“Ross…” Jennifer said

She went to him. Stepped close and put her arms around him, her belly—with his brother’s baby—pressing into his.

He held her tightly. She leaned into him and cried.

“I thought I’d be able to hate him for the rest of my life,” he said.

They stood like that for a moment, frozen, and then he kissed her. This kiss was nothing like their kiss nine years earlier. Nothing like the one the other night. No romance, just raw need, and her body responded instantly.

“Jennifer,” he said.

A statement and a question rolled into one, and she knew what he needed. Knew she needed it, too.

Yes, she said, not with her voice but with her hands and lips.

He took her upstairs and undressed her. Made love to her slowly and reverently, worshiping her. And he held her and he wept.

I love him, she thought. I always have….

Dear Reader,

After my daughter’s birth I understood something about my own parents. Though I’d felt quite clearly that they loved me, I hadn’t grasped how much. We’d gone through the usual ups and downs and I knew they’d made plenty of mistakes, as all moms and dads do. I knew, too, that a parent’s love for a child is supposed to be one of the most powerful you can experience. But did I really, truly get it? No. Not the way I did when I had a baby of my own. Oh, I thought, this is what it’s like. And it blew me away.

Although her baby hasn’t yet been born, Jennifer Burns has an inkling of the intense protectiveness and devotion she’ll feel. Already she’s determined to do whatever it takes to give her child the best possible start in life—which includes a relationship with the father. As you read, you’ll learn why this is so very important to her. You’ll also watch her definition of a “real” father evolve throughout the book as she realizes Ross Griffin may be the best man for the job. Though he’s not the biological dad, he has the most important qualification—a deep capacity to love and cherish her child.

I’d enjoy hearing what you think of Her Baby’s Father. You can write me at P.O. Box 1539, Eastsound, WA 98245.

Best wishes,

Anne Haven

Her Baby’s Father
Anne Haven

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For H.H.T., because you kept your daughter’s letters.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Many thanks to Kristen Bernard and Jharna Morrissey at River Valley Midwives, for their inspiration and guidance with firsthand research; to Kim Bressem, for looking after The Bean; and to Donna Miller, for proofreading and emotional support.

I’m also indebted to Dr. Robert Weitzman, for answering medical questions; to Sam Thoron, my father-in-law, for also helping with research; and to Joshua Wolk, for his consultations on arm breaking.

Any technical errors in this fictional work are mine.

Bev Sotolov is an incredible editor and I feel privileged to work with her.

Ruth Kagle has been a supportive and diligent agent. Thanks also to Annelise Roby and to everyone at Rotrosen.

Finally, I must acknowledge that this book would not exist without the help of my husband, Joe Thoron, whose contributions are too numerous to list.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER ONE

BUCK UP, HONEY. Time to be strong.

Jennifer Burns repeated the words as she slowed her dusty old station wagon in front of Ross Griffin’s house in Portland, Oregon. She parked at the curb, cut the engine and sat. Cupping her rounded stomach, she fortified herself with thoughts of the new life inside her.

She was doing this for the baby’s sake. That made everything worth it.

Jennifer studied the large Victorian where Ross lived. It sat on a hill above the city, with a sloped front lawn and a low hedge lining the walk. The house was pale yellow, the trim painted in darker shades of peach, giving it a warm glow in the pre-dusk June evening. A blue Camry sat in the driveway. A flower pot hung from the roof of the porch.

Ross’s home appealed to her. She wondered what his life there was like.

And wished the reason for this reunion could be anything other than what it was.

The car door gave its usual creaky groan as she opened it. Stepping out onto the smoothly paved road, she eased her body to a standing position. Her limbs felt stiff from the two-day drive and her lower back ached dully. As she crossed the front yard she was strongly conscious of her pregnancy, of her unmistakable waddle and the ripeness of her curves—so different from the last time she’d seen Ross. She’d been seventeen, a kid, still scrawny.

This was going to be quite a surprise.

Jennifer hadn’t been able to bring herself to call him. She’d tried three times and had always hung up before dialing the last digit. It was silly and illogical and she knew it. But after what had happened with his brother, she didn’t know what to expect from Ross. Their past—the friendship she and Ross had once shared—might not mean a thing to him. And they hadn’t parted under the best circumstances. He could try to brush her off. He could hang up on her.

No, she’d told herself, better to show up in person. Better to have this conversation face-to-face. It was too important.

Reaching the porch, she used the handrail for stability as she climbed the steps. A woven jute welcome mat sat in front of the door, and as she walked up to it she felt her heart rate quicken. Staving off another attack of nerves, she raised a hand and knocked.

ROSS WAS STANDING in the living room, staring at the shredded foilage and potting soil scattered across the middle of his new rug, when someone knocked on the front door. Frank, the three-legged female Chihuahua who’d attacked and killed his last fern, yipped twice, turned in a circle and scampered under the sofa.

Ross shook his head as he walked to the front hall. Dog-sitting. And he’d agreed to a week of this. She was cute enough, but her passion for his house-plants—not to mention her sensitive stomach—made her a difficult guest. Next time Kyle and Melissa and little Emily left town, they could stick Frank in a kennel.

He opened the door and saw a pregnant woman standing on his porch.

No, not just a pregnant woman. Someone he’d known in another lifetime.

“Jennifer Burns? Is that you?”

“Hello, Ross.”

Nine years slid away to the summer she’d dated his younger brother. To one of the few times he’d ever been jealous of Drew.

Ross remembered the long walks he and Jennifer had taken. The animated conversations. Lounging on the deck behind his parents’ house on warm evenings. Being a twenty-one-year-old kid who thought he knew anything about anything.

He stared at this new version of Jennifer Burns. The shorter, chin-length cut of her dark-blond hair suited her features, which had matured very well. Her face was fuller, with a healthy pregnant-woman’s glow. A splash of bleach marked the sleeve of her pink maternity shirt. She wore cropped jeans with deep creases across the upper thighs, as if she’d been sitting a long time. He could see her ankles, slightly swollen, above a pair of inexpensive white sneakers.

Pregnant. On his doorstep. Looking anxious but determined, as if she had a very important purpose for being there.

He knew what it meant. The knowledge came swiftly and effortlessly. Like a needle stick. Not so much painful in itself, but a single, simple moment containing a world of consequences.

The wave of anger surprised him. Anger at her. At his brother. At himself, for caring even the slightest, when he hadn’t seen her in almost a decade.

She fidgeted under his gaze. “I need to talk with you. May I come in?”

Ross didn’t trust himself to speak. He stood back, let her enter, then motioned through the archway between the front hall and the living room.

Frank’s mess on his floor and a pregnant Jennifer Burns in his house. Not what he’d planned for the evening.

“Excuse me,” he managed to say. He left her in the living room and went to the hall closet for a whisk broom and a hand-held vacuum, then to the kitchen for the trash can. Frank’s mess, at least, could be fixed.

Rejoining her, he set to work on the fern’s remains without offering an explanation. The brown glazed planter had broken into several pieces and he swept it up along with the fern and potting soil.

He felt torn between wanting Jennifer to walk back out the front door and never return—walk away as she had nine years ago—and wanting her to stay. Wanting to be around her again.

She’d slept with his brother. She carried his brother’s child. What would make her become involved with Drew again? What the hell did she see in him? And why did he, Ross, feel even the least bit of interest in someone capable of such bad judgment?

“It’s been a long time,” she ventured. She stood awkwardly in a corner, watching him at his task. “How are you?”

He shrugged. “Not bad. You?”

“Okay,” she said. “Fine.”

“And pregnant.” He didn’t look up as he said it.

“Yes.”

After a brief silence, Ross switched on the vac to suck up the last of the dirt. When he was finished, Frank slipped out from under the sofa and trotted across the room to sniff at the visitor’s toe. Jennifer knelt to let the dog smell her hand. Frank darted her tongue out, licked once and scooted backward as fast as her three feet could take her. She disappeared down the hall.

“Congratulations,” he said, as Jennifer rose. Meaning her pregnancy.

“Thank you.”

The conversation stopped again. Ross gathered his cleaning supplies and stood up.

They both knew where this was headed. He didn’t want to ask the question but forced himself.

“Do I know the father?”

Jennifer faced him squarely. She opened her mouth but couldn’t seem to find the words. Finally she nodded.

CHAPTER TWO

Nine years earlier

This is what it’s like to be the new girl in school: first and foremost, you pretend not to notice people staring. You don’t look at anyone because then they might see how lonely and uncomfortable you feel. Instead you pretend to have something important on your mind—much more important than anything that could possibly be going on around you. Alternatively, you bury your nose in a book. Books are very helpful when you don’t want to look like an anxious wallflower.

I know because I’ve been the new girl a lot. It’s only my junior year and this is the fourth high school I’ve attended. I love my mom, but when it comes to staying in one place, she sucks. You can’t imagine how many different towns we’ve lived in.

By the time I meet Drew I’ve totally given up on making new friends. He doesn’t seem to understand that, though.

He sits in the noisy cafeteria with his group, in the designated corner. A sign might as well hang above them: Beautiful People Only. As I walk by, something whizzes past me and lands in the soup on my tray, splattering overcooked vegetable bits all over my favorite sweater, the grayish blue one Mom and I found at a garage sale in Seattle. I hear snickers.

One of them isn’t laughing, though. His gaze is sympathetic, and before I can make myself scarce he’s beside me, taking the tray and offering me a napkin.

“You’ve got to forgive my friend Brian. He thinks throwing French fries around is amusing. Typical jock, right?”

I accept the napkin and dab at my shirt, not meeting his eyes. Wishing I didn’t have to turn bright red like a complete moron.

“Your name’s Jennifer, right? We sit next to each other in Spanish. I’m Drew Griffin.”

I hazard a glance at him. He’s pretty tall so I have to tilt my head up. It’s like raising my face to the sun. His eyes are bright blue. His smile is warm and encouraging and ever so slightly goofy, as if he has no idea half the school is madly in love with him. I, on the other hand, figured it out right away, when I heard the girl with the locker next to mine gossiping with a friend.

“Look,” Drew says, “I’m sorry about this. Let me buy you a new lunch.”

And so he adopts me. At first I’m suspicious because my self-confidence isn’t exactly soaring and I can’t imagine why he would pay me so much attention. But I’m also pretty star-struck so it’s hard to resist. Soon I forget all about my aversion to cliques and popular kids. When I spend time around Brian, Kurt, Molly and Heather—and, wonder of wonders, they accept me, too—I feel as if I finally belong somewhere.

It’s all so seductive—going to parties, constantly getting phone calls, hanging out with kids who have their own Saabs and BMWs and more spending money in their pockets than my mom earns in a week. Molly and Heather share their clothes and makeup with me, and I’m amazed when they figure out a new style for my hair—layered and blow-dried with a ton of gel—that makes me look about ten years older and a million times more sophisticated. Drew takes me out all the time and before long we’re an item. He’s drawn me out of my shell, helped me to become a new person—one who’s self-assured and carefree and fun.

But then school gets out for the summer and Drew’s older brother, Ross, comes home from college. And life gets a lot more complicated.

The present

THE CONFIRMATION that Drew was the baby’s father made Ross feel as if he had a bad case of acid reflux. He realized he’d hoped Jennifer would say no. That somehow he’d been wrong.

Damn it, Drew. Not right now. So many people would be affected by this. Lucy. And their mother had barely left the hospital. She was recovering fairly well, but she needed to keep her life as stress-free as possible until her health was back to normal. She wasn’t the kind of person who would greet the news of Jennifer’s baby—and Drew’s paternity—with equanimity.

Ross stifled the curse that formed on his lips. “I’ll be right back,” he said.

He stashed the broom and handheld vac back in the hall closet. In the kitchen he put the trash can under the sink, washed his hands and poured two glasses of water from the filter pitcher in the fridge. He hated that this wasn’t easy, that he actually felt something for her after all this time. That some crazy part of him was actually happy to see her again despite the circumstances. Their past should just be a dim memory. He shouldn’t care anymore. All he should care about was protecting the innocent bystanders.

When he returned, Jennifer stood by the bay window, looking out at the view of downtown Portland. The curtains were at the cleaners’, due back next week. Without them the windows seemed raw, the curtain rods and cords a stark frame for the view.

He offered one of the glasses of water and she thanked him for it.

An unfamiliar white station wagon sat across the street from his house, crammed with stuff. He saw a lamp, cardboard boxes, a cactus plant and what appeared to be a bunched-up comforter. California license plate.

She sipped the water. “It’s a lovely view,” she said into the silence, her gaze on the city. “I like your house.”

“Thank you.”

“Do you live here alone?”

“Yes.” Did she care? Did he want her to care?

Ross glanced at her profile and felt the same pull of attraction he had as a college kid. This was the woman who, as a teenager, had felt sympathy for a rain-drenched flower seller. Who’d read Arthur Koestler and Noam Chomsky and had intelligent things to say about them. Who’d been willing to help out his aunt Lenora, a total stranger, when she’d broken her ankle.

And the last time he’d seen Jennifer they’d kissed. Kissed each other while she was still dating his brother.

He tried to push away the thought and the accompanying twinge of conscience. Drew didn’t deserve his loyalty anymore—not after what had happened with Lucy and not if he’d slept with Jennifer during the past year. But the guilt still lingered.

“No family of your own?” she asked.

“No family of my own.” He’d tried that route and it hadn’t worked out.

“Drew said you’re an E.R. doctor. Northwest?” The hospital.

He nodded.

Another moment passed. She stared out the window again, as if absorbed by the view of the city, then said, “I need to get in touch with him.”

Ross thought that sounded like a singularly bad idea. “Does he know about the baby?”

“If he knew, I wouldn’t be having so much trouble reaching him.”

An opinion Ross didn’t share. “He never told me he’d seen you again. I guess he didn’t give you his phone number.” When the two of you got together. When you conceived this child.

Her eyelashes flickered. “He gave me a phone number. It just wasn’t his.”

Nice. In that case he should have had the guts to give no phone number at all. But not Drew. He wanted to look good even when he was being a jerk.

Ross considered her belly, judging her to be about six months along. He remembered a business trip Drew had taken to San Francisco last December. The timing worked. And the timing made Drew’s actions unconscionable.

Ross felt a strong desire to strangle his brother.

“I couldn’t find him in the phone book,” she said. “But he does live in Portland…?”

“More or less.” Drew lived across the Columbia River in Vancouver, Washington. Which amounted to the same thing if you were driving all the way here from San Francisco. But even if she’d thought to check for Drew there, she wouldn’t have found a number. His brother preferred not to be listed, claiming he didn’t want his law clients calling him at home in hysterics.

To come all the way here without confirmation Drew lived in the area, Ross thought, had been a gamble. But maybe Jennifer was more desperate than she wanted to admit.

He observed her car more closely. Flakes of rust had gathered around the wheel wells. The rear door on the passenger side had a dent in it. Under its heavy load the car sagged onto its aging shocks. A car that belonged to someone who couldn’t afford much maintenance, it fit with the bleach-stained shirt and the cheap shoes.

The accumulating evidence of her financial difficulties surprised him, though. When he’d known her, Jennifer had been bright and motivated. He’d expected her to do better. Much better.

“You drove here from California?”

She nodded.

“And you plan to stay for a while.”

“Yes.”

“Your mother—where is she?” Surely her mother would be able to help her at a time like this.

“She died last November.”

“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that.” He’d met the woman once, briefly, on the street outside his parents’ house when she’d come by to pick Jennifer up. She’d seemed nice, if a bit tired. He remembered she’d worn a hairnet and some kind of uniform.

“Breast cancer,” Jennifer volunteered.

“How long was she sick?”

“Seven years, on and off.”

He knew what this meant. Knew the financial, physical and emotional toll an extended illness took, though he only witnessed the crisis points in the E.R. Jennifer’s circumstances made more sense now.

“That must have been rough,” he said.

She shrugged, and despite her attempt at nonchalance he saw that it had been excruciating.

“And now this.” Her pregnancy. Her child by a man who would never acknowledge his paternity.

“Now this,” she echoed.

He watched her. “When’s the baby due?”

“September fourteenth.”

She had less than three months to go. Not an easy time to travel. Not an easy time to pack your life into your run-down station wagon and move to a different state.

“Why now?” he asked. Why hadn’t she contacted him sooner—as soon as she’d realized she was pregnant and couldn’t reach Drew?

She understood his meaning. “I had my reasons,” she said. “I needed time. I needed to come to terms with my situation.”

Ross didn’t press for a detailed explanation since she obviously didn’t care to share more. Perhaps she’d considered an abortion but hadn’t been able to go through with it. Perhaps she’d known about Lucy, though he wouldn’t be surprised if she didn’t. Perhaps she’d wanted to raise the child on her own, without Drew’s involvement, and had finally had to accept that she couldn’t swing it financially.

And she clearly couldn’t. She clearly needed assistance.

Understandable. He knew how hard it was to be a single mother with no child support, especially if you already had to deal with the expenses associated with a long-term illness. At the free clinic where he volunteered each week he saw plenty of mothers who were forced to live on the edge of poverty—and not because they were stupid or lazy, but because keeping a single-parent household going was damn hard if you hadn’t started out wealthy and weren’t among the top twenty percent of income earners.

Ross didn’t want to think about Jennifer living below the poverty level, especially with a new baby. And he could prevent it from happening. He could also prevent anyone else from getting hurt by this.

Not that he was concerned about Drew. Had Drew been the only one affected, Ross might have just jotted down his brother’s information and sent her on her way. But that wasn’t the case.

Ross walked closer to the window. Studied the front yard. The leaves of the climbing rose were getting specks on them, he saw, and made a mental note to bring it to his gardener’s attention.

He crossed his arms, unable to make himself turn around and look her in the eyes. “How much do you need?”

“Excuse me?”

He knew the question was an ugly one, but he asked it again. “How much do you need, Jennifer? To raise your baby. And to do it somewhere far away from here.”

JENNIFER STARED at Ross’s broad, intimidating back. He’d told her where she stood—firmly outside the circle of people for whom he cared, people he considered his own. Just as her father had when she was thirteen. Now, as then, she was nothing more than a problem—a problem to be solved by throwing money at it.

Jennifer raised her glass to her lips and felt herself shaking. She finished the water, then walked out of the room with all the composure she could muster, which wasn’t much. She couldn’t be around him, couldn’t handle it, despite the weeks she’d had to prepare herself.

Stumbling blindly down the hallway, knowing it was rude, she tried to numb herself from caring. From feeling anything.

At the far end of the hall she pushed through a half-open door into an airy kitchen overlooking the backyard. The counters were indigo tile, the sink white porcelain below a six-paned window. A work island took up the center of the kitchen and a separate breakfast bar divided the cooking area from the dining room.

She focused on her hands as she rinsed her glass and put it in the dishwasher. Pretending she was calm. Under control, the way she’d wanted to be. But her eyes stung with tears and her throat felt tight.

The past couple of months had been so stressful. Last winter when she’d realized Drew had left her a fake phone number she’d decided he wouldn’t want to know about the baby, convinced herself she could go it alone. But then her profit-driven landlord had found a way to eject her from her rent-controlled apartment. To get a new one at the same price she would have had to settle for a hovel not much better than a refrigerator box in a back alley. Looking for a roommate, she’d quickly ascertained that few of the candidates—and none of those who weren’t creepy—wanted to live with a newborn.

Some friends had put her up temporarily. But she’d seen how easily her life could slip, felt the vulnerability of a pregnant woman alone with few resources. She was deeply in debt, struggling to pay off her mother’s medical bills. What if she lost her job? What if she couldn’t afford good child care? What if something unforeseen happened, like her mother’s cancer? The cancer had taken over their lives. Had forced Jennifer to quit college and steadily drained their finances. There had been countless treatments and periods of remission, periods of hope, renewed fear and then hope again. And when Andrea Burns had died after battling her illness so valiantly, she’d left Jennifer without any family. Even her father, she’d learned, had died in a car accident a few years earlier.

She’d awakened on her friends’ couch one morning and known she couldn’t let history repeat itself. Her baby deserved a chance to develop a real relationship with his or her father, however imperfect that father might be. Her baby deserved, too, the additional security and emotional support a second parent would provide. A bigger safety net, which she alone couldn’t give.

Ross entered the kitchen, interrupting her thoughts. Jennifer didn’t turn around. Gripping the counter with both hands, she felt the edges of the wooden trim bite into her skin.

She stood there a long time, silent, wishing with a foolish part of herself for him to apologize, to take back his words, to welcome her and the baby into the Griffin fold.

But of course he didn’t.

Finally she faced him, surprised to find him closer than she’d expected, standing between her and the tiled island. She crossed her arms, feeling her belly protrude below them. “I didn’t come to your house to be bought off.”

“I know that.”

“So don’t insult me.”

He said nothing, just reached up and brushed the pad of his thumb across a spot of dampness under her eye. Then, as if he couldn’t resist—and already regretted his lack of will—he settled his hand on her shoulder and drew her to him.

Jennifer felt herself step into his arms. She tried to stand stiffly in his embrace, to resist the urge to relax, to keep the gesture from affecting her. But she was alone in a new city, with all her friends back in San Francisco. And this was Ross Griffin. Still compelling, still irresistible, despite the words he’d spoken in his living room. She felt her body soften against his, felt herself lean in to him. It was the wrong thing to do—just as it had been nine years ago—but she couldn’t stop herself.

Her belly made the hug awkward, but she soaked up the comfort he seemed to offer, savoring the connection to another human being.

No, not just another human being, of course. The connection to Ross. Even though he’d hurt her with his attempt to buy her off, she couldn’t help her pleasure at being near him again. Or the irrational relief she’d felt when he told her he lived alone, without a wife.

Inside her, the baby moved. A fluttering kick followed by what felt like a full-body stretch. A limb pressed outward, against Ross’s stomach.

He went still. “The baby.”

She nodded.

He released her shoulders and placed both palms, fingers down, on the heavy curve of her stomach. Her secondhand maternity jeans had a low waistband, so only the thin layer of her pink cotton shirt separated his skin from hers. The baby kept moving.

Jennifer closed her eyes. She loved these active periods, loved feeling the unmistakable presence of a new person growing inside her.

Ross’s hands were warm and broad. With a slight upward pressure he supported her belly’s weight. The contact felt intimate and much better than it should have.

Eventually the baby quieted. She opened her eyes to find Ross watching her.

Abruptly the spell broke. She stepped back, unable to look into his eyes. Regretting her susceptibility to him.

She remembered the last time they’d touched. The way he’d kissed her and the price she’d had to pay. So long ago, but still she could remember it—a distinct moment ringing like a tuning fork in her memory.

“I’m trying to help you,” he said.

“Then tell me his phone number. That’s all I want.”

As if he was the one who needed to get distance between them now, Ross went to the French doors opening onto the back porch. Holding each of the curved handles, he stared out into the yard. “Drew won’t help you.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do. He won’t. I can.”

She shook her head, though he couldn’t see her.

“Damn it, Jennifer,” he said, sounding more tired than angry. “Take the money and run. Make a life for yourself. Leave Drew behind.”

Why did it matter so much to him? Who was he trying to protect? And didn’t he care, just a little, that he would miss the chance to know his niece or nephew?

“I can’t do that,” she said.

“You’ll have to. One way or another, you’ll have to.”

She studied him, searching for the meaning behind his words, the thing he didn’t say. The reason he was so sure Drew would never accept his responsibilities.

And then she knew the problem. Knew with a sick kind of certainty, an unexpected clarity.

She looked away from him, out the window over the sink. A line of trees at the back of the property blocked the afternoon sun, but still the yard seemed warm and inviting. Flowers bloomed in a bed running the length of the fence that marked the right-hand lot line. Daisies and daylilies and snapdragons. Herbs grew in a raised bed in the middle of the lawn, basil, oregano, mint, and others she couldn’t identify.

One of the daylilies was taller than the rest. Taller by almost a foot. Absently she wondered why it had grown that way, what trick of genetics or cultivation had made it rise over its neighbors.

“He’s married, isn’t he?”

CHAPTER THREE

ROSS TURNED AWAY from the French doors. She felt his gaze and slowly moved her head until their eyes met. He didn’t say anything, but the truth was evident in his expression.

Of course Drew was married. She shouldn’t have expected anything else from him. And she supposed there were worse things for her child, growing up, to face. Drew could be dead. Or in prison.

But she’d hoped against hope he might actually want to be involved in his child’s upbringing. Now that seemed highly improbable. Like her father when she’d run away to find him, Drew had another life, another family. Though her father, at least, had had the decency not to be married to another woman when he’d slept with her mother.

“How long has he had a wife?” she asked.

“A couple of years.” Ross pulled out one of the spindle-back chairs at the kitchen table and sat down. He leaned forward, forearms on knees, hands clasped. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s hardly your fault,” she said, her anger at Drew spilling into her voice.

Ross ignored her tone. “Have a seat,” he said, pulling out another chair and positioning a third in front of it. “Put your feet up.”

She was too agitated to sit. “I’ve been in the car all day.”

“Suit yourself.” He watched her for a moment. “My offer still stands.”

Idly she wondered exactly what his offer was. How much money was he willing to pay for her to go away? Of course, even if it was, to him, a pittance, it would surely allow her to take care of herself and the baby for a few years until she could finish paying off her mother’s medical bills. Start saving again.

She leaned against the counter, hugging herself. “You want me to leave town,” she said. “Leave before contacting Drew. Never tell him, so he can maintain his marriage without having to pay a price for what he did.”

Her words sounded confrontational, but she felt herself wavering, wondering if she should do as Ross suggested—take what he offered and disappear. She could drive the coastal route back to California, stop at cute tourist towns, pretend she’d only gone on a sight-seeing vacation. She might even be able to talk Benita Alvarez into giving her back her old job at the office supply warehouse.

“Yes,” Ross said. “That’s what I want.”

She had to admire his honesty. But suddenly her moment of weakness had passed, replaced by anger and indignation. Jennifer recalled her conversation with Drew at the tiny bistro—eight tables in all and the cheapest appetizer cost more than she made in an hour—when she’d asked him directly whether he was involved with anyone. He’d sat there across the linen-draped table and lied to her as easily as he breathed. No hesitation. No awkwardness. The perfect hint of self-deprecating charm in his answer. No clue that he was married. Committed.

“I thought we were two unattached adults,” she said, the words coming out hard.

“I believe you.”

“He’s put me in a really crappy position.”

“Jennifer.”

“So I’m not particularly in a mood to disappear. He lied to me, right to my face, and if I slink off, that means he gets away with it. And I don’t really want to hear how it’s going to be tough for his wife. She’ll just have to face reality.”

“Jennifer,” he said again, trying to slow her down.

She looked right at him. Waited to hear what he would say. Realized she wouldn’t like it, not a bit.

“His wife is pregnant.”

The news made her feel as if she were on an elevator that had stopped too quickly. As if her big belly had continued moving and was now ten feet below the rest of her body.

“Oh.” Somehow a pregnancy seemed even worse than if Drew and his wife had already had a child. She knew firsthand what a fragile and emotional time this was. Your whole life was filled with a sense of possibility and joy, but also fear.

Fear that something would go wrong. Fear that you would lose your unborn baby. Fear that your husband would desert you or have a trashy affair with another woman, some tramp he’d known in high school.

Shame washed through her.

But she hadn’t known.

Jennifer walked over and took the chair Ross had offered her a few minutes earlier, then sat with her hands clasped under her stomach. On the table was a single small flower in a narrow stem vase. She didn’t know the variety. White petals, each with a flare of blue moving out from the yellow center.

She stared at it and tried to keep her voice from wobbling. “How pregnant?”

“Six months.”

Six months? Six?

She told herself to keep it together, despite the awful coincidence. Told herself she could be better than this screwed-up situation.

Buck up, honey. Time to be strong.

“She’s due the week before you,” Ross said.

“Was the baby an accident?” she asked. “Or had they been planning to have one?” Not that Ross necessarily would have known.

But apparently he did. “Lucy has wanted kids for a long time.” His tone was grim.

Jennifer looked up, met his gaze. Now she understood why he thought Drew would never support or acknowledge his child—and she wished she didn’t. To harbor the illusion Drew was just a garden-variety sleaze would have been nice. Now she had to deal with the fact that he was despicable. He’d slept with her while he and his wife had been trying to conceive a child. He’d fathered two babies in one week.

“Does Lucy—” she tried the name on her tongue, not really liking the sound of it “—know the kind of man he is?”

And while she waited for Ross to reply, she had to ask herself the same question. Did you? The answer was painful. Because some part of her had known. Known not to trust him. Known he was capable of something like this. Yet she’d allowed him into her bed.

She took little consolation from the fact that it never would have happened if he hadn’t caught her at a vulnerable moment right before the holidays, a time that had made her feel raw and alone, with her closest friends out of town and the recent loss of her mother weighing more heavily than usual. She’d needed something familiar. Drew had been a person from her past. Somehow that had comforted her, even though their shared history was a source of ambivalence.

But she shouldn’t have been such obliging prey. She shouldn’t have been so easily taken in by him.

A married man. Whose wife was already pregnant.

The craziest piece of it all, though, was that she still couldn’t regret sleeping with him. It had given her the precious baby inside her.

“I don’t know if she does,” Ross said at last. “But I do know she loves him.”

“Will she still?” Will she still love him when she has proof of his infidelity? Will she still love a husband who impregnated another woman?

Ross didn’t answer. His jaw was tight. A vein pulsed at his temple.

It was a pointless question. No one could predict how someone else might react to such circumstances. But she sensed this woman’s feelings would matter to Ross. His sister-in-law was one of the people he cared about, whose well-being and happiness he wanted to preserve. It was very noble of him.

“Don’t think this makes me less interested in confronting him.” She placed a hand flat on the tabletop. “You want me to go away. But I hope you understand that if Drew is going to try to reject his child, he has to look me in the eyes as he does it.”

Ross watched her. He seemed to read something inside her, to assess her resolve. Finally he stood. “Okay,” he said. “Okay. I’ll arrange a meeting.”

ROSS CLOSED HIMSELF in his study to make the call. He sat for a long moment behind his dark mahogany desk, figuring out how to handle the conversation.

Jennifer was so sure of her need to see Drew. So sure it was the best thing for her and the baby. He didn’t agree, but perhaps he was wrong about his brother and the way Drew would conduct himself. Perhaps Drew would seize the chance to do the right thing, to become the man he always should have been.

Not likely. And who knew what the right thing was in this case? He didn’t see any resolution that didn’t result in someone getting hurt.

It was just past six, so he punched in Drew’s number at the law firm on the chance he would still be at work. Voice mail answered after five rings, and Ross hung up.

He dialed Drew at home in Vancouver. Lucy picked up, as he’d anticipated, but still he heard her familiar soft voice and had to force himself to sound normal. He hated to know more about her life than she did.

“Hey, Luce.”

“Oh, hi,” she said.

“The baby doing well?”

She gave a small laugh. “As far as I can tell.”

He thought of how it had felt to cup Jennifer’s stomach, to feel her child move inside her. Incredible. And not an experience he would ever share with Lucy. They had certain lines they were careful not to cross now.

“Is Drew there?”

“His car just pulled into the drive. I’ll go get him.”

Ross picked up a pencil on his desk and tapped it against a yellow legal pad. Gazed distractedly around the study. Like the living room, it was missing its drapes.

Drew came on the line a minute later.

Ross did the small-talk thing, something he and his brother were good at, and then got down to business. “I need you to come over,” he said, keeping his tone casual.

“Now?”

“Yeah. That would be good.”

“Hey, I just got home.”

Ross didn’t feel too worried about his brother’s convenience. “I know. When can you make it?”

“Not right now. Lucy’s got plans.”

“Later tonight, then.”

“Maybe. What’s this about?”

“Nine o’clock?”

Drew covered the mouthpiece. Ross heard a murmur of conversation.

Drew came back on. “I can be there at nine. What’s so important?”

“Just something I want to get handled. In person.”

“A mystery, huh? Okay, big bro. See you in a few.”

Ross hung up. He closed his eyes and massaged his temples, momentarily giving in to the frustration that rose inside him. He would have liked not to deal with this. He would have liked… What? For Jennifer not to have come to him? For her to have struggled on her own, raised his niece or nephew in a lonely little apartment somewhere? Or for her and Drew not to have conceived the baby—for them not to have slept together in the first place?

Well, yes, definitely that, he admitted to himself.

But it couldn’t be changed. And feeling the baby move had elicited an aching tenderness in him—one that vied with the wish for her not to be pregnant with his brother’s child.

Ross reached for the phone again. He needed to call someone from the free clinic who’d invited him to see an action flick with a group of friends that night. “Sorry to do this, Barbara, but I have to beg off.”

The nurse practitioner made an indignant sound. “Again?”

“Something came up.”

“Huh. That’s pretty convincing.”

“Seriously. Something did. Family stuff.”

“It’s not your mom, is it?”

“No, she’s fine.”

Barbara let a moment of silence go by. “Oh, I see. Jackie told you, right?”

“Told me what?”

She sighed. “That I invited my sister-in-law to come along.”

“Barbara…” he said, trying to sound stern.

“I know, I know. But she’s really cute. You’d like her. I know you would.”

Judging from the two other women Barbara had set him up with, he probably would. They were both nice. Both attractive. But neither had done anything for him romantically.

Nevertheless, it was good to stay in circulation—something he’d found difficult after his divorce four years ago.

Ross sighed. “This isn’t about your sister-in-law,” he said. “Jackie didn’t tell me anything. I’d come out if I could, but I can’t.”

“Okay, okay. I believe you.” Her voice softened. “Good luck with whatever’s going on.”

When Ross walked back into the kitchen, he found Jennifer still sitting quietly at the table. Her feet were propped up on a chair now, clad only in white socks, her sneakers on the hardwood floor below.

“Nine o’clock,” he told her.

“He’ll see me?”

Ross selected an apple from the basket of fruit on the counter, washed it and took a paring knife from the drawer by the sink. “He doesn’t know it’s you.”

“Oh.”

“I thought it would be best that way.” He sliced the apple in half and then in half again before coring the quarters.

“Where are we meeting?”

“Here.”

“Okay…” Briefly she closed her eyes.

Ross arranged the apple slices on a plate and set it on the table within her reach. “Help yourself,” he said, taking a seat.

He ate and she ate, and while they chewed they didn’t make eye contact. His gaze passed over the swell of her belly. She was six months pregnant with no family and not much money. He couldn’t help but feel compassion. He saw the courage it must have taken to come here and the strength of purpose that kept her here despite what he’d told her about her baby’s father.

Jennifer turned her head, looking around the dining area. He saw her gaze settle on a formal portrait of his mother and father, taken several years earlier, which hung on the wall.

“How are your parents?”

A standard social question. Basic politeness. He would have loved to give the standard polite answer—that they were well, thank you. “My dad’s fine. Mom just had a double bypass.”

She looked as surprised as he’d felt the day they’d discovered the blockage in his mother’s arteries. “Did she have a heart attack?”

“Yeah. Right on the tennis court. Luckily the ambulance got to her quickly.”

Katherine Griffin had always been trim and active, but her diet hadn’t been the healthiest and she wasn’t the most relaxed person. Still, Ross hadn’t seen it coming. And should have. But he’d allowed his schedule to get too hectic this spring, and had only visited his parents once, briefly, during the month before Katherine’s attack.

“How long ago?”

“Four weeks. She’s been home about three.”

Jennifer frowned. “And…is she going to be okay?”

Ross raised his shoulders in a helpless shrug. These things were hard to predict. “She came through the surgery well. Her heart sustained some damage, though. How much is hard to tell at this point.”

She sat silently. Maybe thinking about his mother. Maybe about her own.

“I suppose stress isn’t very good for her,” she said finally.

“No.” The cardiologist had felt stress was a major factor in Katherine’s disease. During the recovery period, Ross wanted to keep her mind on pleasant topics. Drew’s illegitimate baby didn’t qualify. “You can see why this whole situation is complicated.”

Jennifer reached for another slice of apple. He watched her eat it in three slow and deliberate bites. “I’m sorry about your mother. And I’m sorry the timing’s so bad.”

He nodded. After another pause he said, “I’m not trying to stop you from talking to Drew, but tell me—if it’s money you need, what’s the difference whether you get it from me or from him?”

She glanced up at him, then away. “You’re not the father.”

Of course he wasn’t. Naturally she wanted the father to take responsibility for his actions, but no matter which of them helped her, the result would be the same: financial security for her and her child.

“It’s that important?” he asked.

“A child should have a father. Not a stepfather. Not a series of stepfathers or a series of stand-ins who don’t particularly want the role. Not an absentee benefactor, either.”

He opened his mouth to say that a benefactor was better than nothing. Her look stopped him. It said she hadn’t forgotten Drew had another family. I know he won’t want me or his child, but I have to do this.

Yet he didn’t understand why she did. Was it masochism? Pure stubbornness? A self-destructive love for his brother despite everything he’d done?

Ross was glad, though, that it wasn’t just about the money. Irrationally. Because it shouldn’t make a difference to him. And he shouldn’t care, either, that she would probably be disappointed.

He tried to imagine how Drew might be a father to her child, but couldn’t. Drew paying visits every Saturday afternoon? Drew cherishing him or her, taking an active part in his or her life? That wasn’t how the world worked and it wasn’t how Drew worked. It certainly didn’t seem like something Lucy would be able to accept.

Jennifer slipped her feet into her shoes. She pushed back from the table and stood. “Well, thank you for calling Drew.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I’m going to go get settled and find something to eat. I’ll be back a little before nine.”

Ross walked her to the front hall. “Where are you staying?”

He’d wondered if she still had any friends here who might put her up, but she said, “A motel in Beaverton.”

Upstairs he had two spare bedrooms. For her to waste money on a motel room when she could just stay here didn’t seem right. True, he would probably be better off to keep his distance from her. She affected him more than she should, more than was right, and in the past that had only caused problems. But he didn’t want to think of her completely alone in some cheap, depressing motel room after the conversation she was bound to have with Drew. If he, Ross, couldn’t give her money, at least he could give her a pleasant place to stay the night. And maybe some support as she tried to decide what to do next.

He didn’t open the front door. “Have you checked in?”

“No.”

“So don’t. Stay here, instead.”

“Ross—”

“Save your money for the baby,” he said. “You’ll need it. And it’s no trouble to have you here. I’ve got room upstairs and plenty of food for dinner.”

CHAPTER FOUR

JENNIFER BROUGHT IN the bare minimum: her toiletries and a few clothes. She’d allowed Ross to talk her into staying at his house but knew she shouldn’t get too comfortable. This was just for one night. It would save her fifty bucks, but tomorrow she would still have to find an apartment.

And Ross’s offer of a place to sleep didn’t mean she was now one of the people he cared about and protected. All it meant was that he was a gentleman, a considerate host, or perhaps that he felt he owed her a small favor due to their past acquaintanceship.

The room he’d given her was at the back of the house, directly over the kitchen, with windows that looked down into the garden. It had pale-peach walls. A cream-striped duvet covered the double bed and the spindled headboard wore the soft patina of age. Summer evening light slipped in the window and warmed the eastern side of the room.

Much better than an anonymous motel, she admitted.

Jennifer took a quick shower in the attached bathroom, which also connected to another guest room. She dried off with a butter-soft towel and dressed in fresh clothes, feeling a lot more human without the layer of dust and grit from her drive up from San Francisco. After running a comb through her still-damp hair, she joined Ross in the kitchen.

He stood at the island, snapping the ends off a pile of green beans. “Feeling refreshed?” he asked.

“Mmm-hmm.” She walked over and took a seat. The dog, Frank, was curled up on a cushion by the back door. She wagged her stumpy tail at Jennifer and then put her head down on her paws.

“I overestimated the contents of my pantry,” Ross said. “I need to run out to the store for some tomato sauce. Do you want to come along? You’re welcome to stay here if you don’t.”

She slipped off her stool. “I’ll come.”

He was her child’s uncle. To spend some time with him, to learn more about his life, wouldn’t be so bad, right?

Ross wiped his hands on a tea towel and led her to the front door, where he grabbed his keys and let them both out. He glanced over as she descended the steps beside him, not offering to help but seeming alert to the possibility of her needing it. She wasn’t so pregnant that her movements had become that difficult, but she knew the day would arrive.

He opened the passenger door of his Camry for her. As she settled herself in the seat and fastened her safety belt she studied his hospital ID card, which was clipped to the dash. The photo was a few years old. His dark hair was longer and he wore a haggard expression. He had deep bags under his eyes. It looked as if it had been taken in the middle of the night, partway through a grueling shift.

She watched him for a minute as he drove down the hill, leaving the residential area and entering the outskirts of downtown Portland. “Is being a doctor what you expected?”

Ross smiled a little ruefully, perhaps remembering things he’d said to her a long time ago. “I was an idealist, wasn’t I?”

“Reality is different?”

“Reality is always different. Especially from what you imagine it’ll be when you’re barely out of your teens.”

“So, what’s it like?”

“Harder. Sometimes more boring. You wouldn’t think so, but even emergencies can feel routine sometimes. And I can’t say I like the business aspects of medicine.”

“But helping people?”

“Oh, that’s gratifying,” he said. “Especially at the free clinic my friend Kyle runs.”

“Where’s that?”

“Old Town. We get lots of patients who are homeless. Also people with low incomes who can’t afford any other kind of health care.”

He talked about it in a matter-of-fact tone, and answered several more questions. She sensed he wouldn’t want her to make a big deal about his volunteer service there, but she was, actually, impressed. Impressed he’d found a way to follow through on some of the ideals he’d professed nine years ago.

“How do you have time to do that?” she asked as they pulled into the little grocery store parking lot. “I thought doctors worked eighty-hour weeks.”

“I worked that much as a resident. Now it only feels that way. I spend less than fifty hours a week at the hospital, though I have to do a bit more at home. Paperwork and keeping up on my reading.”

Ross explained how the shifts were set up at Northwest Hospital. He had day shifts for a few weeks and then a series of night shifts, with a break in between to adjust his internal clock. She’d caught him at the end of a night series, so he had a few days free.

They did their shopping and returned home. Ross picked up the meal preparations where he’d left off. Half an hour later he presented a meal of chicken, pasta and green beans.

As they ate they ranged over many subjects, but stayed away, as if by mutual consent, from anything that had to do with babies or sleazy brothers or family illnesses. In the security and ease of Ross’s house, Jennifer allowed herself to imagine, briefly, what it would be like to have had a child the traditional way. The way she’d always fantasized about. To be married and live in a nice house. To plan to conceive a baby and enjoy the act of making it. To share in the expectations and fears of pregnancy, to raise a child together in a house like this one…

Dreams. Just dreams. As Ross had said, reality was always different. She shouldn’t waste her time when her life was so unlike the fantasy, when she had a meeting with her baby’s father in less than two hours—the father who was married to someone else and expecting another baby.

So she let herself enjoy the rest of the meal and even Ross’s company. But she didn’t fool herself that the interlude was anything other than a temporary glimpse into another person’s life.

Nine years earlier

I’ve heard all about Ross Griffin by the time he gets home from college. Drew calls him Mr. Perfect because he always gets a four-point, does tons of community service, was student body president in high school, excels at sports, speaks two foreign languages, gets his car’s oil changed every three thousand miles without fail, and never, ever leaves dirty dishes in the kitchen sink. You can tell Drew kind of resents him for it, but you can tell he worships him, too. He tries to be like Ross. Like, he’s into this weird band called The Others that nobody in high school’s ever heard of, and three weeks ago when we went into Ross’s room to check out his vintage skateboard I saw an old concert ticket sitting on his desk.

Molly and Heather think Ross is gorgeous. But I’ve seen pictures of him all over the Griffin house and I don’t see what all the fuss is about. Sure, he could pass for that British actor, what’s-his-name, but so what? Drew’s better looking. Plus he’s laid-back and fun, while Ross is probably an uptight prig.

We’re sitting on the deck, Brian and Heather and Drew and I, when Ross gets home from a shopping trip with Mr. and Mrs. Griffin. He flew back from Cambridge a couple of days ago, but I haven’t run into him yet.

They come out onto the deck to say hello and I try to stand up because I’ve been sitting on Drew’s lap, which seems a little trashy in front of his family, especially when I see his mom’s gaze go to his arms around my waist. But Drew tightens his grasp, so I’m stuck there, embarrassed, when I meet his big brother.

Ross greets Brian and Heather and then turns his attention to me. “Jennifer, right? Nice to meet you.” He actually offers me his hand.

I don’t know if college kids go around shaking each other’s hands when they meet, but I’m not used to that, at least not from anyone under thirty. Which is probably why I get such a funny, off-balance feeling inside, as if I just miscalculated where the ground was when I stepped off a ladder.

His hand is big and warm, his grip firm. He doesn’t hold mine any longer than necessary or seem particularly stirred by the experience of meeting me.

“How are you?” I say, trying to look as comfortable as I can while I sit on his brother’s lap.

We all chat for a moment. I ask a few polite questions about his trip back from college and he asks where I lived before Portland, and then Mrs. Griffin reminds Drew to keep the screen door closed so insects don’t get into the house—he’d left it open this afternoon—and she and her husband go back inside.

Ross sits down on one of the dark-metal deck chairs his mom special-ordered from Europe last month. Drew and Brian start to talk about their new game systems and nobody’s talking to me anymore, so I just stare at Mr. Perfect, curious to see if he’s as arrogant as I had expected.

“So, how was your semester?” Heather asks him.

From her voice and expression it’s obvious she’s got a crush on the guy. I hope he’s too self-absorbed to notice, because otherwise I’m going to feel embarrassed for her.

Heather gushes at him and he answers all her questions about Cambridge and Harvard and what his dorm was like. He’s perfectly nice about it, but I start to get the feeling he thinks she’s a ditz. That’s not really fair. Heather may not be a super-brain, but she’s not stupid. Plus, she’s nice.

Finally I open my mouth to get into the conversation, just because I’m feeling left out. “What’s your major?”

Heather answers before he can. “He’s going to be a doctor,” she says, as though he’s already asked her to marry him or something.

Ross frowns, and I’m not really sure why. He’s hard to figure out. I can’t tell if he’s annoyed with Heather and me or just distracted.

A couple of minutes later he catches Drew’s attention. “Sorry to break this up, but we should be ready to go in about ten minutes.”

Drew gives him a blank stare.

“Grandma,” Ross prompts.

“Oh, man. I totally forgot.”

I give Drew a “huh?” look over my shoulder—I’m still sitting on his lap—and he says, “We have to go visit my grandma. Mom promised her we’d both come by this afternoon. I completely forgot about it.”

Ross says, “Can you be ready?” His gaze takes in Drew’s swimming trunks and faded Martha’s Vineyard T-shirt with the black dog on it. He’s already dressed appropriately, of course, in gray pants and a crisp white shirt.

Drew grimaces. “I’ve got to run Jenny home.”

His brother doesn’t seem to like this, and now I feel as if he’s annoyed directly at me. I’m going to make him late for his visit to his grandmother.

“I could ride the bus,” I say, scooting off Drew when he lets go of me to check his watch. I stand up.

Drew looks relieved, but I’m a little bummed. It’s less than ten minutes to my apartment by car, but a lot longer than that on the bus, especially since the stop is several blocks away. But I don’t want him to get in trouble.

Ross shakes his head, sighing. “Drive her home,” he tells Drew. “It’s not that big a deal. I’ll just call Grandma and let her know we’ll be late.”

“Thanks,” I say. But I don’t feel he’s being all that nice and I can tell he really is annoyed with me. “I’m ready to go right now.”

Drew grabs his keys and we take off, walking out to the cars with Brian and Heather, and I’m happy to see the last of his brother for a while.

The present

DREW HAD A BAD FEELING as he drove from his home in Vancouver across the Columbia River, down I-5, across the Willamette and up to Ross’s house—a feeling this wasn’t going to be a social call.

He pulled into the driveway and parked behind a battered station wagon with California plates and a San Francisco neighborhood parking permit. It took him a second, then he remembered seeing it at Jennifer Burns’s apartment and wondering how anyone could drive such a hunk of junk.

Glancing in the windows, he saw what appeared to be all her worldly possessions. Jesus. Was she moving here or simply stopping by on her way somewhere else?

She’d better not be the reason for this little visit. He’d expected her to figure out their night together was a one-time thing. Not that he would object to a repeat, but that started to smack of complications. And he didn’t like complications.

He knocked on the door, realizing that if this was about her, it would hardly be about starting up a relationship. Ross wasn’t exactly the type to act as a broker for his brother’s extramarital affairs. Hell, if he even realized there were affairs he’d go ballistic.

Ross opened the door, his features tense, his eyes cool. Drew realized instantly that he knew about San Francisco.

Shit, Drew thought. Just what he needed today—to be called on the carpet by his saintly older brother.

Ross stepped back to let him enter. A small brown dog shot into the front hall on three legs. The crazed-looking Chihuahua spent more time moving in circles than going straight forward.

“Yours?” he asked. It would be just like his brother to take on a crippled dog.

“Kyle and Melissa’s.”

Drew didn’t spend a lot of time socializing with Ross’s friends. No time at all, in fact. But he’d heard Ross talk about these particular friends and their daughter. They seemed to have a perfect life. Drew wouldn’t be surprised, though, if one of them walked into his law office someday seeking a divorce. Love was fun, but life was real. He didn’t have a lot of illusions left about human nature, his included.

“So what’s this all about?” he asked, pretending he didn’t know.

“Jennifer Burns.”

“Yeah? I saw her car. How is she?”

“She’s in the study. Why don’t you go see for yourself.”

CHAPTER FIVE

JENNIFER WATCHED DREW saunter into the study with his cocky, self-assured stride, and wondered what she’d ever seen in him. As a teenager or as an adult.

He rescued you, she told herself. And he charmed you. And he made you feel special when you couldn’t do it for yourself.

And look where it got you.

Ross stood in the doorway. He met her gaze and she read his expression.

I’ll be fine, she tried to telegraph. I can handle this. And she could. She knew she could. Because she knew from Drew’s demeanor exactly what would happen.

Ross stepped back and closed the door.

The study was simple, with a wall of medical books and a wide wooden desk. Jennifer sat behind it in Ross’s large padded chair. His laptop computer rested, lid down, to her right. A single window looked out into the side yard. She liked the room’s masculine feel—and the idea that Ross spent time in here gave her a kind of strength, though she didn’t want to question that fact too deeply.

Drew sat down on one of the chairs across the room. He leaned back and rested one ankle over a knee, smooth and relaxed, hands resting on his thighs.

She took a deep breath, reminding herself not to give up on him without giving him a chance.

“I’m sure this comes as a bit of a shock,” she said.

He seemed unaware of her meaning, though he’d seen her full belly behind the desk. He flashed her a casual smile.

“How’s it going? Must have been a long drive from California in that old car.”

She stared at him. His appearance was the same as it had been last December. Lighter hair than Ross’s, boyishly handsome face, great body, expensive blue suit. He did absolutely nothing for her.

“That’s not what I’m here to talk about.”

“Ah,” he said. “Your pregnancy.”

“Yes.”

“You do look quite different from the last time we saw each other. But pregnancy suits you. What are you—five, five-and-a-half months along?”

He should know exactly how far along she was. But perhaps his math skills weren’t up to par. “Twenty-seven weeks,” she said.

“I always forget how it works. Is that twenty-seven weeks since your last period or twenty-seven weeks since you conceived the child?”

“This child was conceived on December twenty-second,” she said, ignoring his question and his mention of her period, which was no doubt intended to embarrass her.

He betrayed no reaction. “So you’re trying to suggest it’s mine.”

She’d expected the indirect denial but couldn’t stop the shudder of pain it caused. “I’m carrying your child.”

“Do you have any proof of your allegation?”

“There’s a risk of early labor or injury to the baby with any of the sampling techniques.”

“So, that would be no.”

“No.”

“You’re asking me to take you at your word.”

She forced herself to remain calm. He was acting like the lawyer he was, but she wouldn’t let him intimidate her or provoke her into saying something she would regret. “I’m not a liar,” she said.

He raised an eyebrow. “Are you implying that I am?”

“You’re married.” And Jennifer felt truly sorry for his wife. She would rather be in her current predicament, if the alternative included marriage to a man like Drew. If it included the awful disillusionment Lucy was sure to experience with the person she’d chosen as her life partner.

“Yes,” he said.

“You told me you weren’t.”

“Did I?”

“Yes.”

“Think carefully.” Drew paused. “You asked me if I was in a relationship. I said, ‘Who would have me?’ You didn’t pursue it. You could have. I understood that you didn’t really want to know.”

“You remember your exact words? Six months later?”

He shrugged. “Sure.”

Jennifer realized why. Because he’d used those same words before or since. They worked. They’d worked on her because she hadn’t wanted to believe he would take her to dinner if he was in a relationship. And they might work on other women who didn’t care, as long as they didn’t have to face facts head-on.

“It was a lie of omission,” she said as evenly as she could.

“I’m not responsible for your assumptions.”

“You weren’t wearing your ring.”

He glanced at the gold band on his finger, then waved away the issue. “Let’s return to the matter at hand. And let me tell you how it will appear to an impartial observer.

“You’ve come to me with a claim you refuse to support, and you know your allegations could have a detrimental effect on my marriage. That smells of extortion. For all anyone knows, the child belongs to some other man, who won’t acknowledge it, and you plan to hit me up for some quick cash and disappear before my paternity can be disproved. Now, I’m not saying that’s what you’re doing. But it could look that way.”

Jennifer refused to back down. He could spin things any way he wanted. In the end, he was still the father. She cut to the chase. “When the baby turns out to be yours,” she said, staying cool, “what are you going to do about it?”

“If that were to happen,” he said, “which I very much doubt, then we would work something out.”

“You’ll be a father to your child?”

Drew looked at her as if she’d said something mildly idiotic. “Is that what you want?”

“Yes.”

He gave an uncomfortable laugh and shifted around on his chair. “I would have thought Ross had told you. My wife is pregnant. Our child is due in a few months. I can hardly be a father to yours, can I?”

Thank goodness she had known about his other baby, she thought, or his careless announcement would have rattled her composure further. “So what do you plan to do?”

“Jennifer, this is all a surprise. I can’t make any promises without time to consider. But if it’s mine, we would come to some agreement.”

Hadn’t he just told her how he’d lied to her by relying on her assumptions? She wasn’t about to assume the best in this case. “Please answer my question.”

“For all I know, this is just a hoax.”

“So your answer is nothing. You won’t be accountable.”

“Please don’t put words in my mouth.”

“Then, tell me yes or no. Will you be a father to your child?”

Drew brushed at the knee of his pants. “I want to be very clear about something, Jennifer. I don’t like blackmail. Your unwillingness to take the simple step of backing up your allegation makes your case weak. And I warn you that if you attempt to use your pregnancy against me by involving my family, you will pay a large price.” He paused, checking his Rolex—the same one that had spent several hours on her bedside table six months ago. “It’s late. I need to go home. And I urge you to think very carefully about your course of action from here on out.”

He went to the door.

“So your answer is no,” she said from her seat, in a voice that surprised her for its clarity.

He didn’t turn around. “Good night, Jennifer.”

ROSS HEARD THE SOUND of the study door and stepped from the living room into the front hall.

Drew appeared to be his usual confident self, but Ross thought he saw a little strain at the edges. Just a hint of tension around his eyes and a tight pull to his mouth.

“Well?” Ross asked.

“She’s pregnant,” Drew said. “She looks good pregnant.”

Ross waited.

“It’s not mine.” Drew crossed his arms. “She tried to tell me it was. I’m sure she told you the same thing.”

“She did.”

“And you believed her.”

Ross walked over to the front hall table. He picked up his silver letter opener—a wedding gift—and slit open a piece of junk mail from a wireless phone company.

The action was just the sort of thing Drew would do. Reading his mail while Ross tried to discuss something important with him. He knew it was rude. He regretted it. But it was the only way he could keep from hitting his brother.

Ross had never been a violent person. Outside of some martial arts training in his early twenties, he didn’t recall striking anyone in his life. His brother was the only person who ever made him feel this way, and he hated the power it gave Drew.

He scanned the contents of the envelope, not seeing it. Tossed the papers into the trash. “Yes, I believe her.”

Drew didn’t have anything to say to that. Ross expected him to make a fuss about family loyalty, about believing a virtual stranger over his own brother, but he was probably aware of how ridiculous that would sound.

Speaking of loyalty, he wondered what Drew knew about that summer, about what had happened between Jennifer and him. Because when you got down to it, his actions hadn’t been any more honorable than his brother’s. And he would have done a lot more than kiss her if she hadn’t called it to a halt.

“What are you going to do?” he asked Drew.

“Nothing. It’s not my baby.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“Go to hell,” Drew muttered.

Ross took it as an admission of the truth, though he was sure Drew didn’t mean it that way. He felt his relationship with his brother shifting. Drew had failed the test. Things could never be the same. In the past he’d treated his brother with a kind of respect, had kept his hands out of Drew’s business. He’d suspected things, of course, but he’d refrained from digging, hadn’t wanted to know the truth.

And people who didn’t want to know the truth often got slapped with it.

“Lucy,” he said.

“What about her?”

“Think about it.”

“I’m thinking,” Drew said, in a tone that implied he saw absolutely nothing worth considering. “And I can’t think why she would find out Jennifer is trying to blackmail me.”

“Why wouldn’t she?”

“They don’t exactly move in the same circles.”

Lucy was wealthy. Not a snob, but from a world different from Jennifer’s. Under normal circumstances they would be unlikely to meet.

“I don’t plan to cover for you,” Ross said.

“Is that a threat?”

If you want to take it that way.

“Anyhow,” Drew continued, “I don’t see the problem. I looked up an old friend on a business trip. I took a girl I used to know in high school to dinner. Why would Lucy care?”

A lie. An outright lie. That was how Drew planned to play this. If confronted, he would deny everything but the fact that he’d seen her. He would claim they’d had an amicable dinner and nothing more. He would say she’d gotten herself in trouble and decided to blame it on him because she knew he had money. And how convenient that she chose to do it now, before a simple blood test could expose her lie—because no conscientious doctor would perform amniocentesis just to prove the identity of the father.

“You’ll have to face it eventually,” Ross said.

But his brother had never been much good at facing things. And God knew he probably just hoped he wouldn’t have to deal with this, either. That if he simply pushed it from his mind it would go away. That she would give up and leave town, or that someone else would step in to take care of things.

Someone like him.

Hell, he already had. He’d offered her money. A place to stay. And if Jennifer chose to keep his brother’s actions secret, he would have to be grateful for their mother’s sake, even though it meant he would be helping Drew and lying to Lucy in the process.

Lucy deserved to know the truth, but it wasn’t Ross’s place to tell her. She wouldn’t trust his motives. She might not believe him. She might not want to know. Hell, maybe she had lovers on the side, too.

Hard to imagine. But maybe she would accept Drew’s straying if she did find out, forgive him in order to keep what they had together. The outward success, the beautiful house, the social standing.

The family they’d started… Been able to start.

But Jennifer’s baby complicated everything. A couple could survive a simple extramarital affair with therapy, time and hard work on the relationship. But a child was something else. An embodied reminder, forever, of the moment of infidelity. A human being requiring care and attention from Drew, if he had such to give.

Which he surely didn’t.

It pissed Ross off that what was probably best for Jennifer and was definitely best for his mother—at least, right now—would also benefit Drew: for her to accept Ross’s help and stay, with her baby, out of Drew’s life. His brother would be getting off scot-free. But wasn’t that what he always managed to do? Obtain what he wanted from people, whether they liked it or not?

Ross wondered when he’d gotten so sour. When he’d started to want Drew to be shown up for what he was, to pay for his actions.

Drew jangled his keys, ready to go.

“So that’s it,” Ross said.

His brother shrugged. “Seems so.” He inclined his head toward the driveway. “Where’s she headed, anyway?”

Ah, so he wasn’t so unconcerned. Ross detected a trace of desperation in the question, a need to know that was more than the bland curiosity Drew tried to convey.

“Here.”

“Here, here?”

That, at least, got Drew worried.

“Portland. She left San Francisco.”

“Any chance she’ll go back?”

“I don’t think so. Not for a while.”

“Huh,” Drew said. “Interesting.”

Ross got the strangest sense that along with whatever anxiety his brother felt, a part of him also relished this series of events, treated it as a game, a negotiation. A tricky situation he could wriggle out of with charm and intelligence. Like a rock climber attempting a perilous route, he loved the adrenaline rush.

And the hell of it was, he might escape cleanly.

ROSS WAITED until Drew pulled out of the driveway before he opened the door to his study. Jennifer was sitting very still behind his desk.

He watched her, waiting for her to speak. When she didn’t, he broke the silence.

“You okay?”

“Yeah.” She rose, pushing down on the arms of the chair.

He supposed he’d thought she would have tear tracks on her cheeks. She didn’t. Her gaze was clear and direct, but her mouth was tight.

“You were right,” she said.

He shrugged. “My brother’s an ass.”

“I should have known.” She tucked a chunk of hair behind her right ear, leaving the other side to swing free. “I did know.”

“He denied sleeping with you.”

Her expression didn’t change. “I figured he’d do that.”

“He has things he’s trying to protect.” A lame excuse, which sounded lame on his lips.

“We all have things we’re trying to protect.”

“He doesn’t realize it’s too late.”

“People never do.” She walked toward the door. “I’m exhausted. This has been a long day. Thanks for giving me a bed—I think I’ll go use it.”

UPSTAIRS, JENNIFER SAT on the cream-striped duvet and stared at her reflection in the full-length mirror that stood in one corner. She saw herself as Drew must have. As a liability.

Badly cut hair, tired eyes, discount-store clothes.

Swollen belly.

She was a man’s worst nightmare. A pregnant lover. She was evidence, proof. She was a lapse in judgment.

Yet Drew had acted confident during their brief meeting downstairs. As if he’d already considered this eventuality and braced himself for it, talked him self through the steps to deal with it. What kind of man could do that?

Her image stared back at her, quiet and still. Her mother’s statement returned to her, overheard so many years ago. No one can resist a baby. Andrea Burns had said the words to a friend, regretting she hadn’t gone to visit Jennifer’s father until Jennifer was well past infancy. No one can resist a baby, not even a man like him.

Jennifer had often wondered what a man like him—her father—was supposed to be. After she’d tried Drew’s fake phone number in January, she’d suspected he was a similar type. Now she was convinced.

No one can resist a baby.

But a pregnant woman wasn’t a baby. A pregnant woman was terrifying.

If she hadn’t lost her apartment and been so far in debt, she might have waited. She might have been able to show up in Drew’s life with an adorable baby who would smile and coo and gurgle, and would trap his heart. Proving her mother’s theory.

Except, it wouldn’t have worked. He would already have had a baby to whom he would have given whatever fatherly love he had to give.

She imagined the scene as it might have played out. Sitting on a chair in Ross’s study, a baby on her lap. Drew walking in. Saying to him, This is your daughter, or This is your son. And having him stand there with a blank, shielded look, telling her he didn’t believe her, telling her she should have come to him sooner, within the first trimester.

That would have been worse than this, she told herself. It was better not to have false hopes. But much more depressing.

Jennifer roused herself, scooting off the bed. She reached for the lilac knit maternity tank and shorts she used as pajamas.

Enough self-pity and despair. She had tomorrow to think about. She had to figure out where to go from here.

Buck up, honey. Time to be strong.

ROSS LAY IN BED, listening to the quiet creaks of the house settling onto its foundation for the night. Light from the street outside filtered through the venetian blinds, providing enough illumination for him to see the outlines of familiar objects around the room. The photographs of family and friends on the dresser. The carriage clock he’d inherited from his grandmother, silent since he’d allowed it to run down a few weeks ago.

To have Jennifer in his home, sleeping down the hallway, felt strange. It made him aware of the house in a way he usually wasn’t. Of how large it was for one person to live in. Of course, when he’d bought it he hadn’t been alone, and he’d imagined there would someday be children to fill it.

Probably he should move, he thought. Get a condo in a downtown high-rise. Give in to the inevitability of it. Accept what life had offered him.

But he knew he wouldn’t. What was really wrong, after all, with a big, empty house? Except that, sooner or later, it made you lonely. Made you enjoy having a houseguest more than you should, and look forward to seeing that houseguest in the morning with an unsettling amount of anticipation.

It was just one night, he reminded himself. One night and one morning, because anything more than that would be too complicated.

And Jennifer was once again off-limits.

But as his brother had demonstrated on more than one occasion, just because you shouldn’t get involved with someone didn’t mean you wouldn’t.

CHAPTER SIX

Nine years earlier

It’s not as if I want to be an uptight killjoy. I can’t help disapproving of Drew and his lame-brained cohorts, though. Constantly partying, sleeping until noon, watching MTV. Lying around the pool. Not doing anything redeeming.

And that girlfriend of his. She’s got to be the third blonde named Jennifer he’s dated in the past year and a half. Just once, I’d like to see him bring home a brunette named Roberta. Or Phuong-Mai. Someone interesting for a change.

I know I’m not being fair. But sometimes he just pisses me the hell off. I can’t count on him to do what he says he’ll do, like helping me move some furniture for Aunt Lenora.

“We’ll do it tomorrow,” he tells me, his hand over the mouthpiece of the phone, as he slouches on the kitchen chair, sockless in his dock shoes, taking a few seconds out of his busy life to shirk a commitment.

He’s just made plans to go to his friend Kurt’s house for a spur-of-the-moment party. They’re trying to figure out who can buy the beer. I guess he knows better than to ask me.

“Lenora’s not getting back until then, anyway,” he adds.

Our aunt broke her ankle a couple of days ago on a midnight hike, part of some New Age retreat in the mountains. Drew and I had plans to move her bed to the ground floor of her house so she won’t have to drag herself up and down the stairs for the next few weeks.

“I can’t do it tomorrow,” I tell my brother. “I’m working.”

And I’m not going to jeopardize my internship, which was damn hard to get, by scheduling it for my lunch break—since there’s no way he’d show up on time.

Drew shrugs. “Hey, you’re the one who offered to do this, not me. I said I’d help if I could. I never promised anything.”

“Jesus,” I say as Drew goes back to his phone call. Outside it’s raining but not windy. For a moment I watch the drops patter down onto the flat surface of the pool.

I glance over at Jennifer. She’s ignoring the whole exchange. For the past half hour she’s sat at the kitchen table while Drew’s been on the phone ordering clothes from the new J. Crew catalog and bullshitting with his friends. A copy of Smithsonian Magazine is open on the table, and I can see from the pictures that she’s reading the article about insects in the Amazonian forest. I’m surprised she knows how to read—then feel like a jerk for even having the thought.

Oh, what the hell. I decide to struggle with the mattress by myself. “See you later,” I tell them, and head for the front hall.

I’m reaching for my Gore-Tex pullover when Jennifer joins me.

“If you need help,” she says, kind of offhand, “I could do it. As long as it doesn’t take too long.”

I look at her. “You’re not going to the party?”

She shakes her head. “I have to start work in a couple of hours. I’d need a ride home afterward, though. Otherwise, I have to go catch a bus right now.”

“Where’s home?” I ask her.

She tells me the address and cross street. It’s not far, geographically, from where Lenora lives, but a different neighborhood. Not a great one, though certainly not the worst. “Where’s work?”

“The Beauty Barn. Over by Lloyd Center.”

“I’ll give you a ride,” I say. “I’d appreciate the help.”

Jennifer goes to the kitchen to say goodbye to Drew. Then she’s back. She’s only wearing a T-shirt and jeans and she doesn’t seem to have any rain protection.

“No umbrella?”

She shakes her head. “It was sunny when I came over. Anyway, this is Oregon, right?”

Oregonians pride themselves on not using umbrellas. Nevertheless, I get a large one from the hall closet and hold it over both of us as we dash to the car.

“The Beauty Barn, huh?” I say as we drive away from Council Crest. Water sluices along the gutters on both sides of the road and the wipers thwack back and forth at full speed.

“We sell discount cosmetics,” she says. “It’s probably not your kind of store.”

At the bottom of the hill we hit a knot of afternoon traffic in front of the intersection by the freeway, and come to a complete halt. An old Cutlass is stalled in the right-hand lane and everyone has to shift to get around it. The light turns green, but only a handful of people make it through. We’re still several cars back when the light turns red again.

I see Jennifer reach into her bag and come up with her wallet. She pulls out a five.

“I’ll be right back,” she says, then she opens the car door and steps out into the rain before I can reply.

As she crosses in front of me to the median and jogs toward the intersection, I spot a ragged-looking black man with a bucket of flowers to sell. He’s drenched and his flowers are, too. Before Jennifer reaches him, he goes up to a couple of cars, but no one wants to open windows in the rain. I watch her buy a mixed bouquet and say something that leaves the guy laughing. Just before the light changes, she gets back to the car and buckles up.

The flowers are yellow and purple and blue with a clump of ferns as a background. Water drops cling to the petals.

“I thought these might be nice for your aunt,” she says.

Following close on the bumper of the car ahead, I slip through the light on the yellow. I glance over. It doesn’t ring true that she would go out in the rain to buy flowers for a woman she’s never met.

“That’s really thoughtful of you,” I say. And then I add, “That guy sure looked miserable.”

She makes a sound of agreement. “I hope I wasn’t his only customer.”

I know she went out there just to give the guy some business. So he wouldn’t waste his whole day standing in the rain, making no money. I don’t know many people who would do that.

Damn. It would be a lot easier to see her as a silly teenage party girl like all of Drew’s past girlfriends. I don’t want to start thinking about her being kind and considerate. About how—come to think of it—she doesn’t seem to have much money, but she’ll give away five bucks just to help someone have a better day.

I consider the five bucks. Can she really afford to spend it like that? Probably not. I’m the one who should have thought to get something for my aunt. “I’ll pay for the flowers,” I say.

“It’s okay,” she says. “Don’t worry about it.”

“No, really. I’ll pay for them.”

She doesn’t answer me, and now I realize I’ve been too pushy. Made her feel bad. It’s got to be tough hanging around with Drew and all his wealthy friends.

At my aunt’s house, we park in the driveway and I come around the car with the umbrella. “You could have used this when you went to get the flowers,” I say, indicating the umbrella.

“I didn’t want to miss the light.”

She gets out of the car, cradling the bouquet. Her light blue T-shirt is soaked. The fabric sticks to her skin.

I keep my eyes averted, trying to remind myself again that she’s not that cute. Kind of average. Not that smart or she wouldn’t be dating Drew. And she works at the Beauty Barn, for Christ’s sake.

Finally I remind myself she’s still in high school. That fixes everything.

Inside his aunt’s place, Ross heads for the stairs without even looking back to see if I’ve shut the door. The house is narrow, packed tightly in among its neighbors, but it’s wonderful. It’s funky and bright and colorful. The furnishings are a crazy mix, from a heavy walnut armoire that could have come out of an English estate to an orange shag runner in the hallway that’s pure 1970s tackiness. But somehow it all works.

“If you’re cold,” he says over his shoulder, “I’m sure you could find something in the hall closet. And I can promise Lenora won’t mind if you borrow it.”

My shirt feels clammy against my skin and I regret my rash decision to buy the flowers. Not that Ross would notice if I were to walk around naked instead of in a wet T-shirt. But I still feel exposed.

His aunt’s hall closet is crammed with jackets and coats and overflow clothes, but they’re not exactly my style. I pick out the best thing I can find—a black long-sleeve western-style shirt with gold studs on the collar—and put it on over my T-shirt. It’s too big, but I roll up the sleeves and it works okay as a jacket.

The bed is a queen-size and it’s heavier than any bed I’ve ever tried to move. “Jeez,” I say as we slide it down the hallway. “What’s in this thing?”

At the top of the stairs we have to wrestle it around a corner, and then we both stand below it and tip it to go downward. We’re side by side holding it up, keeping it from going too quickly, and it’s good there are two of us.

We leave the mattress propped against a wall and go back up for the box spring, which is mercifully light. After that we grab the simple bed frame, and then move some furniture around in the ground-floor den so there’s space for us to set it up. All together it doesn’t take more than twenty minutes, and when we’re through I ask if Lenora is going to need to have some clothes downstairs as well.

Ross says he doesn’t want to get involved in trying to pick out clothes for his aunt. “I never understand what she wears. And anyway, clothes are easy. She can get a friend to bring some down. She’s got a lot of friends.”

“Just no one else who would want to move a mattress that heavy, right?”

He looks at me then, more directly than he has all day. “Thanks for helping out.”

The way he says it is just so plain and simple and straightforward that it actually makes me embarrassed. I haven’t blushed in months, it seems like—ever since I learned how to act like the cool kids—but now I feel my neck getting hot.

I can’t figure out what the deal is with Ross. I didn’t like it when he was all disapproving and aloof, but now that he seems to think I’m okay, I find I don’t like that, either. He’s making a big deal about the fact that I helped him out, but it really wasn’t one. I would have been sitting on a bus, probably soaked to the skin, if I hadn’t come with him.

He says, “What time do you have to be at work?”

I check my watch. “In an hour. I’d better get going. My work clothes are at home. Can you still give me a lift?”

“Of course.”

We stick the flowers in a vase from the kitchen and then place them on the art deco table in the front hall. They’re nothing special, really, but I think Lenora will like them. She doesn’t seem like the kind of person to put her nose in the air about cheap flowers.

Ross doesn’t ask me to tell him where I live again. He just drives there. When he pulls up to the curb and cuts the engine, I’ve already taken off his aunt’s black shirt and draped it over the back of the seat. I start to get out, but he tells me to wait.

“Go change. I’ll drive you to work.”

I don’t know what to say, mostly because I’m suddenly afraid he’ll want to come up while I get ready and I don’t want him to see our tiny apartment. I haven’t even let Drew see it. We’re on the third floor, and the unit is drab and lightless. There’s only one bedroom, which my mom made me take. She sleeps on the living room couch. The place is clean, but it’s still embarrassing.

But my worry is for nothing. Ross hands me the umbrella. He doesn’t make any move to get out.

Ten minutes later I’m back in the car, dressed in the plain white oxford shirt the Beauty Barn requires. At work I also have to wear a red apron with a barn on it and a button with my name, but they make us leave those in our lockers. The button boasts a picture of a cow. It looks like something out of Dr. Seuss, except it’s wearing too much eyeliner and eye-shadow, like one of those televangelist ladies.

We cross the river, and get to the area where the Beauty Barn is located about half an hour before my shift. I figure he’s just going to drop me off, and I don’t mind because he saved me a lot of time on the bus.

But he says, “You haven’t eaten.”

I point to my bag. “I packed some snacks.” Just an apple and some cheese and crackers. I didn’t have time to make more.

“There’s a good deli a few blocks away. I’ll buy you a sandwich.” He’s already got the car moving.

“You don’t have to do this,” I say, though I can tell it’s useless.

A few blocks turns out to be six, but we’re there in just a couple of minutes. Ross suggests a tomato-basil-mozzarella sandwich he thinks I might like and orders some kind of meat-lovers combo for himself.

The sandwich is incredible. It’s on a crusty baguette with olive oil and balsamic vinegar, and the basil tastes as if they just picked the leaves off the plant. Ross probably eats food this good every day. I don’t, and I savor it.

“Was your mom home?” he asks, as I polish off the first half.

I shake my head. “She doesn’t get off work for another few hours.”

“And when does your shift end?”

“Late,” I say. “My mom’s going to pick me up.”

He nods. “Good. I’d hate to think of you waiting for a bus in the middle of the night.”

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