The Christmas Baby Bump (11 page)

Not that he was using a dog simply to impress Stephanie. Once he’d thought about it and made the decision, he really wanted one. Loyal. Dependable. Warm. Loving. A dog would never leave him, and was exactly what he needed for companionship.

Phil turned the final corner to his street, rubbed his jaw, and smiled. Being Santa had been a blast. Who could have guessed? If Stephanie hadn’t pushed him into the job, he never would have known. And the constant smile on her face on the boat made all the humiliation worthwhile.

Something seemed different about her, he thought as he parked in his garage. He’d never been known for being intuitive, but he could have sworn she’d left half of her usual baggage behind tonight.

He’d picked up on her playful spirit and tested out the limits. He shook his head and grinned as he unlocked his house door. He’d imagined Stephanie Bennett doing all kinds of sexy things, but he’d never expected to see her spit champagne across the room. A hearty laugh tumbled from his throat as he stepped inside. It echoed off the empty house walls, and once again he was reminded how big and lonely his bachelor pad was.

The rows of metal cages, with every size, breed, and shape of dog filling every single one, almost broke Stephanie’s heart. She could hardly bear to look into
any of the dogs’ eyes. The cages lined the walls of the cement-floored warehouse/shelter, where the smell of urine and dog breath permeated the air.

“I wish I could buy all of them,” Phil said, echoing her sentiments.

His sincerity had her reaching for his hand.

He squeezed her fingers and gave her a tender glance. “This is going to be harder than I thought.”

On the drive over, on a gorgeous sunny day, they’d discussed the kind of dog he was looking for—big, sleek and muscular. To Stephanie’s ears his “kind of dog” sounded a bit like him. If she had her choice, she’d go for something petite and furry. Hmm, was that like her?

Loud barking and yipping made it almost impossible to carry on a conversation as they walked the length of the shelter. Some jumped and yipped incessantly, others hovered in the corners of their cages, and still others paced restlessly back and forth with anxious eyes taking everything in.

“Lots of these dogs got left behind when home owners walked away from their mortgages. With the lousy economy, other people couldn’t afford to have a dog anymore,” the shelter worker said. “We’re hoping the Christmas season will help find some of these dogs homes.”

Stephanie spotted a little bundle of cream-colored wavy fur with round brown eyes getting overrun by two other small dogs. It looked like a puppy.

The shelter worker must have picked up on her interest. “That one is a terrier mix. She’s a bit older than most of the others.”

“Hey, look at this one!” Phil called her attention
away, but she glanced over her shoulder one last time at the so-called older dog, before moving on.

Amidst several cages of Labrador retrievers and German shepherds was a medium-size dark-furred dog.

“That one’s a collie-Lab mix. One year old. Owner had to move out of state.”

Phil petted the dog on his head, and the dog licked his hand.

“Both breeds are smart and they generally have good dispositions. Mixed breeds are often healthier than purebreds, too. They love their owners. Very loyal.”

As if it was the easiest decision in the world, Phil nodded and smiled. “What’s his name?”

“Daisy.”

“It’s a her, huh?”

“And she’s been spayed.”

“Good to know. Hey, Daisy, you like big yards and sunset walks along the beach?” The dog whimpered and licked his hand again.

Stephanie laughed at Phil’s ability to charm females of all species.

“What do you think, Steph? Would Daisy and I make a good pair?”

His willingness to open his home to a forgotten pound dog warmed her insides. The change in his attitude since taking care of Robbie was astounding. She had the urge to give him a big kiss and hug, but touched his face instead. He hadn’t shaved that morning, and the stubble made a scraping sound as she ran her fingers down his jaw.

“I think you and Daisy will make a great couple, and I promise I won’t get jealous about your new female friend.”

He smiled and nodded. “Then I’ll take her.”

As he filled out the paperwork and paid the fees, Stephanie kept going back to the little terrier mix up front. “Hey, sweetie,” she whispered. The dog timidly explored the front of the cage, trying to sniff her fingers but not letting her touch his head. There seemed to be a world of sadness in his eyes. “You need a home, huh?”

“We’ll take this one, too,” Phil said from over her shoulder.

“What are you doing?” she said, rounding on him.

“I know love at first sight when I see it.” He gave a magnanimous grin. “Consider him a Christmas present.”

“I can’t have a dog—I’m living in a hotel.”

“The dog can stay with me until you go home. You have a town house in the desert, right?”

“Yes, but I…”

“Hey, don’t analyze everything. Let’s save two dogs today.” Before she could respond, he looked for the shelter worker again. “What’s this one’s name?”

“Sherwood.”

He laughed. “Sherwood. There you go. Stephanie and Sherwood. Sounds like a match made in heaven.”

“How old is he?” she asked.

“He’s older. Seven. His owner passed away.”

That cinched it. The dog was grieving, something she understood completely. Though she felt inept, the shelter worker opened the cage and handed the dog to her. The trembling, compact dog fit perfectly in her arms. Fur partially covered soulful eyes, and a little pink tongue licked her knuckles. He was so trusting, and obviously missed his owner. The thought tied a string around her heart and squeezed. Phil was on to something. Maybe
caring for a dog was the perfect stepping-stone for her lagging confidence. She could do this. She could take care of one small dog.

“You’ll keep her until I move home?”

“I’ve got enough room for six dogs in my yard. Let’s do it. Come on.”

With more warm feelings washing over her, she hugged him and the dog yipped.

“Okay, Sherwood. Looks like you’ve got yourself a new mommy,” she said, holding the dog to her face and enjoying the tickly fur.

The warm feeling that had started at the animal shelter continued to grow as Stephanie spent the afternoon with Phil. They’d shopped for leashes and beds and the proper food for each breed and, most importantly, travel cages.

Now that they’d unloaded everything at Phil’s house, Sherwood had timidly gone into his cage, almost as if it was a security blanket, and Stephanie tried to coax him out.

“Come on, sweetie. I won’t bite,” she said, down on her knees, head halfway into the cage. She reached for him and he let her hold him then licked her face again.

“Maybe you should carry him like that for a while, until he gets used to the new house,” Phil said, his dog dancing around his feet.

She nodded, stirring that warm bowl of feelings brewing stronger and stronger for Phil. He’d been a prince today. For a guy who didn’t know the first thing about committing to a woman, he sure had no problem bringing a dog home.

“I can’t figure out why I never did this before,” he said, petting Daisy’s silky black-and-white fur.

“I guess you just needed a nudge.”

As if they’d known each other all their lives, he kissed her while each of them held their new dogs. His warm and familiar mouth covering hers felt so right she hoped the day would never end.

And later, when he asked her to spend the night with him, and she followed him down the hall to his bedroom, she realized the best part of the day was only getting started.

T
HE
next week went by in a whirlwind. Stephanie and Phil were inseparable. She’d go to his house every day after work: they’d walk the dogs; catch up on any leftover paperwork from the clinic; cook dinner; make passionate love; have breakfast together; and head back to work. By Thursday, Phil suggested they carpool.

A red flag waved in Stephanie’s mind. Wasn’t carpooling a thinly disguised assumption that she’d return to his house again that night? Why couldn’t he come right out and ask her to move in with him? Was this how all of his “flings” progressed, him keeping a subtle barrier until he tired of the woman and quit finding ways to spend time with her?

She only had two more weeks in Santa Barbara—did she really need to complicate her stay by thinking in such a manner? If she’d mentally agreed to “a fling,” why were her emotions lagging so far behind?

Giving herself a silent pep talk, she agreed to drive to work with him then mentally ran down the pros and cons of her decision. This was a fling—an unbelievably wonderful fling with a guy who made her happy in all respects, a guy who never asked questions or made demands.

“You think this carpool business is a good idea?” she asked.

“It’s good for the environment.” He grinned.

She shook her head and rolled her eyes.

“You’re already staying here every night. Sherwood wants you around.” He glanced across the front seat at her then quickly back to the road. “I kind of like having you around.”

This from a guy who supposedly didn’t like to get involved or commit to relationships. She really needed to get her mind straight over this fling business.

“What are you really asking me, Phil?”

He pulled into his assigned parking place at the clinic and parked then turned toward her with an earnest expression. “Since our time together is limited, I’m asking you to spend as much of it as possible with me.” He reached for her hand and rubbed his thumb across her knuckles, igniting warm tingling up her wrist to the inside of her elbow. “We should explore this thing we’ve got going on.”

So that was it. They had a “thing.” Well, heck, she’d known they had a
thing
since the first time they’d kissed.

That red flag waved again.
He wants to have you in his bed every night, not have you move in or get involved or anything. He knows your time is limited. It gives him freedom to do whatever he wants with you…knowing you’ll leave after Christmas.

“Talk to me,” he said. “I can see a million thoughts flying around your mind. Share one of them with me.” His voice was husky and sincere. “Please.”

She took a deep breath. “This is all so new to me. I guess I just need to know the rules.”

“I’m the king of no strings, Steph. I think you know that.”

She hesitated with a long inhalation. “No strings. Right.”

Their eyes met and fused. For long silent moments they searched each other’s souls for the truth. She wasn’t positive what she read in his stare other than it made her feel dizzy and fuzzy-headed. She wasn’t ready to tell him that it was too late, she’d probably fallen a little in love with him. How silly of her to think that. Love wasn’t something you could do a little of. Love was like being pregnant—you either were or you weren’t. Was she in love?

Hell, she’d really messed up with this fling thing. Next time, if there ever was a next time, she’d sit on the sidelines and leave it to the experts. Like Phil. He knew how to keep a sexy and satisfying relationship in its place. Just do it. Have a good time. Don’t make any promises. Maybe it was a surfer’s creed: ride the wave for all it’s worth then move on to the next.

Apparently, Stephanie didn’t have the no-strings gene.

Phil put his hand on the back of her head and pulled her toward him. His kiss was tender and meltingly warm. He kissed her as if he loved her, but that was her interpretation, her head was mixing everything up again. She’d blame it on being hormonal and still waiting for her period.

What he offered and what she felt were two different things. She needed to remember that. He only wanted her for two more weeks.

His lips kept nudging her, asking her to give back, to kiss him as if she meant it. She couldn’t resist another second. Whatever words he’d just avoided saying, he
communicated beautifully with his lips. I. Want. You. With. Me.

Did she need to know anything more than that?

As predicted on the previous night’s news, the storm front moving down from Alaska had worked its way along the coast, first bringing gray skies, clouds, and cold temperatures on Thursday night, and by Friday morning, a week before Christmas Eve, full-out rain.

As the morning wore on, Stephanie became aware of something worse than stormy weather—nausea. Realizing exactly where she stood with Phil—nowhere!—had affected her more than she’d thought.

She sat with a new patient in her office. As she calculated the pregnant woman’s expected due date, it hit her. Her hand trembled to the point of being unable to write.

She cleared her throat and verbally gave the due date, then used her best acting skills to hide the anguish brewing in her heart. “Congratulations. You’ll have a late-summer baby. August, to be precise.”

The young woman clapped her hands and beamed with joy. The complete opposite of how Stephanie felt. A late-summer baby?

The instant she’d ushered the ecstatic woman from her office, she got out the lab kit and drew a vial of blood from her arm, labeled it with a bogus name, and hand carried it to the laboratory for a STAT test.

After lunch, spent sitting in the darkness of her office, Stephanie frantically flipped through her reports, looking for the single most important lab of her life. She knew it was preposterous. She’d had her tubes tied! What were the odds? They certainly weren’t in her favor—she’d looked it up—three different times. But
defying the odds, she’d missed her period and showed early signs of pregnancy with fatigue, tender breasts, and mild nausea. It simply couldn’t be!

With dread and a trembling hand, she continued to skim through the reports, and after a few more, there it was—her pregnancy blood test—and it was positive.

Her stomach protested as if she’d taken a five-hundred-foot free fall. Her pulse surged. She couldn’t breathe. Her body switched to fight-or-flight mode.

She surged from the chair and strode toward the door on unsteady legs, her footsteps soon turning to a jog. She reached the clinic entry in a full sprint and just as she saw Phil on the periphery of her vision, she sprang outside and down the street, through the icy, pouring rain.

With all systems on automatic panic, she ran without a destination, unaware of the weather. She ran from her breaking point, she ran in a futile attempt to keep her sanity, her only goal to prolong the inevitable, to avoid the truth—she was pregnant.

“Stephanie, come back here!”

What in hell was she doing running down the street? Didn’t she know it was practically hailing?

Phil raced down the sidewalk, slipped in a puddle, and nearly crashed into a bush. He recovered his balance, knocked a rolling trashcan out of his way then hurdled another, all while keeping Stephanie in his sight.

Not waiting for the streetlight, she crossed Cabrillo Boulevard, recklessly dodging a car, and headed for Stearns Wharf.

He didn’t have a clue what had made her snap and take off for the pier in a storm like this, but he sure as
hell planned to catch up and find out, if she didn’t get herself killed first!

She’d reached the beach, and headed for the pier. It may not have been such a great move, clearly not well thought out, but he had no choice. If he wanted to catch her, he’d have to tackle her, and finally he got close enough. He lunged and brought her down with a mild thud onto the wet sand.

She rolled onto her back, squealing. “What are you doing? Are you crazy?”

“I’m not the one sprinting between cars in the rain, darlin’,” he panted. “Now, are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

“Let go of me.” She squirmed to break free.

“Not gonna happen. Calm down and talk to me.” He pinned her arms above her head.

She sighed like an outsmarted teenager, wagging her head back and forth. Her tears blended with the rain. “I’m pregnant.”

A rocket left his chest, headed straight toward his head, and exploded. The shock waves zapped every ounce of strength left his hands. “What? You’re what?”

“I’m pregnant!”

“But your tubes are tied!”

She glanced up at him. “See? There’s a reason I was running.”

He sat back on his knees, raking his hands through his soaked hair. His vision blurred from the combination of rain and disbelief.

“I’m kicking myself for tackling you.” He hopped up, pulling her up with him, before he spit out some sand. He couldn’t leave her floundering on the beach. “Come here.” He drew her into his rain-drenched arms,

into a gritty, sand-wrapped hug. “What do we do now?” He felt her trembling and wondered, coupled with his jarring reaction, how much he was contributing to it.

“I can’t have this baby.” She wouldn’t look him in the eyes. She kept shaking her head.

“I know you don’t do kids, but maybe this is a good thing. Maybe you can get beyond that hang-up now.”

“No!”

“Okay. Maybe just give yourself time to think this over.”

“You don’t understand.” She sounded tormented.

Maybe he’d been too wrapped up in his own reaction. Sure, he was shocked, but the craziest thing followed—he wasn’t upset about it. She obviously had an issue about the pregnancy, hence the jogging on the beach in the pouring rain. This was all new territory for him, too. He needed to handle her delicately, find out what she was thinking—because he cared. He gave a big fat damn about her and her feelings, and, most importantly, about the baby they’d made. “Try me. Tell me why you can’t have this kid.”

She tried to pull away, but his strength had returned and he didn’t let her.

“Let me go!”

“No!” He clenched his teeth and fought to keep her near. “Tell me why you don’t want the baby.”

“I killed my baby.” She spit out the words as if they were poison.

“What?” His pulse paused; a distant rumble of thunder helped jump-start it. “I don’t believe that.”

“I killed him. I let him fall.” Her head drooped so low, he could barely hear her.

Lightning snapped and forked into branches over the ocean. Her confession deserved wisdom that he didn’t
have, but he wanted more that anything to do right by her. He’d never experienced anything close to this newfound desire in his life.

“Let’s sit down. Get out of this rain.” He led her to the covered bus stop a few feet away by the porpoise fountain. “Tell me what happened. I want to know everything.” He took her by the shoulders and forced her to look at him. “You’ve got to tell me.”

“You’ll hate me when you find out.”

“No. I won’t.” And he meant it. By God, he meant it.

She paced within the small confines of the bus stop as if she was a panicked animal, gulping her tears, gasping her words.

“Justin was a super-colicky baby. He never grew out of it. He was four months old and this time he’d cried three nights in a row. You have no idea how terrible it feels not to be able to console your child.” She shuddered, and he fought the urge to wrap her in his arms for fear she’d quit talking.

“No matter what I did, he wouldn’t calm down. I paced and sang. I rubbed his back. I gently bounced him. I walked and walked…all night long.”

She hiccuped for air, hugged herself, hysteria emanating from her eyes. He wanted to console her, but couldn’t fathom how. No wonder she’d freaked out with Robbie that first night.

“My arms ached. My back throbbed. I was exhausted. No matter how long I walked, no matter how I held him, sang to him, kissed him, he kept crying. Then finally the crying stopped. Justin had calmed down and gone to sleep in my arms. I didn’t know what to do. If I moved he might start up again.”

She spoke as if reliving the moment—locked in
another time and place. Phil knew she couldn’t have killed her baby. He knew there was a logical explanation, one she couldn’t accept.

“If I put him in his crib I knew for certain he’d wake up. I eased onto the couch and he kept sleeping on my chest. So peaceful. So beautiful. For the first time in hours I found comfort. Comfort in the feel of my precious baby in my arms, and comfort for my aching back, my burning, sleepy eyes. I laid my head against the cushions and my son’s gentle breathing lulled me to sleep.”

A feral flash in her eyes alerted him that the hysteria was back. “I fell asleep!” she said, pain contorting her face. She continued her story as if he wasn’t there. “I fell asleep,” she sobbed. “And the next thing I knew…Oh, God, my baby!”

She dissolved into tears, crumpled to the bench. Phil rushed to lift her, to hold her up, to embrace her. After she settled down a bit he cupped her shoulders and stared into her eyes. “Tell me, sweetheart. Tell me everything.”

She hiccuped another sob. “Justin fell off my chest, he fell off the couch, and…” She cried so hard she heaved, fluids pouring from every orifice on her face. She wiped her eyes with her palms, even as she cried more. “He hit his head on the table…”

Phil had never heard a woman cry like this in his life. He’d never seen such primal torture. He’d never imagined the depth of pain ripping at her.

“It damaged his brain.” Then, as if finally giving in to the nightmare, her shoulders slumped in total defeat. “He died the next day.”

Phil held her so tight he worried she might not be able to breathe, but she held him back, all trembles and
shivers. “I never got to say goodbye, Phil,” she whimpered, collapsing against his chest.

“Baby. Oh, honey. No. No, it wasn’t your fault. Who let you believe it was your fault?” He pulled back to look at her. She avoided his eyes. “You weren’t a single mother. Your man should have helped. You shouldn’t have had to do it all yourself. Don’t you see, he should have been there for you.” Feeling anger at the bastard who’d let her down, Phil kissed her cheek.

They held each other tight for several minutes. What the hell should he do now? A maelstrom of emotions, fears, and doubts knocked him off balance. He could only imagine how Stephanie felt. She thought she’d killed her baby, didn’t deserve to ever be a mother again, had had her tubes tied to make sure she never would be, and still wound up pregnant.