Читать книгу Baby's First Christmas - Marie Ferrarella, Marie Ferrarella - Страница 8

“W hat are you talking about?” Marlene demanded.

This whole conversation was taking on surrealistic overtones. Sell her baby? She’d moved heaven and earth and endured censure from people close to her to have this child. She would sooner sell her soul than sell her baby.

He could almost believe that the shocked indignation on Marlene’s face was genuine. But he had been privy to some elaborate double-dealing in his career, and he wasn’t about to let himself be taken in by a pair of wide indigo eyes and a full mouth.

His look cut her dead. “Don’t play innocent with me now, Ms. Bailey. It’s a little late for that.” His eyes narrowed. This had to be the dirtiest scam he’d ever come across. “I’ve seen some cool customers in my time, but you really take the cake.”

How dare he stand there, pontificating about some delusional thought that was floating through his head? She knew all she had to do was let out one scream and Sally would be punching out the numbers to the police on the telephone in the next heartbeat. But she didn’t want it to come to that. She was going to handle this hustler on her own.

“Listen, mister, if I had a cake, you’d be wearing it right now. I have no idea what you’re talking about. Aren’t you Mr. Spencer?”

Sullivan suddenly had an inkling that a horrible mistake had been made, and that he had been the one to make it. Some of his anger abated. He stared at her like someone who had opened the wrong door and found the tiger, not the lady, waiting for him.

“No, I’m not. Who’s Mr. Spencer?”

“John Spencer. He’s a private investigator—” Marlene stopped abruptly. “Why am I explaining this to you?” She certainly didn’t owe him an explanation. She didn’t even know who he was. All she did know was that he had to be deranged. Taking a step back, she raised her voice. “Sally—”

The woman had never gone more than a few steps into the next room. “I’m already calling 911,” Sally assured her as she hurried to the phone.

“No, wait,” Sullivan called out. It was an order, not a protest.

Like a feisty bantam rooster, Sally bobbed into the doorway. “Why should I?” she demanded. “The way I see it, you could be dangerous.”

Men had called him that, but the description had been issued across a bargaining table. It had never been applied to him in the sense that this small troll of a woman meant it.

He leveled a look at Sally that was meant to freeze her in her tracks. “Hardly.”

“I don’t know about that.” Marlene folded her arms before her as she regarded him coldly. “Most deranged people are dangerous to some degree.”

“I am not deranged.” Although after years of having to deal with Derek’s indiscretions, he probably had a right to be. Sullivan looked at Sally expectantly, waiting for the woman to go. “Ms. Bailey and I have some business to discuss, so if you don’t mind leaving…”

“Stay where you are, Sally,” Marlene ordered. Her eyes flashed as she looked at Sullivan. “We have nothing at all to discuss. How could I have any business with you? I don’t even know who you are.”

His eyes swept over her form. “In a manner of speaking, you do.”

If she hadn’t been waiting for Spencer, if overwhelming curiosity hadn’t kept her up at night and wiggled its way into the structure of her workday like a tenacious gopher burrowing its way through the ground, the thought wouldn’t have occurred to her. But it did, coming to her riding a lightning bolt.

Marlene’s mouth dropped open. Her hand splayed across her abdomen as if that could somehow protect the baby from this. In the last month she’d imagined the baby’s father over and over again. At times he was tall, dark and handsome, just like the man standing in her living room. But never once had she envisioned a ranting madman.

“You don’t mean that you’re…?” Her voice trailed away. She was unable, unwilling, to complete the thought and give it credence.

The last bit of doubt that she had in any way known the name of the donor disappeared. “No, my brother is.”

She didn’t understand how he could have known that, or what he was doing here. The Institute prided itself on secrecy and discretion. That was why she had chosen it in the first place, and why, eight months later, she’d been forced to hire a private investigator to uncover the information she now wanted. They had refused, politely but firmly, to give a name to her.

Marlene struggled to pull together the scattered pieces of information into the semblance of a whole. “Do you want to start this at the beginning?”

Sally drew closer until she was at Marlene’s elbow, an old, protective pit bull whose teeth were still sharp enough to be reckoned with. “Why don’t I just make myself comfortable here?” she suggested to Marlene.

Instinctively Marlene knew she had nothing to fear from the stranger, at least not physically. Emotionally might be a completely different story, but she needed to get to the bottom of this. “It’s all right, Sally.”

But Sally stubbornly remained where she was, unconvinced. “He looks shifty to me.”

Despite the situation, Sullivan couldn’t help laughing. Now that was a new adjective for him. He was hard and tough when he had to be, but no one had ever accused him of being shifty.

“I assure you that you have nothing to worry about from me.”

Marlene wasn’t altogether sure about that. Fear worked on many levels, and there was something in the man’s eyes that made her feel uneasy, although she couldn’t quite say why. Still, she knew that she wasn’t going to find out anything more as long as Sally remained in the room like a hovering harpy. His bearing made that clear.

“I can take care of this, Sally.”

Reluctantly, Sally withdrew for the second time. “All right, but I’ll be within earshot if you decide that you need me.”

Marlene’s eyes remained fixed on the stranger’s. Never let your opponent know that he had intimidated you. That had been one of her father’s prime rules of thumb. And whatever else this man was, he was her opponent. It was written all over him.

“Fine,” she told Sally.

“With the dogs,” Sally added as a postscript. Her small eyes narrowed to slits as she looked at the man standing in the living room. “Hungry dogs.” With that, she shuffled out of sight.

Marlene saw what appeared to be amusement flicker across the stranger’s face. “We don’t have any dogs,” she said. But she had a feeling he already knew that.

A hint of a smile curved his mouth. The old woman was as protective of her as Osborne was of his father. It was nice to know that there were still people like that out there, even if it was getting in his way now. “I didn’t think so.”

Marlene silently indicated the sofa again. He sat down, waiting for her to do the same. Rather than join him, she took a seat in the wing chair opposite him. He noticed that she was gripping the arms.

First things first. She couldn’t keep thinking of him as “the stranger.” “You seem to know my name, but I still don’t have a clue as to who you are, or why you’re here in my house, ranting at me.”

“I am not ranting.” Sullivan caught himself before his voice had an opportunity to rise again. Taking a breath, he started over. “My name is Sullivan Travis.” He paused, waiting. There was no recognition in her eyes.

He obviously thought that piece of information was supposed to create an impression on her. “Should that mean something to me?”

“It should if you’re involved in land development or know anything about it.”

The company’s acquisitions and developments periodically made the newspaper columns. Among other accomplishments, they had all but single-handedly developed an entire city in Orange County.

Marlene looked at him in surprise. He couldn’t be that Travis. “I’m involved in advertising,” she informed him. She glanced down at her stomach before continuing. Oh baby, if this is true, what roots I’ve inadvertently given you. “Are you by any chance related to Oliver Travis?”

He tried to read her expression and couldn’t. He nodded. “About as closely as possible. Oliver Travis is my father.”

Though his tone was formal, there was warmth in the words. Marlene couldn’t help wondering what that had to feel like, to feel warmth when you spoke of your father instead of just experiencing an incredible void.

Though she’d never stopped trying until the end, Marlene had long ago come to terms with the fact that she would never really get through to her father.

She was under no illusion that James Bailey had ever felt anything for her or her sister. The only thing that had ever mattered to him was his company, his work. After Robby had died, the advertising company her father had built up had become his legacy. Thirteen months ago he had died at his desk, while crossing out lines in a report she had just sweated over. He’d died just the way he wanted to, working and trying to make her feel inferior.

She collected herself and looked at Sullivan squarely. “I’m impressed, but I still don’t see what that has to do with me.”

She was telling the truth. Sullivan flattered himself that he could see through a ruse, even one executed by someone as apparently sophisticated as the woman sitting opposite him.

Because caution was second nature to him, he qualified his statement. “If my information is correct, and I see no reason to doubt that it is,” his eyes dipped toward her stomach, “you’re carrying his grandchild. My brother Derek’s child.”

None of this was making any sense. Though they were somewhat out of her league, it was a known fact that the Travis family was exceptionally well off. She had only his word that he was who he said he was. She began to wonder if this was a scam of some sort. Or an elaborate joke. Nicole had a warped sense of humor at times. If this was Nicole’s handiwork, she was going to kill her.

“Forgive me, but your father’s company—”

He’d worked long and hard to earn his place within the company. Nothing had been handed to him. Oliver Travis didn’t believe in being soft. You had to earn his respect. In the last year, Sullivan had almost completely taken over the reins.

“Our company,” Sullivan corrected her.

Touchy. She knew how that could be. Her father hadn’t allowed her her true place within the firm until after he was dead. Then it had been accorded her via the will. One “well done” or a single “thank you” would have done far more for her.

“Your company,” she amended, “is written up in Fortune 500. Why would your brother donate his—” she searched for a delicate way to put it “—genes—to a sperm bank for money?”

Sullivan couldn’t fault her for the incredulous look on her face. It was hard for him to believe, and he had been there to watch the circumstances of his brother’s unorthodox life unfold.

“It’s a long, involved story.”

Holding on to the arms of the chair for support, Marlene crossed her legs. The action drew Sullivan’s eyes to them. He was surprised that they weren’t puffy, and that she was wearing such high heels. She probably had the greatest pair of legs he’d ever seen, he realized. He forced himself to raise his eyes to her face again.

Marlene smiled to herself at the silent compliment his eyes had accorded her. “I usually don’t have any time, but today you’re in luck. Tell me,” she urged. “I’m curious.” She was more than curious, given that her baby’s father was the topic under discussion.

A private person by nature, Sullivan didn’t believe in baring his soul or airing his family’s problems in public, especially not to a stranger. Not to mention that he was still trying to figure out a way to break this news to his father.

Sullivan shook his head. “I’m afraid that’s a private matter.”

Fine, she didn’t have to know. But neither did she have to suffer his being in her house if he wasn’t going to tell her anything. “So why are you here?”

The quicker he resolved this, the better. He hoped that it might help to ease his father’s shock if he had good news to counterbalance the bad. “To make you an offer.”

Marlene had a feeling that she wasn’t going to like what she was about to hear. Instinctively defensive, she stood up, as if height could somehow give her the added leverage she felt she needed.

“It had better be a nice one, Mr. Travis,” she said guardedly. There was no smile on her lips.

Sullivan had the distinct feeling that he was picking his way through a minefield. It wouldn’t be the first time. “That all depends on your point of view.”

“Go on,” she said quietly.

Had he known her, he would have been able to recognize the Approaching Gale signs going up. But the bulk of Sullivan’s dealings took place in the corporate world. Socializing or, more to the point, women, was predominately Derek’s domain. His own relationships never lasted long enough for arguments to break out.

Though the consequences were more important, for Sullivan the matter was almost routine. He was cleaning up after his brother. It was nothing he hadn’t done countless times before. He proceeded the way he always did, honestly, straight from the shoulder.

“My brother, Derek, fancied himself an artist. He enjoyed having the sort of reputation that went with his chosen lifestyle. He especially enjoyed it when it irritated my father. I think he hit a new high, or low, with this last trick.”

Sullivan saw Marlene raise one eyebrow and knew that he’d chosen the wrong word. But he pressed on to the crux of his visit.

“I went to the sperm bank to buy back my brother’s ‘donation,’ if you will.” He looked at her pointedly. God, he hoped she would be cooperative, although he didn’t see why she shouldn’t be. It wasn’t as if the child Marlene was carrying was a love child created in the heat of passion. She’d gone to an institute and ordered a baby. There couldn’t be very much emotion involved in that. “They informed me that I was too late.”

Her expression remained unchanged. “Obviously.”

For a reason he couldn’t quite fathom, he felt himself flinching inwardly. “Now there seems to be an heir in the offing.”

So that was it. He was afraid that she was going to try to make money off them. Perhaps sue them for a share of their fortune. This really was becoming surreal.

“Let me set your mind at ease, Mr. Travis. Until you descended on my doorstep, I had no idea who the father of my baby was, although I have to confess that I was going to try to find out.” She saw a look she couldn’t read entering Sullivan’s eyes. “Purely for academic reasons,” she hastened to add. “I had no intention of getting in contact with him.”

Right, and he was really Elvis. Everyone wanted something. It was a sad fact of human nature. “Then why did you want to know who the father was?” he challenged mildly.

She thought of telling him that it was none of his business. But maybe it was. Since he had told her the baby’s genealogy, saving her the trouble and the expense of finding out, she supposed she owed him one.

“It’s very simple. So that if someday my child asked, I could give him an answer.” She saw the dubious look on his face. “But until that day arrived—if ever—there would have been no mention of the ‘donor’ and certainly no contact with him. Believe me, your brother has nothing to worry about. He can rest in peace.”

It was an ironic choice of words, Sullivan thought. “My brother is going to be resting for all eternity, Ms. Bailey. He’s dead.”

He said it entirely without emotion, as if he were reading a stock market report out loud. But she saw something flicker in his eyes, something that told her he was human after all. You couldn’t have something like that happen without it leaving an indelible mark.

“I’m sorry. I lost a brother, too. Years ago.” And it still hurt, she thought.

Sullivan hadn’t expected Marlene to share anything so personal with him. It took him aback for a moment.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” he muttered awkwardly, echoing her sentiment. He wasn’t any good at condolences, not when the need to express them was sprung on him without warning. He took a breath. “My brother isn’t the reason I’m here.”

“He’s not?” No, this was definitely not Nicole’s handiwork. This was real. Marlene felt nervous. Where was this all leading?

“No, my father is.”

Oh, the seat of power and money. She thought of her own father and the way his mind had worked. Blackmail would have been the first word on his lips.

“I have no intention of bothering him, either. I’m very comfortable, thank you, and this baby is all I want.”

She expected him to terminate the visit at that point. When he didn’t, she wondered if he wanted her assurance in writing. Some sort of prenatal agreement to hand over to his lawyer would probably satisfy him.

He began to get an inkling that this wasn’t going to go as smoothly as he had hoped. He spoke as earnestly as he could.

“My father has no grandchildren, Ms. Bailey. My brother’s death hit him very hard. They were two very different people and had a great deal of difficulty getting along. Periodically, they were estranged. They were in one of those periods when my brother was killed in a drive-by shooting.”

He saw the genuine horror spring to her eyes. Maybe this wasn’t going to be so difficult after all. Clearly she could empathize with the situation.

“My father never got to make his peace with Derek.”

She thought of Nicole and their father. Their differences hadn’t been resolved at the time of his death, either.

“I’m very sorry to hear that.”

She really was, he thought. Why should it make any difference to her? He found himself wanting to know. “Why?”

She shrugged. Why did he need it explained when it was self-evident?

“Because it’s sad. Because unresolved conflicts always remain with you if the other person dies.” But he hadn’t come here to discuss any of this. He was obviously uncomfortable with the topic. So why was he here? “What is it you want from me, Mr. Travis?”

It was time to stop beating around the bush. “Your son. Or daughter.”

She stared at him. There had to be some mistake. He couldn’t be saying what she thought he was saying. That sort of thing only happened on movies of the week. “What?”

She was making this very difficult for him. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he was an ogre. “I want your child.”

Marlene leaned forward. There had to be a different meaning to his words. “Want it how? To visit your father?”

Damn, but this felt awkward. He was only doing what was right. What would ultimately be right for everyone, especially the baby.

“To stay. To be legally adopted.” Sullivan supposed that was the way to go. He would have to consult with his lawyer, of course, but since the child was a documented Travis, he didn’t foresee any difficulties cropping up in that area.

But then, he hadn’t foreseen Marlene.

Her eyes lost their sheen and grew hard. “That means I would have to give up custody.”

Now she understood. “Exactly.”

She felt like pacing to rid herself of the sudden edginess that had seized her. But pacing seemed too much like running, and that would let him see that he was unnerving her. She remained where she was.

“I don’t know if you’re crazy, or if the air here is a little too clean for you after all this L.A. smog and it’s clouded your brain. Either way, I have no intention of giving up this baby.” She glared at him. “It wasn’t easy for me to make up my mind to go this route, but I’ve done it. This baby is mine.”

She was still young, there would be other babies for her. But there would never be another piece of Derek, and his legacy would mean the world to his father. “You would be compensated.”

If he had tried, he couldn’t have come up with a worse thing to say. Her expression turned stony as she pressed her lips together. “I think you’d better go.”

He had to try again and make her see reason. “Ms. Bailey—”

She was through being nice. “Go, or I swear I’ll have Sally borrow some hungry dogs and have them satisfy their appetite on your carcass.”

She was babbling. He chalked it up to her condition. “There’s no reason to get nasty—”

Her mouth went dry. “No reason? No reason?” With the flat of her hand planted on his chest, she caught him off guard and pushed him toward the door. “Have you been paying attention to your end of the conversation, Mr. Travis?” Marlene’s voice went up an octave as she pushed him again. “You’ve just asked me to make a profit on my baby. Not even my father was that unfeeling, and he pretty much set the standard for being cold-blooded.”

He had to make her understand. He wasn’t being cold-blooded. He was being the exact opposite. He was attempting to prevent his father’s heartbreak and give the child a heritage. “This grandchild will mean a great deal to my father.”

She wanted him out. Now. “Fine, we’ll visit. Often, if necessary.” Her hand on the doorknob, she conceded one small point. “The baby could use a grandfather. Now get out of here before I forget that I am a lady—a very large lady, but a lady nonetheless.”

He had no intention of leaving yet. He examined the situation. His resolution to gain custody didn’t waiver, but there were more things to be gotten with honey than with vinegar, and no one appreciated that more than he did. His agitation over the situation had made him temporarily lose sight of that.

Sullivan tried again. “Look, maybe we got off on the wrong foot—”

Maybe? “That wouldn’t be an understatement even if you were a centipede.” Her expression remained cold. “I’d like you to leave my house.”

He couldn’t leave, not until he felt certain they at least were making some headway. Sullivan damned his brother from the bottom of his soul for placing him in this miserable position. “Perhaps—”

There was no “perhaps” about it. Her hand tightened around the knob as she prepared to yank the door open. If she could have, she would have booted him out.

“Now!”

The doorbell rang just then, an answer to a silent prayer. Marlene swung the door open, ready to enlist the aid of anyone on the other side.

The tall, slender man in the black turtleneck sweater, black slacks and blue-gray windbreaker looked from Travis to Marlene. From his expression, he was accustomed to domestic discord. His eyes rested on Marlene.

“Mrs. Bailey?”

“Ms.,” she corrected with more verve than she customarily would have. It was men like Travis who made her grateful that she’d never married. “But you have the surname right.” She looked pointedly at Sullivan. “It’s Bailey.” She said the name with emphasis. “And it’s going to remain that way.”

She wasn’t talking about herself, she was talking about the baby, Sullivan knew. He wasn’t going to get anywhere today. Resigned, he took his wallet out of his breast pocket and extracted a pearl gray business card. He held it out to her. “This is my number.”

Marlene took the card and folded it in half without looking at it.

The action piqued his temper, but he held on to it. Flaring tempers were for children. People in his position didn’t have the luxury of losing their tempers, and he knew that the harder he pushed, the more it would make her dig in. She needed time to think this over; he could appreciate that. In time, he felt confident she would arrive at the right choice.

“We’ll get together and discuss this further when you’re feeling more rational.”

The pompous ass. Did he think that money entitled him to destroy lives? “I’m afraid that day will never come, Travis. This is about as rational as I get with people who want to buy my baby.”

Spencer scowled. “Problem?” he asked Marlene.

“It was just leaving,” Marlene said sweetly. “Weren’t you, Mr. Travis?”

There was nothing to be gained at the moment by remaining. “For the time being.”

“I think the lady means forever,” Spencer observed mildly.

Marlene looked at the man on her doorstep. Travis had made her so angry, she’d nearly forgotten about her meeting with the private investigator. “John Spencer, I presume?”

A smile brought out the creases around his mouth. “At your service.”

Murphy’s law. All these years, nothing. Now suddenly the house was overflowing with men. Why hadn’t this happened nine months ago, when she had made up her mind that her life wasn’t going to be an empty shell any longer?

She turned toward the private investigator. She no longer needed him to discover the identity of her baby’s father, but there might be a few things she did want him to look into. “You’re just in time to help me show Mr. Travis out.”

Spencer smiled. “My pleasure.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Sullivan told him. He crossed the threshold, then turned and looked at Marlene. “Keep the card, Ms. Bailey, and call me. We really do need to talk.”

With an exaggerated motion, Marlene tore the card in half as Spencer obligingly closed the door on Sullivan for her.

“I wouldn’t sit by the telephone waiting if I were you,” she called through the door.

This definitely did not have the earmarks of something that was going to shape up well, Sullivan thought as he exited the freeway. Marlene Bailey was not going to be easy to win over. More than likely, she would be downright impossible.

The difficult we do immediately; the impossible takes a little longer. He should really have those words branded somewhere on his anatomy after a life of being Derek’s guardian angel.

Derek. Damn, but he was going to miss that heartless son of a bitch.

Sullivan brushed a tear from his cheek as if it were an uninvited intruder. He tried not to think what a waste it all was, dying at thirty-two in a neighborhood his brother had no business living.

Damn you, Derek.

He had another errand to see to before he finally went home.

Sullivan had put off talking to his father as long as possible, hoping that he could temper the bad with the good when he finally told the old man what he’d discovered. Now he was going to have to give it to his father straight.

He wasn’t looking forward to it.

When Sullivan entered the living room, Oliver Travis appeared to be dozing over his side of a chess board. Sullivan arched an inquiring eyebrow toward Osborne, his father’s housekeeper. The thin man shrugged.

Tomorrow, Sullivan thought. This could definitely keep until tomorrow. Maybe by tomorrow, Marlene would have a change of heart. He turned quietly on his heel.

“Don’t skulk away.” His father’s voice stopped him just as Sullivan reached the threshold. “I’m just meditating. Can’t a man close his eyes without everyone thinking he’s asleep, or dead?” Oliver pressed the controls on his armrest and brought the motorized wheelchair around. “Well, you certainly took your time coming to me.” He didn’t wait for Sullivan’s reply. “So, did you go through Derek’s effects?”

“Yes.” Damn, this was hard. He knew how his father was going to take the news, and he dreaded what it would do to him.

“And it was just another one of his cruel jokes, right?” Watery green eyes looked up at him hopefully, charging him to give an affirmative answer. “He didn’t sell himself, did he?”

It would be a great deal easier to lie and say it had all been a cruel hoax. But then he would have to eat those words should the information ever come to light. Sullivan exchanged looks with Osborne.

The old man knew, he thought. Somehow, he knew. But then, he’d always had an uncanny ability to see through them all.

“No, it wasn’t a joke, Dad. Derek really did go to a sperm bank.”

Oliver’s jaw slackened, and anger colored his shallow cheeks. “Buy it back!” he thundered. “Hang the cost, just buy it back.”

Sullivan shook his head. “It’s too late for that.”

“Too late?” Oliver uttered the question as if air were leaking out of him. “What do you mean, it’s too late? How late?”

“A woman’s already been impregnated.”

For a moment Sullivan was afraid that his father was suffering another stroke. The old man’s face turned red, and he looked as if he were struggling to breathe. But he waved both men back when they approached him.

“Who is she? What kind of woman would do that? No, never mind who she is. I don’t care. The less I know, the better.” Oliver seemed to make up his mind instantly. “I want that child, Sullivan. Do what you have to do. Offer her the moon, whatever she wants, but I want that child.”

Momentarily energized, he swung his chair around to face Osborne. “We can turn Derek’s old room into a nursery.”

Sullivan knew it wasn’t going to be as easy as that. He didn’t want his father riding for a fall.

“Dad—” he began.

Oliver didn’t want to hear any protests. He was old and had earned the right to have things his way. His oldest son was gone, and now here was another chance to make things right, to do things for Derek’s child the way he hadn’t been able to do for Derek.

It was as if Providence had smiled down on him again, giving him a second opportunity.

“Just do it,” Oliver ordered, turning his piercing gaze to the chess board. “I don’t want to play that silly game any more, Osborne. I’m tired. Take me to my room.”

The pencil-thin man in the black livery rose. “Very good, sir.” The look Osborne gave Sullivan was one filled with compassion.

Sullivan was left standing in the living room, feeling bone tired.