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“Stella wasn’t ready to take on a child,” Flint said into the silence that had fallen, as though he thought she’d been waiting for more explanation.
She didn’t mind knowing what had happened.
“She might come around,” she offered, feeling inane.
He shook his head, his hair glinting like gold in the midday sun.
Another few weeks and the park would be decorated for Christmas.
What if their friendship was real? Became real? Would they still be friends by Christmastime?
If so, they could bring the baby down here to see the lights.
Her step faltered. If she kept her distance from the child—no physical contact—she’d probably be okay. Knowing from the outset that the friendship was, at most, only temporary.
And even if she wasn’t okay, she’d do what had to be done. For her father. Her parents. She was all they had. Or ever would have, as far as blood family went.
“She gave me an ultimatum,” he said after waiting for a crowd of schoolchildren to cross their path. “The baby or her.”
She knew which he’d chosen. And felt she had to say something.
“Some women just aren’t meant to be mothers.” Wow. Hadn’t meant for her own mantra to slip out.
But maybe it was best that he know, going in, that there could never be more than friendship between them. That she, like Stella, wasn’t meant to be a mother.
Even if he turned out not to be guilty, even if they developed a genuine friendship, she was planning to set him up with Mallory. Mallory was perfectly suited to be everything he and Diamond Rose could ever want.
“She wants children,” he said. “Just not the bastard child of an incarcerated convict.”
The way he said the words—she looked at him—was he the one Stella hadn’t wanted? The bastard child of a convict? Or had it really been because he’d wanted to bring his sister into their family?
“You don’t sound all that bitter about it.” Which surprised her. He had every right to be.
“I’m not. I’m thankful I discovered her lack of mutual respect before we got married and had children, rather than afterward. And to be fair to her, I’d failed to tell her that my mother was in prison.”
They’d reached the curb.
He hailed a cab.
Chapter Eleven
By Friday afternoon Flint was feeling pretty good about himself. He’d met with Michael Armstrong, an attorney who’d come highly recommended by one of the clients who’d been with him the longest.
They could be as little as a phone call away from having the order dropped. Michael was certain he could negotiate a mutual agreement between him and the Wainwrights that would prevent either party from bad-mouthing the other, and that he could do it without a court order. Flint was willing to sign anything to that effect as long as they dropped the order.
Otherwise he was going to fight it. He had to. For Diamond Rose’s sake. To let it stand unanswered meant it would be put into full effect. It would make him look guilty.
Michael was fairly confident, as was Flint, that the Wainwrights wouldn’t want the matter to go to court.
While Flint was comfortable enough with the situation still open, after talking to Michael he felt one hell of a lot better going into the weekend.
The lasagna was already in the oven and Diamond Rose fed and asleep when Tamara pulled into his drive. He’d offered to send a cab for her. She’d preferred her own transportation.
He was pleased with the fact that she’d agreed to come to his house at all. She knew about his past. And had accepted his invitation anyway.
“Wow, this place is nice,” she said as he opened the front door into a large entryway with a step-down living room to one side and a great room on the other. It had a wall of windows that opened up to a tiled patio and swimming pool beyond. The outdoor lighting was on and showed the pool, with the waterfall, at its best. He couldn’t afford to be right on the ocean, but the pool had been a nice compromise. She turned toward the great room.
“I’ve got someone coming to put a wrought-iron gate around the pool,” he said as he followed her through the room he’d furnished with a complete home theater arrangement, including big leather furniture with charging plug-ins. Stella had thought the room too big for intimate conversation. Too “masculine.”
