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But what did her father’s suicide have to do with this?
“I can’t take that chance,” she said, quietly but firmly. And then she looked up. “I’ll have to know the man,” she said adamantly. “I’ll have to know that he’s emotionally strong.”
Blake could understand. He really could. But…“Annie, you can’t just go up to a man on the street and ask him to give you a baby. In the first place, you have to think of him, too. What role is he going to play? And do you want the father of your child to be someone who’d be willing to father a child and then walk away?”
The problems with her plan were numerous, coming at him from all directions.
“Are you planning to use artificial insemination?” he asked before she could respond to his first set of objections. “Because I don’t think you’re the kind of woman to have casual sex with a man and then walk away. And even if you were, you’d have to hope he either had a very understanding significant other or that he was completely unattached. And that he would remain unattached for the length of time it took to get you pregnant. Because your chances of getting pregnant on one try are pretty slim…
“And what if he does have a wife or partner? What if she decides she wants to have a part in raising his child?”
Annie shaking her head brought him back to reality. This was none of his business.
He didn’t care what she did. He hoped she’d be safe. Happy. And that was all.
“I’ve had a legal contract drawn up that will cover all of those eventualities and more,” she said. “I’m going to do this, Blake.”
He could see that she was. And that scared him.
He turned to go.
“What should I tell Cole, when he asks me what you said?”
“Tell him I’ll think about it.”
It wasn’t the response he’d wanted to give. He just needed some time—and a good night’s sleep—to figure out how to be a friend to Cole and also stay as far away from Annie and her plans as he possibly could.
Maybe, if he was lucky, he’d be able to suggest a safe, healthy and relatively innocuous replacement for himself.
But one thing was certain. He and Annie were not going to make another baby together.
CHAPTER TWO
THURSDAY MORNING, exactly eight hours after she’d watched Blake get into his seven-year-old Lincoln Continental and drive away, Annie wasn’t concentrating well. She’d held on to his uncle’s car after Alan Smith—having heard the news that Blake was presumed dead—had had a fatal heart attack. And then she’d sold the trading company the two men had operated together, but she hadn’t spent a dime of the proceeds—almost as if some part of her had known, even after she’d married Roger, that Blake was still alive.
And if that was true, if she had known, marrying Roger had been the act of a coward. And a weak, disloyal thing to do.At least she’d had a nest egg—and a car—to give Blake upon his difficult return home two years before.
Now, she wished he’d sell the damn car. Let go of the past. Let go, period.
Blake was the most controlled and logical human being she’d ever met. Just once, she’d like to hear him yell at the top of his lungs.
Positively Alive! Annie looked at the column heading on her computer screen. Her focus had to be on the future and not on a past she couldn’t change. And for the next hour, her future contained the column that was promised to the River’s Run editor and publisher, Mike Bailey, her boss, by ten o’clock.
The readers of River’s Run, the local five-days-a-week newspaper, would be expecting Annie’s weekly tidbit on living positively. She could talk about taking control of your life, about being a doer rather than a victim. She could even tell them about the baby she was going to have.
She could talk about Wade Barstow, the richest man in town, and the generous contributions he’d made to the schools and the city and the local churches. Wade was generous when it came to money. Annie just wasn’t sure his motives were philanthropic.
She could talk about what a gift the beautiful weather was.
Yet what she really felt like doing was crying. Which made no sense at all. Nothing had changed in the past twenty-four hours. She’d been twice divorced then, too. No one close to her was sick or dying.
Annie settled her laptop more firmly on the card table that served as her kitchen table, coffee table and desk, reminding herself of all the reasons she was glad to be alive.
Yet all she could think about was Blake. The things she’d had and lost. The things she’d wanted and never gotten.
Standing abruptly, she shut down her computer, closed the lid and put it in its case. She made a quick trip to her bedroom, past the twin bed and trunk that took up too little space in the room, and into the adjoining bath to fasten her hair back with barrettes and freshen her lipstick. Then she returned to the kitchen, stopping for only a brief moment to survey the bedroom next to hers, with its new carpet and the hand-carved, Tim Lawry–original crib. A changing table and matching rocker in wood, and the wallpaper she’d bought the previous weekend…The nursery was coming along nicely.
As soon as it was done, she’d start on the rest of the house.
