The Pregnancy Pact: The Pregnancy Secret / The CEO's Baby Surprise / From Paradise...to Pregnant!

“That is gross.”

“It isn’t. It’s combining practicality with extreme luxury. You have to admit there is nothing particularly comfortable or luxurious about a toilet seat.”

She remembered this about him with an ache of longing: that easy irreverence that made her want to be stuffy and disapproving, but she always gave in and laughed instead.

She could feel her lips twitching. He saw it, too.

“Think about it,” Kade pressed on. “We could offer designer colors. Pickled pumpkin and redneck camo. We could throw in a free matching dress with every purchase.”

She tried to be stern. She giggled. He smiled at her giggle. She succeeded in smothering her giggle. He succeeded in smothering his smile.

“I think,” she said severely, Mother Superior to misbehaving novice, “we should try to get the floors done before we tackle anything else together.”

“Oh, right. Okay. So come and look at this.”

She went over to where he was glaring at the floor. “What do you think?”

“About what?”

“That was what I was afraid of,” he groaned. “I already sanded this part. Not much is happening. I just went out and got a different grit of sandpaper. I’m going to try it again. Cover your ears.”

Obediently, Jessica put her hands over her ears. The machine roared to life. It was like standing next to a jackhammer.

To her relief, Kade stopped it after a few seconds. “Better,” he said, “but still...” A light came on in his face. “It’s not heavy enough.”

“Huh?”

“The sander. It isn’t heavy enough to really dig into those floors. Get on.”

“What?”

“Come on. Sit on the front of it.”

“Have you lost your mind?”

“You wanted to help. You can’t do much with your arm like that. Come sit on the sander.”

Why hadn’t she just gone and ordered a pizza? Against her better judgment, she moved a little closer. “Sit on it?” She tapped it. “Here?”

He nodded eagerly.

Oh, jeez, it had always been hard not to get caught up in his enthusiasm.

She kicked off her shoes, gathered her skirt underneath her and sat down regally on the sander. She planted her feet firmly on a part of it that looked like a front fender. “Do not do anything that will jeopardize my other arm,” she warned him.

“Don’t worry.” Grinning happily, he started the sander. A quiver ran through her. And then a tremble.

“Oh, my God.” Her voice came out shaking, as if she was trying to talk from under water. In the midst of an earthquake. With her good hand, she clutched wildly at the side of the sander. She braced her front feet.

“Ready?”

Ready? Sheesh, Jessica, run for your life! Instead, she clung like a bronc rider waiting for the gate to open. She nodded her head.

The machine lurched across the floor.

“That’s better,” Kade called. “It’s working!” He swung the huge machine slowly back and forth over the floor.

“I feel like I’m on one of those machines from a seventies gym,” she yelled. Her voice sounded as if she was a cartoon character. Her whole body was vibrating crazily. She could see the flesh on her arms and legs jiggling rapidly.

She started to laugh. Even her laughter was shaking. Kade also gave a shout of pure glee.

He abandoned the slow sweeping motions in the corner and swiveled the machine outward. He raced across the living room, pushing the machine in front of him. Jessica glanced over her shoulder. A wide swath of sanded wood showed behind them, like the wake behind a boat.

They rocketed toward the front door.

An older woman put her head in. Her glasses slipped down her face and her mouth fell open. She was followed by her husband. His mouth fell open, and he grabbed her arm and tried to push her back out the door, as if protecting her from a sight unsuitable for a lady.

She was having none of it, though. She stood her ground, taking in the sight, wide-eyed.

Kade jerked the machine to a halt so quickly Jessica was nearly launched. He turned off the machine. Jessica pulled her skirt down—the vibrating had made it ride dangerously up her thigh—and tried to quit laughing. An undignified snort, caused by the suppressed laughter, came out of her mouth.

“Yes?” Kade asked their visitors, his voice dignified, as if not a thing was amiss.

“Uh, we were wondering if there’s a yard sale,” the man said when it was evident his wife was still shocked speechless. “We wondered about the bench.”

“Not for sale,” Kade said, and then Jessica heard a familiar wickedness enter his tone. “However, I’ll give you a good deal on the world’s best vibrator.”

The woman staggered backward out the door. The man’s mouth fell open so hard, his chin hit his chest.

“Sorry to disturb you,” he cried as he backed out the door after his wife.

Jessica waited until they were gone. She glared up at the man who was her husband, but she could not stir any genuine annoyance with him. Instead, she remembered how funny and spontaneous he was, she remembered that irreverent edge to his humor.

A smile was tickling his lips. And then she remembered that oh-so-familiar grin. And realized she had never really forgotten that.

Kade gave a shout of pure delight and devilment. And then the laughter spilled out of Jessica, too, and they were both laughing. Hard. Until they were doubled over with it, until the walls of their little house rang with it.

Until the laughter flowed between them like a river that connected them to everything they had once been.

CHAPTER TEN

KADE LOOKED AT Jessica and realized how much he loved to make her laugh. He always had. That was what he had missed most when their relationship had begun to go sideways. Her laughter.

“Goodness,” Jessica said a little breathlessly. “I have not laughed like that in a very long time.”

“Me, either,” he admitted.

“It reminds me of when we were younger,” she said.

“Me, too.”

“Before...” Her voice faded away. But he knew what she meant. Before the loss of the first baby. And then the second one. Her laughter had leached out of her like bloodred wine leaking from a wineskin with a small puncture in it.

And when she had stopped laughing, and when he had realized how powerless he was to fix that, nothing had seemed worth laughing about to him anymore, either.

Now he watched as she scrambled off the sander, brushing at that ugly skirt with her good arm. The laughter had lightened the strained look around her eyes and mouth.

But when she faced him, a different kind of strain was there. And it wasn’t, for once, the strain of remembering everything that had transpired between them.

This had been lost, too, this deep and delicious sense of awareness of each other. Or maybe not lost. Maybe it had gone underground, like a creek that ran below the surface. It didn’t matter that right now, Jessica’s surface was encased in that thoroughly revolting dress. Kade could see, with utter ease, to what was underneath. And not her underwear. Her spirit. He could sense that beautiful, sensual awareness of each other, a longing to touch and explore.

In their marriage, it felt as if that had gone, too. It had gone the same place the laughter had gone—into that lonely abyss. It was as if the raft of life that they had shared had snapped in two, and they had stood by helplessly, with no paddles, drifting farther and farther away, not able to stop it.

“Why babies?” he asked softly.

“What?”

She actually looked frightened by the question.

“Why Baby Boomer? Why is your business about all things baby when that caused us so much heartache?”

“Oh.” She relaxed visibly. “I’m not sure it was even intentional. You know some of my friends had seen the nursery you and I—” Her voice drifted away and she squinted, as if looking at something in the distance. Then she cleared her throat. “Nicole Reynolds asked me if I could do something for her. A mural on the wall of her nursery. It was a forest scene, with rabbits and birds and a deer. It was an immersion and it kind of snatched me back from the brink. Gave me purpose and a reason to get up in the morning. I liked being part of what was happening in their family, that circle of joy and expectation. It just kind of snowballed.”

He was so aware he had caused her that pain. Well, not all of it. The miscarriages had put her in a space he couldn’t reach. And then she’d wanted to try again. To plunge herself into that pool of misery he could not rescue her from again. He’d thought it was his job to make her happy. To make her world perfect. At some point, to his grave detriment, he had given up trying.

“I’m sorry, Jessie. I’m sorry it wasn’t me who snatched you back from the brink.”

Her eyes skittered to him and then away. For a moment it looked as if she would cross that abyss between them, throw herself into his embrace, come home.

But that moment passed even before he recognized completely what was blooming inside him.

Hope.

Shouldn’t he know by now that that was the worst trap of all? To hope?

She seemed to recognize it, because smiling way too brightly, she said, “How about if I go order that pizza now?”

“Oh, yeah, sure.”

She retreated to the kitchen; he looked at the floors. With the extra weight on the sander, wood had disappeared quickly. The wood was bare, but wavy. If he put a level on it, it would probably rock like the little horse in one of her nursery displays. He was fairly certain that the damage caused by her wild ride on the sander was something wood filler could not fix.

But he was aware of liking this kind of problem over the other kind. The baffling problems of the heart.

“What kind of pizza?” she called.

“The usual,” he said, before he remembered they really didn’t have a usual anymore, not since their lives had become unusual.

But she didn’t miss a beat, and he heard her talking into the phone, ordering a half pepperoni and mushroom and a half anchovies and pineapple and ham.

He went into the kitchen and watched her. The afternoon sunshine was painting her in gold. Even in that horrible dress, she looked beautiful. He remembered what it was to share a life with her and felt the pang of intense loss.

And suspected she was feeling it, too. Jessica had hung up the phone, but she had all the old take-out menus out of the kitchen drawer—she’d actually allowed them to have a junk drawer—and was studying them hard.

“You’re too heavy,” he said when she glanced up at him.

“Excuse me? Then maybe pizza isn’t the right choice!”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake. Not like that.”

“Not like what?”

“You,” he said, and could hear the gruff sincerity in his voice, “are perfect. You are too heavy for the sander! We dug some pretty good ruts in the floor.”

“Oh.” She blushed and looked back at the menus. She was pleased that he thought she was perfect. And he was pleased that he had pleased her, even though the road they were on seemed fraught with danger. “You should have hired it out.”

“Very unmanly,” he said.

“You,” she said, and he could hear the sincerity in her voice, “couldn’t be unmanly if you were wearing this dress.”

He was pleased that she thought he was manly, though the sense of danger was hissing in the air between them now.

She was right, and not just about the manly part. He should have hired the floor job out. The truth, he wouldn’t have missed those moments of her laughter for the world. Even if the floor was completely wrecked, which seemed like a distinct possibility at the moment, that seemed a small price to pay.

“I just need something lighter than you to put on the sander.” He deliberately walked away from the building tension between them and went out the back door to their toolshed. He found an old cinder block. He didn’t miss the look on her face when he came back in hefting it, as her eyes found the bulge of his biceps and lingered there for a heated moment.

He slowed marginally, liking her admiration of his manliness more than he had a right to. Then he went into the living room and found and pitted himself against a nice comforting problem, one that he could solve. How did you get a cinder block to sit on a sander?

Kade finally had it attached, and restarted the machine. It wasn’t nearly as much fun as waltzing around the room with Jessica. And it wasn’t nearly as dangerous, either.

Or that was what he thought until the precise moment he smelled smoke. Frowning, he looked toward the kitchen. They were having pizza. What was she burning?

He shut off the sander, and went into the kitchen doorway, expecting crazily to find her pulling burned cookies from the oven. She had gone through a cookie phase when she had made her world all about him. Who had known there were so many kinds of cookies?

Once or twice, he had tried to distract her from her full-scaled descent into domestic divahood. He had crossed the kitchen, breathed on her neck, nibbled her ear...

He remembered them laughing when he’d lured her away and they’d come back to cookies burned black. She had taken them out of the oven and thrown the whole sheet out into the yard...

But now there were no cookies. In fact, Jessica was standing right where he had left her, still studying all the take-out menus as if each one represented something very special. Which it did, not that he wanted to go there now. Kade did not want to remember Chinese food on the front steps during a thunderstorm, or a memorable evening of naked pad thai, a real dish that they had eaten, well, in the spirit of the name.

“Don’t distract me,” he snapped at her, and that earned him a wide-eyed look of surprise.

“What are you burning?”

“I’m not burning anything.”

He turned away from her, sniffing the air. It wasn’t coming from in here, the kitchen. In fact, it seemed to be coming from the living room. He turned back in and the sanding machine caught his attention. A wisp of something curled out of the bag that caught the sawdust coming off the floor.

And in the split second that he was watching it, that wisp of phantom gray turned into a belch of pure black smoke.

“The house is on fire!” he cried.

“That’s not funny,” she said.

He pushed by her and opened the cupboard by the stove—thank God she had not moved things around—and picked up the huge canner stored there. He dashed to the sink, then remembered the canner didn’t fit well under the faucet. He tilted it precariously and turned on the water. It seemed it was filling in slow motion.

She sniffed the air. “What the—”

He glanced back at the door between the kitchen and the living room. A cloud of black smoke billowed in, up close to the top of the door frame.

“Get out of the house,” he yelled at her. He picked up the pot and raced out to the living room. The first flame was just shooting out of the sawdust bag on the sander. He threw the pot of water on it. The fire crackled, and then disappeared into a cloud of thick black smoke that was so acrid smelling he choked on it.

He threw the pot on the floor, and went to Jessica, who, surprise, surprise, had not followed his instructions and had not bolted for the door and the safety of the backyard. She was still standing by the menus with her mouth open.

He scooped her up. He was not sure how he managed to think of her arm under these circumstances, but he did and he was extracareful not to put any pressure on her injured limb. He tucked her close to his chest—and felt a sense, despite the awful urgency of this situation, of being exactly where he belonged.

Protecting Jessica, looking after her, using his superior strength to keep her safe. She was stunned into silence, her green eyes wide and startled on his face.

And then he felt something sigh within her and knew she felt it, too. That somehow she belonged here, in his arms.

He juggled her to get the back door open, then hurtled down the back steps and into the yard. With reluctance, he let her slide from his arms and find her own feet.

“Is the house on fire?” she asked. “Should I call 911?”

“I want you to make note of the technique. First, you get to a safe place, then you call 911.”

“But the phone’s in there.”

“I have one,” he tapped his pocket. “But don’t worry. The fire’s out. I just didn’t want you breathing that black guck into your lungs.”

“My hero,” she said drily. “Rescuing me from the fire you started.”

“It wasn’t exactly a fire,” he said.

She lifted an eyebrow at him.

“A smolder. Prefire at best.”

“Ah.”

“The sander must be flawed. Sheesh. We could sue them. I’m going to call them right now and let them know the danger they have put us in.” He called the rental company. He started to blast them, but then stopped and listened.

He hung up the phone and hung his head.

“What?”

Kade did not want to admit this, but he choked it out. “My fault. You need to check the finish that was on the floor before you start sanding. Some of the finishes become highly flammable if you add friction.”

She was smiling at him as if it didn’t matter one bit. “You’ve always been like that,” she said. “Just charge ahead, to hell with the instructions.”

“And I’m often left cleaning up messes of my own making,” he said. “I’m going to go back into the house. You stay out here. Toxins.”

“It’s not as if I’m pregnant,” she said, and he heard the faint bitterness and the utter defeat in those words.

And there it was, the ultrasensitive topic between them. There was nothing to say. He had already said everything he knew how to say. If it was meant to be, it would be. Maybe if they relaxed. It didn’t change how he felt about her. He didn’t care about a baby. He cared about her.

So he had said everything he could say on that topic, most if it wrong.

And so now he said nothing at all. He just laid his hand on her cheek, and held it there for a moment, hoping she could feel what he had never been able to say.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

JESSICA DID SEEM to be able to feel all those things he had never been able to say, because instead of slapping his hand away, she leaned into it, and then covered it with her own, and closed her eyes. She sighed, and then opened her eyes, and it seemed to him it was with reluctance she put his hand away from her.

And so they went into the house together and paused in the doorway.

“Wow, does that stink,” Jessica said. She went and grabbed a couple of dish towels off the oven handle. “We need these over our faces, not that I can tie them.”

Kade took the towels from her and tied one over the bottom half of her face and one over his.

“Is mine manly?” he asked. “Or did I get the one with the flowers on it?”

He saw her eyes smile from under her mask. Now Jessica was in an ugly dress and had her face covered up. But the laughter still twinkled around the edges of her eyes, and it made her so beautiful it threatened to take his breath away far more than the toxic cloud of odor in the room.

Firmly, Kade made himself turn from her, and aware he looked ridiculous, like an old-time bandito, surveyed the damage to the living room.

All that was left of the sander bag was ribbons of charred fabric. They were still smoking, so he went over and picked up the sander and threw it out the front door, possibly with a little more force than was necessary. It hit the concrete walkway and pieces shot off it and scattered.

“That gave me a manly sense of satisfaction,” Kade said, his voice muffled from under the dish towel. He turned back into the room.

The smile deepened around her eyes. How was this that they had narrowly averted disaster, and yet it felt good to be with her? It was as if a wall that had been erected between them was showing signs of stress, a brick or two falling out of it.

There was a large scorch mark on the floor where the sander had been, and a black ugly film shining with some oily substance coated the floor where he had thrown the water. The smoke had belched up and stained the ceiling.

“I think the worst damage is the smell,” Kade said. “It’s awful, like a potent chemical soup. I don’t think you’re going to be able to stay here until it airs out a bit.”

“It’s okay. I’ll get a hotel.”

“You’re probably going to have to call your insurance company. The smell is probably through the whole house. Your clothes have probably absorbed it.”

“Oh, boy,” she said, “two claims in one week. What do you suppose that will do to my premiums?” And then she giggled. “It’s a good thing the furniture is on the lawn. It won’t have this smell in it. Do you think I’m going to have to repaint?”

“You don’t have to go to a hotel,” he said. “I’ve got lots of room.”

Son, I say, son, what are you doing?

She hesitated. There was a knock at the door.

“Pizza,” they said together.

* * *

Jessica contemplated what she was feeling as Kade looked after the pizza delivery. He cocked his head slightly at her, a signal to look at the delivery boy, who was oblivious, earbuds in, head bobbing. He didn’t seem to even notice that he was stepping over a smoldering piece of machinery on the front walkway to get to the door. If he noticed the smell rolling out of the house, it did not affect his rhythm in any way.

As they watched the pizza boy depart, she felt like laughing again. That was impossible! She’d had two disasters in one week. She should be crying, not feeling as if an effervescent bubble of joy was rising in her.

Shock, she told herself. She was reacting to the pure shock of life delivering the unexpected. Wasn’t there something just a little bit delightful about being surprised?

“Of course I can’t stay with you, Kade,” she said, coming to her senses, despite the shock of being surprised. “I’ll get a hotel room. Or I can stay with friends.”

“Why don’t we go to my place and eat the pizza? You don’t make your best decisions on an empty stomach. We’ll figure it out from there.”

Other than the fact it, once again, felt good to be known, that sounded so reasonable. She was hungry, and it would be better to look for a place to live for the next few days on a full tummy. What would it hurt to go to his place to have the pizza? She had to admit that she was curious about where Kade lived.

And so she found herself heading for the borrowed truck, laughing at the irony of him carefully locking the door when all her furniture was still on the lawn. Except for her precious bench, which at the last moment, she made him load into the box of the truck, they just left everything there.

She suspected leaving her furniture on the lawn was not nearly as dangerous as getting into that truck with him and heading toward a peek at his life.

His condo building sat in the middle of a parklike setting in a curve in the Bow River. Everything about the building, including its prime nearly downtown location, whispered class, wealth and arrival. There was a waterfall feature in the center of the circular flagstone driveway. The building was faced in black granite and black tinted glass, and yet was saved from the coldness of pure modern design by the seamless blending of more rustic elements such as stone and wood in the very impressive facade.

A uniformed doorman came out when Kade pulled up in front of the posh entryway to the building.

“Hey, Samuel, can you park this in the secured visitor area for me?”

Kade came and helped her out of the truck, and she was aware of the gurgle of the waterfall sliding over rocks. Something in the plantings around it smelled wonderful. Honeysuckle?

If the doorman was surprised to have a pickup truck to park among the expensive sports cars and luxury vehicles, it certainly didn’t show in his smooth features.