Читать книгу His Baby, Her Heart - Sue Swift, Sue Swift - Страница 11

In some strange way, driving Tamara’s sleek, silver Jag made Alex feel closer to her. Yet even this fuzzy-warm nostalgia for Tami couldn’t mask his nervousness at the thought of seeing Dena again. He fingered the bundle of papers on the leather seat as he turned onto Fair Oaks Boulevard, fighting rush-hour traffic all the way.

Dena hadn’t taken a copy of the surrogacy contract with her when she abruptly left Gary’s office. Although a secretary could have mailed it, Alex liked having an excuse to drop by. He needed to visit Dena. He wanted to keep tabs on the woman who would carry his child.

Why had Tamara selected her half sister? Alex tapped the steering wheel with exasperated fingers. Would matters be easier with a stranger? Perhaps, but Dena was an honest person who wouldn’t break her word. She’d give up the baby to him when the time came, so Alex could devote himself to his and Tamara’s child.

He made a right turn onto Shadownook. At the end of the tree-lined cul-de-sac stood the old house that the Randolphs had bought when they discovered Dena’s pregnancy. Set back from the shallow curb, the rambling two-story home looked as though it had been designed for a houseful of kids. The open garage held her old clunker of a truck. Nearby, gardening tools hung on the wall in neat rows.

When Alex parked at the end of the driveway, he could see the twins’ tree house nestled on a low branch of one of the huge old oaks rimming the property. Raised-bed gardens, clothed in new spring leaves, dotted the wide lawn. Kneeling, Dena dug in one, intent upon some unknown task.

He could see Jack and Miri playing on the lawn with Dena’s golden retriever. Smiles lit the twins’ grubby faces. Their dark hair stood up in spikes; the knees of their pants were torn and dirty.

Alex opened the Jag’s door. Now he could hear the kids at play. The twins’ raucous shouts changed to squeals of delight.

“Unka Alex! Unka Alex!” Oblivious to his charcoal-gray three-piece suit, Miri hugged him around the knees. She left smears of mud on his slacks.

Alex repressed a wince, knowing that the suit could be cleaned, but a child’s broken heart might never mend. He picked up the little girl, allowing her to give him a big kiss, sticky with some mysterious snack she’d eaten. All the Cohens—even the Cohen-Randolph kids—were very touchy-feely, unlike the Chandlers. Alex hoped to achieve a happy medium with his child.

“Uncle Alex!” Jack hollered, his little legs pumping as he raced toward Alex. “Mom! Uncle Alex is here!”

Alex walked toward Dena, still carrying Miri. Jack trailed behind.

“Hello, Dena.”

She looked up. Knee-deep in the loamy bed, which was half-planted with strawberry seedlings, Dena epitomized the perfect gardener. Wearing a battered straw hat, knee pads strapped around her coveralls, and sturdy gloves to protect her hands, Dena was dressed to kill…weeds.

She swiped a stray red hair off her face, leaving a streak of dirt on one high cheekbone. “Hi, Alex.”

“Mommy, can Unka Alex stay for dinner?” Miri asked. “You said we have to love him more now that Auntie Tami’s gone.”

Smiling, Dena met Alex’s clear blue gaze. “Of course Uncle Alex can have dinner with us, if he wants.”

Alex felt his neck flush. So they’d discussed him. Not surprising. The Cohens were chatty as well as touchy-feely. Embarrassed but pleased, he said, “I’d like to stay if it doesn’t inconvenience you. There are a few things I want to go over later.”

“Yay! Uncle Alex, Uncle Alex!” Jack tried to climb up Alex to join Miri.

“Jack, don’t grab at Uncle Alex’s belt. He’ll pick you up when he’s ready.”

Miriam smirked.

“Miri, stop that. Both of you, go play catch with the dog. Goldie!” Dena’s high, sharp whistle sliced through Alex’s eardrums.

Dena’s golden retriever trotted up, two tennis balls clutched in her jaw. Goldie’s tail waved and she rubbed against Alex, leaving a load of her blond hairs on his pants. She looked at his face with adoring brown eyes.

Alex put down Miriam. “Miri, get a ball from Goldie and go play.” He didn’t want dog spit all over his hands.

The twins scampered away with the dog. “Alex, could you keep an eye on them?” Dena asked. “After I get the rest of the strawberry sets planted, I need to shower and make dinner.”

“Oh, sure.”

“If you want to stay out of the firing line, you can sit on the porch.” Dena nodded at the screened veranda circling her weathered, redwood home.

While the kids romped with Goldie, Alex took his briefcase and the contract from the Jag, then retreated to the enclosed porch. He settled himself on a rattan couch upholstered in a flower print. Dividing his attention between Dena and the twins, he flipped through the Wall Street Journal.

Dena soon finished and went into the house. She emerged a few minutes later with two beers in hand. She plopped down next to Alex on the couch, offering him a bottle.

“When can you go to the doctor’s office for the implant procedure?” Alex gave her the copy of the surrogacy contract she’d left in Gary’s office.

She dropped it onto the couch between them. A symbol of their divisions, he thought.

But she sat close enough to touch. “When do you want this baby born?”

He caught her scent, something flowery. To cover his unease at her nearness, he took a swig of his beer. “I never thought about it. Does it make a difference?”

“It may be an old wives’ tale, but a lot of people think that children born in the spring and summer have a better chance at life.” Dena twisted off the cap from her bottle.

“In what ways?”

“Higher birth weight, lower infant mortality, that sort of thing.” She sipped her beer.

Alex winced at the thought of infant mortality. How could Dena sound so casual? “But we’d have to wait until August to have a baby born in May. That’s five months away.” Besides, he didn’t want to base anything about his baby on rumors or myths. He preferred research. “I think we should start right away. The first implant might not take.”

“You mean I might have to do this procedure more than once?” Dena set her bottle onto the floor next to her feet.

Alex faltered. “I’m afraid so. Remember what happened with Tamara? We could never get an embryo to stay.”

Dena’s soft, full lips tightened. “I’m sorry you and Tamara had to go through that. We can start whenever you’re ready. Just give me enough notice so I can reschedule my jobs and find child care for the twins.”

“Can Irina watch the twins? I’d volunteer, but I’d like to be nearby.”

“Hmm. If you want Mom to baby-sit you have to check with her. Obviously she’s my first choice, but we have to work around her catering jobs and her production schedule. The director won’t allow the twins on the set.”

Dena’s mother, caterer Irina Cohen, starred in a cable television show, Irina Cooks! It had made Ashkenazi Jewish cuisine wildly popular in the Sacramento area. “Why not?” Alex asked.

“You didn’t hear? Oh, this happened when you took Tamara to that cancer place back east.”

“Sloan-Kettering.” The treatments there had left Tami sick and bald. Alex swallowed down the painful memories with a gulp of brew.

“Yeah. Mom took the kids to the set one day, sure everyone would love her adorable grandchildren.”

“They really are cute.” Messy, but cute. Alex watched Jack tease Goldie with a tennis ball. Far from seeming offended, the retriever wagged her tail and barked, jumping up and down. She chased Jack around the side of the house.

“Anyway, Miri got into the food. She was in her meal-wearing phase, when everything went into her hair or on her chest.”

“She must have been quite a sight.” Alex knew that his child would never do any such thing.

Dena continued, “You know how much Jack likes to climb? He got onto one of the gaffer’s booms.” Picking up her bottle, she stood and stretched. The movement lifted her breasts inside her snug T-shirt. “Well, I’m gonna hit the shower. See ya in a while.”

The door slammed behind her as she went into the house.

Alex picked up the newspaper, but the discussion of mutual fund investments in high-tech security systems couldn’t hold his interest.

Unwittingly, his thoughts strayed to Dena. He imagined her ascending the stairs, entering her bedroom and stripping off her dirty clothes, exposing her strong body and round breasts. They’d rise higher when she unclipped her long, wavy hair.

He yanked his mind back to a columnist’s analysis of the Fed’s recent change in interest rates. This train of thought was disrespectful to Tamara. Besides, he didn’t find Dena attractive. Did he?

She’d switch on the shower and step in, wiggling her toes with pleasure at the splash of the warm water. When she shampooed, the water would slick her hair into dark, wild whips. Foam would cascade down her curvy form, clinging to her nipples. Without inhibition, she’d toss her head when she rinsed.

Was Dena’s libido as fiery as her mane?

What was he thinking? His X-rated fantasies starring Dena shocked him. He hadn’t found anyone sexy for well over a year—hadn’t had an erotic impulse since Tamara had started chemo and grown so sick. He’d devoted himself to her healing. Then, when it became clear she wasn’t going to make it, he’d helped to ease her way out of this world into a better place.

His body’s yearning spun him into tumult. He hadn’t wanted to make love for months. And now, it was Dena Randolph who had prodded his dormant libido into life.

Dena, of all people. She didn’t turn him on, he silently argued to himself. It was just that he’d been without a woman for so very long. She happened to be nearby when the natural reawakening of his sexual urges took place.

His soul cried out for Tamara. In a way, he felt he was losing her again. Another little bit of his life with her had receded into the past.

He desperately wanted to make love again, but he could never have the woman he needed: his wife. With a sickening lurch in his stomach, he accepted that he’d never again touch her, never hold her, never bury himself deep inside her.

Never love her.

He blinked back tears. Dear God, how he missed Tami. He took out a handkerchief and rubbed his face.

Closing his eyes, he recalled one of their last conversations. She’d framed his face in her hands and, looking at him with those lovely blue eyes, said, “Alex, listen to me. After I’m gone, I want you to go on.”

He’d argued with her, telling her that she’d soon be well and they’d be happy together again.

She’d shaken her head. “No. Please don’t belittle me by hiding the facts. I know I’m dying. Promise me something.”

“Anything.”

“Promise me you’ll go on. Promise me you’ll have a good life, Alex. Promise me you’ll find someone to love.”

Now he leaned back and sighed. “I’m trying, Tami,” he said aloud. “But it’s so damn hard—”

A wet nose thrust into his palm, making his body jerk and his thoughts scatter. Goldie again nudged his hand, inviting him to play. Alex blinked, returning to the present.

He looked across the lawn for the twins, but Dena’s yard, dim and quiet in the waning light, held no chattering, screeching children.

Where were the twins? Jumping to his feet, Alex scanned the front yard. Guilt flooded him. How could he have been so inattentive?

He groaned. If he couldn’t watch two four-year-olds, how could he raise a baby alone? How did Dena do it? His respect for her soared.

His shoes clattering down the three wooden steps to the lawn, Alex left the veranda when he realized that he couldn’t see anything. He strode to the rear of the house. The backyard had an eastern exposure and didn’t catch any of the western sun.

“Jack! Miri!” he called.

Alex could hear the low murmur of a fountain, part of a water feature Dena had installed last summer. He walked over to make sure that neither of the kids had gone swimming. His mind refused to entertain the possibility that one had drowned.

Water chuckled over the rocks lining the pond Dena had created. A turtle raised its head, then ducked as Goldie approached. The retriever nudged Alex’s hand, then dropped a wet ball into it.

“Yuck!” Alex restrained himself from wiping his palm on his gabardine trousers. Holding the ball with only his fingertips, he tossed it for the dog.

Goldie chased it to the front of the house. Alex followed. On the way, he checked the foliage for twins.

Nothing.

He broke into a sweat despite the cool evening air. Where could they be? He checked the trees. Though Jack enjoyed climbing, they were clear. Then he spotted the twins’ tree house, a makeshift shack that a previous homeowner must have built years before the Randolphs moved in. He could see someone had improved it—Dena?—because fresh slats secured it to the big old valley oak in which it was anchored. The rope ladder that dropped from it to the lawn looked new.

Alex eyed the ladder, then his wing tips. He frowned. He didn’t want to climb up to the tree house. Although Dena had fortified it, he didn’t know if the flimsy structure could bear an adult’s weight.

“Jack? Miri!”

Silence.

But the little scamps could be hiding. He’d bet money that, on some days, their favorite sport was eluding Uncle Alex.

With a resigned sigh, Alex set his right foot into one of the lower rungs of the ladder, then skipped two as he climbed. After a few steps, he could peek into the twins’ lair.

Empty.

He turned to descend as a voice came from the screened porch. “Alex?”

His foot slipped.

“Alex, what on earth—”

His other foot tangled in the ropes, and he fell to the soft, cold grass at the bottom of the tree. Embarrassed but unhurt, he took a moment to mourn his charcoal-gray suit. He feared it had taken too much abuse to survive. No doubt it was a goner.

He raised his head. Light from inside the house streamed through the stained glass inserts in the front door, illuminating the March evening.

Dena, freshly bathed and clad in a pink chenille bathrobe, stood on the porch. He could see her wet hair in a twist at the crown of her head, with a damp curl sticking to her cheek.

The twins, in a similar clean condition, stared at him. Dena carried Miri, who wore a red robe. Jack, clad in green sweats, had climbed onto a table, presumably to get a better view of Uncle Alex making a fool of himself.

He didn’t want to admit that he’d been searching high and low for the twins. They’d obviously gone inside for their baths while he’d been lost in an erotic fantasy about their mother.

Goldie ambled over to Alex, stuck her nose into his face and chuffed in a friendly way. He caught the odor of kibble. She licked him.

Alex knelt, then stood. The seat and knees of his trousers felt damp. Probably grass-stained, as well. The elbows of his jacket were trashed. The dog had left golden hairs and saliva on his clothing.

Dena’s home, glowing in the night, beckoned him to its warmth.