that. I meant it when I said I want to do right by you and the baby.”
She laughed a tinkling, cascading laugh, hitting every note and nuance of condescension along the way. “Tucker Lang, you wouldn’t know right if it smacked you square in the face.”
Tucker drummed his fingers on the desk in mounting frustration. “I know enough to feel responsible for my kid and to want it to have a good home life.”
“And what’s that, Tuck? You being gone three-quarters of the time? You saying good-night over the phone from some motel room half a world away?”
“No!” Inadvertently he thought of the kind of home Cathryn must have, how loved and secure her children must feel. That was what he meant.
“No? You’re planning on quitting racing then?”
Tuck swallowed with difficulty. “That isn’t fair. You know racing is how I make my living.”
“Tell that to our kid when he’s ten and doesn’t know you.”
Tucker regretted calling without having prepared. He wasn’t doing very well. When it came to playing for keeps, he didn’t know the lines. “I can cut back. I can do other things….”
“It wouldn’t matter.” Jenny sighed dismally. “You’re just not father material, Tuck. And you certainly aren’t cut out to be anyone’s husband.”
“What do you mean?” As if he didn’t know. Hadn’t they met at a party swarming with racing groupies and hadn’t he flirted with her and arranged to call her, even while his date for the evening stood less than ten feet away?
“Don’t get me wrong, Tuck. You’re a great guy and a lot of fun, but frankly, I don’t trust you from here to the front door.”
Her accusations stung. “I’d be different if we were married.”
She burst out laughing.
“I would,” he insisted, realizing how serious he was, how deep was his desire to claim his unborn child and raise it well, protect it, be a good father. “Jenny, please, you’ve got to give us a chance. I swear on my father’s grave I’ll be…”
“No, Tuck. I’m sure your intentions are good, but you know what they say about the road to Hell.”
Tucker pressed a tightly clenched fist against his forehead. After a long cleansing moment of silent swearing, he took a different tack. “But what’ll you do? How will you get along? And don’t tell me you intend to go on welfare because I won’t allow it.”
She huffed impatiently. “Listen, Tucker, I have to go. I have to be at the restaurant in half an hour.” She paused. “A heck of a place to work when you’re having morning sickness, huh?”
“You could quit if we—”
“No,” she interrupted. “Really, Tuck. Thanks anyway, but you’re simply not the type of guy I hoped to marry. That doesn’t make you a bad person. It just makes you, you. And as for the baby, to be blunt, I’d prefer raising it without you. You’d only confuse our child, here today, gone tomorrow. And as it got older—” she swallowed as if this was difficult for her, too “—I can’t imagine you being anything but a bad influence. In fact, I’d prefer you don’t even visit.”
“You can’t mean that. I’m the baby’s father.”
“No. You’re the guy I had unprotected sex with one night last November after one too many margaritas.”
“Don’t reduce it to that. We dated.”
“And I’ll remember those dates fondly, but now it’s time for me to go my way and you to go yours. It’s for the best.”
Tucker started to protest but heard a click, followed by the insulting buzz of disconnection. Anger bubbled inside him. He wanted to hurl the phone across the room. Instead, he quietly dropped the receiver into its cradle and fought back the tightening in his throat.
Of all the ironies. After a lifetime of wanderlust and womanizing, he’d finally decided to settle down, and the mother of his child didn’t want him. Far worse, she didn’t want him anywhere near his child. He supposed there was a strange justice in the situation. He was reaping his due rewards.
But, hell, he didn’t have to like it, he thought, surging out of the chair. He didn’t have to settle for it, either. Fathers had rights. He’d take legal steps, and when his offspring came into the world next August, he was going to be right there to say, “Hey, son or daughter, this is your old man looking at you.”
He sank to the chair again, dropping like a popped balloon. Bad choice, bringing in lawyers and demanding rights. That road led to bitterness, spite and fighting back. And maybe she’d win. He had to remember what he wanted—to be a vital, ongoing part of his child’s upbringing—and the best way to do that was to convince Jenny to marry him. And who knew, maybe he could. He’d convinced a lot of women to do a lot of things they’d never dreamed of doing before.
Tucker didn’t have a clue how he intended to accomplish this, but he would. He had to. For the first time in his life, he had something worth fighting for.
CHAPTER TWO
CHOCOLATES. A five-pound box of chocolates. This wasn’t the gift Cathryn expected from her husband. Staring at the plastic roses that adorned the red-satin cover, she felt her smile crumble.
“Happy Valentine’s Day,” Dylan said, setting the heart-shaped box on her dinner plate and hurrying to his place at the head of the table. He was the last member of the family to sit. He had tumbled into the house forty minutes later than promised and had still wanted to shower. The stroganoff noodles had congealed into a big sticky pasta ball, and the green beans almandine had gone limp. Not quite the perfection Cathryn had been aiming for.
“Th-thank you,” she replied with forced cheer. Maybe the earrings were coming later, during dessert, or after the kids went to bed. Sure. That was it. After the kids were asleep. Dylan had bought her a special gift and obviously meant to create a special moment when he gave it to her. The chocolates were just a front.
She opened the accompanying card and nodded with a knowing smile. It was a simple generic greeting, not the gorgeous card with the touching verse she’d found at the bottom of the file drawer. But, of course, that would come later, too.
“Thank you,” she said again. “It’s very pretty.” She gazed at her husband across the candlelit table. He seemed bemused, his eyes fixed on the centerpiece. “Dylan?”
His head jerked up. “Huh?”
She chuckled. Sometimes he was worse than the kids. “Thank you.”
“Oh.” He waved his hand dismissively. “My pleasure.”
“Can I have some?” Justin asked, eyeing the box lasciviously.
“Hey!” Bethany complained. “You’ve got your own chocolates.”
“So do you, and I bet you want some of Mom’s too.”
“Whoa!”
