Ethan wasn’t hers, Dana thought with a prick to her heart, only half listening as her partners finally got the business discussion back on track. Because for all Trish’s tenuous grasp on reality, she’d still clearly taken good care of her baby. Yeah, she’d freaked, as Trish was wont to do, but still, that it had taken her six months to reach her breaking point said a lot.
Namely, that in all likelihood she would change her mind. Maybe tomorrow, maybe months from now. But eventually she’d come back for her child, leaving Dana with nothing but memories … and an ever-widening hole in her heart. And then, to make matters ten times worse, there was C.J.’s offer to consider.
If he turned out to be Ethan’s father.
If Trish didn’t return.
If Dana decided there was no better way to handle the bizarre situation. For Ethan’s sake.
If, if, if … the tiny words pelted her like hyper BBs.
One day, she thought, it’ll be for real.
One day, she thought, scarfing down another donut, maybe I’ll finally get to live my own life, instead of being a placeholder in everybody else’s.
If. If.
If.
Chapter Six
C.J. stared through his office window at the mottled Sandias on the other side of the city, backlit by masses of foamy, billowing white thunderheads. He checked his watch for the hundredth time, but it was still too early.
Today. Today, he’d know for sure.
The first lab result—which showed that, yep, his little guys had indeed, against all odds, found their way back into the game—had left the door open for the second. He’d been reasonably able to concentrate up till now, but the closer he got to D-Day, the more toastlike his brain became. Every time his phone rang, his stomach jolted. He’d even spaced on an appointment with a new client earlier, something he never did.
Not since his MBA days, when he’d sweated out that last, excruciating final in Statistics, had he gone through this kind of wait-and-see hell. Only a damn sight more was hanging on the outcome of this test.
Worst of all, C.J. still had no idea how he felt about any of it. Or was supposed to feel. Not that the idea of being responsible for this innocent little dude still didn’t make his stomach knot, but the initial constant howl of outrage had at least throttled down to the odd, intermittent burst of irritation. After all, he’d been warned this could happen, that he needed to be diligent about checking. That he hadn’t was nobody’s fault but his. So if he’d dodged the bullet, by rights he should be profoundly relieved.
Except …
C.J. glared at the cloud-shaped shadows scudding across the face of the mountains. So what was up with the kick to his gut every time he saw the baby—which had only been a couple of times, given both his and Dana’s impossible schedules and Dana’s justified resistance to getting too cozy before the results came back? Never in a million years would C.J. have guessed that, in the end, some idiotic biological imperative could override more than twenty years of what he’d been completely convinced he’d wanted. Or, in this case, not wanted.
But there it was, jeering at him from the sidelines: an unwarranted, and completely illogical, anxiety that Ethan might not be his.
Val appeared in his doorway, hands parked on hips. “Okay. You want to tell me what in tarnation is up with you today?”
C.J. swiveled his gaze to her don’t-even-think-about-messin’-with-me one. And part of him wanted nothing more than to come clean to this woman who’d become far more than an office manager over the past few years. But until he knew for sure, he wasn’t keen on letting any more people into the loop than absolutely necessary. Even Val, increasingly difficult though it was to keep her out.
“Sleepless night,” he said. Which was true. And not only because of the whole tenterhooks thing about his possible paternity, but because every time he’d start to drift off, Dana’s horrified reaction to his suggestion that they live together would romp through his thoughts. Not that he blamed her. Why in God’s name he’d thought it made perfect sense at the time, he had no idea. Why he still thought so, he understood even less.
Especially considering the serious train wreck potential of having Dana Malone living under his roof.
“Never affected your work before,” Val said, her power-saw twang slicing through his musings. “Sleepless nights, I mean.”
He glowered at her. “And how would you know whether I’ve had sleepless nights or not? I don’t exactly advertise it.”
“Other than the fact that on those mornings you grunt instead of talk, you guzzle coffee like somebody declared a shortage, and your ties never go with the rest of your clothes? I’ve seen subtler billboards. Still and all, I’ve never known you to let your private life—if you even have one, which I sometimes doubt—affect your work. So I repeat … what’s going on?”
C.J. gave his office manager a long, steady look. “First off, there’s a reason it’s called private, Val.” She gave an unrepentant snort. “And secondly, I repeat, nothing’s going on. So sorry to blow your theory.”
“You haven’t blown anything. Because sure as I’m standing here you’re lying through those movie star teeth of yours. And you do know there will be hell to pay when I find out the truth.”
Refusing to rise to the bait, he said instead, “Thanks for covering with the Jaramillos, by the way.”
“No problem. Just remember it when it’s time for my salary review. And when you come out of that fog you’re not in, that market analysis you’re gonna ask for is already on the computer. As are the month-end sales figures. We’re up ten percent over last year, by the way, so you shouldn’t have any trouble finding money for that raise you’re gonna give me. You want more coffee?”
“God, yes. But you don’t have to—” Her raised eyebrows over her glasses cut him off. “Thank you,” he said on a rush of air.
“You’re welcome,” Val said, turning to leave.
“Don’t know how I’d live without you,” he called to her retreating back, chuckling at her fading, “That makes two of us,” from down the hall. A half minute later, she appeared with a huge mug of steaming coffee, his mail and a pink While You Were Out Slip, all of which he took from her.
“You took this message five minutes ago,” he said, frowning at her scrawled time notation beside the unfamiliar name and number. “Why didn’t you put it through?”
“Because I’m screening your calls today, that’s why. Said she’s got a house up in High Desert to go on the market, some friend of hers recommended you.”
He handed her back the slip. “I’ve got more listings than I can handle, pass her on to Bill. What?” he said after a moment when he realized Val was still standing there, gaping at him.
“Since when do you pass up a listing for a million-dollar house? She gave me the address and the square footage, I checked the comps,”
