Читать книгу Pregnant By Mr Wrong - Rachael Johns - Страница 10

Chapter One

Dear Aunt Bossy:

Although I’ve been reading your sage advice for years, this is the first time I’ve ever had reason to write to you myself. And I must admit, I’m terribly ashamed to have to do so, but I’m in a quandary and I need your wisdom.

I’ve always been a hardworking and sensible woman who prides herself on being organized, planning ahead and making good choices. Until about two months ago, I was with a wonderful man—he was kind, dependable and hardworking—but then I lost my head. I slept with someone I shouldn’t have—a sexy devil-may-care playboy who hasn’t had a steady girlfriend in as long as I can remember. And I’ve known him all my life. Please don’t think too badly of me, I already hate myself enough and the first thing I did was end my relationship.

But, as if my one-night severe lapse of judgment wasn’t bad enough, somehow, despite using protection, I’m pregnant and I don’t know what to do about it. Oh, I’m keeping the baby, don’t get me wrong. Getting rid of it is not an option. Having a baby might not have been on my immediate agenda, but it was in my five-year plan. Granted I was hoping to be in love and married, but I can’t wait to be a mom. What I’m undecided about is whether or not to tell my baby’s father.

He’s not the type to marry me out of a sense of obligation (at least I don’t think so, and I wouldn’t say yes, even if he proposed such a ridiculous arrangement), but I’m worried about him being an unsettling influence in my baby’s life.

What do you think, Bossy? To tell him or not to tell him? That is my question.

Yours sincerely,

Pregnant with Mr. Wrong

Her heart beating like a brass band, Bailey read her letter over once more, glanced around the office to make sure she was alone and then pressed Print. Her stomach churning, she hurried over to the printer, snatched the piece of paper off as it shot out, and then quickly folded it up and shoved it into an envelope. With a deep breath, she took the envelope back to her desk, picked up her pen and scrawled the address of the Bulletin on the front. Snail mail was anonymous in a way email never truly was.

She couldn’t believe her life had come to this—asking some faceless advice columnist for help—but she’d known about her pregnancy for almost a month now and was still no closer to coming to a decision about what to tell (or not to tell) Quinn.

In a cruel twist of fate, she’d discovered she was having his baby the day she had been supposed to be marrying Callum. Thank all the stars in the sky she’d broken that engagement a month before or this situation could be worse and even more complicated than it already was. Everyone had thought her crazy, breaking up with the oldest McKinnel brother, but they’d lost their spark—if it had ever been there in the first place—and Callum was more in love with his work at the family distillery than he’d ever been with her. He’d also met Chelsea and they were already engaged—that fact only reinforced Bailey’s belief that she’d made the right decision.

But it hadn’t done much for her ego. Why hadn’t Callum been as head-over-heels crazy for her? Was there something wrong with her or did she just have zero talent at choosing the right guy? Either way, it didn’t make her current situation any better.

Four weeks ago, when she’d first seen the two little blue lines on the pregnancy test stick, she’d gone through a roller coaster of emotions.

Shock—that fireworks hadn’t been the only thing she and Quinn had created that night.

Denial—that one night, one time, when they’d used a condom, could actually result in this. Five more pregnancy tests later, she’d had to concede it had.

Terror—that she didn’t know the first thing about babies. Or motherhood.

Acceptance—that whether she was ready or not, whether Quinn was father material or not, this was real. In eight months’ time, she’d be a mom.

Excitement—that in eight months’ time, her life would change irrevocably for the better, because she’d be a mom.

And then confusion—because...well...Quinn.

If she were honest with herself, she’d had a crush on him years ago in high school—back then pretty much every girl her age in Jewell Rock had crushed on Quinn McKinnel. He’d been that guy; he skipped classes, took girls down to the lake at night to make out, drove way too fast, stayed out too late and came to school hungover. He’d been like Danny in Grease and every girl in their year had been desperate to play Sandy. He’d dated almost every one of those girls in their final year at school. At least, it had felt like that to Bailey when she’d been standing on the sidelines watching, wishing and hoping he’d notice her.

And he hadn’t slowed down any since.

But Bailey had grown up, and she knew that although Quinn might be charming and good in bed—heck, yeah, he was good in bed—he wasn’t the type of guy she should fall in love with. She’d almost forgotten that in the aftermath of the best sex of her life, but he’d set her straight and made it more than clear. He was way too much like her father for that to be a smart idea. And the last thing she wanted for her son or daughter was an unreliable dad like she’d had. It was this fear that wreaked havoc within—ethically, she knew it was wrong to keep the baby from Quinn, but her mama bear instincts had kicked in and she wanted more for her child than she’d had. She wanted stability and love without question, without obligation—the kind of love her stepfather, Reginald, had given her and her mother, the kind of love her younger brother and sister had been born to.

She pressed her hand against her stomach, something she’d been doing a lot these last few weeks, and closed her eyes, trying to imagine the tiny life inside. A site on the internet told her the baby was about the size of a lentil, but that its sex-defining parts were beginning to develop. Would it be a girl or a boy? Would it have dark hair and a pale complexion, like her, or dirty-blond hair and big brown eyes you could get lost in, like Quinn?

Her tummy still flat, Bailey was struggling to get her head around the fact that she was growing a real live human inside her, but she knew she was on borrowed time. Within a matter of months, she’d need a new wardrobe and would no longer be able to conceal her secret from the world.

If she decided not to tell Quinn, then she would have to come up with another story, because otherwise people would assume the baby was Callum’s. And while he was without a doubt better father material than Quinn and would not hesitate to stand by her and their child, it wasn’t his. Due to the timing of her cycle and the fact they’d drifted apart before the breakup, she knew this to be true. Thank God.

Oh, why did life have to get so complicated?

Of course, she knew the answer to that question, also. Even after their awkward meeting, Quinn had made no effort to contact her or apologize for his behavior.

Dammit, Bailey, why didn’t you just get drunk or go buy a puppy or something? Wasn’t that what normal people did when they were unhappy?

As a tear sneaked down her cheek, she once again contemplated the possibility of leaving town. Of starting afresh, someplace far away from Jewell Rock and Bend, someplace that wasn’t populated with McKinnels. That could be the answer, but, in addition to all her reasons for wanting to remain in Jewell Rock, she’d definitely need the assistance of her family. Only what would her mom and stepdad think of this situation? They’d be so disappointed in her, and her mom was sure to tell her best friend, Nora.

No doubt both their families would weigh in on the situation, offering suggestions and eventually support—but also a sweet dosage of judgment at the fact she’d been so stupid.

And there she went again. Problems and scenarios going round and round inside her head, intensifying her morning (or rather all-day) sickness but not making anything clearer. That was why she needed the advice of Aunt Bossy. Decision made, she shoved the envelope into her purse, switched off the lights in the office, as she was the last to leave, and then headed outside into the cool January evening to her car.

* * *

Quinn poured himself a measure of his family’s finest bourbon, grabbed the large yellow envelope he’d collected from the post office today, then took it and his drink across to the couch. He dumped the envelope on the coffee table, picked up his television remote with his free hand and aimed it at his big-screen TV. As the picture came to life and the sounds of tonight’s basketball game filled the room, he sat down and leaned back into the couch, taking a long sip of his drink.

Ah. His family might drive him insane sometimes—arguing about what was best for their little empire—but there was no doubt about it, they knew how to make good whiskey.

It was Friday night, and while usually he’d be out on the town with the guys, carousing or actually at a game, he hadn’t been in the mood for either of those options tonight. At the ripe old age of twenty-seven, maybe he was getting old.

Shaking out the contents of the package, he picked up the first letter and started to read about a woman who felt like she was playing second fiddle in her husband’s life to her mother-in-law.

Marriage—how many letters about marriage problems did he receive? Those and neighborhood disputes were biggies. And while he might not have any professional qualifications to fix such issues, he had an innate talent for telling things how they were, and this woman needed to take her husband’s balls in hand and give him an ultimatum.

He chuckled, looking forward to writing that letter. What had started as a dare six years ago when his friend from school was interning at the paper had become a large, important part of Quinn’s life. No one, aside from his friend, who had since moved on to a much bigger newspaper in Seattle, knew that he was the writer behind the popular Aunt Bossy column. All his exchanges with the local paper were anonymous and that was the way he intended it to stay. He could just imagine the ribbing he’d get if his older brothers ever found out about his secret side business, not to mention what women might think of it, but strangely he enjoyed this gig and felt like in some bizarre way he was doing good in the world.

He took another swig of his bourbon and picked up the next letter. He was halfway through reading about a woman who found herself unexpectedly pregnant, when something about the wording gave him pause. He went back a few lines and read it again.

I slept with someone I shouldn’t have—a sexy devil-may-care playboy who hasn’t had a steady girlfriend in as long as I can remember. And I’ve known him all my life.

No. It couldn’t be. He chuckled out loud at the absurdity of his thought, tossed the letter aside, took a sip of his drink and began to read the next one. But he read the first sentence about five times before he tossed it aside and went back to Pregnant with Mr. Wrong.

The paper starting to shake in his hand and his heart beating a mile a minute, Quinn read her letter again, over and over, and the more times he read it, the more he began to feel as if he knew the writer. Personally. Intimately.

His gut tightened as he thought back to that night in the warehouse when he and Bailey had consummated a relationship that wasn’t meant to be. Although Pregnant with Mr. Wrong didn’t go so far as to say she’d been engaged to the “good” brother, her descriptions of what happened fit his and Bailey’s situation to a T. Was the devil-may-care brother with commitment issues him or was he being paranoid?

He wasn’t offended by this label, as some might be—such an accusation would be true and he had good reasons for the way he was—but if it was him, there was a much bigger issue in play.

Bailey was pregnant. With his baby. He was going to be a dad. Something he had never planned on being.

His rib cage squeezing in around his heart, Quinn picked up his glass again and downed the rest of the contents. If he wasn’t in such a state of shock, he’d have gotten up and walked the short distance necessary to refill it, but his brain was too full with this news to send such messages to his legs.

A baby. He and Bailey had made a baby.

Or had they? How could she be certain it was his? How could he be so certain this letter was from her? They’d had sex one time—granted it had been more explosive than anything he’d experienced before—but they’d used a condom. It hadn’t broken, and he was pretty damn sure it hadn’t been out-of-date. Didn’t most people take months to get pregnant, even when they were actively trying?

This question was quickly forgotten as more of the letter sank in. In his heart of hearts he knew the letter was from her, which meant Bailey believed the baby was his and she wasn’t sure whether she should tell him or not. His fist tightened around his glass and he hurled it across the room. It smashed against the wall, scattering glass all over the carpet. Now he had a mess in his house to clean up as well as a mess in his life.

But who the hell did Bailey think she was, even contemplating keeping him in the dark?

She might be the incubator, but if he was the sperm donor, as she appeared to believe, no way was she going to cut him out of their baby’s life. So what if he prided himself on being the life of the party? So what if he didn’t believe in the institution of marriage? So what if he’d made a decision long ago that commitment to a woman wasn’t for him? That didn’t mean he would shirk his responsibilities and it wasn’t her right to decide he would. He thought of his brother Lachlan’s ex-wife, who had walked away from her son—he would never, could never, do that, and it riled him that had he not read this letter, Bailey might have made that decision for him.

What made her think she would be a better parent than he would, anyway? His dating history had no bearing on this issue.

Enraged, Quinn stood. Abandoning the other letters and the broken glass, he strode toward his front door, where he grabbed his leather jacket, helmet and motorcycle keys before storming out of the house. Thankfully he’d had only one drink, so he was safe to ride.

The bitter winter wind sliced into his cheeks, burning his skin, as he rode the short distance to Bailey’s apartment block on the other side of Jewell Rock, but consumed with anger, he barely registered it.

Just wait till he saw her. He revved the engine and took a curve fast, suddenly realizing just how much his life was about to change.

Late nights on the town would be exchanged for long nights walking up and down the hallway with a restless baby—he’d been around enough when his nephew, Hamish, was little to know what the future held. He could kiss goodbye to sleeping in on the weekends, and perhaps he’d have to exchange this bike for a more family-friendly vehicle, something that had room for car seats.

His chest tightening at the enormity of it all, he slowed the bike in front of Bailey’s town house and parked. Fueled by a weird cocktail of fury and fervor, he strode toward the building, ready to confront her—to find out if it were true that she was pregnant with his kid.

Moments later, he lifted his fist and rapped hard on her front door, tapping his boot on the floor as he waited for her to answer. That wait seemed like an eternity, but after a few minutes he finally heard footsteps approaching, and then the door peeled open. Bailey stood there in pink flannel pajamas, her eyes and mouth wide-open, as if he were the last person she expected to see, and her hair wet, as if she’d just stepped out of the shower.

“Quinn?”

If he’d had any doubt in his heart that Bailey was pregnant, one look at her eradicated that possibility. She looked utterly exhausted, yet at the same time she glowed. Bailey with her pale skin, cute button nose, sleek black hair and luscious curves had always been beautiful in a classic kind of way, but in this moment she took his breath away. He couldn’t think of any woman as gorgeous as she was and something shifted inside him.

“Quinn?” she said again. “What are you doing here?”

He opened his mouth to tell her that he knew and to ask her what the heck crazy game she was playing at. But the words caught in his throat as two awful thoughts struck. Confronting her would expose Aunt Bossy, but more important, did he really want his baby to be welcomed into the world by feuding parents?

His mind drifted to his niece and nephew. Or, more to the point, to his sweet niece, who because of her parents’ bitter divorce was shuffled between her dad, who lived in Jewell Rock, and her mom, who lived in Bend, while her twin brother lived permanently with his dad. Quinn didn’t want that conflicted life for his kid. He wanted only the best for his baby and that meant two parents, all of the time—even if that went against all the rules he lived by.

He rubbed the side of his jaw, racking his mind for a reply. However angry he might be at Bailey, however misguided she was, he understood one thing. And that was that her intentions were honorable—the desire to love and protect their baby. Two minutes ago he wouldn’t have considered marriage if someone had offered him a billion dollars, but now, seeing the vulnerability in her eyes as she stood in front of him, imagining the new life growing inside her, he wanted to love and protect their baby, as well. And the most logical solution was getting married so they could parent one hundred percent together.

But Bailey had made it clear in her letter that she wouldn’t marry the Quinn she knew simply because they were going to be parents.

So, it was his job to show her the side of himself she didn’t know—the side that knew, if he was given half a chance, he could take care of both her and their baby.

Bailey’s glare, followed by her attempt to shut the door in his face, reminded him he’d been staring at her, possibly for minutes. He put his foot out to stop the door closing and summoned his most charming smile. “I’ve got a proposition for you.”