The Baby Bargain
Wendy Warren
When yet another scandal rocked the Children's Connection, it was PR whiz LJ Logan to the rescue.Sharp and sophisticated, LJ was confident he could salvage the center's battered reputation. But Eden Carter, one of the Connection's most beloved birth specialists, wasn't so sure. Stung by the dazzling doula and her criticism of his creative campaign, LJ issued a challenge: You come up with something better. To LJ's surprise Eden agreed.The one condition: LJ must care for the single mom's infant son for one week. One week? No problem. But when LJ began to play Mr. Mom, he didn't realize it was a role he might want to embrace for life….
The Baby
Bargain
Wendy Warren
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Coming Next Month
Special thanks and acknowledgment are given to Wendy Warren for her contribution to the LOGAN’S LEGACY REVISITED miniseries.
For Tim Blough,
Libbi’s first hero. And my last.
Thank you for filling our lives with laughter,
integrity and love. Every heroine should be so lucky.
Chapter One
It was going well.
Lawrence Logan, Jr., LJ to his family and friends, stood in the pastel-toned meeting room of the Children’s Connection and managed, despite the overly cozy decor, to deliver a presentation guaranteed to knock the socks off the fertility and adoption clinic’s board members and staff. He was about to save the Portland, Oregon business from going down in flames after a series of tough breaks and terrible publicity.
It felt good to be a savior.
“The Children’s Connection has taken hits on local news and in print. That can’t be denied,” he told his listeners in a smooth, authoritative voice that was neither judgmental nor commiserating.
“Fortunately for us, there are more viewers watching American Idol than the local news at six. Via high-visibility commercial spots, a redesigned Web site and strategic interviews, we will redirect general awareness and reprogram public opinion. It can be done, ladies and gentlemen. Logan Public Relations is going to show you how.” Like a proud coach, he smiled at everyone around the table. “Let me give you a taste of what we have in mind.”
Taking two steps to a TV monitor, he prepared to start the video presentation he’d brought with him.
Behind him, chairs creaked as people angled for a better view. LJ’s adrenaline surged.
As a New York public relations consultant who was good at his job—in the interest of full disclosure make that great at his job—LJ was used to winning his clients’ trust and, eventually, their gratitude. He enjoyed the expressions of satisfaction and relief that relaxed their strained features when he presented a watertight plan to give their floundering businesses the spit-polished patina of success.
A new job was always a rush, but this one was different. This job promised less work but higher stakes. Winning this client’s trust was critical to a bigger game plan. If—no, when— LJ successfully bolstered the Children’s Connection’s flagging public image, he would be saving more than a business: he’d be saving a family…his own.
Not a bad day’s work for a thirty-seven-year-old man who considered himself something of a black sheep.
Adjusting a silk tie that was bloody uncomfortable, but worth the bother because of the taste and affluence it projected, he glanced at the people watching the ten-minute-long DVD.
His uncle’s family on his father’s side had founded and now ran the Children’s Connection. They’d been visibly stressed since he’d arrived in town. Past rumors of a black-market baby ring, insemination using the wrong donor sperm, kidnappings, and most recently the resignation of Robbie Logan, director of the day care center, had hammered the business like an Oregon storm.
Now the board of directors, including his uncle Terrence and aunt Leslie, plus assorted employees, including his cousin Jillian, watched the video. It offered mock-ups of two separate one-minute commercial campaigns, shot specifically for the Children’s Connection, and LJ saw his aunt and uncle glance at each other in pleased surprise. Satisfaction stirred in his chest.
As the first commercial ended, the door to the meeting room clicked open…though not on the first try.
LJ couldn’t help but watch as a medium-height, lavishly curved blonde juggled a plate and the largest water bottle he’d ever seen. As the only occupant of the room facing the blonde’s direction, he was also the only person present to witness her difficulty in getting a good grip on the door handle. He took a step away from the TV monitor, intending to walk to the rear of the room and hold the door for her, but she solved her own problem by sticking the water bottle between her knees, holding the plate in one hand, widely opening the door with the other, then snatching the water bottle from between her knees and racing in.
Several people heard her that time and turned to acknowledge her entrance. She smiled and offered a brief wave of the water bottle.
Stationing herself near the door, a solitary figure behind the board members and coworkers who’d arrived on time and were seated in a U configuration around the conference tables, she proved taller than LJ had first thought and stronger looking, too. He’d dimmed the lights for the video viewing, but could see clearly that the arms she bared in a sleeveless robin’s-egg-blue sweater bore no resemblance to the willowy, verging-on-emaciated model’s limbs he’d grown used to after years in New York. The woman at the door looked like a farm girl, healthy and rosy, teeming with life.
She scanned the room for a vacant seat, but before she moved to the table, the TV monitor caught her attention. Eyes bigger and softer than Bambi’s focused on the screen. Her full lips pursed in concentration.
Everything about the woman—especially those lush lips—made LJ hunger to taste her….
Whoa. Time for an intervention.
LJ shook his head a bit. He’d never been one to lose track of the matter at hand and he didn’t intend to start now.
Commanding himself to rise above the distraction, he refocused on the monitor, but admitted that the blonde’s presence amplified the anticipation rushing through his veins.
On-screen, a woman twirled a toddler in a dandelion-carpeted field. Carefully filtered lighting softened all harsh lines and strong colors. A soothing voice-over scored the shot:
“The Children’s Connection of Portland. Helping singles become families.” Music swelled. The mother pulled her toddler close, and they both tumbled, laughing, into the grass. “Pursue your dream.”
LJ nodded imperceptibly. After the commercial the video continued with statistics, demographics. LJ knew, though, that he’d hooked his audience already. No parent with a soul could fail to be moved. Hell, even he felt a little teary, and he was about as paternal as Scrooge.
Without question, single women eager to have babies would consider the Children’s Connection again as their first choice in fertility clinics. Though the commercial they’d just viewed was a mock-up, once it was shot at budget and aired repeatedly, it would seep into viewers’ hearts like honey into warm bread. LJ had to force himself not to turn toward the blonde to savor her reaction along with the others’. He written this spot himself.
There were times, like now, when he knew exactly what he was doing with his life.
Gag. Me.
That was Eden Carter’s first reaction as she stood in the back of the meeting room and tried not to laugh out loud.
Only a man could possibly have come up with the pablum they’d just watched. More specifically, the man would have to be childless or someone who had never asked his wife a single purposeful question about her mothering experience.
The Barbie doll in the commercial looked as if she’d never missed a night’s sleep, for crying out loud. Her face was gorgeous, her figure toned and perfect, her hair an überstylist’s work of art.
Come to the Children’s Connection, Eden thought, we’ll help you have a baby who hardly ever cries and will never bite your boob while he’s nursing.
Okay, so maybe she was cranky, but she’d missed lots of sleep lately. Whoever had written the syrupy commercial should have asked her—or any of the single mothers who had been helped by the Children’s Connection—what parenting an infant or toddler on one’s own really looked like.
Shifting the arm that held the plate of cookies she’d brought to the meeting, she surreptitiously pressed her forearm against her right breast with its poor aching nipple.
Her beautiful baby boy, Liam, was currently adding a new tooth to the three he already had. He’d clamped down on her right nipple so hard this morning that she’d let out a shriek before she could stop herself. Her poor little guy had opened his blue eyes wide then started to squall. It had been a rough finish to a morning that had started late because she’d been up half the night applying a homeopathic teething gel to his swollen gums.
Liam wasn’t the only one who depended on her availability day and night. As a doula, she was responsible for her patients anytime they needed her.
If she tried to twirl in a field like the gal in the commercial, she’d collapse from exhaustion.
Women who wanted to become parents, especially single parents, needed the kind of support and compassion that came from shared experience, and truth, not something so…so…
Silly!
When several people whipped around in their chairs to face her, she realized she’d spoken aloud.
“Do you want to comment, Eden?” Terrence Logan asked her with interest.
In her teens and early twenties, she’d had a bothersome tendency to speak first and think later. A committed yoga and meditation practice had soothed her jangled spirit and given her the discipline to insert a little lag time between her thoughts and her words.
Evidently she was suffering a relapse.
“No, thank you. Very sorry,” she said since she’d clearly spoken out of turn.
Her coworkers here knew her as the centered, hard-to-ruffle woman she’d become. She’d even Hypno-Birthed her way through an eighteen-hour delivery, thank you very much.
No one here was familiar with the Eden Carter who’d struggled through each painful day of her youth like a salmon slogging upstream. Back then her burdens had seemed to weigh more than she did, and sometimes she’d release her frustration by picking fights that weren’t even hers.
Involuntarily her gaze met the speaker’s. What was his name? He was one of the Logans, but belonged to a branch of the family that didn’t have much to do with the Children’s Connection, as far as she knew.
His articulate brows had hiked to express surprise then lowered quickly to a frown. At first glance he appeared almost confused, but as Eden watched he gathered his wits and smiled tightly, gearing up for a fight if necessary.
An answering thrill of anticipation shot through her, catching her off guard. She willed the feeling to pass and to leave in its stead a healing serenity.
“I’m sure we’re all interested in what you have to say, Ms….?”
Oh, geez. Move on, buddy. Please, move on. “Carter,” she muttered.
“Ms. Carter.” Silencing the monitor that had gone to blue screen, he flicked on the overhead lights and turned toward her again. “I realize you weren’t here for the entire presentation, but you’ve obviously had a strong reaction to what you did see.”
Eden’s eyes narrowed to mirror his. The gauntlet had been tossed. Challenge vibrated beneath the committed politeness of his words. He’d invited her comments and undermined them in a single breath.
“There’s a seat at the head of the table.” He gestured with an innocence that would melt butter, but she understood that his intention was to put her on the spot. “Of course, you’re welcome to stand if you prefer.” He stepped to the side, indicating he was just as pleased as could be to give her the floor.
Eden smiled, as innocently as he. You don’t scare me, bub. I went through back labor.
Adopting her smoothest gliding walk, she approached the front of the room, plate of cookies and water bottle in hand, and never broke eye contact with him.
As she drew near, she saw that his eyes were blue and that he was older than he’d seemed from across the room. On a bet, she’d risk good money that he was mid-to late thirties, at least. Her initial impression had been that he was the born-with-a-silver-spoon type, but the closer she got the less untouched by life he seemed.
She stood no more than a foot away when she noted the tension around his eyes, eyes that were almost as blue as hers and her son’s. He shared her son’s dark hair, too, though his was a smidge darker.
“Thank you,” she said when he held out a chair. He waited until she was comfortably seated before assuming the seat next to her.
He smelled good. Cleaner and subtler than cologne, more delicious than plain soap. Seemed as though she rarely had an occasion to smell anything more interesting than baby powder lately, so his scent hit her twice as hard.
Buck up, Eden, she told herself. You probably smell like baby spit up, which is why you have a point to make.
With a big smile, she plopped her plate of cookies atop the cleaned-for-company conference table and whipped off the crinkled foil cover.
“Chocolate chocolate chip and oatmeal butterscotch,” she announced. “Help yourselves. Three points each if you’re doing Weight Watchers.”
Her coworkers gazed hungrily at her homemade treats. She saw Jillian Logan glance at Dianna March, who was on the board of directors. Ordinarily the board and the staff rarely attended the same meetings. When the staff alone gathered in the afternoon, juice and coffee flowed and there was no shortage of snacks, making the furniture before them look like a picnic table.
Formality and professionalism seemed to be the order of this afternoon, however.
The meeting room appeared more official, less warm and friendly. A carafe of water and a coffee urn sat atop a sideboard, with a small container of sugar and packets of artificial sweetener as the only nod to the afternoon energy slump. Her cookies, which normally would have been half-gone in the time it took for her to notice the difference in the room, sat untouched as everyone waited to see what the board members were going to do.
That’s the problem, she thought. We can’t stop being ourselves just because we’re in trouble. That’s what this place was about: family first. Real life first. That was one reason she loved it so: you didn’t have to fake it to make it at the Children’s Connection.
Contrarily, the commercial she’d just watched looked like a trailer for The Sound of Music.
“Afternoon, everyone.” She raised a hand companionably. “I apologize for walking in late. I hope the cookies’ll make up for it. I stopped by the baby center to check on Liam. He’s been teething, and you know how that goes. Sleepless nights, cranky days and a nose like a lazy river—nothing ever comes of it, but it doesn’t stop running. You just can’t pay a child-care provider enough to deal with that, can you?”
Understanding smiles popped up around the room as heads bobbed. There, that was better. Dianna and fellow board member Wayne Thorpe looked almost human again. No matter what trouble they’d suffered recently, the Children’s Connection wasn’t all about business. That was one reason she’d moved clear from Kentucky to Oregon to take this job. She hoped to heaven this place would hang on to its unique character in the face of its struggles. It was so easy to forget who you were when you were scared.
Eden turned toward the man beside her. “Do you have children, Mr….”
She cocked a brow even though she knew his last name was Logan. Same as the uncle and cousins who’d hired him. Still, it never hurt to let one’s adversary believe he hadn’t been worthy of much interest up to now.
To his credit, his surprise showed only in his eyes.
“Logan,” he supplied. “And, no, I do not have children.”
Eden nodded and made a mental note. A very crisp “No, I do not” rather than “Not yet” or “I haven’t been so fortunate.” She colored her responding “Ahh” with gentle implication.
“Your commercial was lovely to look at,” she said sincerely. “Almost made me want to get pregnant again. If someone could guarantee I’d be like the woman in your ad. Now, there’s a gal who looks as if she could have triplets and not lose any beauty sleep. Most of us moms with little ones are lucky if we brush our teeth before noon.”
From her peripheral vision, Eden saw the women in the room nod and smile.
“I hope I’m not being too personal, Ms. Carter,” LJ said, obviously realizing he could lose the ground he’d already gained if he wasn’t careful, “but you’re far more attractive than the actress who was hired for the commercial. If you have a child young enough to be teething, I think we put the wrong woman on TV.”
Garnet Kearn beamed at him. Wayne Thorpe and Miles Remington raised their brows as if it was an option worth considering.
Score: Logan, 1. Carter, 0.
Eden couldn’t ignore the fact that he’d just made her look like Gladys Kravitz, butting in where she didn’t belong. When she’d first received the memo regarding the meeting, she’d considered the invitation to be little more than a courtesy. Who needed a layperson’s input with an advertising pro onboard? Now that she’d met the whiz kid, she revised her opinion.
You need me, buddy boy. And I need you to protect my place of employment. She was determined to speak up whether he liked it or not.
Smiling as if she thought he’d paid her a compliment, Eden cracked her knuckles under the table. He might know advertising, but Mr. New York was about to discover that mommies and babies were her areas of expertise.
LJ relished the victory he’d just won. Before Ms. Carter had tossed in her two cents, he’d been about to tie this job into a bow pretty enough to impress his uncle. No way would he allow someone to undermine a victory that was only moments away.
Her gripe could waste a lot of time if the board wasn’t savvy about marketing. No one on any sofa in any home in America had ever bought a product or service because it promised to make him look and feel exactly the way he looked and felt sitting in front of his TV.
Advertising, even for services like those provided by the Children’s Connection, appealed to people’s fantasies, to their idealized versions of themselves and the lives they would like to lead. Who fantasized about being overworked, sleep deprived and covered in baby puke?
He decided to use her objection to hammer his point home. My apologies, beauty, but this is a business meeting, not Mommy and Me.
“I’m glad you found the commercial aesthetically pleasing.” He spoke directly to her. “We want to plant a strong, positive image in the mind of anyone looking into an adoption or fertility clinic.”
When her pale brows gathered and it appeared she was going to rebut, he held the floor tenaciously, shifting his attention to the others.
“It goes without saying that the Children’s Connection has suffered a number of blows to its image and that the result has been public questioning of the organization’s agenda. More crucially, this board’s basic values have come under attack. I intend to plant an image firmly in the minds of every viewer that leaves no doubt about the Children’s Connection’s first love—the creation of families. I want hopeful parents to know we are unabashedly romantic about helping to build those families and watching them grow. That we will be part of their lives far past inception or birth or an adoptive placement. The world may be cynical…the Portland Children’s Connection is not.”
LJ always knew when he’d hooked his audience. The energy in a conference room began to hum. If he felt it, he was making his point.
Around the table members of the board sat taller in their faux-leather chairs. LJ’s uncle Terrence and aunt Leslie linked hands atop the table. The unconsciousness of the gesture told LJ a great deal.
Though he kept his gaze on the others, he could feel the frustration simmering in the woman seated beside him. What was her beef? So the actress in the commercial was skinny. Eden Carter’s body was made to attract men, most of whom would go nuts over her more liberal curves. The subtle Southern lilt in her voice wouldn’t hurt, either.
He had a fleeting desire to apologize for cutting off her protest—very fleeting. He’d never been that nice in business. And since he was about to win his father’s approval for the first time in two decades, he wasn’t about to let a pretty blonde with a body image issue compete with his father-approval issue.
Beside him, the woman cleared her throat. When LJ looked at her, she smiled.
“That is a wonderful saying. ‘The world may be cynical. The Children’s Connection is not.’” She splayed a hand on her chest. “I’m a sucker for great sayings. I still get weepy over ‘You had me at hello.’ Still, if I understand the recent allegations, it’s our credibility that’s at question. We’re being called irresponsible. Or out-and-out liars.”
Damage control alert. LJ’s brow furrowed so deeply he could have grown carrots. Eden Carter looked and sounded like an angel, but as she turned to address the people around the table, she was far from heavenly. She was a bad-ass thorn in his side.
As she began speaking, he ground his teeth and felt pain stab his head. If she gave him a migraine, he was going to stop being polite.
“In our First-Time Moms class we tell women exactly what to expect,” she said in that soothing, eminently reasonable tone she had. “We insist they be armed with real-life information so their experience won’t overwhelm their expectations. The public should know that. They should know we educate and arm our clients with knowledge before they become parents and while they’re pregnant and after their babies arrive. Our prospective clients and all those nasty people who have been so rude to us need to know we would never ever try to snow anyone. We don’t merely value honesty around here, we insist on it.”
She thumped, actually thumped a fist on the table. He almost felt sorry for her, because she’d obviously forgotten that she was addressing a board of directors, not just a roomful of fellow employees. If this were a Frank Capra movie and Jimmy Stewart were on the board, fist-thumping idealism might work.
“If our intentions are in question,” she continued, as earnest as could be, “then, shouldn’t we be as frank as possible now? We don’t have to sugarcoat reality to make it palatable. The truth is good enough. The Children’s Connection is good enough.” She placed both palms on the table and sat forward in her chair. “I ought to know. I work here, and I’m a client.”
Hold the phone.
LJ’s brain, which was starting to hurt, scrambled to take in the information that she was a Children’s Connection client. By God, he loathed surprises.
How was she a client? Of which services had she availed herself? Adoption or the fertility clinic?
And what did she do here, anyway?
Racking his brain some more, he sought a polite way to remind everyone present that he was the professional here and that Little Bo Peep didn’t know advertising from a flock of sheep.
He opened his mouth, but applause came out. Huh? Frowning, he glanced around.
Every soul around the table had his or her hands in prayer position, clapping enthusiastically. Heads nodded. Broad, unmistakably proud smiles wreathed every face.
He looked to his left.
Eden Carter ducked her head humbly, adding an “Oh, pshaw” shrug before she picked up her plate of cookies and passed it around.
And he was worried about finding a polite way to discredit her?
His irritation rose and his head pounded harder with each “Ahhh” a bite of her apparently excellent baked goods inspired.
The hell with polite.
The meeting was out of his control, the first time he recalled that happening ever, and he had five feet, six inches of curving Betty Crocker to thank for it.
When the plate of cookies made it back to their end of the table, she reached in front of him and held it aloft. Unshakably pleasant, she offered, “Cookie? Only—”
“Three Weight Watchers points?” he recited along with her. “I heard.” Smiling with no humor at all, he reached for a perfectly round disk studded with chocolate chips. Examined it. “It looks good. And sweet.”
Returning the cookie to the plate, he curled his lips into something feral. “But I’m an Atkins man.” He leaned toward her, his words for her ears only. “See, I have a goal. Don’t think for one second that I’m going to let a little sugar get in my way.”
Chapter Two
“Then he looked at me with his beady eyes all scrunched up and nasty and said, ‘Don’t think for one second I’m going to be nice about this!’ Or something like that. That was the idea, anyway.”
Eden sat on an Elmo beach towel spread atop the grass in Woodstock Park and recounted the afternoon’s weirdness for her best friend and housemate, Liberty Sanchez. Eden’s accent, modulated and subtle on a typical day, sounded particularly twangy when anger became her overriding emotion. “Oh, mah Gaawwwwd, what a weasel.”
Snatching a red grape from the bag she’d brought for their dinner picnic and popping it into her mouth, Liberty shrugged with the fatalism she’d developed over her thirty years. “Sounds like a typical businessman. You get in his way, you’re dust.” Her near-black eyes narrowed. “Was it so important to make your point, Eden? I mean, I know you care about your business, but as long as what’s-his-face—”
“Lawrence Logan, Jr., rich boy.”
“As long as Junior saves the day, does it matter so much how he does it?”
Eden cast her friend a look of disbelief. “Since when did you decide the end justifies the means? I do like that you called him Junior, though.”
Remaining worked up, she slapped her hand on the towel, close to her playing son, who dropped his Elmo phone. Swiftly, Eden retrieved the toy and handed it back. “Sorry, honey. Mommy is in a snit, all right. You gotta bear with me. Some people get under my skin, and I just can’t scratch hard enough.”
“Maybe,” Liberty said with her usual dry brand of calm, “the problem is you scratch yourself and think the other person is going to bleed.”
Eden scowled at her best friend since middle school. “You have got to stop going to those twelve-step groups. You’re absolutely ruining my resentments.”
Liberty said nothing more. Wrapping up the grapes and stashing them in a plastic container along with a tofu quiche she’d made for their dinner, she stowed the container in a nylon backpack and slipped the straps over her shoulders. While Eden got Liam ready for the short walk home, Liberty shook out their blanket.
Watching her friend, Eden knew, as she’d always known, that although she and Liberty had reacted differently to their life circumstances, they’d both grown a protective armor that functioned as a second skin. Most of the time they understood each other quite well. They were excellent roommates and good friends. Moreover, Liberty was studying at night to be an ob-gyn nurse. Eden had wondered whether introducing a baby to the mélange would encourage Liberty to look elsewhere for housing, but her roommate’s enjoyment of babies had smoothed the path so far.
Fitting Liam into his front carrier became easier with an extra set of hands as Liberty wordlessly adjusted the straps Eden had trouble reaching.
“Thanks.” She passed Liberty the Elmo phone and took the cold purple teething ring Liberty handed her. Liam accepted it eagerly from his mother and began gumming. “You always know just what he needs. You sure you don’t want one of these? I know a great fertility clinic.”
Liberty’s laugh sounded like a squawk. “No, thank you.” She smoothed Liam’s dark baby curls. “I’ll stick to helping them come into the world and babysitting this one.”
It was the answer Eden expected. Liberty’s childhood had been as tough as Eden’s, one reason they’d bonded as girls and remained tight as they sprinted toward thirty. Whereas Liberty had decided she didn’t know enough about happy families to help create one, Eden for years had longed to start a family of her own and to give her kids what she had not had—a magical childhood.
Like Liberty, she enjoyed the work of bringing children into the world. That, coupled with her keen interest in natural medicine, had led to her work as a doula and eventually to her job at the Children’s Connection. She’d worked hard, made a nice home, but had never met the guy. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t tried. Just the opposite: she’d tried too hard.
The fallout from her failed relationships polluted the memory of her late teens and early twenties. Truth be told, she’d had a few too many relationships.
Her head had been so doggone stuffed with dreams about forever and about that big strong somebody she could cling to in times of trouble…geez Louise, her poor brain hadn’t had any room to work.
She’d turned a new leaf, thank God. Hadn’t had a relationship in an age, and never let herself even think anymore about strong arms and a man who’d die for her and blah, blah, blah.
Her Southern ancestors may have thought it was impossible to raise a family without a man, but Eden knew better. It would have been pure foolishness to wait until she’d met someone marriageable before she’d had a baby. Her ovaries might have been the size of pinheads by then.
Besides, she’d learned the hard way that waiting for someone to fix things generally meant you stayed broken. A smart woman solved her own problems.
And a scared woman made deals with her Maker. Eden had made one.
Since the age of fourteen, she’d been keeping a journal in which she wrote down her thoughts about life, her hopes and prayers and gripes. A few years ago, when she’d decided to have a child on her own, she’d written it in her diary like this: “God, give me a baby, and you’ll never have a single cause to call me an unmindful mother.”
From the time she’d conceived, she’d known her first priority would always be Liam. Nothing would get in the way of providing a lighthearted and stable growing-up time for her little boy. And that meant—
NO MORE MEN.
She’d written that in her journal, too, with a red permanent marker. Her life had fallen apart when she was ten because of a man. She’d been in second grade when her mother, an artist with a wild spirit, had become a bit too wild. By the time her mother was diagnosed with manic depression, her stepfather had thrown in the towel on the marriage and their family. Her birth father was no help, having moved with no forwarding address before Eden learned to say “Dada.” Two men had broken her heart and she’d spent the better part of her young womanhood acting as if a man was the glue to put it back together. It upset her to think about it, because she so, so knew better!
Now that she’d finally gotten her mind settled on being a singleton, it was just God’s sense of humor to give her a case of hormones that made her libido jumpier than a frog on fire.
Pregnancy had increased her cravings for more than Doritos and peanut-butter-cup ice cream. Fortunately, she’d had work to focus on during the months she’d carried Liam. Then she’d given birth, and postpartum concerns trumped sexual interest any day of the week.
Drat LJ Logan for showing up and revving her engine even while he was busy irritating her. The man had some powerful pheromones, and the truth was he’d been on her mind all evening.
“I wonder what Junior’s story is,” she murmured, knowing she should have bitten her tongue. It was just the simple truth that one of her failings as a human was her habit of thinking about the very things she shouldn’t.
Liam dropped his teething ring. Liberty made a beautiful save and handed it back without missing a beat. “Story about what?” she asked.
“About why he doesn’t want kids.”
“How do you know that? From what you told me, the two of you didn’t get chatty.”
“Well, no, but I asked him straight out whether he had any. His answer was absolutely a negative. The boy practically shouted it.”
“So you stayed after the meeting and talked to him?”
“I asked him during the meeting.”
“In front of the board? In front of the people who hired him?”
“Of course, and don’t look at me like that.” Heat suffused Eden’s face and chest. “I was trying to make a point.”
“You’re not supposed to make points in front of a man’s boss. Not if you hope to have even a barely civil relationship with him.”
“I don’t need a civil relationship with LJ Logan.” That was the truth, too. “I need him to do his job well enough to help save the Children’s Connection, and right now I have my doubts.”
Liberty shook her head. “As long as I’ve known you, you’ve had excellent interpersonal skills.”
Eden was about to say thank you when her roommate added, “Except when it comes to men. Then you’re a dolt.”
Eden stopped walking. “I beg your pardon, please? I have never had complaints from males regarding my communication skills.”
Liberty patted her shoulder. “Don’t get your thong in a knot. You start to sound like Scarlett O’Hara when you’re upset.” She continued walking. “All I’m saying is, remember Hal Sneeden? He called you emotionally withholding.”
Eden felt a stab of pain but told herself to ignore it. “Oh, that.” She waved a hand and strolled after Liberty. “That doesn’t mean I can’t communicate. I never wanted to get emotionally intimate with Hal Sneeden. And you agreed I could never get serious about him, anyway. Remember? Because if we’d gotten married I’d have been Eden Sneeden.”
Leaving the park, they headed down the sidewalk toward home. “People would have said, ‘There go Eden Sneeden’s kids.’” Bending forward, she kissed Liam’s head. “I would never do that to you, precious.”
Liberty’s throaty laugh lightened the atmosphere, but inside Eden struggled not to feel hurt all over again. The breakup with Hal had happened seven years ago, and when she recalled his words they still gnawed at the edges of her confidence, like bugs on a leaf. His exact words had been, “I’ve never felt really close to you.”
Well, shoot! She gritted her teeth as tears gathered at the corners of her eyes. She didn’t care a fig about Hal Sneeden anymore; she really didn’t. But even though she’d dated much more frequently than Liberty had, it had not escaped her notice that Liberty had close platonic relationships with men, whereas she, Eden, had never had a boyfriend she could also call her friend.
She chewed on that some as they walked the brief route home, where families—the typical, nuclear variety—dotted their path like land mines.
Passing a gray bungalow, both she and Liberty raised their hands to wave to the Scotts, a family of five that included three kids, a mother and a father, all of whom could be found outside playing or working together on even the poorest excuse for a nice day. Farther ahead were the Michaelsons—two toddlers, working mom, stay-at-home dad who liked to construct temporary forts out of fallen branches and twigs. Like their neighbors, they were determinedly finding things to do outside, relishing the early spring weather before the next spate of April showers.
Outwardly, Eden kept smiling. Secretly she couldn’t wait to get home, where she could hole up inside the rest of the night and ignore all the happy three-, four- and fivesomes.
Portland was truly a family town. Several years back it had been touted as one of the ten best cities in the country in which to raise children. That made it a great place to pursue her work as a childbirth coach. A terrific place to have and raise Liam. It was less terrific when she didn’t want to be reminded that Liam might someday think she’d shortchanged him by bringing him into the world without a daddy.
And sometimes when she lay in bed—not at night, but in the morning—and listened to the twitter of birds and the sound of her son’s breathing, she wished for someone to turn to, to whisper with, to plan the day.
She glanced down as Liam’s head bobbed against her chest. The motion of walking lulled him into his evening snooze. Gently, she stroked the hair around his ears. You’re the only guy for me from now on, little man. Still, it would be nice to be part of a larger community.
“I read about a woman in Florida who started a cooperative housing development,” she said contemplatively to Liberty. “The intention is to bring foster kids together with people who want to adopt or at least mentor children. The housing is available to people of all ages. You can even eat together in a common dining hall.”
Liberty eyed her doubtfully. “It sounds like a dorm.”
Eden laughed. “No, really, co-op communities sound like nice places. Most have common areas for the kids to play together. Some even do cooperative babysitting and there’s a deliberate effort to make the communities multigenerational, which is great for the kids.” She ran her fingers over Liam’s soft dark curls, so different from her wavy blond hair. “It would be nice to think he’s with people who feel like…”
“Like family without the need for therapeutic intervention?”
This time Eden’s laughter rang out down the street. “You are such a cynic.”
“Mmm.”
They reached their block of smaller Portland style bungalows, and Liberty stepped up her pace. “I’ve got major studying to do. I’m going to head to First Cup for something very tall, very strong and very iced. You want?”
“Nope.” Eden hadn’t done caffeine since the stick turned pink, and she didn’t particularly need more calories tonight. She nodded to Liam. “If the master of the house sleeps a little longer, I just might look up the co-op projects in Portland.”
“Have at it. Just don’t expect me to move with you. I like my privacy.”
Both women stopped talking when they reached their house. Parked in front was a sleek black Cadillac coupe. An impatient-looking man leaned indolently against the dry-rot-damaged porch rail Eden kept promising herself she would fix. Dark glasses hid his eyes.
“Speaking of tall and strong,” Liberty murmured.
Eden shook her head. What was he doing here? She stared at LJ Logan, only assuming he stared back from behind the expensive-looking shades.
“You left out icy,” she said.
“What?” Liberty gazed toward the porch unabashedly. By choice, she didn’t date, but she wasn’t shy.
“That’s LJ Logan.” Eden spoke out the side of her mouth, keeping her voice low. “Very tall, probably strong, and could freeze water with his tongue.”
“That’s the guy you tangled with?”
“Yeah.”
Liberty gave an exaggerated wag of her dark head. “El es muy guapo.”
“Cut it out,” Eden whispered, trying not to move her lips. “For all we know he speaks Spanish.”
“Ooh. Then he might—just might—be worth dating.”
Ignoring her roommate, Eden slowly approached her porch, curious but warier than a cat in a dog run. Portland General Hospital, which housed the Children’s Connection, was located across the river, at least thirty to forty minutes from her neighborhood if there was any traffic at all.
“You’re a long way from the west side,” she said to LJ when she was close enough to speak softly over Liam’s head and still be heard.
“Ain’t it the truth?” A smile spread slowly across LJ’s face, softening the bored rich-man expression. He nodded at Liberty. “Evening. I see you’ve been enjoying the good weather.” Still without moving off the porch or even uncrossing his arms, he focused on the baby sleeping against Eden’s chest. “And this must be the teether you mentioned. He looks happy now.”
Liberty joined Eden, standing near her shoulder. “He doesn’t seem icy,” she cracked sotto voce. More loudly, she said, “Well, we’ve just come back from a picnic. I’ve got to put the leftovers in the fridge.”
Jogging lightly up the steps, she stopped alongside LJ, who straightened away from the porch rail and extended his hand.
“LJ Logan,” he said, by way of introduction, “one of Ms. Carter’s coworkers. And you are?”
“Libertad Sanchez.” Liberty laid on the Spanish accent, which she could turn on and off as easily as she worked a faucet. “Roommate,” she added. “Also in-house natural foods chef and the voice of Eden’s conscience. I have a fruit-sweetened berry crisp in the kitchen, and you’re welcome to try it as long as you didn’t come here to rake Eden over the coals. She already feels terrible for dissing you in your business meeting.”
“Liberty!”
Without a glance at Eden, Liberty gave LJ a sexy smile and a shrug. “I tried. You two play nice. Try to set a good example for the baby.”
She disappeared into the house. More slowly than her friend, Eden walked up the steps. She looked Mr. Logan straight in the sunglasses.
“I did not ‘dis’ you. I stated my opinion calmly and courteously.”
He cocked his head. “Where are you from?”
“Pardon me?”
“I’m trying to place your accent. It comes and goes. Right now it’s a little thick, so I’m guessing that you’ve worked hard to eradicate it, but when you’re tense it comes back.”
Eden, who liked to think she had total control over the accent she had indeed tried to eradicate, frowned at him unhappily. “Mr. Logan, it’s after work hours and you haven’t told me why you are here.”
He nodded. “You see? You said, heah. You’re stressed around me. Like you were at the meeting. Why was that?”
He was sure right about her being stressed now, Eden thought; he liked to knock her off track. The conversation kept changing direction, and still he hadn’t answered her question. “Why are you—” she stopped short of saying heah “—present?”
Teeth that had been straightened to perfection flashed in a grin. His entire being oozed male charm. “To be perfectly frank, I’m not certain why I’m here, Ms. Carter. Why don’t you ask me in—or at least invite me to have a seat on your very inviting porch—and perhaps we’ll both find out.”
Eden gestured to the porch.
“You can sit there—” she nodded toward a wicker chair with a tall fan back “—while I put the baby down.”
Liam was asleep in his crib, changed and dressed in footed pajamas before she joined her self-invited guest. Garage-sale furniture, Goodwill crockery and a selection of organic herbs she kept watered and well-groomed decorated the porch he’d called inviting. She set a tray with two glasses of iced tea on a large wooden end table.
Settling into his chair’s mate and wishing she’d had time to sand and paint her porch furniture in the last year, Eden watched LJ sip the herbal tea.
“It’s…different. What is it?”
“Mostly fenugreek and blessed thistle, herbs that are good for lactating women. They increase milk supply.”
He’d removed his sunglasses while she was in the house. The blue eyes she remembered from the meeting regarded her wryly. “And what, pray tell, will they do to me?”
Eden raised her glass. “Let’s find out, shall we?” She drained half the glass, inviting him to do the same.
His appreciative laugh drew the glance of a neighbor walking his boxer. Eden waved.
“So we were going to figure out why I’m here,” he said, making his own chair creak as he leaned back. “I think I know.”
She waited while he let the suspense build. He was quite the politician, working his audience, watching for the reaction. Her continued silence didn’t seem to bother him in the least.
“I like you,” he said finally. “Your coworkers like you. I’d go so far as to say they respect your opinion. That says something.”
“And did you charm one of my respectful coworkers into giving you my address?”
“Not at all. I charmed one of them into letting me look at the company files.”
Surprised by his honesty, she let herself relax. “You’re unrepentant.”
“I’m determined. I’d like to talk to you about my plan for the Children’s Connection campaign.”
“Isn’t it the same one you showed us in the meeting?” She covered her mouth. “I apologize. I didn’t mean for that to sound rude. I just mean I already saw it, and I…”
“Don’t like it. Right.”
When her cheeks reddened, he nodded and set his glass on the table between them. “This is why I want to talk to you again. I like you. I don’t want you to say something you’ll feel awful about. You see, I have a theory. You don’t like my ideas…yet. But you do like me. And right now you’re thinking to yourself, ‘Eden, just give the guy a chance.’” He leaned toward her, smiling. “Am I right or am I right?”
Chapter Three
Eden felt a little moustache of nervous perspiration break out above her upper lip. Damn, he was good. And, she had to admit that when he leaned forward like that, his gaze focused as if she were the only person in the world, it was easy to forget he was here for one reason and one reason only: to make his own life easier by persuading her to support him.
“Actually,” she demurred, shooting him an apologetic look, “I feel bad any time I have to tell a potentially hurtful truth. Why, once, I saw a neighbor’s big old tomcat chasing a sweet little marmalade tabby and it was not the first time, let me tell you. I marched right across the street and knocked on that neighbor’s door and said, ‘Ma’am, your tomcat is behaving like the neighborhood bully. You’d better put a stop to it at once or he won’t have any friends at all.’ I felt awful then, too, but it had to be said.”
Finished, she sat back, a butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-her-mouth smile on her face. To his credit, LJ’s eyes sparked in appreciation. He nodded. “Well, it was just a theory.” Speaking more sincerely, he said, “I’m a public relations and marketing expert, Eden. I know what I’m doing. I can put the Children’s Connection back in the community’s good graces. And I can do it quickly. But it’s going to be more difficult if one of the organization’s favorite employees bad-mouths my ideas.”
Modest, too, she thought wryly. “I don’t doubt you know more about ad campaigns and promotions than I do, Mr. Logan.”
“LJ.”
“But I know about prospective parents. I won’t restate all my objections to your approach, except to say again, since you’re here, that I don’t think we can establish credibility by looking as if we don’t understand or are afraid to acknowledge reality. By that, I mean the reality of our troubles at the Connection and the reality of being a parent. Especially a single parent.”
“I see.” He mulled her words over. When he spoke again, she had to admit he didn’t sound defensive at all. “Putting aside the problems at the Children’s Connection for a moment,” he said, “let’s talk about the second part of your objection. You think my commercial showed disregard for the rigors of parenting by making life seem good, enjoyable. Do you enjoy your life, Eden?”
“Of course I do. That’s not the point.”
“How long have you been a single parent?”
“As long as I’ve been a mother, Mr. Logan.”
“LJ.”
“And, I work with mothers-to-be every day. When I say they don’t want to be fed a lot of hearts-and-flowers malarkey, I know what I’m talking about.” Because that sounded harsh, she added, “If you don’t mind my saying so.”
“Not a bit.” A beat passed. “Did you become a single parent intentionally or did Liam’s father leave?”
Eden simply stared at her visitor. She might live in the Northwest now, but she’d been born in the South, where that question would surely be considered too personal. “I’m terribly sorry, but that information is not your business, Mr. Logan—”
“LJ—”
“Mr. Logan. Because after all, I barely know you.”
“Hmm. That’s true.” He let a frown crease his handsome face. “On the other hand, you thought you knew me well enough this afternoon to discredit my work.” He tilted his head, thinking, then decided aloud, “Yep. I earned the right to at least one personal question.”
He managed to engender a perfectly nasty coil of guilt that zinged through her middle.
She gave him the slit-eyed look that worked great on Liberty’s cat when it looked as if it was going to jump onto the dining table, a place it had no business going. “I don’t like the way you worked that out. This afternoon was not personal. At all. I know the needs of our clients, because I understand their concerns. I was speaking from that vantage point.”
Uncrossing his considerably long legs, LJ Logan planted his expensively shod feet squarely on her porch and rested his elbows on his knees. “Want to know what my vantage point is? Are you interested in my motivation?”
His voice remained low and almost melodious, but challenge lit his blue eyes. He was intelligent, energetic. Opinionated. But perhaps not as arrogant as she’d believed earlier. Perhaps. As they locked gazes, she was fairly certain she saw a request in his eyes, rather than a demand.
“Yes, I’m interested in your motivation.”
A flicker of surprise yielded to a smile. “I don’t believe in resting on my laurels, Eden. I study the most current research in my field, and it tells me consumers—people— give their trust and their money to the businesses they believe will make them feel good. Doesn’t matter what kind of business we’re talking about. Everyone wants someone to make his or her choices, his or her life easier. Yes, the woman in the commercial looked happy, healthy—”
“With a great hairdresser.”
“She looked good, because advertising works when it makes the consumer believe you have what they want.”
“Studies tell you this?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I don’t know about your studies. I’m a doula. I coach women through labor and I run the new single moms’ group at the Children’s Connection. The women I work with are worried about fluctuating hormones and how to find trustworthy, affordable child care on a single person’s income. They’re mighty concerned about having to go back to work on four hours of sleep a night. Their challenges will not be appeased by a thirty-second sound bite, and I would hate to have them assume we don’t understand their struggles. Or that we think their journeys will be smooth sailing once they choose our clinic. That’s a lie.”
The edge of LJ’s smile twitched with the effort to maintain it. “I’m not suggesting we lie to anyone. But we’re not going to draw new clients to the Children’s Connection by enumerating all the gory details of parenthood.”
The gory details?
Why hadn’t the Logans hired someone who understood the desire for children? Someone who valued family? LJ’s blood connection to the other Logans was not reason enough to put all their fates—those of their past, current and future clients, too—into his hands.
“I was drawn by the center’s forthrightness,” she told him. “Even forthrightness about the mistakes that have been made.”
“Kidnappings? Mix-ups in the sperm bank? Rumors of a black-market baby ring?” Emphatically, he shook his head. “The public doesn’t need to be reminded about those matters. They’re thinking about them already. That’s why I’m here—to make them think about something else.”
“The Children’s Connection took responsibility wherever they were culpable. The way to calm doubts is to address allegations, not gloss over them.”
They both sat on the edge of their seats now leaning over their legs. Eden enjoyed the opportunity to say exactly what she thought to this supremely confident businessman. He didn’t seem to mind mixing it up with her, either.
“Fine. I understand your point of view, Eden, but—and I don’t mean this in a condescending way—you’re an employee who uses the day care center. The need for additional comfort and positive imaging will be far greater for single women who come to the center to find…” He frowned, losing momentum as he searched for a word. “When they need, uhh…”
Eden frowned, not knowing at first what LJ was trying to say. “Single women who need…?” She shook her head.
And then she understood.
“Oh, my God. Sperm?” She started to smile. “Are you trying to say ‘sperm’? ‘A single woman who comes to the center to find a sperm donor’? It’s okay. I know that word.”
“Obviously.” Handsomely flushing because he hadn’t said it, LJ straightened then leaned back in the chair. “You won’t tell me how long you’ve been single, you refuse to use my first name, but you can say ‘sperm’ three times in two sentences?”
Eden tilted her head, pondering the thought. “It is ironic, isn’t it?” She picked up her glass and swirled the iced tea. “Then again, I do work in a clinic that offers alternative insemination. A man’s contributions to the process isn’t something we romanticize.”
“That information should render every man in Portland impotent,” he grumbled, crossing his legs. The action looked so self-protective Eden nearly spewed her sip of iced tea.
LJ watched her. The smile she’d withheld from him before emerged freely now as she laughed. Her impossibly thick hair brushed her shoulders. Everything about her was generous—eyes, nose, lips and shoulders as gorgeously round and curving as her bosom.
He certainly didn’t consider himself old fashioned, but he couldn’t comfortably discuss sperm with a woman whose presence reminded him of sex every time he looked at her. So sue him.
Why was he here, anyway? He wasn’t convincing her of a thing.
Mystified, he shook his head. It wasn’t like him to chase after approval. And, really, he didn’t need hers. It would make his job easier, yes, but he didn’t need it. He should leave.
“What is it about you?”
She blinked the huge, heavily lashed blue eyes he kept losing his way in. “What do you mean?”
“I want you to support my plan for the Children’s Connection. I’m not sure why.”
His candor threw her off, which afforded some satisfaction. His ego had taken a bruising with her.
After a pause during which her brows almost touched, she repeated the reason he’d offered earlier. “Because you like me.”
“I guess I must,” he murmured.
LJ had studied body language in his determination to be the best salesman of his business. A firm, well-grounded stance communicated confidence, strength and assurance. He never fidgeted. Except now.
Moving to the edge of his seat again, even though he’d just relaxed back, he searched her baby-blue eyes. “How long have you been single?” he asked quietly.
Her full lips parted. Her breath quickened. Just a bit, but he noticed.
“What does this have to do with business?”
“Absolutely nothing. How long?”
If she’d chosen not to answer, he wouldn’t have been surprised. He was beyond pleased when she did.
“I’ve never been married, Mr. Logan.”
“LJ,” he corrected calmly. “Is your son—Liam, isn’t it?” She nodded, still wary. “Is Liam’s father involved in his life? Or are you truly flying solo?”
Her breath had been shallow. Now she released a long sigh. “I’m truly flying solo. But I knew I would be. I planned for it. When I say single parenthood is difficult, I’m not complaining. It’s simply a fact.”
“Why did you plan for it?” His frown moved from the inside out. “Did the father walk out while you were pregnant?” He’d never had children and never intended to. The thought that she’d been left high and dry by someone she’d trusted annoyed the hell out of him. He’d long ago given up unprotected sex. As he saw it, no one in any relationship should enjoy that privilege if he didn’t plan to stick around for the consequences.
Her long hair swung as she shook her head. “Nobody walked out. I told you, I don’t just work at the Children’s Connection. I’ve used their services.”
It took a moment to compute that properly. She’d already mentioned that she had Liam in the child care center. The Children’s Connection also had an adoption division. But except for darker, curlier hair, the baby looked just like her. So that left—
Holy—
“It’s impolite to look shocked when you realize someone has used a sperm bank,” she reprimanded with that honeyed twang.
“Too bad. That’s the only look I have at the moment.”
Dimples appeared in her cheeks. “Honestly, I don’t know whether to laugh or rap you on the knuckles. You are going to promote an agency that specializes in alternatives to traditional pregnancy. You cannot look shocked every time you meet one of our mothers.”
“I won’t look shocked every time. I’m shocked now because you’re young. Not a victim of the biological clock. And you’re objectively attractive to men. It’s hard for me to believe you couldn’t find someone with whom to start a family. And now I think you’re blushing, but it’s getting dark, so I can’t quite tell.”
She lowered her head, allowing her hair to fall into her face for a few moments before she raked it back with her fingers.
“Do you say everything that’s on your mind?” she demanded.
“Of course not.” He brushed aside the idea. “I’m in public relations. Discreet is my middle name. Do you know who your sperm donor was?”
“Mr. Logan!”
“LJ.”
Eden was blushing, right down to her toes. She felt heat surging, well, pretty much everywhere.
Before she’d decided to pursue alternative insemination, she hadn’t had a steady relationship in almost a year. She certainly hadn’t had a relationship since, so that put her in the middle of a two-year dry spell.
The truth was she didn’t miss any specific person with whom she’d been in involved. What she missed was the idea of someone, all the terrific fantasies she used to build up during the honeymoon phase.
But “forever” had remained for her nothing more than an increasingly uncomfortable yearning. Finally, she’d decided that the hunt for happily-ever-after was like looking for the lost city of Atlantis.
The truth was that she was better, calmer, steadier without all the drama.
As for sex, at first she’d only missed it every now and again.
Then she’d pursued alternative insemination and gotten pregnant with Liam, and her hormones had gone haywire. She’d experienced the normal rise in libido during pregnancy, with unfortunately no one to help her exercise it.
Mothers with partners complained all the time about lack of desire and about their significant others’ frustration with a greatly reduced sex life.
In a seriously ironic twist, Eden found herself still highly charged after childbirth. Hormones. Couldn’t live with them, couldn’t live without them.
She was certain her hormones were at least partly responsible for the fact that she was attracted to LJ Logan.
True, he was handsome, had a sense of humor and a way of staring at her that made her skin feel hot and goose bumpy at the same time. But he was also impertinent, a little arrogant and very single-minded.
He really annoyed her.
When she wasn’t completely turned on.
“Of course I know who the sperm donor was,” she said, not sure why she’d decided to answer, except that she didn’t want him to think that either she or the Children’s Connection were irresponsible. “I chose him.”
He pondered that awhile. “I want to know more. Like why you chose a donor instead of the real thing.”
“I got the ‘real thing,’” she countered. “Without unnecessary complications.”
A smile eased across his face. “You consider sex an unnecessary complication?”
Yes. No. “I wasn’t referring to sex.”
He grinned. “Answer, anyway.”
He was flirting with her, no question, but the flirtation was playful. Because her heart skipped several times, she answered honestly to eliminate any notion that she might be waiting for a man.
“Yes. Okay. Sex is a complication. Relationships in general are a complication.”
If she was expecting an argument, she was mistaken.
He spread his arms in a gesture that said, “See? We agree.”
He might have elaborated, but Liam didn’t give him the chance. The baby started bawling, the quality of the cry suggesting he’d had a bad dream or was wet. Eden jumped up. More slowly, LJ rose also.
They stared at each other, neither moving until Liam cried louder.
“I’d better go.” This time they both spoke at once.
Eden did her best to ignore the foolish side of her that felt disappointed. Instead, she nodded. “Thank you for dropping by,” she said perfunctorily, figuring that if he’d driven all the way out here to secure her support he was leaving disappointed, so she ought to at least be polite.
He opened the screen door for her, a chivalrous move that surprised her. She hadn’t seen a man move that swiftly to open a door he didn’t intend to walk through himself since she’d left Kentucky.
A hiccupping cry from her baby had her muttering, “Thanks,” and heading inside, leaving LJ Logan to do…whatever LJ Logan did with his evenings.
“He’s dry and doesn’t want his teether. Must have had a bad dream, poor little guy.” Cradling the baby, Liberty greeted Eden at the door to the bedroom Eden shared with her son.
She’d positioned the chair by a window to take advantage of silver moonlight when she nursed late at night and it seemed that she and Liam were the only people awake in the world.
“Do you want the Boppy?” Liberty asked. Eden nodded and Liberty placed a sturdy crescent-shaped pillow on her friend’s lap.
Settling Liam atop the Boppy, Eden raised the T-shirt she’d changed into after work, deftly released the flap on her nursing bra and urged her fussing son to nurse himself back to sleep.
Liberty sighed. “Have I ever told you how jealous I am?”
Eden glanced up in surprise. “What? In the past thirty minutes you’ve decided you want kids?”
“No. I want bodacious boobs.” She glanced at her own modest breasts and sighed again. “You think you’ll get to keep yours when you stop breast feeding?”
Too preoccupied by the conversation on the porch to smile, Eden answered distractedly. “I don’t know. If they’re a package deal with my new hips, I’ll pass.”
“Don’t be silly. You look like Marilyn Monroe in Gentlemen Prefer Blondes. Men love that.”
“Sure. Men born in 1932.” Leaning her head against the cushioned back of the chair, she rocked gently. “Did you catch anything that was said on the porch, or were you in the back of the house?”
“Are you kidding?” Liberty plopped herself onto the bed. “The front door was open, so I sat on the couch and listened to everything.”
“What about studying for your tests?”
“Oh, I learned plenty.” She raised dark brows and swiveled in her chair.
Eden rolled her eyes. “Meaning? Or shouldn’t I ask?”
“Meaning—” Liberty put her legs on the bed and crossed them beneath her “—that the two of you were doing a verbal dance that makes salsa look slow.”
“I wasn’t!” Eden protested.
“Oh, no? You want to tell me you weren’t even a little hot and bothered over the boy?”
“Please.” Eden rolled her head against the cushion. “I’m hot and bothered over everything lately.”
“Still?”
Eden nodded. “Ironic, isn’t it? I wouldn’t do a thing about it now, not with Liam. Anyway, this is generic hot and botheredness. It’s not about an individual. I’m going to see my doctor and tell her my hormones are still in an uproar.”
“What? And ruin a perfectly good libido? Why not take advantage of it? You’ve been living like a nun for, what? Two years?”
“I like living this way. It keeps me sane. And I’m certainly not going to drag Liam through a series of boyfriend experiments. Romance is absolutely not my priority.”
“Who said anything about romance?” Liberty grabbed a pillow, placed it on her lap and rested her elbows on it. “You forget that I sing the same song. I’m not in the market for marriage any more than you are. But we’re young. Don’t you want sex at least once more before you give it up in the interest of motherhood?”
Eden considered the question seriously. “Honestly? Looking back, I’ve always thought relationships were more bother than the sex was worth.”
“That’s not good.” Liberty looked thoughtful. “The big difference between you and me is that you’ve always had expectations, and I never have. Trust me, sex is much better when you don’t care if Mr. Right Tonight is still with you in the morning.”
“Hmm.” Eden didn’t completely discount what her friend had to say, but neither did she believe she had the right temperament for a one-night stand. In the past, her temporary liaisons had been flops. She shrugged. “It doesn’t matter anyway, because with Liam—”
“Liam is a baby, who won’t have any idea what you’re doing right now. That makes this the perfect time to take advantage of your new—and possibly temporary—libido. Your son will never have to know. You deserve great sex before you turn celibate until his high-school graduation. It’s empowering.”
“It’s complicated. First I’d have to find someone.” She shook her head, swirling a finger through one of Liam’s curls. “Nope, I’ll be better off getting my hormones under control so I won’t feel like turning into the parking lot every time I drive by a sex shop.”
She raised her head to grin…and looked into the startled face of LJ Logan.
Chapter Four
His gaze drifted to Liam’s downy head and her, uh, bodacious bosom.
When he cleared his throat, he sounded as awkward as she felt. “Excuse me. I, uh, wanted to let you know I put our glasses…the ones we drank from…in the…” He pointed in the correct direction, but couldn’t find the word for the room. “Uh…”
“Kitchen?” Liberty supplied.
He had to think about it. “Yes. And then I was just going to say…”
“Goodbye?” she filled in again.
He nodded. “Right. Goodbye. Again.”
Eden closed her eyes. “Just tell me one thing. Are you staring because you’ve caught me breast feeding or because you heard what we were talking about?” Might as well know right up front how embarrassed she ought to be.
“I would say…both.”
Embarrassment engulfed the trio—or at least two out of three—and silence reigned until Liberty tossed her pillow aside, stretched her legs then slapped both hands on her thighs.
“Well! Seems like a terrible time for me to leave, doesn’t it?” She stood and looked cheerfully between Eden and LJ. “I’m heading to First Cup for a double shot. Maybe you two will still be here when I get back.” She considered them a moment. “Possibly even in the same positions. Can I bring you anything? Latte? Chai? Iron supplement? You’re looking a little peaked. No? All righty.” She walked to the door, turned sideways to edge past LJ and whispered loudly to him in parting, “This isn’t that embarrassing, you know. You should laugh about it when I leave.”
Eden heard the scrape of her keys as she scooped them off the dining room table and then the creaky opening and closing of the screen door.
“I wonder why I didn’t hear it when you came in?” Eden murmured.
“Because I tried very hard to be quiet,” LJ responded. “I thought you’d gotten the baby back to sleep and didn’t want to wake him.”
His gaze began to drift lower again until he jerked it back up. Somehow his discomfort began to lessen hers.
“Is this the first time you’ve seen a woman breastfeed?” It seemed unlikely in this day and age, but he tugged on his loose tie as if he felt a bit choked.
“It’s not the first time I’ve seen it. It’s the first time I’ve watched.”
Eden felt another blush coming on, then reminded herself she was a doula, for pity’s sake. A woman’s body and the way it operated before, during and after pregnancy was her area of expertise. Breast feeding was more natural than nine-tenths of the things people did in public. She’d breastfed comfortably and inconspicuously in her doctor’s office, in a restaurant booth and, once, in a cozy chair tucked into a corner of the public library.
And now she really needed to change breasts. She gave herself a quick pop quiz. Multiple choice.
When confronted by a gorgeous man watching you breastfeed, do you:
A) Cover yourself and tell him to scram?
B) Continue to breastfeed, but drape yourself with diapers, baby blanket and, if available, a pup tent?
C) Pause to call the La Leche League and ask someone there for emergency advice? Or,
D) Behave as the mature, self-actualized woman you are and proceed with confidence?
She chose D.
Fortunately, she had large hands for a woman, which facilitated holding and maneuvering Liam securely.
Offering Liam a little encouragement to detach from her right breast, she let him rest atop the Boppy while she refastened her bra and allowed the T-shirt to drop into place. Giving his belly a brief, loud nuzzle as she transferred him to her left side, she settled him, lifted her T-shirt, unfastened the bra and kept her head down while she helped him latch on.
She didn’t have to look up to know LJ watched her every move. She felt his frank gaze.
“If you’re thinking about putting this in a commercial, forget about it.”
She spoke lightly, to relieve some of the tension. When no response came, she did glance up and found him staring at her rather solemnly. Their gazes locked and suddenly, shockingly, the silence didn’t seem unnatural at all.
Somewhere in Oregon, some poor shmuck is missing this moment.
That was LJ’s uncensored thought as he watched Eden nuzzle her baby, put him against her breast and gently, gently twirl a finger through his baby curls. It was a surprising thought from a man who didn’t want kids, but he figured that anyone out there in the world who had one sure as hell ought to witness this.
I really should put this in the commercial. No one would think of Robbie Logan or lawsuits or scandals while they’re watching Eden. He’d never seen anything so perfectly natural, so quintessentially pure and female in all his life.
“Ow!” Eden jumped and pulled her son away from her bosom. “No biting!” She continued to cradle him, but LJ saw her eyes water. “He’s getting teeth,” she explained, “so he likes to experiment.”
LJ winced on her behalf. Then, without thinking at all—if he had, he never would have made the move—he stepped closer, reached for the baby and lifted him to eye level. “Looks like you’re going to need a lesson or two in how to treat your mother, my friend.”
It occurred to LJ belatedly that he could have instigated quite a scene, but Liam didn’t cry. His chubby hands reached for LJ’s nose, his chubby feet kicked merrily at LJ’s chest, and his cheeks dimpled as he grinned.
The baby certainly had her eyes and nose, but not her hair. LJ looked around Liam’s squirming body. “Do you have a freckle on your neck, too?”
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/wendy-warren/the-baby-bargain/) на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.