Читать книгу The Baby Legacy - Pamela Toth - Страница 9

Mac Duncan stared down at the letter in his hand and swore softly. This was a hell of a way to find out he was going to be a father.

The letter was from the Buttonwood Baby Clinic where he’d left a certain deposit with the fertility department three years before to help out a platonic female friend. Since Linda had changed her mind about having a baby by artificial insemination and was now happily married, Mac had figured it was time for his sperm sample to be destroyed. Spotting the envelope with his incoming mail this afternoon, he’d assumed it contained some kind of consent form for him to sign.

Was he ever wrong.

The brief letter read,

Dear Mr. Duncan,

Our staff is looking forward to helping you and Ms. Megan Malone prepare for the birth of your baby. As per your request, you have both been registered for the next series of childbearing classes at the clinic. Please see the enclosed brochure for details.

Huh?

He hadn’t signed up for a childbirth class, he wasn’t having a baby—and who the hell was Megan Malone?

Could one of his men be playing a practical joke? No, that didn’t make sense. None of them knew about Mac’s donation to the clinic.

Slowly he read the letter again, staring hard at the innocent-looking blue script printed on thick, cream paper. Was it possible that some mix-up had occurred and his sperm had actually been used without his permission?

Mac laid the letter on his drafting table, his hands shaking as the implication sank in. This woman, this stranger, could be pregnant with his child.

His stomach did a queasy somersault. And what was this nonsense about a childbirth class? Weren’t the names of donors and recipients supposed to be kept confidential? Mac glanced at the enclosed flyer in disbelief. The class was for expectant mothers and their partners, not anonymous donors. Not even if their sperm had been used by accident.

Fury replaced Mac’s original confusion. One way or another, a hell of a big mistake had been made and he wanted some answers.

Anger simmering, he grabbed the cordless phone from his desk and punched out the clinic’s number from the letterhead. “Dennis Reid,” he growled.

Mac and the chief of staff had met at the local health club and sometimes played racquetball. Although Dennis was older than Mac, he was fiercely competitive. If he didn’t have answers, he could at least point Mac in the right direction.

Unfortunately Dennis was at a seminar in Denver. “Can I take a message?” the receptionist asked.

“Yes. This is Mac Duncan. There’s been a foul-up,” Mac said, too impatient to wait. “Let me speak to the person in charge of class registration.”

“Just a moment.”

Mac sat back, leather chair creaking like an old saddle, and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“I’m sorry,” said the same cheerful voice. “She’s not available. Perhaps I can help you with that.”

“Not unless you’re prepared to explain why I’m having a child I knew nothing about and am registered for a class with a pregnant woman I’ve never heard of.” Mac held on to his temper with difficulty, frustration curdling in his gut.

“Just a moment.” The annoying cheerfulness was gone from her voice as she put him on hold again. Unable to sit still, he leaped to his feet. His elbow bumped a stack of blueprints and they rolled to the floor. Swearing, he nudged them aside with the toe of his boot. He’d stayed home this morning to get some work done. Too bad the sun and his dog, Rusty, had lured him outside to the mailbox. Now the plans for the Delany project would just have to wait.

After several frustrating minutes, the receptionist came back on the line. “I’m sorry for the delay. I’ll access your file now.”

There was another pause long enough for Mac to slowly count to ten while he stared out the window overlooking his backyard. The flower beds needed attention, he noticed absently. The warmer weather had brought out the weeds.

“I’m sorry,” she said finally. “Patient records aren’t coming up on my computer screen. We’ve been having trouble with the system. Why don’t you call back later?”

“Isn’t there anyone else who can help me now?” he demanded through gritted teeth.

“Not really, but I can have someone get back to you.”

“You do that.” He rattled off his number before he hung up. Then he sat back down and reread the letter for the third time. It had to be some kind of clerical error. Any clinic dealing with fertility would take precautions against this kind of breach or they’d be up to their test tubes in lawsuits.

Mac drummed his fingers on his desk. Someone else named Duncan had probably signed up for the class and the letter had been sent to Mac by mistake. It was a computer glitch. No point in getting stressed out.

Not yet, anyway.

He wanted a baby, but not by a stranger. He was thirty-seven and it was past time to start a family, but there was more to fathering a child than just standing at stud like a syndicated racehorse.

He’d been considering the idea of proposing to Justine Connors, the woman he’d been seeing for the past six months, and that was one reason he’d finally gotten around to contacting the clinic about his sperm.

Tying up loose ends was quickly turning into unraveling the Gordian knot.

What if they had actually used his sample by mistake? A chill slid down his spine. If not for the letter, he never would have known.

What if a similar notice had been sent to Ms. Malone? She’d certainly know if she was pregnant, and by whom. All he had to do was to ask her.

Mac flipped open the local phone book, found the right page and ran his finger down the column. There was only one M. Malone. She must be single. He reached for the phone and then he hesitated. What was he going to say? Are you having my baby?

Megan Malone hit the Save button on her computer and leaned back in her chair. She’d been working all morning on a vegetarian cookbook and her back was beginning to ache. Megan knew from experience that it was time for a break.

With a self-deprecating grin at her own awkwardness, she heaved herself out of her chair and waddled down the stairs of her townhouse with one hand on the banister and the other cradling her bulging stomach. True to form, her baby had stopped kicking the moment Megan got up.

When she reached the bottom of the staircase, she called to the heap of gray fur dozing in the sun shining through the patio door. The rebirth that spring always brought made it her favorite season.

“Time to get the mail, Cassius.”

The cat, a big gray Persian with gold eyes, didn’t even stir. The only indication that he was alive at all was the gentle rise and fall of his stomach.

With a shrug, Megan went outside, breathing in the fresh, sweet air. Sometimes Cassius liked to accompany her, but only if it was his idea. He preferred acting the aristocrat he resembled rather than the bedraggled stray she’d adopted a year ago.

Megan walked out to the cluster of mailboxes in front of her building and retrieved her mail. Turning, she stopped to admire the vivid hues surrounding her—the periwinkle-blue of the sky, the rich green of the velvety lawn, the buttery-yellow daffodils, the waxy white hyacinths and fringe of royal purple crocus that lined the sidewalks.

The complex where she lived was a small one, two units to a building, all painted cream and trimmed with navy-blue. Megan knew several of her neighbors well enough to exchange a few words, especially since she had started to show. They asked how she felt and when she was due, but so far, at least, no one had mentioned the missing father.

Humming to herself, Megan took her mail inside and sat down at the dining room table to go through it. There was a phone bill, a gourmet cooking magazine, a pre-approved credit card application, a bulky package from one of the publishers for whom she did freelance cookbook indexing, a periodical about cats and a letter from the baby clinic.

She’d called the clinic last week to sign up for the birthing class she’d canceled three months before when her friend Helen, who’d agreed to go with her, had been transferred to Boston. Megan still needed to find a new partner. Since she worked at home and had no family in the area, her options were limited.

In the envelope was a flyer about the class and a letter. As Megan read it, the blood slowly drained from her head, leaving her dizzy.

She’d planned on raising her child alone. Except for the biological father’s medical history and a brief physical description, she knew nothing about him. Didn’t want to know. Deliberately she had picked a donor who wished to remain anonymous, and she’d been assured by the clinic that neither of their identities would ever be revealed to the other.

In the past she had tried to do it the traditional way—meet a man, fall in love, get married and have a family. If Mr. Right was out there, Megan hadn’t been able to find him despite several disappointing attempts. The Buttonwood Baby Clinic had offered her an alternative and she’d moved here to take it.

Now she felt betrayed. According to this letter the donor, MacGregor Duncan, was going to be her partner at the new childbirth class.

No, no, no! This was terrible. He never should have been given her name. The people at the clinic were crazy if they thought she’d go along with this arrangement.

Heart racing, Megan grabbed the phone. Not only had she no intention of learning about breathing, contractions and delivery with a perfect stranger, she didn’t want some man interfering in her life and the raising of her child. Her child. Not his. Not theirs. No shared custody. No meddling. That wasn’t the deal.

A few frustrating moments later, Megan replaced the receiver and pressed the heels of her hands to her head. She was too late. Mr. Duncan’s notice had been mailed the same day as hers. By now he knew her identity, too. The woman Megan had talked to had been no help at all and Megan had been too upset to insist on speaking with someone else.

She thought about calling them back. Instead she got up and circled the table, one hand braced on her back. What a mess!

What was she going to do now?

Probably the most sensible plan of action would be to contact the donor herself, but something inside her hated to cross that line. Since she’d become pregnant, she had managed to forget that anyone else had been involved in the process. Now that she knew the donor’s name it was more difficult to ignore his existence. Once she spoke to him, heard his voice, it might become downright impossible.

She popped a peanut butter M&M from a bowl on the counter into her mouth. She could just skip the class. No, it was much too late to reschedule. Although she’d spent a considerable part of her childhood taking care of various younger cousins, they hadn’t actually been babies. Besides, she knew next to nothing about giving birth.

Perhaps the donor was as surprised by the notice as she was. He must realize that being assigned as her birthing-class partner was an unfortunate clerical error, to quote the girl at the clinic. Unless he assumed it was all Megan’s idea. Oh, dear. She had to set him straight and to explain that she wanted nothing to do with him. There was no reason for them to ever meet.

Surely he’d be relieved to know he was off the hook. A man who donated sperm wasn’t looking for parental responsibility, child support, weekend visits, diapers, bottles, or anything else that went along with having a baby together—was he?

She had to know his intentions. There was a chance she would need to consult an attorney and find out her rights.

Since when had maternity gotten so complicated?

Before Megan could reach for another M&M, the baby gave her a hard kick. Despite her refusal to be told its gender, she had always thought of it as a boy.

“Hey, champ, how are you doing?” she cooed, rubbing the spot he’d poked. Already she loved this little being, this tiny, precious part of herself. Since she had first decided to become a single parent and raise a child alone, she hadn’t had one moment of regret or doubt. Together the two of them would become the family Megan had always longed for.

She picked up the letter again and read the donor’s name aloud. “MacGregor Duncan.” No question of his ancestry. She didn’t care about that—there were probably a few drops of Scottish blood in her own mixed lineage.

The man was a stranger and yet, despite her attempt to ignore his contribution, a part of him was growing inside her. She had been told that he was intelligent, healthy, had medium-brown hair and dark eyes. Before she had known his name, she hadn’t given him another thought, but now her curiosity was piqued.

Biting her lip, she shook her head and crumpled up the letter. There were reasons she’d chosen to have this child alone. Best she not forget them.

In the silence of her town home, the sudden shrill ring of the phone startled both her and Cassius, who raised his head and gave her an accusing glance. Usually Megan let the machine take her calls during her working hours, but this time she picked up the receiver without thinking and said hello.

“Is this Megan Malone?”

At the sound of the deep male voice, a shiver of response slid down her spine. Dratted hormones. “Yes, this is she,” she answered warily. Sometimes even telemarketers had attractive voices.

There was another pause, but she could hear breathing. She was about to hang up when a strong suspicion leaped at her. “Mr. Duncan?” she blurted.

“Yes, but how did you know?” He sounded surprised.

“I just read my mail,” she said dryly. “When I called the clinic, they told me you’d been sent the same letter I got. I assume you’re as stunned as I am by this bizarre turn of events.”

“Stunned doesn’t begin to describe my reaction,” he replied with a thread of humor in his voice that warmed her, despite her wariness. At least the situation hadn’t been all his idea.

Megan frowned. She must remember she really knew nothing about what kind of man he was—except, of course, that he had an adequate sperm count. Nor did she want to know. Instantly her defenses went back up.

“It’s the letter I’m calling about,” he said. “This is awkward, but did you request me as a partner in your childbirth class?”

It was the last thing Megan had expected him to ask. “No,” she replied forcefully. “Why would I do that?”

There was a pause. “Could we get together somewhere and talk?” he asked. “It’s hard to discuss this kind of thing over the phone.”

Panic welled in Megan. Everything was happening too fast. “Getting together isn’t a good idea. It’s obvious the clinic made some kind of mistake, but we can still pretend we don’t know each other’s identity. I don’t want anything from you, Mr. Duncan, and I don’t want to meet you.” Her voice was rising, so she took a deep breath. “This was all supposed to be confidential. From here on out, let’s keep it that way.”

Before he could reply, Megan hung up the receiver. She was shaking all over. This kind of stress couldn’t be good for her baby. It sure as heck wasn’t good for her. She ran a soothing hand over her stomach and murmured softly.

Before she could completely calm down, the phone rang again. Taking deep, slow breaths, she let the machine take it. Someone at the clinic had a lot of explaining to do! As soon as she heard Duncan’s voice, she pressed her hands to her ears and left the room. Moving as quickly as she could, she went back upstairs, humming loudly to block him out.

The phone rang twice more that afternoon while she tried to work. She thought about calling the clinic again, but she finally decided to wait until she’d had a chance to think the situation through. When she finally went back downstairs and saw the insistent flashing light on her answering machine, she deleted both messages without listening to them.

He called again while Megan was eating her supper—vegetable soup and a grilled cheese sandwich. She wasn’t hungry, but her baby needed nourishment.

“Ms. Malone,” his voice pleaded from her machine, “would you please pick up the phone? We need to talk. I’m not going to go away. Now that I know you’re carrying my child, you can’t expect me to just forget about it. I had no idea the clinic had used my sperm. They didn’t have the right. It was a mistake, do you understand?”

A mistake? How could that be? Why would he donate sperm in the first place if he didn’t want them to use it? She grabbed the receiver, intent on asking him just that.

“Oh, you’re home,” he said as soon as she identified herself.

Ignoring the trace of sarcasm in his voice, she asked about the mistake. “That is what happens when you donate to a fertility clinic,” she added. He wasn’t the only one who could be sarcastic.

He sighed. “Look, it’s a long story, but I never agreed to be a part of the donor program. The first I knew anything about this was when I got the letter today. If you don’t believe me, ask the clinic staff.”

Megan chewed on her lip. “I believe you,” she said reluctantly. Why would he lie when she could find out the truth so easily? “I already called, but no one there could tell me anything. I’ll try again in the morning. They certainly have a lot of explaining to do about violating my confidentiality as well as yours.” It must be an even bigger shock for him, she realized, finding out he’d fathered a child he hadn’t planned on. “I promise I won’t ever bother you about this. Since you never intended to be a donor in the first place, you can just put the whole thing from your mind.”

“I don’t think I can do that,” he said slowly.

“What are you saying?” Fresh panic sliced through her like a machete. “You’re not going to make trouble for me, are you? Sue the clinic if you need some kind of revenge.” Men!

“A lawsuit wouldn’t alter the fact that I’m going to be a father, that a child of mine is living a life I’ll have no part of. I just don’t think I can accept that as easily as you seem to expect me to.”

Megan squeezed her eyes shut. Going to be a father! This kind of talk wasn’t what she wanted to hear. “With or without your consent, you were a donor,” she said. “That’s all. But I’m having this child alone, the way I’ve planned to do all along, and I’m raising it without any interference. As far as I’m concerned, you have no role here. You’re not involved.”

“That’s not true,” he argued. “Now that I know about the baby, I can’t pretend it doesn’t exist.”

“That’s exactly what you must do,” she insisted. “It’s my baby and it’s going to stay that way. I have a contract with the clinic. I requested an anonymous donor.”

“You don’t have a contract with me.”

“Look,” she said, “the sooner you accept the fact that you have no claim, the better off we’ll both be.” How she hoped that she was right about that! “Now I really have to go. Your complaint is with the clinic, not me.”

If she had to, she would get an attorney and fight him, but she prayed it wouldn’t come to that. She made a good living, but lawyers were expensive. No doubt it was Mr. Duncan’s testosterone beating its chest over the situation, but when he really thought about the hassle, surely he’d lose interest.

Mac waited until the next day before he attempted to contact the birth mother again. Meanwhile, he tried without success to get in touch with someone at the clinic. Dennis hadn’t gotten back yet and the director was still out sick. The receptionist’s voice sounded panicky as she confided that things were a little confused right now and there was no one else who could help him at the moment.

Mac wanted to tell her that “confused” was putting it mildly.

“I’ll definitely pass on your message as soon as I know who’ll be filling in,” she added.

“Good grief, how long is the director going to be gone?” Mac demanded.

“I can’t discuss that. All I can say is that she’s ill, but as soon as I know who’s handling her duties I’ll have them call you.”

Frustrated, Mac gave up. Just his luck the clinic was apparently suffering some crisis of its own. Until he could get a few answers from them, he’d just have to deal with Megan Malone directly.

What was she like? He wondered. What kind of mother would she be? How well could she provide for the child? And what were Mac’s obligations legally, financially and ethically? She might refuse his help, but that didn’t let him off the hook, not as far as his own conscience was concerned. The more he thought about the situation, the more questions came up.

A baby needed a father, despite what this woman had said about raising it alone. Once she met him and saw for herself that he was a pretty normal guy and not a two-headed monster, she was bound to relent.

All Mac had to do was convince her to meet with him and talk over the situation. How hard could that be?