Beginning with Their Baby

“Three months?” he finally asked, his voice low and hoarse.

“Yes.”

“As in twelve weeks?”

“Yes.”

“As in…”

“Yes. I got pregnant that last week in Austin.” To his credit, he didn’t ask if she was sure. Of course, that could be more from the shock than from any consideration for her. But somehow, she doubted it.

“I know this isn’t what you were expecting,” she began nervously. “And I’m sorry to spring it on you—believe me, when I first found out I didn’t look any better than you do. And I thought about ending it—a baby doesn’t exactly fit into my lifestyle—but when it got to be crunch time, I just couldn’t do it. Maybe that’s not fair to you, I don’t know. All I know is that I’m having this baby and I figure you have the right to know about it.”

“Get rid of it?”

She thought that sounded like a question, but she wasn’t sure. Maybe it had been an order. Taking a deep breath, Camille flipped her hair out of her face—she wanted to make sure she had a good look at his face when they discussed this—and said, “I can’t. I know it would make things easier and maybe it’s the best decision. But I just…can’t.”

“That wasn’t a suggestion. I was trying to decipher what you—” He swore, ran an unsteady hand over his face. “I wasn’t prepared for this, Camille.”

“Neither was I. Believe me. When I started throwing up in Florence I was sure I’d caught a bug—and not one of the nine-months variety.”

“Matt? Are you coming?” Once again, the female voice floated down the hallway and Camille was glad to realize she didn’t feel quite so sucker punched this second time. Not that she had any right to complain—and she wasn’t. But still, knowing Matt was with another woman was…disconcerting.

He swore again, a little more loudly. “Uh, yeah, Ariane. Give me a minute.”

He looked so flustered that she couldn’t help feeling contrite. Blurting it out like that had been a ridiculous thing to do, especially when Matt was obviously on a date. But she’d given herself a pep talk all the way over here and she hadn’t been able to hold the words in any longer. She’d wanted to say them—to somebody.

Saying them made the baby real, certainly more real than it had been since she’d stood in the middle of her small Italian flat and tried to decipher the pregnancy test directions, which had been written in Italian.

Despite the language barrier, the fact that the little window had turned blue had left her with little doubt as to whether or not she was pregnant. As she’d stared at the small, slender wand she’d been scared. Shocked. And more than a little horrified. But as the minutes and hours and finally days passed, she’d managed to wrap her mind around the concept of being pregnant. The baby was still a mystery—one she had no idea what to do with—but she figured she had six months to learn. After all, she had an entire pregnancy to get through before she had to worry about an actual baby. Thank God.

“Look, I’m sorry to just barge in here like this. I guess I didn’t think this thing through as well as I could have. I’ll come back later, when you’re not…entertaining.”

She started to turn away, but his hand snaked out and grabbed her wrist. “You’re not getting off that easily.”

“What does that mean?” She felt her own back go up.

“It means, you can’t just breeze in here and drop a bombshell like that and then turn around and walk back out.”

“I know that,” she snarled, trying to extricate herself from his painless but nevertheless firm grip. “But I figured you had other things to do right now. Call me on my cell when—”

“Yeah, because that works so well.” He thrust his free hand through his thick fall of auburn hair. “I’m not letting you out of here until we settle some things—”

“Matt?”

At the interruption, Camille glanced over Matt’s shoulder at his date. Her stomach sank at the first glimpse of the tiny but voluptuous blond woman. Exquisitely dressed and exceptionally beautiful, she was everything Camille wasn’t. Suddenly she felt like the tall, ungainly elephant in the room, even though she was still a couple of months from showing.

But still, how could she compete with Ariane? If this was Matt’s regular type, then Camille—with her normal attire of jeans and tank tops and paint-splattered skin—didn’t stand a chance.

The thought brought her up cold, had her backing out the front door without even bothering to glance behind her to see where she was going.

Not that she wanted a chance with Matt, she assured herself viciously as she teetered on the edge of the first step. He wasn’t her usual type any more than she was his. And she didn’t want to get tied down to any one man anyway. That was just asking for trouble.

Nothing had changed since she’d left here twelve weeks before. It just felt like everything had.

“Camille, look out!” Matt had followed her out onto the porch and now he reached for her a second time, stopping her from falling down the stairs. She wondered if she should feel grateful that he’d saved her from looking ridiculous as well as stupid. One thing was for certain—she was making one hell of a second impression.

Taking a deep breath, she met Matt’s warm, brown eyes for the third time that night. “Thanks. Another guy would have let me fall—at least then all your problems would be over.”

She watched as his face turned from concerned to angry, the little laugh lines at the corners of his eyes getting deeper as he frowned. “That’s an awful thing to say. I would never—”

“I know, I know.” She backed down the steps, this time keeping a hand on the railing and glancing behind her to make sure she didn’t stumble again. “That’s what I was trying to say. Not all guys are like you.

“Do you still have my cell number? If not, I can call you tomorrow sometime and we can get together for coffee and—” she darted a look at the petite blonde, who was looking more and more confused—and annoyed—by the minute “—talk about the project,” she improvised wildly, not wanting to ruin his evening any more than she already had. “I’m sorry for bothering you at home. This can definitely wait for a better time. I’ll just—”

“Camille, stop.”

Matt’s voice rang out and she froze, shocked at how quickly he’d gone from easygoing to authoritative.

“We need to talk.”

She swallowed nervously, wondered how on earth she’d managed to get herself into this predicament. “I know and we will. Later.” She was almost at her car, almost free.

“I know running is your favored modus operandi, but that’s not going to work with this. I want—”

“Matt, what’s going on here?” Ariane spoke for the first time since coming down the hall. Matt turned to her and it was all the distraction Camille needed. Her keys were already in her hand—she realized dazedly she’d never even put them away—and she dived toward her rental car like a desert wanderer toward an oasis.

Running away might be the coward’s way out, but right now she preferred to consider it a strategic retreat. There was no way she could talk to Matt about the baby with the perfect Ariane anywhere in the picture.

After fumbling the keys into the ignition, she pulled away from the curb. The last thing she saw as she drove away was Matt standing on the sidewalk, mouth drawn and narrowed as he watched her leave. Again.

CHAPTER TWO

AN HOUR LATER, CAMILLE SAT on her anonymous motel bed eating Cherry Garcia ice cream right out of the container—and not being the least bit dainty about it.

Now that she was away from Matt and his date, she felt ridiculous for running. Even more ridiculous for blurting things out the way she had. She, who had been known for her clear head and ballsy demeanor for most of her adult life, had totally choked. And now they were both paying the price for it.

Still, what had she been thinking just showing up at Matt’s house like that? He was a great guy, with the typical sex drive of a thirty-five-year-old male. Was it any wonder, then, that he had a girlfriend? It had been twelve weeks since she’d walked away from him. What had she expected—that he’d wait around and pine for her forever?

She nearly laughed at the thought, the image of the gorgeous Ariane emblazoned forever in her brain. Camille had no delusions about her own attractiveness—she knew she was far from beautiful. Striking was how most people described her. Not easy to forget. Through the years she’d learned to play to her strengths, emphasizing her unusual coloring and irregular features instead of playing them down.

And usually she was okay with it. She shook her head, took another big mouthful of ice cream. Who was she kidding? She’d always been okay with it—right up until she’d come face-to-face with the woman who’d replaced her in Matt’s affections. Which was absurd. Just because he was the father of her baby didn’t mean he was going to be anything more to her. She didn’t want him to be anything more.

When her phone rang, she almost ignored it. After all, Matt was probably still tied up with the blonde wonder and she wasn’t exactly in the mood to talk to anyone else. But curiosity had her digging in her pocket for her cell.

Matt’s name scrolled across the small screen and her hands grew damp. She wasn’t ready for this, hadn’t recovered from the embarrassment of her less than graceful retreat. Besides, she’d figured he had more exciting plans than talking to her tonight. She hadn’t expected a call until sometime tomorrow.

Nerves on red alert, she answered with a soft “Hello.”

“Where are you?”

“I’m at my motel.”

“I figured that—which one?”

“Why?”

“Why do you think?” He sounded angry and frustrated and more than a little out of sorts. “I’m coming over.”

“It can wait until tomorrow—”

“Keep dreaming, Camille. And tell me where you are.”

She rattled off the name of the motel, along with its cross streets, her heart pounding like a rock song.

“What room?”

“Two-thirteen.”

“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. Don’t go anywhere.”

He clicked off and she was left staring at a dead phone. And wishing that the next hour was already over. Anything was better than the sick curl of anticipation working its way through her pregnancy-churned stomach.

MATT POUNDED UP THE STAIRS that led to Camille’s motel room, his heart in his throat and his blood pressure through the roof.

Pregnant. Camille was pregnant. With his child.

Just the thought boggled the brain.

He’d used a condom, hadn’t he? Every time? Then how was she— He yanked his thoughts back to the present, but it wasn’t easy. Nothing had been from the moment he’d opened his door and seen Camille standing there.

He didn’t even know what he’d said to get rid of Ariane. After Camille had driven away, he’d stood on the sidewalk looking after her car for God only knew how long as he tried to assimilate her words. He hadn’t succeeded.

Finally, a less than happy Ariane had come outside looking for him. She’d wanted to pick the date up where they’d left off, before Camille’s interruption, but he’d been too shocked to do more than utter the most banal of excuses as he showed her the door.

She hadn’t been impressed, but he hadn’t cared. He still didn’t care, as all his thoughts and energy were currently wrapped up in Camille’s bombshell.

Pregnant.

Camille was pregnant.

He kept hoping that repeating the words would make them seem more real—and him less clueless. But the truth was he didn’t even know where to start trying to figure this mess out.

When he got to room 213, he pounded on the door hard enough to let Camille know he wasn’t taking no for an answer. How she’d thought he’d want to wait until tomorrow to talk to her, he’d never know. But then again, he’d never been able to figure out what was going on in Camille’s brain. Case in point—the whole debacle three months ago when he’d begged her to stay. And she’d batted him away as if he were a pesky gnat.

Then Camille’s door was swinging open and any and all confused thoughts he’d been able to form between his house and here completely flew out of his head. Not that it was anything new—his first glimpse of her, even when they’d been dating, had always done that to him.

There was just something about her that knocked him stupid.

Trying to buy himself a few seconds, he glanced at the half-eaten container of ice cream in her hand, cataloged the lines of strain around her eyes and mouth.

“You look tired,” he finally said.

“I’m jet-lagged. I just got in from Italy today.”

“How long have you known?”

“About the baby?”

He nodded.

“Five days.”

Something cold melted in his chest. She’d just found out she was pregnant and had come straight back to Austin to tell him about the baby. At least she hadn’t been keeping it from him.

At least she’d been willing to trust him that much.

“Okay.” He glanced behind her, to her empty motel room. The television murmured quietly in the background. “Can I come in?”

“Yeah, sure.” She turned away, leaving him to follow.

When she sank onto the bed, he had a moment’s indecision. Should he sit next to her? Stand? For a man who always knew where he was going and what he was doing, it was a less than impressive feeling.

He glanced around. It was a typical motel room—a bed, a table and chair, a dresser. He crossed the worn beige carpet, pulled out the chair and sat down. He didn’t trust himself to get too close to her—the room smelled like her and he could feel his body responding, despite the numerous warnings he’d given himself on the way over.

Judging from the look on Camille’s face, he figured anything she viewed as an advance on his part would be met with solid resistance. Not to mention a kick in the ass.

Not that he wanted to put the moves on her, he assured himself and his unruly erection. He’d given up on that stupidity a few weeks before, when he’d finally figured out that she wasn’t going to come back. He’d resigned himself, then, to the fact that he would never be with her again.

Too bad his body didn’t feel the same way.

Silence seethed between them. With each second that passed he could see Camille getting more agitated, her eyes darting between him, the TV and the Ben & Jerry’s container in a pattern that would have been funny if he wasn’t so damned strung out himself.

Maybe he should have mercy on her—she looked as shell-shocked as he felt. But as he watched her, Matt realized he was still too raw to feel very merciful. Her abandonment had really done a number on him—more so than he’d ever expected.

So, instead of breaking the uncomfortable quiet, he just watched and waited. Finally, when her spoon scraped the bottom of the ice cream container—and she had nothing else to hold her attention—she murmured softly, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to ruin your date.”

Who was this woman and what had she done with the Camille he’d known? That Camille had never apologized once in the time they were together. So what had changed?

The difference made him uncomfortable, as if the ground beneath him was shifting with each step he took. Because of it, his voice was harsher than he’d intended when he asked, “You think my date was more important than talking to the mother of my child? What the hell do you think of me?”

“I didn’t mean that.” She shoved up from the bed, then tossed the empty ice cream container in the trash before crossing to him. There was a shadow of anger in her own eyes and he couldn’t help being relieved. This was the Camille he knew—fiery and strong. He preferred her to the cold, fragile woman who’d opened the motel-room door.

“So what did you mean?”

“I know this is a shock—and my timing couldn’t have been worse.”

“It’s no big deal. Ariane understood.”

“Good.”

The silence was back, yawning between them like an underground cavern waiting to be explored. This time, he was the first to break it.

“So what are you going to do?”

“I’m going to keep it.”

“You said that earlier. I meant, what are you going to do when the baby comes?”

“I don’t know. I’m still trying to wrap my head around the idea that there is a baby.”

He glanced at her still-flat stomach, knowing exactly what she meant. He felt like he’d been pulled up short, run over by a steamroller. Pulled into a swirling abyss of emotions and decisions he was in no way ready for.

“I want to help.” The words came out stilted, cool, and she stiffened in response.

“Look, I didn’t come here to hit you up for money.”

“Still, I want to help. And I don’t just mean financially. That’s my kid, too.”

“Well, that wasn’t the reaction I’d anticipated.” The careless, mocking tone he knew so well was back, and he couldn’t help being relieved. He knew how to deal with this Camille.

“So what did you anticipate? You fly halfway around the world and show up on my doorstep with no warning—you must have been expecting something.”

“You didn’t even ask me if the baby was yours.”

His stomach churned acid at her words, until all he could think of was Camille in the arms of another man. Other men. How many had there been since she’d left him, anyway? He shoved the uncomfortable images away—regret wouldn’t change anything.

“I figured if you made the effort to tell me, you had to be pretty sure…”

“You’re the father.”

He released the breath he hadn’t known he was holding. “All right, then. So what do we do now?”

“What do you mean?”

“Have you seen a doctor? Figured out where you want to live? Thought about getting a job? You don’t have to work right now, if you don’t want to. I make enough money to—”

“Whoa, Matt.” It was the first time she’d said his name since she’d come back, and warmth curled through him. At least until her next words hit him. “I’ve barely begun to think things through. I came back because I figured I owed it to you to tell you about the baby face-to-face. But nothing says I’m going to stay here.”

“Excuse me?”

“Austin isn’t exactly my dream spot, you know.” She glanced around the generic motel room. “I never planned to settle here.”

“But my business is here. My life is here.”

“That doesn’t mean mine has to be.”

Ice skated down his spine. “What are you saying, Camille? That you don’t want me to be a part of this baby’s life?”

“Are you saying you really want to be a part of its life?” She looked him up and down skeptically. “You don’t exactly come across as a family man.”

Her words came at him from left field. Sure, when they’d been together, he hadn’t talked about wanting to get married and have a family. He hadn’t wanted to spook her. But he’d always anticipated having a wife and kids someday—just because his parents’ marriage hadn’t worked out didn’t mean he didn’t believe in the institution.

The thought gave him pause, made him wonder if this thing with Camille would ruin all his plans for the future. He’d always planned to do things the normal way—wife first, then kids. Having a kid first—with a woman who had no feelings for him and no plans to stick around—hadn’t been part of the agenda.

Would a woman like Ariane—smart, savvy, driven—accept his ties to another woman, accept the fact that he’d had a child out of wedlock? Or would his lack of formal relationship with Camille make her suspicious about his ability to commit?

With a sigh, he let the worries go—things were what they were and there was nothing he could do but to make new plans, plans that included his baby and its commitment-phobic mother.

“I find it hard to believe that you think you can criticize me on my lifestyle. When you can’t even hold a job for more than a month at a time.”

“I choose not to hold a job. There’s a huge difference.”

“Yeah—and the distinction’s not a particularly flattering one to you.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” she drawled. “I think footloose and fancy-free is a lot better than buttoned-up and bitter as hell.”

“For the second time, I am not bitter.”

“Now, there’s a good defense.” Her eyes mocked him even more than her words. “Denial’s not just a river in Egypt, Matt.”

“Babies have a way of tying you down, Camille. They need things like security and stability.”

She clenched her hands into fists, and he stared at her long artist’s fingers, fascinated. They still bore traces of blue and green paint, as if she’d finished a painting and caught a plane to America all in the same hour.

Of course, she might have done just that—it was her way. Attacking her on it was going to get them nowhere.

“Look, Camille, it’s my turn to apologize. This whole baby thing came out of nowhere and it’s made me a little punchy.” He pushed out of the chair, strode over to where she was. “I can’t imagine what it’s done to you.”

“It’s freaked me out,” she admitted candidly. “Turned my whole life upside down—and the kid isn’t even here yet.”

“That’s kind of what I figured—and I’m not making this any easier for you.” He settled himself next to her on the bed, rested a soft hand on her knee. A jolt of electricity ripped between them, but he worked to ignore it. Chemistry—or a lack thereof—had never been their problem.

Too bad he couldn’t say the same thing about communication.

“Look, nothing has to be decided now. Right? So we can just take things slowly, see how they work out.”

“How do you think they’re going to work out?”

“I don’t know, but I’m sure we’ll think of something.”

She didn’t answer, just stared at him for so long that he began to feel like a bug under a microscope—and a dead one, at that.

Just when his nerves were at the breaking point, she whispered, “Okay.”

Relief swept through him, though he didn’t know why. This baby was a complication he didn’t need. Yet the idea of her taking off again, of never seeing the baby he’d helped create, left him cold.

Clearing away the sudden lump in his throat, he asked, “Have you seen a doctor yet?”

“I figured I’d do that here.”

“Do you have anyone in mind?”

She shook her head and he started to relax. This is what he was good at. Planning. Thinking things out. Getting things done. If she’d let him, he’d take care of everything. “I’ll figure something out. My friend Reece’s wife had a baby just a few weeks ago—maybe she knows someone.”

“Same old Matt, taking care of anyone who will let him.”

He forced himself not to take offense. “You’re not anyone. You’re the mother of my child.”

“Matt, I didn’t tell you about the baby because I wanted to guilt you into anything. I don’t work that way.”

“I realize that.” He studied her, with her wild black curls and bottomless gypsy eyes. He did know it—that was the kicker. But that didn’t mean he didn’t feel responsible. Hell, he was responsible.

“I just thought—” She blew out a breath, let her hand with its multicolored fingers rest on his. “I figured you should know.”

“Well.” He forced a smile. “Now I know.”

“Now you know.”

He reached into his pocket, pulled out his cell phone.

“What are you doing?”

“Texting Reece for the name and number of Sarah’s doctor. I want to get you in to see someone as soon as possible.”

“Why do tomorrow what you can do today, huh, Matt?”

He looked up from the message he was composing. “Why do today what you can put off until tomorrow, huh, Camille?”

She smiled at him, the first real smile he’d seen from her since she’d walked out his door all those weeks before. And just that easily, the knot in his stomach dissolved.

Everything was going to be fine. He’d get Camille to a doctor, get her set up in an apartment that had enough room—and light—for her to paint. After he’d checked with the doctor, of course, and made sure the fumes weren’t bad for the baby.

He’d take care of everything—like he always did. After all, how hard could caring for one pregnant woman be?