style="font-size:15px;"> Two
Two months. She should have her head examined.
The baby had won her over and Juliana wasn’t ashamed to admit Shay had played her like a maestro. How had he known Mikey’s sweet face would be the clincher? Lucky guess? Calculated offensive?
Either way, here she was in West Texas, descending a set of metal stairs locked to the hatch of a GGS Aerospace jet, a mere five days after Shay had showed up on her doorstep. Fate and a great assistant had seen to fitting all fifteen of her clients into a two-day block, and then she’d had no more excuses.
What was it about Shay’s proposal that set her on edge like the screech of an out-of-tune string?
The book deal would make this experience well worth her while. The yearning to nurture flowed through her veins, sometimes so fast and thick she feared they would burst, and she couldn’t let all that love for babies go to waste. She wanted to share everything she’d learned.
The money would be welcome, too. Half a year’s salary for two months’ work was highway robbery but Shay hadn’t fluttered an eyelid at the figure. In vitro procedures and student loans for a PhD certainly did not come cheaply, and she’d appreciate a faster decline in her debt.
So why did it feel like the bottom would drop out from under her at any moment?
A low-slung maroon Acura sat on the tarmac a healthy distance from the plane. Shay leaned against the rear end, his hip resting against the car casually, arms crossed. Today he’d opted for the trademark ball cap. Backward, as always.
So he did still wear caps. The sight threw her back in time for a moment, reminding her of when she’d mostly seen him without it. In bed.
She shuddered and willed away the punch to her abdomen.
He was one big chunk of vibrant, testosterone-filled man. So not her type. A younger and stupider Juliana had thrown caution to the wind, ignoring how incompatible they were, reveling in the wild buzz of his no-holds-barred approach to everything. She’d never do that again.
“You have Tony Stark’s car?” she asked by way of greeting. “And they let you drive it onto the runway?”
“Comes with owning the runway.” He grinned that whole-face grin she’d never been able to take her eyes off of. “I bought my NSX before The Avengers came out, by the way. How do you know what kind of car Tony Stark drives?”
“Three of my clients are teenagers. Girls with movie-star crushes.” Gritty wind blew across the open space of GGS Aerospace, stinging her skin with its sandy teeth. “So is this where all the magic happens?”
“Some. There’s a hangar around back for the jet and the office is about a half mile away.” He nodded to the sleek glass-and-marble building at the edge of the tarmac. “This will eventually be the commercial hub once we get the space tourism division up and running. Once I get it running.”
Stylish sunglasses hid his eyes but the catch in his voice said he still hadn’t fully internalized the loss of his partners. Or, likely, what he’d gained. Some people would feel incredibly blessed to be given a child. Did he? Or was it a responsibility he’d accepted, but would never see as more than that?
“GGS is largely a military aircraft supplier,” he continued after a minute of heavy silence. “The manufacturing division is outside of Fort Worth and we have a high-rise in downtown for operations. I go back and forth by helicopter. Land’s cheaper out here and you need a lot of it to run a space tourist business.”
“Uh-huh.” She wasn’t here to learn the ins and outs of a company that designed and built the most dangerous flying machines known to man. She and Shay weren’t old friends catching up over a casual conversation. He was a client, and she had a job to do. “I assume your house is close by?”
“A couple of miles. Ready?” Shay grabbed two of the three suitcases the crew had deposited on the concrete and tilted his head to the remaining one. With his arms uncrossed, she could read his shirt—My Parents Were Abducted by Aliens and All I Got Was This Lousy T-shirt.
As if she needed additional clues that he was still mentally fourteen. Shay’s Peter Pan syndrome had been part of his charm, part of the reason she hadn’t brushed him off when he’d called out to her at the library that fateful day in September when they’d first met. She’d feared then that he’d never grow up and hated discovering she’d been right.
Success and newly acquired wealth had clearly afforded him a bigger playground for his dangerous toys instead of instilling a good dose of reality. People depended on him, more so now than ever. What would they do if he got seriously hurt? If he died?
The less she dwelled on that, the better. She had only one responsibility here, and Shay wasn’t it.
She hefted the suitcase into the car and sank into the leather passenger seat. The dash sported a variety of gizmos and dials well suited for a driver who liked to know every last statistic of an engine’s performance.
Shay stomped the accelerator and hit Mach 1 in about a minute. She resisted the urge to grab something and bit back the “slow down” fighting to be voiced.
“Tell me more about Mikey,” she said instead over the wail of strings piping from the speakers.
Classical music and Shay seemed incongruous—until she remembered how he’d come to her performances, front row center for every one. How he’d told her so many times what a thrill it was to watch her play the violin. He’d endured it for her—or so she’d assumed. In hindsight, it seemed he’d just liked the music.
“He’s a baby. What else is there?”
The flat, ugly landscape flew by, barely allowing her to register the dotting of cacti. Shay’s hands were solid on the wheel, in full command of the machine under them.
“A lot. How old is he? Start there and we’ll get to all of it eventually.”
Watching his curled hands set off a hot flush in her long-forgotten places. Mortified, she jerked her head toward the window and focused on the mountains. She wasn’t twenty-two anymore and over the years sex had become a utilitarian mechanism necessary for pregnancy. Now it was unnecessary entirely.
“Almost six months. I think. Maybe five.”
“I need to know exactly. Babies start on solid food at six months. He should already be on rice cereal.”
“My conversations with Donna started and ended with engines.”
Not a surprise. Juliana remembered Donna as someone more likely to recite a complicated equation than the date her son had first rolled over. Motherhood might have changed Mikey’s mother, but Juliana doubted it. After all, what kind of mother got into an experimental spaceship without any regard to the potential consequences? Like leaving her baby to the adrenaline junkie behind the wheel of a car suited for a superhero.
“She never talked about her child? What about Grant?”
“They talked about him all the time. I didn’t pay a whole lot of attention, I guess. When they talked about a breakthrough on the liquid oxygen alternative, that’s when I tuned in. It’s weird to think about Donna as a mother instead of an engineer. The failed
