Authors: Barbara Bretton
She nodded, a strand of pale blond hair drifting across her cheek. "Leave it to Sam to throw the world's best christening party."
"She's something, isn't she?"
"She certainly is."
So much for conversation. They stood together in a pool of sunshine and cast about for something to say.
"Guess I'll shove off," said Charlie after a few long moments of silence.
Caroline tilted her head and looked up at him. "I thought O'Rourke's was closed for the day."
"There's more to life than O'Rourke's."
"I didn't mean to imply that there wasn't."
Good going, Caroline, implying he's nothing more than a short-order cook with no life of his own.
"Actually I was heading down to the shore."
Her words caught in her throat. "How wonderful. I hope you and your date have a wonderful evening."
He barely suppressed a grin. He knew the sound of jealousy when he heard it.
So she hasn't forgotten our night together after all....
"No date."
Caroline busied herself with the lacy edge of her sleeve while she tried to gather her thoughts. "I've always enjoyed the shore." She favored him with her best smile, the one that usually turned men into oatmeal.
Charlie favored her with a grin that was just this side of wise guy and said nothing.
"Have you been to Cape May?" she asked, leaning close enough for him to catch the scent of her perfume.
"Don't like it. All those gingerbread Victorian houses make me feel like I'm stuck inside an exhibit at Disney World."
"You're being awfully difficult," she muttered
sotto voce
.
"What was that?"
She upped the wattage on her smile. "I said, you probably enjoy Atlantic City."
"Not much."
One more try, Donohue, and then it's every woman for herself.
"Springsteen territory then?"
"Now you're talking."
Her smile faltered as she thought about sweaty beer joints, screaming Harleys, and heavy metal. "Asbury Park," she said as cheerfully as she could manage. "How exciting."
He grabbed her by the arm and pulled her behind a towering azalea bush. "You and Springsteen? Gimme a break. What in hell's going on here?"
She tossed her hair with a decidedly seductive gesture. "I don't know what you mean."
"You don't give a damn about where I'm going or who I'm going with and you sure don't feel like going to Asbury Park. You know it and I know it and everybody at this damn christening party knows it. So what's going on?"
"Conversation, Charles. Is that such a foreign notion?"
He was having one hell of a time keeping the lid on his temper. "We've had one conversation in the two years we've known each other and we both know how that ended up. Why the sudden change of heart?" Almost two months had gone by since the night they made love. Almost eight weeks where she barely managed to say hello to him. She was playing some kind of game and he was determined to find out exactly what it was.
This wasn't surface anger on Donohue's part. Caroline could feel waves of it coming from him. Dear God, what a hash she was making of things. Flirtation hadn't worked. Conversation was impossible. The only thing left was the naked truth.
She met his eyes, letting her Caroline-the-flirt persona drop away like an extra sweater. "We need to talk, Charles. Tonight if you can spare the time."
He didn't like the way his stomach knotted up at the somber look in her big blue eyes. "How about right now?"
She inclined her head toward the milling throng. "I'd prefer we speak in private."
He wanted to make a joke about what happened the last time they spoke in private but fortunately reason prevailed. "We could go back to O'Rourke's and talk."
She hesitated. "I'd prefer some place a little more--" She started to say neutral but caught herself in time. This wasn't a battle. When it came to the baby growing inside her womb, she and Donohue were--or should be--on the same side.
Sweat broke out on the back of Charlie's neck. The last time sweat had broken out on the back of his neck he'd been in Nam facing the business end of an AK-47. He named a restaurant two towns over. "Say we meet there in two hours?"
Caroline nodded. The look of relief on her lovely face only added to Charlie's apprehension. "And, Charles?"
Here it comes,
he thought.
The ax is about to fall.
He met her eyes.
Her smile was swift, and then it was gone. "I'd be in your debt if you didn't tell anyone we were dining together tonight."
She was embarrassed? Amazing how anger could override even primal anxiety. "I'm not looking for bragging rights at the bar, if that's what worries you. If I was, every one of these people would already know about our night in the fur vault."
He turned and walked away before she could say another word. Sam slipped up beside Caroline and linked an arm through hers. "I take it he's not happy about the baby."
"I didn't tell him."
"You didn't tell him! I saw you whispering over here, looking terribly serious. What on earth were you saying to him?"
Caroline didn't know whether to laugh or cry, so she did both. "We got into an argument."
"About the baby?"
"About dinner."
Even Sam, born again romantic, was hard-pressed to find the silver lining in this particular stormy cloud.
"You finally settled on a place to meet?"
"I think so. Whether he shows up now is anybody's guess."
"I know Charlie," said Sam with an emphatic shake of her head. "If he said he'd show up, he'll show up. He's a man of his word."
Caroline sighed. "I was afraid of that."
#
Bigelow's was a sturdy steak-and-potatoes type of place on the outskirts of Cranbury, a picturesque town whose history pre-dated the American Revolution
. Lots of wood paneling, stained glass, and chirpy waitresses who liked to point to the chalkboard menu whenever Caroline had a question about the cuisine. Charlie, who had ordered a brew and a 20 ounce porterhouse, watched with obvious amusement as she ran a perfectly manicured finger down the long list of batter-fried appetizers and ended up ordering a tossed salad, hold the dressing.
"And a steak," said Charlie. "Medium rare."
"No steak," said Caroline, teeth clenched.
The waitress stopped chirping for a moment and looked from one to the other. "Two steaks?"
"One steak," said Caroline.
"That's right," said Charlie. "One for her and one for me."
"I don't eat red meat."
"Have some ribs then. Best baby backs in the state."
The waitress nodded, her French braid bobbing.
"I don't eat pork."
"You Jewish?" asked the waitress.
"This isn't a religious issue," she said, glaring at the nosy waitress, "it's a health issue." She closed the menu and leaned back in her seat. "Not that it's any of your business."
The waitress skulked away, French braid subdued.
"A little rough on her, weren't you?" asked Charlie, offering her a piece of warm bread from the basket in the center of the table.
"I'm not in the habit of defending my food choices to the hired help."
Charlie broke off a piece of bread and deposited it on her bread plate. She looked at it as if it were one of the seven plagues. "Maybe if you'd ever spent time as one of the hired help, you'd take it easy on them."
She started to say she'd spent a lot of time as hired help in her day but stopped herself just in time. Her past was nobody's business but her own. All that mattered tonight was the future. Correction: the future of her baby. "I'm not terribly hungry tonight," she said instead. "I overate at the party."
Charlie had noticed every morsel that she didn't put into her mouth at the party. He'd known parakeets
that ate more than Caroline had today. He also knew when to keep his observations to himself. He poured himself a brew and took a pull. "So," he said after the waitress deposited a dish of celery and olives then sprinted for the safety of the kitchen, "what's this all about?"
Caroline folded her hands in her lap and took a deep, calming breath. "This isn't easy, Charles." She laughed nervously. "I thought I had this well-planned but...." Her voice trailed away.
"Just spit it out," Charlie advised, in his inimitable fashion. "Get it out on the table."
The mental picture his words conjured up made her stomach lurch but a sip of ice water calmed her rebellious stomach. "I--I assume you remember that night we spent...umm, the night we were stranded together--"
"The night we made love."
"Yes." She cleared her throat. "Yes. The night we made love."
His expression was as dark as the hair falling across his forehead. Had she really ever felt comfortable enough with him to gently smooth it back and feel it, like ebony silk, beneath her fingertips? To think that mouth, that dark moustache, had moved across her--
"I remember," he said, voice bland.
"Well, I realize we didn't plan to get stuck together in my storage room. I mean, it wasn't anybody's fault that you tripped the lock."
"Right," he said. "Just like it wasn't anybody's fault that you didn't have a back-up system in case of emergencies."
"Please." She touched the back of his hand to silence him, then withdrew as if she'd somehow violated his space. Ridiculous thought, all things considered, but there it was just the same. "Well, I'm afraid there's been a...complication."
His dark brows lifted. "Insurance problems? I can swear I didn't fence any fox tails."
A strangled laugh threatened the last of her composure. "Charles, I'm pregnant."
The waitress nearly fell into the lazy susan of salad dressings she'd deposited.
"You want to run that by me again?" Charlie asked as soon as the wide-eyed girl had backed away from the table.
"I'm pregnant."
"With my baby?"
She nodded. "With your baby."
"You're sure you're pregnant?"
"Positive." Another wild giggle. "Get it? Positively positive."
She braced herself for a continuation of the paternity issue but it never came. She would always be grateful to him for that. At least there was that much of a connection between them that he knew she was telling the truth.
"So what are we going to do?" he asked.
Her heart was warmed by the word "we" and she blinked back still more tears. "I don't know, Charles." She looked down at her place setting. "I just don't know." There were many alternatives these days, some acceptable to her and some not.
"You're not going to have an abortion, are you?" His voice was gruff, his words rushed.
She shook her head. "No, I'm not. That much I'm sure of."
"I'm glad." The relief on his handsome face stunned her. "I know it's your body and all that, but it's my kid, too."
Her eyes widened. "You want children?"
"Not that I ever thought about." He met her gaze. "You?"
"Same thing here. I always saw myself more as the Auntie Mame type."
"Looks like it's not our choice any more, doesn't it?"
Something about his words made her spine stiffen. "Listen, Charles, I don't expect anything from you. It's my decision to have this baby and I'm fortunate not to need anybody's help." She had a house and a business, good friends and a great income. She could manage on her own.
"Great," he said, not cra
cking a smile, "but that still doesn't change the fact that a kid's parents should be married."
ii
Caroline didn't miss a beat. "Don't be ridiculous. This isn't the 1950's. You don't have to make an honest woman of me."
"I'm not thinking of you. I'm thinking about my kid."
"
Our
kid," she snapped. "Our child. I'll thank you to remember that."
He had the good grace to look abashed. It was the least he could do. "I want him to have my name."
Caroline narrowed her eyes. "I don't think she would fare too badly with mine."
"You know what I'm talking about."
"The concept of illegitimacy is an outdated one," she persisted. "In case you haven't noticed, the world's changed a great deal."
"Right, and that's why adults are out there searching for their parents."
"You're talking about adoptions. This is entirely different."
"The principle's the same. People want to know where they come from. It's about blood."
She looked at him strangely. This was the last thing she'd expected to hear from the mouth of the ex-navy cook.
"You'd still be the child's father, Charles, whether or not we were married. You wouldn't be locked out of the baby's life. I don't understand the difference."