liberty wordlessly adjusted the straps Eden had trouble reaching.

“Thanks.” She passed Liberty the Elmo phone and took the cold purple teething ring Liberty handed her. Liam accepted it eagerly from his mother and began gumming. “You always know just what he needs. You sure you don’t want one of these? I know a great fertility clinic.”

Liberty’s laugh sounded like a squawk. “No, thank you.” She smoothed Liam’s dark baby curls. “I’ll stick to helping them come into the world and babysitting this one.”

It was the answer Eden expected. Liberty’s childhood had been as tough as Eden’s, one reason they’d bonded as girls and remained tight as they sprinted toward thirty. Whereas Liberty had decided she didn’t know enough about happy families to help create one, Eden for years had longed to start a family of her own and to give her kids what she had not had—a magical childhood.

Like Liberty, she enjoyed the work of bringing children into the world. That, coupled with her keen interest in natural medicine, had led to her work as a doula and eventually to her job at the Children’s Connection. She’d worked hard, made a nice home, but had never met the guy. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t tried. Just the opposite: she’d tried too hard.

The fallout from her failed relationships polluted the memory of her late teens and early twenties. Truth be told, she’d had a few too many relationships.

Her head had been so doggone stuffed with dreams about forever and about that big strong somebody she could cling to in times of trouble…geez Louise, her poor brain hadn’t had any room to work.

She’d turned a new leaf, thank God. Hadn’t had a relationship in an age, and never let herself even think anymore about strong arms and a man who’d die for her and blah, blah, blah.

Her Southern ancestors may have thought it was impossible to raise a family without a man, but Eden knew better. It would have been pure foolishness to wait until she’d met someone marriageable before she’d had a baby. Her ovaries might have been the size of pinheads by then.

Besides, she’d learned the hard way that waiting for someone to fix things generally meant you stayed broken. A smart woman solved her own problems.

And a scared woman made deals with her Maker. Eden had made one.

Since the age of fourteen, she’d been keeping a journal in which she wrote down her thoughts about life, her hopes and prayers and gripes. A few years ago, when she’d decided to have a child on her own, she’d written it in her diary like this: “God, give me a baby, and you’ll never have a single cause to call me an unmindful mother.”

From the time she’d conceived, she’d known her first priority would always be Liam. Nothing would get in the way of providing a lighthearted and stable growing-up time for her little boy. And that meant—

NO MORE MEN.

She’d written that in her journal, too, with a red permanent marker. Her life had fallen apart when she was ten because of a man. She’d been in second grade when her mother, an artist with a wild spirit, had become a bit too wild. By the time her mother was diagnosed with manic depression, her stepfather had thrown in the towel on the marriage and their family. Her birth father was no help, having moved with no forwarding address before Eden learned to say “Dada.” Two men had broken her heart and she’d spent the better part of her young womanhood acting as if a man was the glue to put it back together. It upset her to think about it, because she so, so knew better!

Now that she’d finally gotten her mind settled on being a singleton, it was just God’s sense of humor to give her a case of hormones that made her libido jumpier than a frog on fire.

Pregnancy had increased her cravings for more than Doritos and peanut-butter-cup ice cream. Fortunately, she’d had work to focus on during the months she’d carried Liam. Then she’d given birth, and postpartum concerns trumped sexual interest any day of the week.

Drat LJ Logan for showing up and revving her engine even while he was busy irritating her. The man had some powerful pheromones, and the truth was he’d been on her mind all evening.

“I wonder what Junior’s story is,” she murmured, knowing she should have bitten her tongue. It was just the simple truth that one of her failings as a human was her habit of thinking about the very things she shouldn’t.

Liam dropped his teething ring. Liberty made a beautiful save and handed it back without missing a beat. “Story about what?” she asked.

“About why he doesn’t want kids.”

“How do you know that? From what you told me, the two of you didn’t get chatty.”

“Well, no, but I asked him straight out whether he had any. His answer was absolutely a negative. The boy practically shouted it.”

“So you stayed after the meeting and talked to him?”

“I asked him during the meeting.”

“In front of the board? In front of the people who hired him?”

“Of course, and don’t look at me like that.” Heat suffused Eden’s face and chest. “I was trying to make a point.”

“You’re not supposed to make points in front of a man’s boss. Not if you hope to have even a barely civil relationship with him.”

“I don’t need a civil relationship with LJ Logan.” That was the truth, too. “I need him to do his job well enough to help save the Children’s Connection, and right now I have my doubts.”

Liberty shook her head. “As long as I’ve known you, you’ve had excellent interpersonal skills.”

Eden was about to say thank you when her roommate added, “Except when it comes to men. Then you’re a dolt.”

Eden stopped walking. “I beg your pardon, please? I have never had complaints from males regarding my communication skills.”

Liberty patted her shoulder. “Don’t get your thong in a knot. You start to sound like Scarlett O’Hara when you’re upset.” She continued walking. “All I’m saying is, remember Hal Sneeden? He called you emotionally withholding.”

Eden felt a stab of pain but told herself to ignore it. “Oh, that.” She waved a hand and strolled after Liberty. “That doesn’t mean I can’t communicate. I never wanted to get emotionally intimate with Hal Sneeden. And you agreed I could never get serious about him, anyway. Remember? Because if we’d gotten married I’d have been Eden Sneeden.”

Leaving the park, they headed down the sidewalk toward home. “People would have said, ‘There go Eden Sneeden’s kids.’” Bending forward, she kissed Liam’s head. “I would never do that to you, precious.”

Liberty’s throaty laugh lightened the atmosphere, but inside Eden struggled not to feel hurt all over again. The breakup with Hal had happened seven years ago, and when she recalled his words they still gnawed at the edges of her confidence, like bugs on a leaf. His exact words had been, “I’ve never felt really close to you.”

Well, shoot! She gritted her teeth as tears gathered at the corners of her eyes. She didn’t care a fig about Hal Sneeden anymore; she really didn’t. But even though she’d dated much more frequently than Liberty had, it had not escaped her notice that Liberty had close platonic relationships with men, whereas she, Eden, had never had a boyfriend she could also call her friend.

She chewed on that some as they walked the brief route home, where families—the typical, nuclear variety—dotted their path like land mines.

Passing a gray bungalow, both she and Liberty raised their hands to wave to the Scotts, a family of five that included three kids, a mother and a father, all of whom could be found outside playing or working together on even the poorest excuse for a nice day. Farther ahead were the Michaelsons—two toddlers, working mom, stay-at-home dad who liked to construct temporary forts out of fallen branches and twigs. Like their neighbors, they were determinedly finding things to do outside, relishing the early spring weather before the next spate of April showers.

Outwardly, Eden kept smiling. Secretly she couldn’t wait to get home, where she could hole up inside the rest of the night and ignore all the happy three-, four- and fivesomes.

Portland was truly a family town. Several years back it had been touted as one of the ten best cities in the country in which to raise children. That made it a great place to pursue her work as a childbirth coach. A terrific place to have and raise Liam. It was less terrific when she didn’t want to be reminded that Liam might someday think she’d shortchanged him by bringing him into the world without a daddy.

And sometimes when she lay in bed—not at night, but in the morning—and listened to the twitter of birds and the sound of her son’s breathing, she wished for someone to turn to, to whisper with, to plan the day.

She glanced down as Liam’s head bobbed against her chest. The motion of walking lulled him into his evening snooze. Gently, she stroked the hair around his ears. You’re the only guy for me from now on, little man. Still, it would be nice to be part of a larger community.

“I read about a woman in Florida who started a cooperative housing development,” she said contemplatively to Liberty. “The intention is to bring foster kids together with people who want to adopt or at least mentor children. The housing is available to people of all ages. You can even eat together in a common dining hall.”

Liberty eyed her doubtfully. “It sounds like a dorm.”

Eden laughed. “No, really, co-op communities sound like nice places. Most have common areas for the kids to play together. Some even do cooperative babysitting and there’s a deliberate effort to make the communities multigenerational, which is great for the kids.” She ran her fingers over Liam’s soft dark curls, so different from her wavy blond hair. “It would be nice to think he’s with people who feel like…”

“Like family without the need for therapeutic intervention?”

This time Eden’s laughter rang out down the street. “You are such a cynic.”

“Mmm.”

They reached their block of smaller Portland style bungalows, and Liberty stepped up her pace. “I’ve got major studying to do. I’m going to head to First Cup for something very tall, very strong and very iced. You want?”

“Nope.” Eden hadn’t done caffeine since the stick turned pink, and she didn’t particularly need more calories tonight. She nodded to Liam. “If the master of the house sleeps a little longer, I just might look up the co-op projects in Portland.”

“Have at it. Just don’t expect me to move with you. I like my privacy.”

Both women stopped talking when they reached their house. Parked in front was a sleek black Cadillac coupe. An impatient-looking man leaned indolently against the dry-rot-damaged porch rail Eden kept promising herself she would fix. Dark glasses hid his eyes.

“Speaking of tall and strong,” Liberty murmured.

Eden shook her head. What was he doing here? She stared at LJ Logan, only assuming he stared back from behind the expensive-looking shades.

“You left out icy,” she said.

“What?” Liberty gazed toward the porch unabashedly. By choice, she didn’t date, but she wasn’t shy.

“That’s LJ Logan.” Eden spoke out the side of her mouth, keeping her voice low. “Very tall, probably strong, and could freeze water with his tongue.”

“That’s the guy you tangled with?”

“Yeah.”

Liberty gave an exaggerated wag of her dark head. “El es muy guapo.”

“Cut it out,” Eden whispered, trying not to move her lips. “For all we know he speaks Spanish.”

“Ooh. Then he might—just might—be worth dating.”

Ignoring her roommate, Eden slowly approached her porch, curious but warier than a cat in a dog run. Portland General Hospital, which housed the Children’s Connection, was located across the river, at least thirty to forty minutes from her neighborhood if there was any traffic at all.

“You’re a long way from the west side,” she said to LJ when she was close enough to speak softly over Liam’s head and still be heard.

“Ain’t it the truth?” A smile spread slowly across LJ’s face, softening the bored rich-man expression. He nodded at Liberty. “Evening. I see you’ve been enjoying the good weather.” Still without moving off the porch or even uncrossing his arms, he focused on the baby sleeping against Eden’s chest. “And this must be the teether you mentioned. He looks happy now.”

Liberty joined Eden, standing near her shoulder. “He doesn’t seem icy,” she cracked sotto voce. More loudly, she said, “Well, we’ve just come back from a picnic. I’ve got to put the leftovers in the fridge.”

Jogging lightly up the steps, she stopped alongside LJ, who straightened away from the porch rail and extended his hand.

“LJ Logan,” he said, by way of introduction, “one of Ms. Carter’s coworkers. And you are?”

“Libertad Sanchez.” Liberty laid on the Spanish accent, which she could turn on and off as easily as she worked a faucet. “Roommate,” she added. “Also in-house natural foods chef and the voice of Eden’s conscience. I have a fruit-sweetened berry crisp in the kitchen, and you’re welcome to try it as long as you didn’t come here to rake Eden over the coals. She already feels terrible for dissing you in your business meeting.”

“Liberty!”

Without a glance at Eden, Liberty gave LJ a sexy smile and a shrug. “I tried. You two play nice. Try to set a good example for the baby.”

She disappeared into the house. More slowly than her friend, Eden walked up the steps. She looked Mr. Logan straight in the sunglasses.

“I did not ‘dis’ you. I stated my opinion calmly and courteously.”

He cocked his head. “Where are you from?”

“Pardon me?”

“I’m trying to place your accent. It comes and goes. Right now it’s a little thick, so I’m guessing that you’ve worked hard to eradicate it, but when you’re tense it comes back.”

Eden, who liked to think she had total control over the accent she had indeed tried to eradicate, frowned at him unhappily. “Mr. Logan, it’s after work hours and you haven’t told me why you are here.”

He nodded. “You see? You said, heah. You’re stressed around me. Like you were at the meeting. Why was that?”

He was sure right about her being stressed now, Eden thought; he liked to knock her off track. The conversation kept changing direction, and still he hadn’t answered her question. “Why are you—” she stopped short of saying heah “—present?”

Teeth that had been straightened to perfection flashed in a grin. His entire being oozed male charm. “To be perfectly frank, I’m not certain why I’m here, Ms. Carter. Why don’t you ask me in—or at least invite me to have a seat on your very inviting porch—and perhaps we’ll both find out.”

Eden gestured to the porch.

“You can sit there—” she nodded toward a wicker chair with a tall fan back “—while I put the baby down.”

Liam was asleep in his crib, changed and dressed in footed pajamas before she joined her self-invited guest. Garage-sale furniture, Goodwill crockery and a selection of organic herbs she kept watered and well-groomed decorated the porch he’d called inviting. She set a tray with two glasses of iced tea on a large wooden end table.

Settling into his chair’s mate and wishing she’d had time to sand and paint her porch furniture in the last year, Eden watched LJ sip the herbal tea.

“It’s…different. What is it?”

“Mostly fenugreek and blessed thistle, herbs that are good for lactating women. They increase milk supply.”

He’d removed his sunglasses while she was in the house. The blue eyes she remembered from the meeting regarded her wryly. “And what, pray tell, will they do to me?”

Eden raised her glass. “Let’s find out, shall we?” She drained half the glass, inviting him to do the same.

His appreciative laugh drew the glance of a neighbor walking his boxer. Eden waved.

“So we were going to figure out why I’m here,” he said, making his own chair creak as he leaned back. “I think I know.”

She waited while he let the suspense build. He was quite the politician, working his audience, watching for the reaction. Her continued silence didn’t seem to bother him in the least.

“I like you,” he said finally. “Your coworkers like you. I’d go so far as to say they respect your opinion. That says something.”

“And did you charm one of my respectful coworkers into giving you my address?”

“Not at all. I charmed one of them into letting me look at the company files.”

Surprised by his honesty, she let herself relax. “You’re unrepentant.”

“I’m determined. I’d like to talk to you about my plan for the Children’s Connection campaign.”

“Isn’t it the same one you showed us in the meeting?” She covered her mouth. “I apologize. I didn’t mean for that to sound rude. I just mean I already saw it, and I…”

“Don’t like it. Right.”

When her cheeks reddened, he nodded and set his glass on the table between them. “This is why I want to talk to you again. I like you. I don’t want you to say something you’ll feel awful about. You see, I have a theory. You don’t like my ideas…yet. But you do like me. And right now you’re thinking to yourself, ‘Eden, just give the guy a chance.’” He leaned toward her, smiling. “Am I right or am I right?”

Chapter Three

Eden felt a little moustache of nervous perspiration break out above her upper lip. Damn, he was good. And, she had to admit that when he leaned forward like that, his gaze focused as if she were the only person in the world, it was easy to forget he was here for one reason and one reason only: to make his own life easier by persuading her to support him.

“Actually,” she demurred, shooting him an apologetic look, “I feel bad any time I have to tell a potentially hurtful truth. Why, once, I saw a neighbor’s big old tomcat chasing a sweet little marmalade tabby and it was not the first time, let me tell you. I marched right across the street and knocked on that neighbor’s door and said, ‘Ma’am, your tomcat is behaving like the neighborhood bully. You’d better put a stop to it at once or he won’t have any friends at all.’ I felt awful then, too, but it had to be said.”

Finished, she sat back, a butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-her-mouth smile on her face. To his credit, LJ’s eyes sparked in appreciation. He nodded. “Well, it was just a theory.” Speaking more sincerely, he said, “I’m a public relations and marketing expert, Eden. I know what I’m doing. I can put the Children’s Connection back in the community’s good graces. And I can do it quickly. But it’s going to be more difficult if one of the organization’s favorite employees bad-mouths my ideas.”

Modest, too, she thought wryly. “I don’t doubt you know more about ad campaigns and promotions than I do, Mr. Logan.”

“LJ.”

“But I know about prospective parents. I won’t restate all my objections to your approach, except to say again, since you’re here, that I don’t think we can establish credibility by looking as if we don’t understand or are afraid to acknowledge reality. By that, I mean the reality of our troubles at the Connection and the reality of being a parent. Especially a single parent.”

“I see.” He mulled her words over. When he spoke again, she had to admit he didn’t sound defensive at all. “Putting aside the problems at the Children’s Connection for a moment,” he said, “let’s talk about the second part of your objection. You think my commercial showed disregard for the rigors of parenting by making life seem good, enjoyable. Do you enjoy your life, Eden?”

“Of course I do. That’s not the point.”

“How long have you been a single parent?”

“As long as I’ve been a mother, Mr. Logan.”

“LJ.”

“And, I work with mothers-to-be every day. When I say they don’t want to be fed a lot of hearts-and-flowers malarkey, I know what I’m talking about.” Because that sounded harsh, she added, “If you don’t mind my saying so.”

“Not a bit.” A beat passed. “Did you become a single parent intentionally or did Liam’s father leave?”

Eden simply stared at her visitor. She might live in the Northwest now, but she’d been born in the South, where that question would surely be considered too personal. “I’m terribly sorry, but that information is not your business, Mr. Logan—”

“LJ—”

“Mr. Logan. Because after all, I barely know you.”

“Hmm. That’s true.” He let a frown crease his handsome face. “On the other hand, you thought you knew me well enough this afternoon to discredit my work.” He tilted his head, thinking, then decided aloud, “Yep. I earned the right to at least one personal question.”