something I’ll be able to keep secret very long, anyhow.”
The lawyer steepled his fingers. “And is it your contention that Chase Clayton IV is the father of this child?”
Her eyes narrowed. That sounded like something on a subpoena.
“Maybe we should dispense with this prologue, Mr. Stilling, and get to the point.” She drew herself up even straighter in the bed. She put her hands under the blanket, to hide the tremor that hadn’t quite disappeared. She didn’t want to appear weak. She was tired of being weak. Now that she knew why she had been feeling so sick and exhausted lately, she wasn’t afraid anymore.
And she was all through with cringing and enduring. She was going to be a mother, and that was a job that called for courage. It was time to find out if she had some.
“Yes,” she said. “It is officially, legally, my contention that Chase Clayton IV is the father of my baby. Is it his contention that he is not?”
“I didn’t say that,” the man said, shaking his head as if alarmed by her sudden adamance. “I haven’t spoken to Chase about this yet. I assume Dr. Marchant is filling him in on the situation at this very moment. He doesn’t know I’m here. In fact, I probably shouldn’t be here. It’s just that, I’m very fond of Chase, and I thought perhaps I might—”
“Make me go away? Make me change my story? That isn’t going to happen, Mr. Stilling. Back in January, Chase and I spent a month as lovers. He may regret that now. In fact, given that he’s planning to marry someone else, I’m fairly sure he does. But regret doesn’t change the fact that it happened. It also doesn’t change the fact that I’m carrying his child.”
“There’s no need to upset yourself, Miss Whitford. I’m not trying to make you do anything. It’s just that…” Stilling looked sincerely uncomfortable. “You see, I’ve known Chase a long time, and it’s hard for me to believe that—”
“Chase is the father,” she said firmly. “I understand that you know nothing about me, about my character. Maybe you think that…I don’t know, that I have dozens of lovers, and I just picked the richest one to pin it on.”
The lawyer shook his head. “No. Really. I’m not implying anything of the sort.”
But he was thinking it. Of course he was. It would be the perfect out for Chase, if he could prove she was a tramp. This Stilling guy was a lawyer, and he represented a rich man accustomed to taking what he wanted and throwing it away when he was through.
Like her stepfather. Funny, how that seemed to be her pattern. Her mother’s husband had forced her out of the house at eighteen. For her own good, he said. So that she’d learn to stand on her own two feet. A year later, in a moment of weakness, she’d asked him if she could move back home for a while, just until she got her AA. He was drunk, of course, but his answer was unequivocal. Hell, no. Having her show up again was the equivalent of having the trash guy bring back his garbage.
As if the insult had happened yesterday, she felt tears pressing at the back of her eyes, and she fought them away. They were part of the old weakness, and she was done with them.
“I know what you’re thinking,” she said. “But it simply isn’t true. I have had only one lover. It was Chase. I met him at the restaurant where I work, and he was—”
Somehow she stopped herself. She didn’t need to justify herself to this man. She wasn’t on trial for immorality here. She didn’t have to tell him how lonely she’d been, and how the handsome cowboy had swept her off her feet, which were aching like fire from twelve-hour shifts. She didn’t have to admit how easily he’d romanced her with a fancy car, expensive meals and whispers about the stars in her eyes and the honey in her hair.
That story wouldn’t make her look one bit better. It would make her look gullible and pathetic, which was worse than trashy any day.
And anyway, how could she ever describe how sweet Chase had seemed, at the beginning? The first night, after they’d made love, they had stayed up for hours, eating the chocolates he’d brought her and telling each other stories about their childhoods.
The sex had been nice, but it was those stories that had made her fall in love with him. She’d been able to picture him as a little boy of eight, fishing in the creek that bore his name and throwing everything back. And at nine, killing a rattlesnake with a golf club and shaking for an hour afterward.
She’d never known a man so willing to admit he had a tender heart.
“Anyhow, it’s all true,” she said. “We spent a month together. Every day. I know all about him, Mr. Stilling. I know he got his first horse when he was fourteen, and its name was Captain Kirk. I know that when he was ten his collie died, and he carved the gravestone himself.”
The lawyer’s eyes widened slightly.
“The doctor says I can’t get out of bed, but if I could, I’d go to that window, and I bet I could see the stone from here. It says Yipster, the World’s Nicest Dog.”
“Anyone could know those things,” he said carefully. “Anyone could—”
“No,” a harsh voice from the doorway said. “Not anyone.”
Stilling leaned forward. “Chase!”
The man in the doorway didn’t take his gaze from Josie. “Only someone who knew me well could have told you those stories, Miss Whitford, and I’d like to know who it was.”
She shook her head, feeling nauseated again. She wondered if her blood sugar might have dipped again, from all the stress. She couldn’t quite follow what seemed to be happening. Who was this? Were they trying to fool her, bringing in someone to pose as Chase and hope she’d snap at the bait?
The man glaring in at her was very tall and beyond handsome, with thick golden hair and the bluest eyes she’d ever seen. They were also the coldest eyes she’d ever seen.
“It was Chase who told me,” she began, her voice betraying her anxiety. It was like walking on a road rigged with land mines. She didn’t know what they were trying to do.
“No,” the man said roughly. “That’s a lie.”
A woman stood at his elbow, just behind him. She looked familiar, though Josie had no idea why. “Chase,” the woman said gently. “That’s too harsh.”
“It’s not harsh—it’s true. You are lying, Miss Whitford. I told you nothing. Until you wrecked your car in my driveway this afternoon, I had never seen you before in my life.”
Dr. Marchant’s low, gruff voice came from the hall, somewhere out of sight. “Chase, really.”
Josie tilted her head back, trying to make enough room in her lungs to breathe. Thank God she wasn’t standing up. She would have fallen into a heap, like a puppet with no strings.
“Well? I’m waiting for an explanation, Miss Whitford. I swear on my life, I have never seen you before.”
He sounded…so certain. So indignant.
So exactly how an honest man unjustly accused would sound.
The bed seemed to tilt. Her heart hitched.
