Unwrapped (12 page)

“It's what people did in my day and age, but I'm not senile enough to believe that it's what people do today. After two wedding escapes, I'd say that Jacqueline doesn't want to be married either. So now all that needs to be decided is what to do about the pregnancy.” She paused for just a moment. “Are you considering abortion?”

It had been one of the first things to pop into his head when he'd found out about the baby. But while he waited for the results of the tests, he'd realized that he feared for his child's life as much as he worried about Jacqueline. And he'd felt nothing but relief when the doctors had informed him that both were fine.

“No,” he stated with finality, “she's not getting an abortion.”

Aunt Wheezie looked relieved. “Then it seems to me that there's only one question left to answer. How can you be the best father you can be?” Just like that, his aunt cut through all his swirling emotions and got to the core of his fear.

He turned back to the fire and stared at the flickering flames. “And what if I don't know how to be a father? What if I don't have the father gene?”

“Now what would make you think a thing like that?”

The truth was hard to get past the lump in his throat. “Because I am just like Dad. I'm arrogant, hot-tempered, and addicted to my work.” He glanced back at her. “And we both know, Wheezie, that Big Al hasn't been the best father in the world.”

Much faster than he'd thought possible, Wheezie came up off the couch and slapped him hard across the face. “Now you watch the way you talk about your father, young man.” She poked a gnarled finger at his nose. “Albert might be arrogant, hot-tempered, and addicted to his work, but he was the one who made sure you, and all your siblings, had food in your belly and a roof over your head. Yes, he's made a few mistakes over the years, but he loves his family more than life itself and don't you ever forget it.” The anger in her face eased. “Now I realize you're scared. All new fathers are. But there's no such thing as a father gene. Jake, Rory, and James can attest to that. Like motherhood, fatherhood takes dedication and practice. And even then you're going to make mistakes that you'll come to regret. But you're an honorable man, Paddy, and you'll figure it out. I have faith in you.”

As much as his cheek stung, it was hard not to smile at the tiny little drill sergeant standing before him. “You've always had faith in our family, Wheeze. That's what I love about you.”

She smiled back. “You're damn right.” She hooked an arm through his. “Now let's get to dinner. I want to meet this woman who has caused such a ruckus.”

J
ac took a sip of water and tried to keep the passive smile on her face. It wasn't easy. Especially when she felt anything but passive. Beneath the facade of polite conversation and nice manners was a panicking woman who was moments away from losing it. The only thing that kept her in check was Gerald's warning looks and the tiny seed that grew inside her. Of course the seed was the reason behind most of her panic.

Patrick McPherson wasn't an uneducated blue-collar worker she and Gerald could intimidate with their wealth and status. He was an educated business owner with plenty of wealth and status of his own. In fact if anyone was intimidated, it was Jac. Not because the McPhersons' house was nicer than Aunt Frances's mansion. It didn't even come close to her aunt's auspicious home. Nor did the McPhersons have as many servants, acres of land, or outbuildings. But they did have something that Aunt Frances had never had…warmth.

The family room was filled with comfortable furniture that looked like it was actually used. The kitchen smelled like homemade bread. And once they were seated for dinner, the dining room rang with boisterous laughter and loud disagreements. Bowls were passed in a long assembly line, and the children weren't delegated to another room but sat in high chairs and booster chairs, most of their food all over themselves and the expensive designer rug.

“Aren't you hungry?”

The question came from Patrick's aunt, who sat next to her.
Sneezie
?
No, Wheezie. It was a strange nickname, especially since the woman didn't seem to have any breathing problems. Just piercing green eyes that made Jac extremely nervous.

“Now's not the time to have a delicate appetite,” Wheezie said as she took another drink of the amber liquid in her glass. If the fumes wafting over were any indication, it wasn't apple juice. “Pregnancy is one of the few times in a woman's life when she can get away with eating whatever she wants whenever she wants.”

Jac wasn't surprised that Aunt Wheezie knew about the baby. Patrick wasn't the type of man to keep secrets. Damn him. Plastering on the same vacant smile she'd given all of Aunt Frances's friends, Jac picked up her fork and knife and cut into the chicken. The tender chicken and broccoli in the cheesy sauce was delicious, but not quite as delicious as Granny Lou's chicken divan recipe that was made with canned diced chicken and cream of broccoli soup.

“I never had any children of my own,” Aunt Wheezie continued. “My plumbing wasn't set up for it.” Jac choked, and Wheezie patted her on the back until she caught her breath. “Of course I had enough to worry about what with my nephew's family and bartending at the bar.”

Jac turned to her. “You were a bartender? My mother was a—” She stopped just in the nick of time and tried to correct her slip. “Rosenblum.”

The woman's eyes studied her. Like her nephew's, those green eyes seemed to drill right through her and ferret out all her secrets. “There's nothing wrong with being a bartender. As far as I'm concerned, bartenders are working-class psychologists. For the price of a drink, you'll get a good listener who's nonjudgmental.”

It surprised Jac how much she wanted to believe the little old woman. Regardless of her mother's bad parenting, Jac wanted to believe that she'd had one redeeming quality. And she liked the thought of her mama spending her nights listening to people's troubles and trying to counsel them like Sam from the sitcom
Cheers
.

“My mom was a good listener,” she said.

Aunt Wheezie studied her. “So how long has your mother been gone?”

“Seventeen years, three months, eleven days.” Jac didn't know who was more surprised by the answer—she or Aunt Wheezie. Jac had had no idea that she'd kept such a running total in her head. She tried to come up with something to cover the uncomfortable moment and was thankful when Patrick leaned over and spoke.

“Are you finished eating, Jacqueline? I thought I'd show you around the house.”

She nodded, and as Patrick made their excuses, she turned to the woman. “It was a pleasure to meet you.”

Wheezie smiled. “The pleasure was mine.”

The house tour consisted of walking down a hallway and into a room that looked like some sort of study. It had a large desk and a cozy sitting area. It smelled of tobacco, leather, and fathers. Jac didn't really know what fathers smelled like. But she thought it would be exactly like this room.

Patrick closed the door behind them and then moved over to the large stone fireplace where logs crackled and burned. He pointed to the brown leather couch with the glass of wine he'd brought with him. “Have a seat.”

She complied only because she was tired. After the incident at the construction site, the hospital, and the huge meal, she wanted to lean back on the deep cushions and take a nap. Instead she perched on the edge with her knees pressed together and her hands folded primly on her lap. “I thought you were more of a beer—Scottish ale drinker.”

“When in Rome.” He toasted her with the glass of wine before downing it like a fraternity brother at a keg party. When he was finished, he set the glass on the mantel and stared down at the flames. The fire crackled as the clock ticked off the time. Never having been comfortable with silence, Jac grasped at any subject.

“I've never been to Rome.”

He turned to her. “That's surprising. I would've thought that, with all your billions, you'd be well traveled.”

She ignored his sarcasm. “My sister's afraid of flying.”

“And what does that have to do with you?”

She shrugged. “I don't like doing things alone.” Her gaze wandered to the tapestry of a crest that hung above the mantel. It had some kind of a Viking ship on it and an armored helmet with a cat sitting on top. She read the words printed over the cat:
Touch Not the Cat Bot a Glove
.

“I would heed the warning,” he said, before his gaze settled on her stomach. “So what do you want to do?”

A stitch in her side had her leaning back against the soft cushions and slipping off her shoes so she could put up her feet. “I want to go to the hotel and have a nice hot bath. Then tomorrow morning I'm going back to New York.” She decided to leave out the part about getting married so she could inherit her aunt's money.

He studied her. “And when will I get to see our baby?”

“Whenever you like,” she said, confident that it wouldn't be often. It had been obvious during dinner that Patrick didn't take after the rest of his gregarious family. He was a loner. The black sheep. She couldn't see him wanting a crying baby hanging around.

“In New York, I'm assuming,” he said.

“You'll love New York,” she gushed. He would hate New York. He was the type of man who needed to see the horizon and drive his own transportation.

“And exactly what do you know about child rearing?”

The question annoyed her, probably because she'd been worried about the same thing. Which explained all the books she'd bought in the last week. Unfortunately, she'd been reading the prenatal books and hadn't gotten to the actual rearing yet. Still, she wasn't about to let Patrick know that.

“I'm sure I know more than you do,” she said.

His arm dropped from the mantel. “Really? What do you do when a baby cries in the middle of the night?”

“Feed it.”

“And if he's not hungry?”

“She,” she stated firmly. “I'm not having a boy. I'm having a girl. Lulu Bay.”

A look came over his face that could only be described as surprise mixed with a healthy dose of awe. “You know it's a girl?”

Something inside Jac did a crazy little flip-flop. She thought rough-and-tumble men always wanted boys. But if Patrick's expression was any indication, she'd been wrong. Which probably explained her snappy reply. “I won't know for sure until they do an ultrasound. But I refuse to have a boy who could turn out as arrogant as you.”

He laughed. Not a small chuckle, but an out-and-out laugh that caused his eyes to crinkle and the stern lines of his face to relax with boyish charm.

“Fine,” he said with a smile still on his face. “What will you do if our daughter is crying and she isn't hungry?”

Jac scoured her mind for possible alternatives to feeding and came up with zip. When she couldn't sleep, she called Bailey. Her sister talking about law worked better than sleeping pills. Unfortunately, Jac didn't think that talking law would work with a baby.

“Okay,” she said, “so maybe I don't know a lot about babies. But I have seven months to learn.”

His intense green eyes stared into hers. If he thought he could beat her in a stare down, he was right. She didn't stare people down. That was Bailey's cup of tea. Jac had always been more passive-aggressive.

Yawning, she stretched out on the couch and tucked a throw pillow beneath her head. It was a very nice house. So warm and cozy. Maybe, when she got her aunt's money, she would have the McPhersons build her one just like it on Aunt Frances's property. Then Gerald and Bailey could have the big house and she and Lulu could live in this snuggly home. It seemed like she closed her eyes for just a second, but when she opened them, the fire was lower and Patrick now sat in the chair across from her.

“I'm sorry,” she said as she sat up. “I must've dozed off.”

“I want joint custody.”

She blinked and rubbed at her eyes, wondering if she was dreaming. When he continued, she realized it was more of a nightmare.

“If I'm going to be a father, I don't want to do it half-assed. I'll need to spend time with my daughter. And in order to do that, we'll both have to make some concessions. Since you don't have anything keeping you in New York, for our daughter's first couple years, you can live here. After that I'm willing to relocate. I'm thinking about starting my own business so that shouldn't be too difficult.”

Jacqueline sat straight up as her Irish temper surfaced. “Have you lost your mind!”

He ignored her outburst. “I realize that it's not what you had planned. But it's the only intelligent solution if we both want equal time with our daughter.”

“Intelligent?” She jumped to her feet. “But my home is in New York City, and that's where my daughter and I are going to live.”

He stood. “Think about it, Jacqueline. In New York, you have no family to help you.”

“I have a family!” Her voice rebounded off the high ceiling. “My sister and Gerald.”

He lifted a brow. “Who probably know as much about raising a child as you do. Here we'll have more help than we need. You can live in the condo next to me that my brother and his wife just vacated.”

Jac tried to breathe. Things were spiraling out of control, and she didn't know how to get them back. Patrick wasn't supposed to want the baby. Men like him didn't want babies. They wanted freedom. Maybe he was just bluffing—toying with her to see how far he could push her. Well, she'd been pushed far enough.

She tried to keep her voice steady and firm but it quivered with temper. “I'm not living next door to you, Patrick. Nor am I living in Denver. I'm sorry if you don't like it, but that's just the way it is.” She turned to leave, but he stopped her with words that not only froze her feet but also her heart.

“Then I'll sue for full custody.”

She slowly turned back around. “You'll never get full custody.”

He shrugged. “Maybe not, but I certainly have enough lawyers in my family to take a shot at it.”

With a sick feeling in her stomach, Jac realized that Patrick wasn't bluffing. He was going to fight for custody. And as Gerald had pointed out, there was a good chance that he might win. Unless…Jac smiled. Unless she brought in an experienced fighter. A fighter who could face an entire family of lawyers and still come out the winner.

It was time to call Bailey.