Having My Baby Read online

  Derrick lifted his Ray-Bans for a better look: brown-hair with lots of untamed curls and long legs—much too tall to be Jill Garrison.

  The third and last woman was the lady in blue: blue T-shirt, blue tennis shoes, and a blue floppy hat that covered her face and hair. She was reading a book to a couple of younger children and it was impossible to tell the color of her hair or how tall she was until one of the kids began crying, forcing the lady in blue into action.

  He squinted into the sun. The lady in blue had black hair—no, make that brown. She wore a pair of white short shorts. He guessed her height to be five-foot-four.

  Bingo.

  She was petite and definitely not pregnant.

  Tension left his shoulders and neck. He could breathe again. Life was good.

  Children’s laughter lifted his spirits as he laid his head back on the headrest, slid on his sunglasses, and shut his eyes. Just the idea of becoming a father made him feel claustrophobic, not because he didn’t want a child but because he wasn’t ready. Guys needed to be prepared for this sort of thing. Besides, he preferred to have a child the traditional way—after he married the mother of his child. He chuckled to himself at the realization that he’d resorted to spying.

  What the hell was he thinking? What would he have done if he’d run into a pregnant Jill Garrison. Ha! Maggie was right. He never should have come.

  A couple of rap tap taps on the passenger window got his attention. He sat up. A glimpse into the rearview mirror revealed a police car parked behind him. An officer leaned low and tapped on his passenger window again.

  Derrick pushed the button on the side of his door and the window slid downward. “How can I help you, officer?”

  “Please step out of the vehicle, sir.”

  Confused, Derrick did as the officer asked. He then stepped around the front of the car and onto the sidewalk. Two women stood behind the officer. It was the bubble blower and another woman he hadn’t noticed before. Her brown hair was tied back in a ponytail and her back was to him. The two women huddled together and whispered so he couldn’t hear what they were saying.

  Derrick slid off his Ray-Bans, hooked them on the front of his shirt, and waited for the officer to finish scribbling on his notepad.

  This time when the officer looked at him, his jaw dropped. The officer pointed his pencil at him. “You’re Derrick Baylor, quarterback for the Los Angeles Condors.”

  “That’s right.” Derrick offered his hand. “What can I do for you?”

  “Officer Matt Coyle,” the officer said as he pumped Derrick’s hand. “I’d appreciate it if I could get your autograph. My sons are big fans.”

  “Not a problem.”

  “Officer, please!” the redhead interrupted.

  Give the lady in red a devil’s fork, Derrick thought, and the picture would be complete.

  Officer Coyle cleared his throat. “These ladies,” he said gesturing toward the women, “noticed you’ve been parked here for quite some time. Frankly, they were concerned about the children’s safety.”

  The bubble blower turned toward Derrick, plunked both hands on her hips and looked him square in the eye, clearly not impressed by his celebrity status. The other woman merely threw a worried glance over her shoulder, which told him she was the guilty party, the one who had called the cops.

  Derrick stepped past the officer and toward the ladies. “I’m sorry. I should have made my introductions sooner.”

  The redhead narrowed her eyes. If looks could kill, Derrick would have fell over and died right there on the sidewalk.

  “I came here looking for Jill Garrison,” Derrick said.

  The brown-haired woman turned about, her eyes wide. “I’m Jill,” she said.

  She stood at about five foot four. Brown hair. Green eyes. “Holy shit.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Pardon me?”

  “Holy shit,” he said again, slower this time as his gaze fixated on her enlarged belly.

  Bubble Blower grabbed her friend’s arm as if pulling her out of harm’s way. “Officer,” she said. “Mind giving us a little help here?”

  “Mr. Baylor,” the officer said, “have you ever met either of these women?”

  Derrick’s mind was numb, but somehow he managed to say, “No. Never.”

  “You’re making the ladies nervous, and truthfully, you’ve got me wondering too—what is your business with this woman?”

  Derrick pried his gaze from the woman’s stomach and raised his eyes to Jill’s. “She’s having my baby.”

  Jill Garrison dropped her hands to her belly. “Excuse me?”

  “You’re having my baby,” he said again and yet he wasn’t really sure if he’d said anything at all. A foggy mind and thick tongue weren’t helping matters. For months now he’d wondered if there was a woman out there somewhere who was pregnant with his baby. One day he’d feel excited by the thought and the next day he’d feel nothing but dread. His emotions had been running high. At the moment he didn’t know what to think or what to feel, but that didn’t stop his heart from thumping hard against his chest.

  The officer scratched his jaw. “I thought you said you’d never met the woman.”

  “That’s right. I haven’t.”

  “Then how could she be having your baby?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  “I have time,” the officer said as he tucked his notebook away. “How about you ladies?”

  Bubble Blower crossed her arms and tapped her foot. “Definitely.”

  Derrick couldn’t keep his eyes off the woman named Jill.

  Could she truly be carrying his baby?

  Judging by the terrified look in her eyes, she could be. She looked regal in appearance: flawless skin, every hair in place, chin tilted upward, stiff and unbending. His gaze lowered to her ring finger. Nothing there. She wasn’t married, which he figured was a good thing—one less person to deal with.

  Derrick shifted his weight from his bad leg to his good leg and started at the beginning. “About six years ago I became a donor to a company called CryoCorp. Eighteen months later, I sent them a letter asking them to remove me as a potential client. Three months ago I received a letter from CryoCorp telling me recipient 3516A, aka Jill Garrison, had selected me as a donor. And here I am.”

  Jill Garrison’s face paled and her legs wobbled. The woman was going down. Derrick leapt forward and caught her in his arms before she hit the ground. He held her limp body, glad to see she was still breathing.

  “Officer!” Bubble Blower cried out, clearly appalled by the sight of him holding her friend. “Do something.”

  Officer Coyle headed for his vehicle.

  Across the street, the long-legged woman and the lady in blue rounded up the kids. Derrick had an audience.

  “Stay calm everyone,” Officer Coyle said. “There’s an ambulance on the way.”

  “Hey, Hollywood!” one of the older kids shouted to Derrick. “Can I get your autograph?”

  The lady in the floppy hat quickly ushered the kids toward the picnic bench where the balloons swayed to and fro.

  A sharp pain shot up from Derrick’s knee. Jill Garrison’s full weight was not helping matters. He headed for his car. Bubble Blower followed close behind, stabbing a sharp fingernail into his back. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “If you could open the back door,” Derrick said, “I’ll lay your friend on the backseat.”

  “Oh, no you don’t. You could be another Ted Bundy for all I know.”

  “My name is Derrick Baylor. I play for the Los Angeles Condors. The officer and the kid across the street can vouch for me, or would you rather hold her yourself?” He turned toward her, but she raised her hands in protest and then rushed to open the car door.

  Derrick set his bum knee on the floor between the back and front seats and laid her down on the seat without any jarring movements. As he tried to pull his arm out from beneath Jill Garrison’s head, she reached out for him, curling her ar
ms around his neck.

  ~~~

  Jill released a contented sigh. Thomas had come for her. He was holding her in his arms, making her feel as if she was floating in air as he carried her over the threshold. Thomas leaned over and set her on the bed. Afraid he might leave too soon, she reached for him and wrapped her arms around his neck.

  Then she kissed him.

  Thomas seemed tentative at first. His mouth felt firmer and hotter than she remembered, bordering on dangerous as he finally seemed to let himself go, enjoying the moment. The kiss was thrilling and she didn’t want it to end, but he pulled away. “Thomas,” she said. “Don’t go.” But it was too late. Everything ended too soon when it came to Thomas. Everything.

  Jill’s eyes fluttered open and her breathing hitched upon seeing a gorgeous man hovering over her.

  It definitely wasn’t Thomas.

  It took her a moment to remember that it was the same man who’d proclaimed to be the father of her baby. The man held her head in the palm of his hand. The top of her pregnant belly brushed against his hard abs. “You’re not Thomas.”

  A devilish smiled played on his lips. “Can’t say that I am.”

  “Tell me I didn’t just kiss you.” But she knew she had. His eyes…the answer was in his eyes. And her lips—the unfamiliar taste of him still lingered on her lips.

  “The ambulance is on the way,” he told her.

  Anxiety set in as she recalled blacking out and falling. “Is the baby all right?”

  “I think so. I saw you fading fast and managed to catch you before you fell on the sidewalk and hurt yourself or the baby.”

  Sandy poked her head inside the open door. “What’s going on in there? What is he doing to you?”

  “It’s okay,” Jill told her friend. “We’re just talking.”

  The man named Derrick started to back away, but Jill grabbed his arm. “Before I passed out, why did you say I was having your baby?”

  “Because it’s the truth.”

  She waved Sandy away, and her friend disappeared, but not before letting out a disgusted huff.

  “I hate to disappoint you,” Jill told the man, “but you’re definitely not the father of my baby.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  “CryoCorp has their donors fill out extensive amounts of paperwork.” She should know. She’d spent the past eight months memorizing every word her baby’s donor had written about himself. “The father of my baby has blue eyes. He’s a few inches taller than you, and he went to—”

  He winced.

  “What? What did you do?”

  “I sort of lied.”

  “Nobody can sort of lie. You either lied or you didn’t.”

  “You’re right. I lied,” he said. “Your donor attended medical school and he preferred water polo over football. He’s a vegetarian, right?”

  She nodded, disbelieving, and added, “He’s also ultra-sensitive and he used to work for Greenpeace.”

  He scrunched his nose.

  “He’s a doctor,” she went on, refusing to believe this man, “and sometimes he works as a clown at the children’s hospital because—because he loves kids so much.”

  She felt the baby kick. He must have felt it too, because he maneuvered his body so he was no longer hovering directly over her. He looked uncomfortable, as if he was in pain. Not that she cared. He deserved to be uncomfortable for spying on her and then dumping too much information on her like he had.

  The man was looking at her stomach. The baby kicked again—harder this time.

  His eyes widened. “That’s amazing.”

  She smiled. She couldn’t help it. Every time she felt her baby kick, it felt like a miracle. “It’s as if he’s been trying to kick his way out for days now.”

  “Did you say ‘he’? We’re having a boy?”

  Her heart plummeted at the man’s words. “Why are you here? Why would you lie?”

  “I’m sorry, I really am. At the time I made a donation I desperately needed the money. I wasn’t thinking.”

  “But CryoCorp verifies all donors’ information.”

  “I have connections.”

  She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “That’s horrible,” she said. “You’re horrible. You wrote down everything you thought a woman would want in a man—in their own child—all lies—all the way down to the color of your eyes.” She frowned. “They couldn’t even verify the color of your eyes?”

  He shrugged. “I know. I was a little surprised about that myself.”

  “Is there anything you wrote in the questionnaire that wasn’t a lie?”

  His forehead crinkled as he tried to think.

  “So you’re telling me the father of my child is a lying, no-good, compassionless child-loathing, meat-eating, brown-eyed football player?”

  “Now wait a minute, what’s wrong with brown eyes?”

  She laid the palm of her hand on her forehead. She wasn’t ever supposed to meet the father of her baby. No man could ever come close to the man she’d imagined was the father of her baby, not even Thomas. Sure, this man was beyond handsome, and she would be lying to herself if she didn’t admit he could kiss like nobody else, but a gorgeous and amazing kisser did not a good donor candidate make.

  “The father of my baby is a big fat liar,” she said as if he wasn’t right there. “He’s just like all the rest of the men out there—nothing special at all—just an egotistical, selfish, horrible, lying—”

  “You’ve made your point,” Derrick cut in, “but like I said, I had misgivings about what I had done. I knew it was wrong, which is why I wrote CryoCorp telling them to take me off of the donor list. I even sent their money back. I do have a conscience.”

  The ambulance sounded in the distance. She shut her eyes. “Go away. Just leave me alone.”

  “It’s not that easy.”

  She opened one eye. “What do you mean?”

  “You’re having my baby, my son. I’m not going anywhere. I can’t.”

  A long low sound of misery erupted as she raised her hands to his chest and pushed at his upper body in an attempt to get him to leave her alone. A pain shot through her belly and she dug her fingernails into his rock hard chest. “Oh, my God!”

  “What is it?”

  Warm liquid gushed from her lower extremities as her fingernails dug right through his shirt and into his skin. “This can’t be happening. Oh, my God! It’s too early.”

  “What’s wrong?” Sandy asked, her voice a high shrill.

  “My baby,” Jill said. “It’s coming. My baby’s coming!”

  In his haste to get away, Derrick Baylor, the man she refused to believe was the father of her baby, fell awkwardly to the floor between her and the front seats, and then scrambled backwards out the door.

  ~~~

  Thirteen hours later, tired of waiting in the hospital reception area, Derrick pushed open the door to Jill’s hospital room and peeked inside. Her redheaded friend, Satan, the one who was supposed to keep him updated while he sat in the lobby, had fallen asleep in a chair in the corner of the room while Jill’s other friend, the lady in blue, sat in a chair on the other side of Jill’s bed.

  Despite the paper mask he’d been handed before he entered the room, the smell of antiseptics was strong. He thought Jill might be asleep until the monitor beeped and she opened her eyes. Blindly, she reached out a hand and the lady in blue took hold of it and told her everything would be okay. Jill relaxed, but only until the monitor beeped again. This time her eyes opened wide. She and her friend began to breathe together, exhaling three small puffs of air, inhaling, and then starting over again.

  Jill looked as if she’d just finished a day at boot camp without benefit of water: her face pale, her lips dry and cracked. Her hair was damp and pushed back out of her face. Dark shadows circled her eyes. She hardly resembled the woman he’d met earlier in the day.

  For a second Derrick wondered if he should go find a doctor or a nurse. How could Sata
n sleep when Jill was in so much pain? After a few moments passed, the two women stopped the weird breathing thing altogether and laughed instead.

  Their actions confirmed his earlier suspicions—they were all nuts.

  “What are you doing in here?”

  Damn. Satan was awake. “It’s been five hours since my last update,” he told her. “I thought I’d come in and check things out for myself.”

  “They never should have let you in here. I’m going to give them a piece of—”

  “Sandy,” Jill said, her voice hoarse. “It’s okay.”

  Sandy stood and stretched. “Have it your way. I’m going to the cafeteria for some coffee. Scream if you need me.”

  Derrick ignored her, relieved to see Satan head for the door.

  “Wait for me,” the other woman said. “I’m starved.” She came to where Derrick stood, took his hand in hers, and gave it a good firm shake. “Hi. My name is Chelsey.”

  He was glad to see that not all of Jill’s friends wanted to stick needles in his eyes. “Derrick Baylor,” he said. “Nice to meet you.”

  “You too. I’ll be back in five minutes,” she said, “but you should know that the last time the doctor was in, Jill’s cervix was dilated to five centimeters. She has a way to go and she seems to be having a contraction every ten or fifteen minutes.” She pointed to a styrofoam cup. “There are ice chips in there. Feel free to give her as many as she needs. She also likes to have her back rubbed.”

  “That won’t be necessary,” Jill said.

  “Don’t listen to her,” Chelsey whispered. “She doesn’t know what’s good for her. Never has. Never will.”

  The door shut behind Chelsey before Jill could protest further.

  “Sorry about that,” Jill said. “You don’t need to stay. It could be hours. There’s just no telling.”

  “I want to be here. Tell me if you want me to leave the room though.”

  “Okay,” she said, her gaze falling to her belly and then raising to his face again. “This is strange, don’t you think? We’ve known each other for less than a day and you know more about my cervix than anything else.”