Determined To Be A Dad

Biology teacher Peter Gladstone may have lost his beloved wife, but the tragedy only strengthened his resolve to create a family. With a donor egg and a surrogate mom, Peter is sure to be a proud papa soon, thanks to the fertility specialists at Safe Harbor Medical.

Harper Anthony seems like the perfect choice for the donor. She’s smart, beautiful and a great mom to her young daughter. The problem is, Peter has recently become reacquainted with the young widow and now sees her as a friend—or maybe something more than a friend. And Peter has chosen to keep his identity a secret. If the truth comes out, the consequences may threaten their budding romance. But only the truth can turn them into a family….

“Let me tell you my dream.”

Peter reminded himself to breathe. “Please do.”

“It’s a real dream.” Harper ducked her head. “I mean, it’s not a wish or a fantasy, it’s something that comes to me while I’m sleeping. Over and over.”

With no idea where this might be heading, he merely waited.

“I’m out in a field.” Harper studied her clasped hands. They were pretty hands, with long tapered fingers and lightly polished nails. She’d moved her wedding ring to the right side, he noted. “There are two boys playing. Sometimes they’re toddlers. Other times, they might be five or six.”

“Two boys?” he repeated.

A quick nod. “There’s a shadowy figure playing with them. A man, but I can’t make out his face. They’re playing catch, or tag—it varies.”

“I see.” But he didn’t.

“Nobody realizes I’m there, and I think that’s because I’m not.” Although tears glittered on her lashes, Harper met Peter’s gaze squarely. “I have the sense that I’m meant to give them life. That’s all. They won’t be my sons. They’re supposed to be born and I’m supposed to make that happen.”

“And let them go.”

“Exactly.”

Dear Reader,

Not many years ago, the notion of achieving parenthood through egg donations and surrogates lay in the realm of science fiction. Today the opportunity exists for a widower like high school biology teacher Peter Gladstone to have longed-for children.

No wife? At Safe Harbor Medical Center, that’s no obstacle. A fertility issue of his own? No obstacle there either.

But Peter does have one problem: choosing the woman who will be the genetic mother of his child or children. Although all the donors at Safe Harbor have been screened, she’ll still be a stranger.

When an unexpected opportunity presents itself, he’s torn. Harper Anthony, a nurse who’s the widow of a former colleague of Peter’s, is listed among the donors. She’s attractive, intelligent and a wonderful mom to her six-year-old daughter.

If he picks her, is it ethical to keep his identity a secret? Perhaps so, except that he’s teaching her daughter in a summer sports program and keeps connecting with Harper. The closer they become, the stronger his dilemma.

I hope you’ll join Peter and Harper, and share their journey with them!

Best,

Jacqueline Diamond

His Baby Dream

Jacqueline Diamond

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

The author of more than ninety romances, mysteries, Regencies and paranormals, Jacqueline Diamond lives in Orange County, California, with her husband of more than thirty years. Writing about a fertility program at a medical center draws on Jackie’s long-standing interest in medicine, which began when her father, then the only doctor in the small Texas town of Menard, delivered her at home. You can learn more about the Safe Harbor Medical series at www.jacquelinediamond.com and keep up to date with Jackie at her Facebook site, JacquelineDiamondAuthor.

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

Excerpt

Chapter One

Glancing up from his clipboard across the shouting, seething crowd of children and parents half filling the community college gym, Peter Gladstone spotted the woman with an eerie jolt of recognition. For an instant, the entire scene froze.

Taller than most of the moms, she moved toward him with easy grace, her soft, short chestnut hair framing an animated face. His chest squeezed. She reminded him so much of Angela.

Jerking himself out of his daze, Peter noted the little girl hanging on to her left hand and the little boy trying to pull free on the right. “Can I help you?” he asked as they reached him.

“I’m sorry to bother you, Peter.” From her tone and use of his first name, she obviously knew him. And he had seen her before, so why couldn’t he place her? He certainly ought to remember a woman who bore such a marked resemblance to his late wife. Perhaps he’d met her last summer here at Safe Harbor Sports Camp, but he had a strong sense that he knew her from somewhere else.

“It’s no bother.” He strove for polite words to obscure the fact that he’d forgotten who she was. “The first day is always chaotic.”

“It sure is a madhouse.” Up close, she had beautiful green eyes and a smile that hinted of mischief. “Must be tough adjusting to all these little kids.”

“It’s quite a change.” For most of the year, Peter taught high school biology, as she apparently knew. During the summers, he earned extra income as assistant director of this sports program.

Mercifully, a name on the clipboard jumped out at him. Mia Anthony, age six. The listed parent was Harper Anthony. Occupation: nurse. Now he placed her—the widow of Sean Anthony, a fellow teacher with whom he used to coach wrestling after school. Her appearance had changed in the past few years, he reflected, studying her.

“It’s the hair,” Harper said.

“Excuse me?”

“You were trying to place me. I just got my hair cut,” she explained. “Used to be long.”

“I remember.” Finally.

Behind her, a woman approached with a little girl. “Bathroom?” she inquired frantically.

He pointed toward the exit. “Down the hall on the right.”

As they departed, Peter gazed around the room, making sure the college-age counselors were correctly grouping the kids under the banners marking off the grade levels. Kindergarten through second-graders were assembling by the bleachers on one side, third- through fifth-graders on the other and sixth through eighth under a basketball hoop.

The camp had been established for dual purposes. It gave college students summer jobs working with kids, developing job skills and preparing for careers in education. It also provided half- and full-day programs that kept children active during the vacation months.

“Reggie, hold on!” Harper tightened her grip on the little boy. “This is Reggie Cavill. He’s the son of a friend. Well, the nephew, actually—long story. Anyway, Adrienne works an overnight shift so I brought him this morning. I want to be sure he’s registered.”

“Did his aunt complete the form online?”

“I think so.”

Peter found the name Cavill, Reginald, on his list, along with his age, five, and Dr. Adrienne Cavill, obstetrician, listed as guardian. “Everything’s in order.”

“I was wondering if he and Mia could be placed in different groups.” Harper shook her bangs out of her eyes. “They’re almost like brother and sister, so they tend to squabble.”

“Thanks for letting me know.” He jotted down the information. “We do divide the kids into smaller groups for some activities. I’ll make sure they’re separated.”

Reggie stopped squirming to stare at Peter. He was a cute little guy with short blond hair and two missing teeth. “Are you, like, a coach?”

“I am,” Peter said. “Do you have a favorite sport?”

“Eating,” Mia piped up. “And smearing it all over his face.”

“Shut up!” The little boy feinted around Harper and gave her a shove, which Mia deflected with a well-timed turn of the shoulder.

Catching the boy’s arm gently but firmly, Peter drew him away. “At sports camp, treating other people with respect is an important part of athletics. We don’t hit, push or kick.”

“She made fun of me!”

Peter fixed Mia with a serious expression. “When we treat people with respect, they respect us in turn. So we don’t use insults, either.”

“Even if they’re true?” she asked.

He fought to hide his amusement. “Even if we think they’re true.”

“Thank you.” Harper regarded him appreciatively. “It’s hard for kids to grow up without a father. Being here will do them good.”

“I’m sure it will.” He watched her shepherd the tykes, each with a backpack in place, to their assigned group.

It was kind of her to help a friend’s little boy. Single parents had to band together, especially if they didn’t have close relatives in the area. Peter was grateful that his mother and father lived only half an hour away, since he was contemplating single fatherhood himself.

Suddenly he remembered where he’d seen Harper Anthony recently. Or, rather, seen her photograph.

This evening, after camp, he resolved to take another look. Because today’s chance encounter might turn out to be the answer to a very important question.

* * *

HARPER ALMOST WISHED she hadn’t run into Peter Gladstone that morning. Although of course she’d noticed his name on the sports camp website, she hadn’t thought much about it until she’d stood right in front of him.

His sheer physicality had caught her off guard. That incredible build. Those bright blue eyes. The confident way he held himself. The leashed strength in his voice.

Since her husband died in an off-road vehicle accident three years earlier, Harper had avoided situations that might tempt her to get involved with a man. She didn’t need the complications and had no interest in remarrying.

Although her very normal needs had a way of surfacing, as they’d done today, she recognized the less enjoyable side of involvement, at least for her. Organizing her life around a man, tailoring her activities to his preferences—that might have suited her as a teenager, when she’d first fallen in love, but she was twenty-eight now. And enjoying the chance to live the way she wanted.

Still, suppressing her instincts must have made her vulnerable. Even in that noisy gym, she’d had to struggle to project calmness and control.

Her reaction was ridiculous, Harper reminded herself later as she weighed the next obstetrical patient and escorted her to an examining room. During their marriages, there’d never been any vibes between Harper and Peter Gladstone. He’d seemed devoted to his wife, and while Harper had liked Angela’s sweet personality when they ran into each other—mostly at school functions—she’d found the woman rather passive.

Nothing like Harper’s outspoken, strong-willed friends. Nothing like the self-reliant woman Harper was determined to become, either.

After several years of financial and emotional struggles, she was finally getting her life on track. Five months ago, she’d landed this job as a nurse assisting Dr. Nora Franco in the medical office building next to the hospital. A couple of months later, she’d moved from an apartment into a house where her daughter could have a pet, and now she’d chopped off the long hair that Sean used to love.

She valued the freedom to experiment and make her own choices. What she didn’t need was a guy who, judging by the wife he’d chosen, preferred compliant women.

“You got your hair cut.” The patient, Una Barker, a heavyset woman in her seventh week of pregnancy, sat on the edge of the examining table. “It’s flattering. Practical for summer, too.” She wore her own reddish-brown locks short and tightly curled.

“My daughter’s hair kept getting snarled.” Harper attached the blood pressure cuff. “She refused to cut hers unless I did the same, so here we are. Frankly, I wish I’d done this years ago.”

“I hope one of my twins is a girl,” Una said. “But I’ll be happy as long as they’re healthy.”

Harper moved to the computer terminal to note Una’s blood pressure, which was slightly elevated but within the normal range. “Any problems? Nausea? Back pains?”

“A little queasiness.”

“Is it bothering you now?” The patient might need a few crackers to hold her until lunch. The office kept a supply.

“Not at the moment.” Una indicated a pile of garments at one side. “Should I change into one of those lovely hospital gowns?”

Harper chuckled. While the thin, ill-fitting robes served their purpose, no one liked them. “Not today. Dr. Franco just wants to see how you’re feeling.” Having achieved the first successful pregnancy in Safe Harbor Medical Center’s new egg donor program, Una merited extra attention. Also, carrying twins added to her risk. “She should be in momentarily.”

“Wait—unless you’re in a hurry?” Una interjected.

“Not at all.” Casual conversations allowed patients to bring up symptoms or issues that might otherwise be overlooked. “Is there something else?”

“I hope you don’t mind if I ask how it’s going with you,” the patient said.

“With me?” Harper repeated.

“Stacy mentioned that you were approved as an egg donor.” Una had achieved her pregnancy thanks to a donation from Harper’s close friend and former roommate Stacy Layne, a surgical nurse. Stacy, who’d accidentally become pregnant with triplets the same month as Una, kept in close touch with her fellow mother-to-be. “Have you been chosen by a couple yet?”

“Not yet. I’ve only been on the registry for a week.” The application process had taken several months while Harper underwent medical tests and a psychological evaluation. “I hope the mom and I can be friends like you and Stacy.” Although some parents, and some donors, preferred to remain anonymous, Harper had offered to meet potential recipients in person.

“The preparation really brings you together,” Una said. “I mean, coordinating your menstrual cycles—how personal can you get?”

Harper was looking forward to the experience. She hoped someone chose her soon. “Stacy says she feels closer to you than to her own sister.” Harper didn’t have a sister, just an older brother who lived in New Mexico and hadn’t even friended her on Facebook. So a sisterly relationship would mean a lot.

“Our kids will be half siblings.” Una shifted position on the table. “I’m glad they’ll grow up together.”

“You can move to a chair if you’d be more comfortable.” Harper reached out to help her down.

The patient waved her off. “No, thanks. So, will you tell your little girl about the kids, if—when—there are any?”

“I’ve already talked to Mia.” Harper believed in open communication, to an age-appropriate degree. “She understands that I have this little boy in my dreams. Two of them, actually. It’s like they want to be born. Since I have no desire to marry again, this is a way to give them life.”

“That’s so sweet!” Una declared.

“Plus I love the idea of helping another family.” Harper didn’t mention money, since that wasn’t her primary motivation. The five thousand dollars she’d receive when her eggs were harvested would go straight into Mia’s college fund. Some donors earned more if they were willing to travel to be near the recipient or if they were recruited because of a special characteristic, such as a genius IQ.

A tap sounded on the door. “Ready for me?” Dr. Nora Franco, a blonde who seemed unaware of her movie-star looks, peered in at them.

“Just talking about kids,” Harper told her.

“My favorite subject.” Nora had an eighteen-month-old son with her husband, a police detective.

“Nice talking to you, Una.” Yielding her place to the obstetrician, Harper scooted out.

As she went to summon the next patient from the waiting room, Harper basked in a warm glow, thinking about rescuing those little boys from her dreams. What a miracle if someday they might run and play for real.

* * *

THE FIRST DAY OF SPORTS camp, as Peter had discovered the previous year, brought its share of bumps. Homesick kids, conflicts and acting out, youngsters with a fear of water who resisted swimming, and disorganized parents who arrived late—all were par for the course. It was nearly 7:00 p.m. by the time he collected his car from the faculty parking lot and drove home.

Although this northern part of Safe Harbor, California, lay several miles from the ocean, a sea breeze drifted through his car window. On his left lay a light industrial area, with a shopping plaza on the right. A note clipped to the dashboard reminded Peter to stop for milk and cereal. In his impatience, he ignored it. He had enough supplies to last until tomorrow, anyway.

A few minutes later, he reached a neighborhood of old-fashioned cottages set amid palm trees, firs and jacarandas. Angela had fallen in love with the name of their street, Starbright Lane, even before she saw the fairy-tale cottage with its gingerbread trim, broad front porch and latticed windows.

While Peter might have preferred a modern design, he’d been relieved to discover they could manage the payments on their teachers’ salaries. Room for a home gym, along with a small paved basketball court behind the double-wide garage, had sealed the deal for him. After three years of cramped apartment living, he’d been grateful for the space.

From the garage, Peter carried his laptop case through the connecting door to the green-and-white kitchen. Glass-front cabinets displayed Angela’s flowered dishes and teacups, while the scents of vanilla and orange spice lingered even now, nearly two years after her death. He half expected to see her turn from the stove, greeting him with a smile. Teaching first grade hadn’t dissuaded her from cooking a full meal almost every night, while Peter had handled dishwashing duty.

After setting down the laptop, he cut through the living room to fetch the mail from the front-porch box. Since he did most of his banking and bill paying online, there wasn’t much beyond advertising flyers.

Peter tossed those in the trash and strode down the hallway, past his bedroom and the guest room that they’d planned to convert into a nursery. A knot formed in his chest.

They’d tried to start a family for over a year before consulting a specialist. As one of six children, Angela had expected to conceive easily, and they’d attributed the delay to stress from her busy schedule.

Maybe if they’d gone in earlier, they’d have caught the ovarian cancer soon enough to save her life. The symptoms—bloating, lower back pain, persistent lack of energy—had been so vague that even Angela’s regular doctor hadn’t found them alarming. Only later had they learned that one of her grandmothers had died of ovarian cancer, and an older sister had been diagnosed with breast cancer in her twenties but survived.

Six years of happy marriage had been followed by six months of suffering and pain. Hope would flare at word of an experimental treatment, only to fade. Peter still had trouble believing he’d never again hold his loving wife in his arms.

Only recently had he followed up on another discovery they’d made during their fertility workup: his low sperm count. The doctors he’d originally consulted hadn’t been able to pinpoint the problem. Then, recently, he’d contacted men’s fertility specialist Cole Rattigan, who’d diagnosed Peter with a rare allergy to his own sperm.

According to Dr. Rattigan, his condition shouldn’t stop him from becoming a father. Via a high-tech medical procedure, doctors could inject his sperm directly into an egg.

The chance to cherish a son or daughter from infancy filled him with excitement. He could hardly wait to shower a child with love, and to see the light of understanding dawn as words and concepts became real to that tiny new person.

Peter’s parents, retired teachers who also lived in Orange County, supported his plans. His sister, a lawyer who lived in Maryland, enjoyed her high-power career and didn’t want kids, so when he’d informed his parents of his intention to become a single father, they’d been thrilled. His child or children would grow up with loving grandparents, family holidays and the security of being part of an extended family.

In the den, he opened his laptop and grumbled at the slowness with which it booted up. As soon as it did, he navigated to the fertility program’s website and entered his password.

Despite his eagerness, he went first to the roster of surrogate moms. Dr. Rattigan had suggested that, as a legal precaution, Peter use both an egg donor and a separate surrogate. That way, the woman carrying the baby wasn’t giving birth to her own genetic child and, if she changed her mind about relinquishment, had no legal grounds for claiming custody.

He’d already chosen the woman he would employ, a married homemaker and mother who, during a previous surrogacy, had given birth to a healthy baby girl. Peter reviewed Vanessa’s description and photo, which showed a friendly woman with strawberry-blond hair, above the caption I Love Being Pregnant!

When he’d interviewed her, he’d been impressed by her enthusiasm and good nature. He had no doubt she’d nurture his child, providing a loving start before birth.

The most difficult decision lay ahead. Previously, while studying the profiles of egg donors, he’d been keenly aware that he was choosing a woman to provide half of his child’s genetic makeup. Her personality, her intelligence, her strengths and her weaknesses would strongly influence his future child. While Peter believed in the importance of the home environment, there was no denying the role of heredity.

Unable to make a choice, he’d postponed the decision. Then, today, he’d seen Harper Anthony.

Clicking on the section that listed egg donors, he found her photo at once. The first time he’d viewed it, he’d experienced a vague sense of familiarity, and assumed he must have seen her around town. He hadn’t connected the woman identified only as Mrs. H.A. to his late colleague, nor—given her sweep of long hair—had he been struck by the resemblance to Angela, although he could see it now.

Why was she willing to do this? Peter wondered. Her statement contained the usual remarks about wanting to help others, loving children and treasuring the miracle of life. Perhaps working in the medical profession had influenced her decision.

She offered to meet with prospective recipients. How awkward would that be? Besides, having a woman he knew as the egg donor was asking for trouble, Peter conceded. They would no doubt continue to run into each other after the child was born, and what mom could resist feeling possessive toward her genetic child, even though she hadn’t carried it in her body?

Yet he’d observed what a caring mother Harper was, and he’d taken an immediate liking to her outspoken, bright little girl. This way, his child’s background wouldn’t be such a question mark.

He wouldn’t have to inform her. He’d been assured that he could maintain complete confidentiality if he chose. With the surrogate, that hadn’t seemed important—indeed, Peter wanted to experience the pregnancy with her, to view the ultrasounds and to hear his baby’s heartbeat—but the donor would be out of the picture once the pregnancy became established.

Still, he’d see Harper around town, and he didn’t like keeping her in the dark. Moreover, as the years went by, she might learn he’d had the child with a surrogate, notice the resemblance and put the pieces together.

Peter took another look at the woman in the picture. Her skin glowed, and her delicate necklace resembled a daisy chain. The impression was natural and healthy, which matched the woman he’d seen today.

Troubled, he closed the site. He’d hoped to make a decision. Instead, he’d simply raised new complications.

Well, he’d only decided a little over a month ago—once he received his diagnosis from Dr. Rattigan—to proceed with becoming a father. Peter had quickly passed the screening process and background check required by the hospital’s surrogacy program. Now he faced one of the most important decisions of his life.

He’d have to think about it.

Chapter Two

Mia was jumping up and down, her tennis shoes springing off the living room carpet. “Hold still,” muttered Harper, taking aim with a brush and achieving only a passing swipe at the messy honey-colored strands.

“Good thing you cut her hair,” observed Stacy, who looked feminine and comfortable in a peach knit top and maternity jeans. Only halfway through the first trimester, her pregnancy was already beginning to show, since she was carrying triplets. “It’s adorable even when it’s rumpled.”

“I’m going to Disneyland!” the little girl crowed. Although she’d been to the amusement park in nearby Anaheim before, it never lost its appeal.

“And we appreciate your keeping us company.” Stacy’s fiancé, Dr. Cole Rattigan, grinned with anticipation. He had honest brown eyes and a sturdy build that he maintained by bicycling to and from the hospital almost every day.

“I’m sure the park will be full of kids.” Harper set the brush aside. “Saturdays in summer tend to be jammed.”

“That’s half the fun. Anyway, we want to experience this through her eyes,” Stacy said. “It’ll be years before our kids are old enough to go on rides. And with three of them, I doubt we’ll have a chance to relax and enjoy it.”

“My first trip definitely requires a kid.” Having moved to Safe Harbor from Minneapolis the previous year to head the men’s fertility program, Cole evidently hadn’t found time until now for the county’s best-known tourist attraction.

“Mia, stop jumping! This isn’t sports camp.” Harper restrained her daughter before she crashed into the dark-wood entertainment center.

“We’ll be honing our parenting skills,” the surgeon added. “This is as much a learning experience as a pleasure trip.”

While that might seem an odd attitude, Harper had grown accustomed to Cole’s refreshingly naive view of personal interactions. Brilliant in his medical practice, he’d only recently emerged from an emotional cocoon after falling in love with Stacy. Raised by a surgeon mother who’d purposely chosen an uninvolved father, he’d missed out on many of the usual childhood rituals, such as birthday parties and trips to theme parks. “I wish you’d at least let me pay for her ticket.”

“It’s her birthday present,” the doctor responded cheerfully. “Besides, we like spending time with Mia.” He and Stacy had babysat previously, allowing Harper to attend a seminar on digital photo editing.

“Her birthday isn’t for two weeks. But thank you.” Harper took a final peek inside Mia’s backpack. Additional sunscreen, tissues, a water bottle, school ID and the cell phone that doubled as a camera. Everything checked out.

As her friends escorted the bouncy girl to their car, Harper stood in the doorway of her ranch-style home. Around the front steps, geraniums, miniature roses and marigolds brightened the flower bed, and the scent of jasmine drifted from a neighbor’s yard.

As for Mia’s upcoming birthday, Harper hoped the Disneyland visit might compensate for what she feared would be a lackluster party. She couldn’t afford a costly celebration like some of her daughter’s school friends had thrown, with hired entertainers or a trip to see Cirque du Soleil. The rent on this house already strained her budget.

The car vanished down the street. Harper stood for a moment longer, letting herself adjust. As much as she relished a rare free day, it felt weird not to have her daughter with her.

She went inside for her camera. As a teen, in addition to shooting for the high school website, she’d taken pictures for the sheer pleasure of seeing the world afresh. Since then, she’d been too busy to do more than record key events. That was changing, however.

Harper packed snack items, applied sunscreen and set out extra food and water for Mia’s black-and-white kitten. Then she locked the house behind her with the buoyant sense of going on a holiday.

Rather than take her car and have to pay attention to driving, Harper strolled a few blocks to the bus stop on Safe Harbor Boulevard. En route, she paused to photograph a spray of yellow blossoms on a tree and a climbing rose blooming across an arched trellis. Typical of early summer weather in Southern California, the sky was overcast. That would burn off later, but for now a breeze cooled the air.

Slowly, she relaxed into an easy rhythm that contrasted with her usual hurry. A whole day to take pictures. How precious was that?

On the bus, a family clustered with a large picnic basket. A group of girls chattered and laughed, while a young couple sneaked kisses. After observing her fellow riders, Harper turned to gaze out the window, studying shapes and patterns of light and shadow.

They rolled past stores, offices and the occasional bicyclist on a trail that paralleled the boulevard. Off to the right Harper glimpsed the six-story medical center and the adjacent office building where she worked.

Even though she’d loved being a full-time mother, Harper treasured her life now. It was busy, yes, and demanding, but she and Mia had a lot of freedom. If she didn’t feel like cooking, they ate sandwiches and salads for dinner. On weekends, they took spur-of-the-moment trips.

Harper had never experienced this kind of independence before. Stunned by her father’s death in a car crash when she was sixteen, she’d clung to her boyfriend, Sean. She’d leaned on him through college and their four-year marriage, adapting her interests to his. Hiking and motorcycle riding—until her pregnancy—had replaced photography, and being a wife and mother had replaced nursing. She’d had no idea to what an extent her reliance on him had preempted her sense of self until after his death.

Although Harper would always treasure their years together, she didn’t care to repeat the experience with anyone else. Today, she felt liberated.

When the bus crested a rise, before them spread the U-shaped harbor from which the town took its name. Small boats and a scattering of yachts lined its edges, while sailboats and catamarans headed toward the jetties that protected it from the Pacific Ocean.

Along a harborside quay lay shops and a café. Farther down the shore, past the yacht club and some private waterside homes, Harper noted beach umbrellas and blankets staking out areas of sand. So far, however, only a handful of wet-suited surfers braved the chilly waves. It was always colder at the ocean, even compared to a few miles inland.

Zipping her jacket against the wind, Harper descended at the bus stop and made her way onto the beach. No one seemed to mind when she captured their images: an older couple holding hands as they strolled, a man tossing a beach ball with his little boy, a woman in a floppy hat pouring a steaming cup of liquid from a thermos. Thank goodness for memory cards that stored thousands of images.

A clump of palm trees framed the subtle colors of sea and sky. Walking and clicking, Harper lost track of time—a rare luxury. As the day warmed, she removed her jacket and tied it around her waist.

A man caught her eye—a muscular fellow, head down, wind ruffling his hair and sweat darkening his T-shirt as he jogged toward her along the sand. Athletic shorts emphasized his sculpted thighs and, admiring the classic impression of masculinity, Harper snapped a couple of quick pictures.

Then his chin lifted and familiar blue eyes met hers. Startled, Harper lost her grip on the camera, which was saved from a fall by the cord around her neck. At the same time, the man slowed.

“Peter. Uh, hi.” She debated whether to apologize for photographing him, but that might require an explanation. And her only reason had been that she found him attractive.

Breathing hard, Peter halted in front of her. Since their conversation the previous Monday, Harper had glimpsed him several times at sports camp. He’d always been surrounded by mothers asking questions about their children and sometimes, judging by their body language, flirting with him. Who could blame them?

He indicated the camera. “Is this for a project?”

“Nothing in particular.” In his presence, Harper instinctively tossed her hair, only to find that she missed the accustomed weight of it. Anyway, she didn’t mean to react with flirtatious moves like those other women. “Photography used to be my hobby. I’m rediscovering it.”

“Mind if I take a look?”

“Not at all.” Harper switched the camera to display mode and handed it over.

Peter leaned toward her as he flicked through the pictures. “You have a terrific eye.”

Shifting closer to see the shots, Harper caught the appealing scent of clean male sweat. “Isn’t that a cute little boy? Something about him reminded me of...” She broke off.

“Of Sean?” he asked.

Harper examined the image. “Not really. Just—oh, it’s not important.” She wasn’t ready to share her dream about little boys.

He shifted away. “Mind if we walk? I’d like to keep moving while I cool down.”

“Sure.” Glad of the company after a morning alone, Harper fell into place as they strolled toward the pier. She adjusted her stride to his without difficulty, since he was only a bit taller than her five foot nine inches.

“Where’s Mia?” he asked.

Guiltily, Harper realized that she hadn’t thought about her daughter in over an hour. Still, she’d resolved not to be a helicopter parent, and Mia could reach her by phone if necessary. “She went to Disneyland with my friend Stacy. It’s her fiancé’s first visit and they thought it would be more fun with a kid.”

A Frisbee flew toward them from a group of teen boys. Peter caught it easily and skimmed it back. “You don’t worry about her?” Quickly, he added, “Not that you should.”

“Stacy’s a nurse and her fiancé’s a doctor, so she’s in good hands,” Harper said.

The crowd on the beach grew thicker as they approached the pier, forcing them to weave around sunbathers and picnickers. “Want to grab a bite at the café?” Peter asked. “I don’t mean to interrupt your photo session.”

“Oh, the light’s too harsh now, anyway.” Harper laughed. “That was rude, wasn’t it? Like I’d only join you because the light’s bad for picture-taking.”

Peter unfurled a smile. “I appreciate the frankness.”

“I’m sure Angela was way more tactful.” She halted, regarding him apologetically. “I’m running off at the mouth.”

“Nothing wrong with talking about Angela.” Peter held out a hand to help her up some large rocks that abutted the pier. “I mentioned Sean, didn’t I?”

“I guess you did.” His grip sent prickles along Harper’s arm. Reaching the wooden quay, she released his hand quickly.

They strolled past boat slips and, on the inland side, boutiques selling beachwear, surfboards, hats and anything else a tourist might buy. At the Sea Star Café, they were lucky enough to snag a booth by the window.

“I’ll get the food,” Peter offered, since the café served from the counter. “What would you like?”

Harper handed him a twenty-dollar bill. “I’ll have a cranberry muffin, a blueberry muffin and a cup of chai, and don’t even try to pay for it.”

Peter’s eyebrows drew together. “Okay, but—is that what you’re eating for lunch?”

“Why?”

“Not exactly a balanced diet.”

“Don’t tell me you’re a health nut.” She bristled at the idea of someone dictating what she ate. This was her free day.

“No, it’s just that as a...” He floundered for a moment. “I figured that, as a nurse, you’d be a stickler for nutrition.”

“Sean used to get on my case about carbs,” she responded testily. “It was all protein and vegetables with him. I’m making up for lost time.”

“Okay, okay.” Peter raised a hand placatingly. “Just asking.”

Harper hadn’t meant to start an argument. By the time he returned, carrying a tray between the crowded tables, she regretted snarling at him. “Thanks, Peter. I’m sorry about biting your head off.”

“I can take it.” He set her cup of tea and the muffins in front of her.

“Usually I eat healthy stuff, but today when Mia isn’t here, I don’t have to act like a grown-up.”

“No explanation necessary.” On his plate rested a whole-wheat pita sandwich bursting with sprouts, hummus and lettuce. “I wasn’t trying to control you. That’s what comes from being a teacher, I suppose.”

“Especially a biology teacher?” she teased.

“I’m glad you equate that with healthy habits.” Peter took his seat. “Some women draw other conclusions about my expertise in biology.” His cheeks reddened. “Man, that came out wrong.”

“Good thing this isn’t a date,” Harper told him. “Just think of me as Sean with, well, a few distinctions.”

“I’m trying not to think about those distinctions.” He turned an even brighter shade. “Seriously, I don’t know where this stuff comes from.”

“Most men wouldn’t apologize, they’d move in for the kill.” Harper had fended off more than a few piranhas, including men accompanying their pregnant wives to Dr. Franco’s office. She felt sorry for any woman married to a creep like that. “Um, as long as I have your attention, can I pick your brain?”

“By all means.” He regarded her over the pita.

“I’m planning a birthday party for Mia that won’t cost much.” As they ate, Harper explained the situation, concluding with, “Any ideas about what I could do in my backyard?”

She wasn’t sure why she expected a childless man to come up with an answer. Still, as a teacher and a sports camp leader, Peter had experience with groups of kids, Harper reflected as she watched him study the sailboats in the harbor. It was hard not to sneak glances at his appealing profile.

And hard not to notice that he’s all guy. Confident, physically attuned men drew her, and Peter had that in common with Sean. Like Sean, he was also a little domineering, she reminded herself. It wasn’t a bad trait, just unsuited to her.

Clear blue eyes refocused on her. “My personal philosophy is Never Miss a Chance to Teach.”

“Even at a birthday party?”

“The average backyard is a paradise for biologists.” Pushing aside his empty plate, he planted his elbows on the table.

The only backyard biology that occurred to Harper involved a shady bower, protective bushes and activities wildly inappropriate for a children’s party. However, they’d already dismissed that topic, and thank goodness.

Hoping her thoughts didn’t show, she said, “I could put them to work planting a vegetable garden. Adrienne did that last spring when she was watching Mia and Reggie. My daughter swears they dug for hours, although mostly I think they played in the dirt.”

“Might be kind of messy for a party,” Peter said.

“I agree. What else did you have in mind?”

“Bugs.” He gave the word a lilt, as if it ought to pique her interest.

“Spoken like a biology teacher.” Nevertheless, Harper supposed bugs might make an interesting theme. In her experience, kids seemed to love eating Gummy worms and chocolate mud pie cupcakes. “I could design invitations and decorations on that theme,” she mused. “It wouldn’t be hard to come up with bug-related games, either.”

“If your backyard is like most people’s, I’m sure you can find anthills, ladybugs and spiders.” Peter’s face lit up with enthusiasm.

“You mean, real bugs?”

“Magnifying glasses should make good party favors.”

That did sound like fun, if handled right. “What would the kids do?”

“Spot bugs and identify them,” Peter said. “In the process, they’ll learn about the creatures that share our lawns and homes.”

“Our homes?” Harper shuddered. “Not mine, thank you.”

“Even in a clean house, you’ll find tiny spiders, and if there are spiders, they’re eating something,” he observed. “Plus our clothes and sheets are loaded with microscopic dust mites.”

Harper raised her hands. “Too much information.”

“Sorry.” Peter ducked his head. “I get carried away.”

“Let’s keep the bug hunt outdoors.” Harper sighed. “If Mia thinks our house is full of bugs, she might have trouble sleeping.”

“Good point.” After a moment’s reflection, he asked, “When’s the party?”

“In two weeks,” Harper said.

“I could stop by and check your yard before then, if that would help.” His eyes shone at the prospect. “But I don’t want to impose.”

“Impose?” She’d welcome the assistance. “Anything you can do would be great. When’s a good time?”

“How about tomorrow afternoon?”

She hadn’t expected such a quick turnaround. “I promised my friend Stacy to go shopping for her wedding gown.” Although the event wasn’t until September, it could take a while to find the right dress. “How about next Saturday?”

“Two o’clock?”

“Great.” Had she really just invited Peter to her house? But they would have a chaperone. “Mia will be delighted to see you. Although she’s a little nervous around spiders.” As if I’m not.

“She’s a cutie.” Peter seemed to relax at the mention of her name. Apparently he hadn’t been trying to get Harper alone, not that she’d figured he was. “By the way, spiders aren’t insects.”

“What are they?”

“Arachnids.”

Harper made a mental connection, not to biology but to a mythology book she’d read to her daughter. “Like Arachne, the weaver.”

“Exactly. You’d make a good teacher.” Coming from Peter, that was high praise.

“Thanks.” As they arose and cleared their plates, Harper added, “I’ll text you my address. Although I guess you have that already, at camp.”

“I’m sure we do.” He kept his tone politely impersonal. “However, I don’t consult school records for my personal use. We should exchange numbers.”

“Good idea.” They clicked to the contacts section on their phones and input that information for each other.

Judging by his tone and body language, he intended to keep their relationship platonic. Despite a small, rebellious twinge of regret, that suited Harper fine.

* * *

AT HOME, PETER CLICKED open the egg donor website. There she was, the woman with whom he’d eaten lunch. Viewing Harper this way felt sneaky, but how could he tell her what he was considering?

Surely no etiquette book addressed the issue of what a man might discuss with a friend on the subject of choosing her as an egg donor. If he decided against it, she might feel rejected. If he chose her, well, what then?

He’d felt more comfortable talking with Harper today than he’d felt with any other woman since he lost Angela. There’d been none of the usual awkwardness when women flirted with him. Since he became a widower, several female acquaintances had invited Peter to dinner but he always made excuses. Others came right out and told him that, after more than a year, he ought to be dating again. They strongly implied that he should start with them.

While he appreciated the compliment, he didn’t like being pursued. When he and Angela met during their student teaching, they’d gravitated together instinctively.

Like Harper and me?

Peter did find her appealing. However, that might result partly from her resemblance to Angela. Plus, having acquaintances in common and a shared history helped the conversation flow.

Well, he’d volunteered to drop by her house next Saturday. With a little more contact, surely he’d be able to decide whether to select her as the mother of his children, or move on to another candidate.

Chapter Three

“Tell me again how blue his eyes are,” teased Stacy, fingering the lace on a tiered, strapless gown.

Embarrassed, Harper glanced around the bridal shop. Luckily, none of the other customers appeared to be paying attention. “I showed you his picture already!”

“And tell me how helpful he’s being about the party.”

“Change the subject.”

“Okay.” Stacy stretched. “It’s amazing how sore I am from walking around Disneyland. That was so much fun! Thanks for loaning us Mia.”

“I’m glad she didn’t drive you crazy.”

“Not at all.”

Yesterday’s outing, from which they’d returned about 10:30 p.m. after the fireworks, had left all parties exhausted. Today, even the usually meticulous Stacy had smudged her eyeliner and stuck a headband over her loose curls.

Harper had barely dragged Mia out of bed this morning in time for church. Afterward, she’d dropped off her daughter to spend the afternoon with Adrienne, who’d set up a pretend medical clinic for Mia’s and Reggie’s teddy bears. “Oh, darn!” Stacy made a face as another woman corralled the tiered gown. “I think that was the only one in my size.”

“You should have let the saleslady set it aside,” Harper said.

Stacy pretended to glare. “See how much sympathy you get from me when you’re shopping for your wedding to Mr. Blue Eyes.”

“Quit that.” Harper would have given her friend a light shove, had Stacy not been pregnant.

“Kidding aside, it’s the first time I’ve seen you like a guy since Sean.” Stacy lingered in front of a display of hats and veils. “Aren’t these cute?”

“Pick the dress first,” Harper advised.

“But someone might take the prettiest hat!”

“You’ll want a veil.”

“Why do you say that?” her friend demanded.

“Because you’re the veil type. Or the something-romantic type. Not hats.” Having shared an apartment with Stacy and been friends with her since junior high, Harper knew her taste ran to the ultrafeminine. “Trust me.”

“I do.” Stacy sighed. “Which is lucky, because Cole can’t help me choose a dress, or colors, or a cake. He’s a sweetheart but when it comes to girl stuff, he’s hopeless.”

“Your sister would be ideal.” During their teen years, Harper had seen how talented Ellie was at designing and sewing clothes. Now, married with four kids, Ellie lived in Salt Lake City and, with their mother, ran a boutique that sold stuffed animals in custom outfits. “Too bad she lives so far away.”

“She gets final approval over the bridesmaid dresses.” Stacy held up a sleek off-the-shoulder satin gown. “Along with you.”

“That makes sense.” Harper had been invited to be maid of honor, with Ellie as matron of honor. While unusual, the arrangement suited the small church setting and the fact that Cole, new to the area and with no close relatives, had only two groomsmen: his boss, the intimidating Dr. Owen Tartikoff, and Cole’s male nurse, Lucky Mendez.

“My feet hurt. I have to sit down.” As Stacy sank into a chair, the saleslady hurried over, asking if she was okay and offering tea, which they gratefully accepted.

“That’s another problem with choosing a gown,” Stacy murmured. “By September, I’ll be sticking out to here. Possibly out to there.” She indicated a point halfway across the room.

“We have designs with plenty of room,” the clerk assured them.

“For triplets?” Stacy asked.

After a blink of surprise, the saleslady said, “I’m sure we can accommodate you.”

Soon Harper and Stacy found themselves in a large dressing room with a selection of gowns, along with bridesmaid dresses in Harper’s size. Since Stacy hadn’t yet chosen her colors, the options were wide open.

“Pregnant brides must be fairly common,” Harper commented as she helped her friend into a dress with a forgiving waistline.

“Yeah, but I’ll bet none of them got pregnant the way I did.” Stacy smoothed out the skirt. “When you take those hormones and they tell you to watch out after they harvest the eggs, they aren’t kidding.”

“So I hear.” As part of her preparation to become an egg donor, Harper had been warned that the harvesting process didn’t catch every egg. Donors were strongly advised to abstain from intercourse for the rest of that cycle or risk getting pregnant with multiples.

After Stacy donated eggs to Una, she’d believed her period had started. That same night, celebrating her birthday, she’d had an unexpected romantic encounter with Cole. Initially, she’d planned to give up the babies for adoption, but despite Cole’s clumsy approach to wooing, he’d eventually won Stacy’s heart.

“You and Una inspired me,” Harper added, “but that doesn’t mean I intend to follow all your examples.”

“Good.” Turning to examine the back of a dress, Stacy paused as her gaze met Harper’s in the mirror. “Maybe I shouldn’t say this...”

“When has that stopped you?”

Her friend smiled. “Okay. I’m glad you’ll be helping a family have children...”

“But?” Curious, Harper slipped out of a pink dress that was too pale for her complexion.

“When Una called to say she was pregnant, I thought I’d be ecstatic.” Stacy eased out of her gown, as well. “Instead, I felt as if the bottom had dropped out.”

That puzzled Harper. “Why?”

“I didn’t understand it,” Stacy admitted. “You know, the program initially tried to reject me as a donor because I hadn’t had a child of my own. I browbeat Jan until she agreed.” Jan Garcia, R.N., headed the egg donor program.

“It upset you when Una got pregnant?” Harper prompted.

“I felt empty.” Stacy drooped at the memory. “My arms ached to hold those babies. Although I was ashamed of my reaction, that’s how I felt.”

“I wish you’d told me.” If Harper had known Stacy was struggling, she’d have been more supportive. Not that she’d been unkind, but she had been distracted by her new job and Mia’s needs. “Since I already have a child, though, my arms won’t be empty.”

“What about those little boys in your dreams?” Stacy reminded her.

“I don’t see them as mine.” Harper had discussed the matter with the program’s psychologist. “They’re separate people who deserve their own lives. I’m just helping them.”

“That’s what I thought about my future babies,” Stacy cautioned.

“And now you get to watch Una’s twins grow up,” Harper pointed out. “Plus raise three of your own.”

“You’re missing the point,” Stacy pressed. “I just want you to understand that things might not go as planned.”

“I appreciate the warning.” Harper hadn’t meant to dismiss her friend’s concern. “But while I’d love to share the recipient’s pregnancy and birth, I accept that that might not happen. In the meantime, what do you think?” She twirled in a light purple dress with blue trim. “This is pretty.”

“It fits beautifully.”

“Could you go for these colors?” Harper would be able to wear the cocktail-length dress again, a definite plus in view of the price.

“Oh!” Stacy eyed the dress in dismay. “Ellie said any color but puce.”

“This isn’t puce. It’s purple. What color is puce?”

“I’ll check.” Sitting on the bench, Stacy consulted the dictionary in her phone. “It says here it’s dark red. I always thought puce was purple.”

Standing upright to avoid wrinkling the dress, Harper searched on her phone. “This site says it’s a grayish red-violet.” The color displayed was lighter and more muted than the one she wore.

Stacy continued doing research. “Listen to this! Puce is a French word that refers to the color of bedbug droppings.”

Together, they said, “Eww!”

“I’m sure the bedbugs have been out of the picture for hundreds of years,” Stacy said.

“Do you suppose that’s why Ellie hates the color?” Harper asked. “Or does she loathe anything purplish, reddish or violetish in general?”

“Violetish? Never mind.” Stacy pressed a number. A moment later, she said, “Ellie? What color is puce?”

Over the phone, which was on speaker mode, came, “It’s yellow-green.”

Stacy and Harper laughed.

“What?” squawked Ellie’s voice.

“I’ll tell you later,” Stacy promised. “What do you think of this dress?” She held up the phone so her sister could see. Harper twirled like a model.

“Ooh, cute!” said Ellie.

“You like the color?”

“You bet!”

They agreed to have one sent to her in her size. With Ellie’s and her mom’s needlework skills, they could tailor it as needed.

Stacy hung up. “I can’t believe we agreed on the bridesmaid’s dress and my colors. Purple and blue. How cool!”

“You still haven’t found a gown,” Harper warned.

Stacy indicated the remaining dresses. “If I don’t find one today, it won’t be the end of the world. We’ve got months and months.”

That turned out to be a good thing. None of the gowns caught the bride’s fancy.

Only later, after they’d purchased the bridesmaid gowns and Harper had been measured for alterations, did Stacy’s words come back to her. I felt as if the bottom had dropped out.

Before volunteering, she’d searched the web for comments by egg donors. Some did have regrets, but most reported immense satisfaction.

As she drove to Adrienne’s house to collect Mia, Harper reminded herself that she had a strong sense of who she was and what she wanted from life. Plus, unlike Stacy, she already had a child.

Whom she suddenly couldn’t wait to hug.

* * *

ALL WEEK, PETER NOTICED whenever Harper arrived to drop off or collect her daughter at sports camp. Mostly, he gave her a friendly nod from a distance, despite the temptation to walk over and chat. He was here to work, and she had tasks to accomplish, as well.

The Fourth of July holiday fell midweek. Usually, he joined his parents for a barbecue, but this year they’d flown to Maryland to see his sister and meet Betty’s new fiancé. Peter nearly asked Harper about her plans, except that would imply he wanted to be included. Instead, he volunteered to supervise a group of underprivileged children at an Independence Day festival.

On Friday, Peter missed seeing Harper. She must have been there, because Mia arrived and departed, but he got tied up with administrative matters. Thank goodness he had arranged to see her tomorrow.

Thank goodness? Peter’s thoughts must have a mind of their own. He missed Angela too much to get involved with anyone else.

The memory of his wife reminded him that he’d been neglecting her rose garden. As a result, he spent Saturday morning deadheading flowers, fertilizing and spraying for black spot.

Although he planned to tramp around Harper’s yard, he showered and changed into a fresh pair of jeans and a crisp, short-sleeved shirt. For good measure, he added a splash of aftershave lotion.

The address she’d provided was located a couple of miles across town, in a neighborhood of trim, one-story homes. He liked the clean lines of her house, while the bright flowers around the front steps welcomed him.

When the bell rang, footsteps pattered inside the house. Mia opened the door, her face shining with eagerness. “Mr. Gladstone!” She stepped back, tightening her grip on a black-and-white kitten, which responded by swiping her cheek with a closed paw. “This is Po.”

“As in Kung Fu Panda?” he asked as he entered. The delicious scent of baking filled the air. Not just baking—chocolate.

“Yeah!” She shifted her grip on the wiggly animal. “Want to hold him?”

“Cats don’t usually let strangers hold them,” he observed.

“Okay.” Swinging around, Mia bellowed, “Mom!” in a voice far too big for such a tiny sprite.

“I’ll be right there,” came the cheerful response. “I’m taking the brownies out of the oven.”

He waited with Mia in the living room, which was solidly furnished with a dark brown sofa and a large entertainment center. Angela had relegated their TV to Peter’s study, lining the front room with glass-front cabinets displaying decorative figurines and plates. Being surrounded by so much fragility made Peter feel as if he had to watch his step, but every couple compromised. He’d venture to guess that the large-screen TV had been more Sean’s idea than Harper’s.

She appeared with her short chestnut hair rumpled and her cheeks flushed from the heat of the oven. “Hey, Peter. Right on time. I appreciate this.”

“Glad to help.” He produced a pair of disposable cameras. “I had these left over from a science class and figured the guests could use them.”

“Great idea!” Harper set them on the coffee table. “I suggested on the invitation that the kids bring cameras, but not everyone will. Now, while the brownies are cooling, let me show you the yard.”

They cut through a large, modern kitchen and out via sliding glass doors to the patio. There, a slatted cover shaded a table, chairs and a glider. Beyond spread a lawn rimmed by bushes.

Mia released the kitten, which prowled across the lawn. The little girl followed, keeping a close eye on her baby.

“My brain’s working overtime on decorations and stuff,” Harper said. “I’m just not sure how to handle the bug hunt.”

Peter made a circuit of the yard, checking for spiderwebs, anthills and other signs of creepy-crawlies. Afternoon wasn’t the best time to look, since insects were more active in the mornings and evenings, but this was when the kids would be hunting.

As he pointed out activity, Harper took notes. “I have to fight my instinct to knock down that web,” she said when they spotted a large one stretching from the rear fence to a nearby bush.

“It’s huge!” Mia glanced protectively at Po, as if the kitten might wind up in the arachnid’s snare.

This was the kind of teachable moment Peter relished. “That’s an orb weaver web,” he said. “I doubt it will be there tomorrow, let alone next week, but there might be a new one. Orb weavers consume their webs late in the day, rest for an hour or so and then spin a new one in the same area. You can see there isn’t much detritus—old stuff like leaves stuck in it.”

As Harper and her daughter peered intently at the web, Peter noted their resemblance, from their sturdy stance—legs apart, as if braced to run from a ferocious spider—to the mixture of fascination and revulsion in their green eyes. Would he see the same reactions in his own future child?

Peter tore his attention away to concentrate on Mia’s next question, which was, “Are they poisonous?”

“Orb weavers do have venom,” he confirmed. “That’s how they paralyze their prey. But they don’t often bite people, and the venom isn’t nearly as strong as a black widow’s.”

“All the same, I can’t put the children at risk,” Harper said.

“It’s no greater a risk than getting dehydrated in the heat or being bonked by a soccer ball.” Growing up intrigued by such critters, Peter had never worried about the danger. “You’re lucky I’m not your kid. I used to freak out my mother by bringing home snakes.”

“Ick! Ick!” Mia jumped around as if a real snake had appeared.

“Nonpoisonous ones.” Peter chuckled at her antics. “But for the party, you should advise the kids not to touch anything.”

“Like we would!” the little girl cried.

“Most bugs are harmless,” he advised.

“Ick!” That seemed to be her favorite word.

“You wouldn’t mind if a butterfly landed on you, would you?” When she shook her head, Peter went on. “Some creatures just need better public relations. However, I agree about not touching spiders. There are dangerous varieties in Southern California gardens and sheds, like black widows and brown recluses. You should never turn over rocks or poke around a garage without heavy gloves.”

“What if an orb weaver did bite you?” Harper clearly hadn’t lost track of their subject.

“You might experience localized pain.” Such facts stuck in Peter’s brain because he found biology fascinating. “You’d feel some numbness and swelling, possibly a blister. If there’s nausea or dizziness, you should go to the emergency room, but usually the symptoms pass within twenty-four hours.”

“Gee, that’s reassuring,” Harper drawled, and shut her notebook. “Mia, you can help me tell the other kids what Mr. Gladstone said, but don’t scare them unnecessarily.”

“Can I scare them necessarily?” she asked.

“Arm them with the facts,” Peter suggested. “That’s what teaching is about. Giving people knowledge so they can draw rational conclusions.”

As the three of them returned to the house, Harper said, “So—just for the sake of argument—you don’t think it’s your role to shape young minds? I heard a school board member say that was the purpose of education.”

“Only to shape their minds in terms of being logical and informed,” Peter told her. “Okay, I guess my moral values get involved, too, but I would never usurp the role of a parent. I’d hate if someone tried to indoctrinate my child in a way I disagreed with.” He amended, “If I had a child.”

Harper didn’t appear to notice the wistful note in his voice. Or, if she did, she tactfully refrained from commenting.

Mia dashed ahead of them. Peter assumed she was chasing the kitten, which had slipped inside through the partly open glass door. When they entered, though, she reappeared with a squiggly green invitation.

Holding it out, she said, “Will you come to my party, Mr. Gladstone? There’ll be cake and ice cream.”

“Honey, Mr. Gladstone is doing us a favor today,” Harper cautioned as she picked up a pizza cutter and sliced the brownies into squares. “Of course, you’d be more than welcome,” she added.

To cover his hesitation, Peter read the details. The party was next Sunday afternoon, which didn’t conflict with any of his plans. And it would be much more fun than weeding Angela’s herb garden, which was what he ought to be doing. “I accept with pleasure.”

On the kitchen table, Harper set out plates and glasses of milk. Peter observed a few cookbooks wedged between canisters on the counter, and a spice rack filled with bottles. Otherwise, the kitchen was uncluttered, with simple, tan curtains—but then, this might be a rental.

Peter was still savoring his brownie when Mia finished wolfing down hers, drained her milk and jumped up. “Can I look for bugs? I won’t touch them.”

“Sure, go ahead,” her mother said.

“You won’t mind, Mr. Gladstone?”

Her politeness impressed him. “Actually, that’s a great idea. And when we’re away from sports camp, you can call me Peter.”

“Okay. Thanks, Peter!”

The little girl raced out. Through the glass door, she and Po could be seen peering into the bushes. Peter wasn’t sure which he liked most, the antics of the little ones or Harper’s doting expression while observing them.

“You have a terrific little girl,” Peter said. “She’s quite intelligent.”

“You’ve inspired her.” She turned toward him.

“I live to inspire,” he joked.

“Honestly, I think you do.” Having quartered her brownie, Harper nibbled on a section. She didn’t need to diet, but Peter had learned never to correct a woman about her personal regime. Even easygoing Angela had set him straight about that.

“How many people are coming to the party?” he asked.

“We invited ten kids.” Harper reached to brush back her hair, and seemed disconcerted not to encounter any long strands. “Stacy and her fiancé are helping with the food. Adrienne’s on the outdoor team. I’m not sure if any other parents will stay.”

“No grandparents?” He assumed that his own parents would be involved in all important events for his future children. It wouldn’t surprise him if his mother was already planning the baby’s first Christmas.

“We’re out of luck in the grandparent department.” Harper stretched, and her long legs bumped his. “Sorry.”

“No problem.” Peter rather enjoyed the contact. “No grandparents at all?” It occurred to him that, while her profile indicated no known genetic problems, it had stated that neither of her parents was living.

“My dad died in a car crash when I was sixteen,” she said. “My mom had a fatal stroke five years ago. She’d been a heavy smoker.”

“That’s too bad.” How terrible to have lost even one parent, let alone both. “If you don’t mind my asking, what about Sean’s family?” Peter wasn’t sure what prompted his curiosity, since Sean’s background didn’t affect Harper’s role as an egg donor. He just wished Mia had at least one grandparent in her life.

Harper rolled her eyes. “After his parents divorced, his dad remarried and moved to Alaska. With him, it’s out of sight, out of mind. I’m not complaining, though. He’s never been difficult like Sean’s mother.”

“Difficult in what way?”

“Critical and disapproving, even when we were in high school, although Hedy didn’t object to our marrying once we graduated from college,” Harper said. “Then she moved back to her home state of Georgia with Sean’s two sisters. She pushed for us to move there, too, and blamed me when we didn’t. It was as much Sean’s decision as mine.”

“Surely she doesn’t hold that against her granddaughter.”

“I’ll let you be the judge.” Harper’s mouth twisted. “One of my sisters-in-law has children a little older than Mia. Last Christmas, Hedy sent Mia their castoff clothes and a few used toys as her present.”

“Were those expensive clothes and gently used toys?” Although most people expected new items for their kids, Peter sympathized with reusing special items, such as a classic dollhouse or favorite books.

“We’re talking about jeans that were too small and stuffed animals with the fur worn off.” Harper wrinkled her nose. “This week, for Mia’s birthday, she sent a faded doll and a pair of old slippers.”

That was ridiculous. “Do you suppose she has dementia?”

“It’s hard to tell. She’s always been self-centered and stingy.” At her seat, Harper gathered their plates and glasses. “I don’t believe in lavishing piles of gifts on children, but choosing with care, even if it’s a pair of pretty socks, shows love.”

“What did you tell Mia?”

“The truth,” she responded. “That some people aren’t generous or loving. And that having to deal with them helps us empathize with others who have even less than we do.”

What a great response, Peter thought. “She must miss her dad.”

“Sometimes, although his memory’s starting to fade.” Harper rose to clean up. “I try to keep him alive for her through videos and talking about things he used to say or do.”

“She seems to be thriving.” He wished all his campers were as cooperative and patient as Mia. Her friend Reggie, although basically a good kid, had thrown a couple of temper tantrums.

“It helps having you pitch in.” Harper cast him a quick smile. “Your presence at the party will mean a lot.”

“I’m sure I’ll enjoy it as much as she will.” When he didn’t have to deal with discipline or lesson plans, being around kids was fun.

After thanking her for the snack, Peter hit the road. Driving home, he wished these upbeat feelings could last. Instead, he had to face the downside of liking them so much.

There was no way he could raise her biological child or children without telling her. True, knowing where they came from and seeing Harper’s positive traits in them would relieve Peter’s concerns about using eggs from a stranger. And there might be advantages to having them meet their biological mother and half sister.

But the situation would be fraught with danger. Emotions were unpredictable. If he and Harper were to get involved and then break up, the consequences for the kids could be devastating.

Although she appeared the best match for him at Safe Harbor’s egg bank, the director had assured Peter that he could also access the registries of other banks in the region. And that, he concluded reluctantly, was what he had to do.

Chapter Four

Steam from the outdoor whirlpool transformed the enclosure, with its mesh safety fence, into a secluded hideaway, an impression enhanced by the border of rosebushes and hibiscuses. Peter leaned back and let the heated swirl of water soothe his muscles.

“Worn-out from all that heavy-duty exercise?”

He cracked one eyelid in response to his father’s sarcasm. Rod Gladstone was grinning, white teeth and silver hair a marked contrast to his tanned skin.

“Some of us try to actually move around and hit the ball when we play Ping-Pong,” Peter retorted. “Which might explain why I beat you four-one.”

“If I didn’t have a bum knee...”

“I’d have beaten you four-one at tennis instead of Ping-Pong,” Peter finished. “However, I’d be willing to adjust the score in deference to your great age and infirmity.”

“Sixty-eight is not a great age. I can still do this.” With the heel of his hand, Rod sent hot water spraying over Peter.

Spluttering, he was about to respond in kind when his mother’s voice broke in. “Children, children.” Widening her eyes with mock horror, Kerry Gladstone set down her tablet computer on the small glass table near the spa.

Peter refrained. “Grow up, Dad.”

“Guess I’d better, considering I’m about to be a grandfather.”

“Not that soon,” Peter grumbled. His parents had returned yesterday from their trip, and while he’d been glad for their impromptu invitation to a late-Sunday-afternoon barbecue, he was in no mood to be pressured.

“Rod!” Kerry cast a longing eye at the computer, her favorite tool for her beloved genealogy research, but left it shut. “I thought we agreed our news could wait.”

“What news?” Peter asked.

“She’s right about waiting.” Rod rose, dripped heavily onto his son and stepped from the pool. “That chicken should be done by now. I marinated it with a new recipe we got from Betty.”

Peter had to admit, the scent of chicken grilling with garlic and oranges made it hard to concentrate. Still, he felt as if he’d missed a clue, or several. “Since when does my sister cook?” An ambitious lawyer, Betty worked hundred-hour weeks for a firm in Washington, D.C., commuting from her home in nearby Maryland. “What’s up, guys?”

“It’s hard to have a conversation on an empty stomach,” Rod returned, drying off with an oversize towel.

A tendency to tease was not one of his father’s more endearing traits, Peter thought as he hauled himself to dry land and grabbed his own towel. “Mom?” Kerry Gladstone had always been an easier mark.

As anticipated, she yielded. “Rod, it’s not fair to keep him in suspense.”

His father shrugged.

“Nothing’s wrong, is it?” They’d already answered his questions about their trip—they liked Betty’s fiancé, a fellow attorney named Greg Southern, and the couple were planning a small wedding next month. Peter’s invitation should be arriving shortly.

“Your sister’s pregnant,” Kerry said.

Peter caught his breath. Betty, having a baby? His single-minded sister had resisted the very idea of motherhood. “So, uh...” he managed to say.

“It was an accident, but a happy one now that she’s had time to consider.” Rod dropped his joking tone.

“She’s due in January,” Kerry added. “She plans to take three months’ leave and then work on a reduced schedule.”

“Which means sixty-hour weeks, right?” Peter knew his workaholic sister too well.

Kerry and Rod exchanged glances. There was more, he gathered. “And?” Peter pressed.

“It’s a girl,” his father said. “They haven’t picked a name.”

Peter pinned his gaze on his mother. “And?” he repeated.

She tucked the tablet into its case. “I can’t bear for my granddaughter to grow up in day care. Besides, Betty will need our support.” She stopped.

Rod blew out a long breath. “Moving to Maryland wasn’t part of our retirement plans, but there’s a lot of exciting stuff to do in the area. The National Archives alone could take years to explore.”

They were doing what? A hundred thoughts collided in Peter’s brain, sending up a wall of white noise.

Having dropped their bombshell, his parents went to finish preparing the meal. Although it was dinnertime, July sunlight bathed their backyard with its flagstone patio and outdoor kitchen. For years, they’d poured loving care into this comfortable home in the Orange County town of Yorba Linda, nesting for their retirement. Now they were leaving it?

More than that, they were leaving Peter. And his future children.

On automatic, he helped set the table and fetched potato salad and coleslaw from the refrigerator. As they ate, his parents filled him in on their plans to sell the house, with the goal of settling into a new home before the baby’s birth.

I was counting on you. He didn’t speak the words aloud, though. While his parents had more or less promised to help with his future family, Betty had an equal claim to their support. And she was pregnant, whereas he had no guarantees of what might happen.

The chicken might have been delicious, but Peter hardly noticed. He had to focus on saying the right things and hiding the fact that he felt blindsided.

What was he going to do?

Finally his parents fell silent. Glancing in front of him, Peter was surprised to see he’d eaten a slice of apple pie. All he had to show for it was the lingering taste of cinnamon.

“Well?” Kerry said.

“I don’t think he heard the question,” Rod murmured.

“What question?” Peter asked.

“We asked if you’d consider moving, too.” Worry lines creased his mother’s face. With her strawberry-blond hair and trim figure, she didn’t usually look her sixty-seven years. Now, though, Peter registered how old she was becoming.

He expected to be there for his parents, just as they’d always been here for him. Wasn’t it a son’s duty to help his folks as they aged, assisting with medical and financial choices? But a pair of lawyers were better qualified to do that than he was.

“I can’t.” That was Peter’s first reaction, and the more he thought about it, the less he could see any way around it. “It’s not as if I can just pick up and land another job.”

“It’s not impossible,” his father said. “They have schools in Maryland.”

“It isn’t that easy.” Each state had its own requirements for a teaching credential. That might require taking classes, delaying his job prospects. Moreover, the situation would set back his quest to have children by at least a year. “I’d have to start all over with finding a fertility program and interviewing surrogates. And the delay...well, who knows?” While most thirty-one-year-old men might not be concerned about fertility, Peter faced extra obstacles.

His mother blinked hard. Hoping he hadn’t made her cry, Peter reached across the table to cup her hand. She gave him a shaky smile. “We realize we dropped this on you like a ton of bricks.”

“It’s not as if we’re moving tomorrow,” his father put in. “And you wouldn’t have to join us immediately, either.”

“I promise to think about it.” That was the best Peter could do.

After dinner, they discussed his mom’s latest findings about the family history. Using historical records, she’d traced her ancestry back to some colorful characters, including a buccaneer who’d sailed with Sir Francis Drake. Now she was working on his father’s origins.

All the while, Peter’s brain hummed with the startling news about his parents. He could tell it lingered in their minds, too, although they avoided the topic until he was ready to leave.

“It’s not as if we’ll be living in another country,” Kerry said as she embraced him.

“Or on another planet, although that would be interesting,” his father added.

“I’ll email Betty my congratulations.” Except for birthdays and major holidays, Peter had fallen into the habit of relying on his parents for updates about his older sister. He missed their closeness when they were younger.

That had ended when Betty entered high school. From freshman year forward, she’d focused on earning top grades, racking up extracurricular honors and aiming for a top school. She’d made it into Yale and later Harvard Law, while he’d attended the University of California’s campus in Riverside, less than an hour’s drive from home.

Her career sizzled, and her income must be quadruple his. But Peter had a job he loved and no regrets.

He’d like to live near her and certainly near his parents, he conceded as he drove back to Safe Harbor. And having a cousin nearby should be good for his kids.

If he ever had any.

His chest tightened. He didn’t mean to be negative. All things were possible these days, but the idea of relocating threw a monkey wrench into his plans.

Arriving at his cottage, Peter wondered how he could leave the house he’d shared with Angela. She’d loved this place. He’d contributed personal touches, as well, transforming the workshop behind the garage into a gym. As for the fertility program, while he assumed the D.C. area had plenty of medical facilities, he’d made an emotional connection here, with his doctor and with the other personnel.

Not to mention Harper.

An image of her popped into his mind—her athletic stride, her funny way of trying to stroke her long hair and then remembering that she’d cut it, her tenderness with her daughter.

Thinking of Mia reminded him of next weekend’s party. In the future nursery, Peter examined the contents of the bookshelf. Because he wrote a blog reviewing biology-related books for students, publishers sent him their latest offerings, including some for younger readers. As a result, he had a number of like-new children’s books on insects, reptiles and animals.

Peter flipped through several picture books about bugs for preschoolers and a couple of illustrated volumes for slightly older readers. If he were to write such a story, it would feature more in-depth information and photographs rather than drawings.

The idea of writing about biology for children had occurred to him before, only to be abandoned because he never found the right angle. In this crowded field, Peter knew, a book required a unique angle and a distinctive look to make it stand out.

He selected the best of the batch for Mia. It had been fun yesterday, touring Harper’s yard and explaining about spiders. He could still see Mia scrunching her little face and asking, “Can I scare them necessarily?”

Longing swept through Peter, to have a child like her. A small, precious person to hold, to nurture, to stretch out his arms to as she took those first steps. Waiting another year or more, taking a chance with a different donor...but then, even if he stayed in California, he’d already decided against raising a youngster near her biological mother, especially one who was a friend.

Abruptly, a possibility occurred to Peter. He went cold and then hot, as if he were coming down with something.

To clear his head, he retreated to the backyard. Stars glittered in the summer sky, in defiance of the light pollution from houses and streetlamps. The scents of Angela’s herbs—mint and lemon balm—soothed his spirit. Yet when he tried to picture her, the face he saw belonged to Harper.

If he moved out of state, he’d never see her again. While that troubled him, he wasn’t ready for a serious relationship, anyway.

He could proceed with the surrogate he’d chosen, use Harper’s eggs and have a child or children like Mia. In Maryland, the little one would grow up surrounded by family, and far from his or her biological mother.

Peter hated the idea of keeping his plan a secret from Harper. Yet if they shared the experience of a pregnancy, if she ever held a baby that belonged to them both, he’d be inviting the type of legal and emotional tangle that he was determined to avoid.

Sitting on a wrought-iron bench beside the path, he took out his phone and brought up the egg donor site. Harper’s statement said she was eager to help others form a family, that she was willing to meet the recipients or not. So, what was the difference whether the recipient was someone she knew?

Especially if he planned to leave.

While the deception bothered Peter, other considerations overrode that. As for moving, the idea was growing on him. He wasn’t nearly as in love with this house as his wife had been, and he had a year to resolve the job situation.

On the phone, he did some quick research. It appeared that Maryland accepted California teacher certifications. While he might have to take a few tests, that shouldn’t present a major obstacle.

Contrary to what he’d first thought, his parents hadn’t knocked a hole in his plans. Instead, they’d handed him a solution to his dilemma.

* * *

ON FRIDAY MORNING, HARPER felt her phone vibrate as she finished prepping Una for an ultrasound. Stepping into the hallway, she saw that the call came from Melissa Everhart, who coordinated the egg donor and IVF programs under Jan Garcia’s direction.

Had someone chosen Harper? Despite the quickening of her pulse, she was too busy to return the call now. She’d only checked in case Mia was having a problem at sports camp.

The ultrasound technician, Zora Raditch, pushed her equipment cart past Harper and into the examining room. The normally vivacious woman in her late twenties had dark circles under her eyes. As everyone knew, she was suffering through a painful divorce from her cheating husband.

Harper gave her a sympathetic nod. She’d have offered more support, except that Zora had cheated with her louse of a husband several years ago while he was married to Stacy. If nothing else, that should have provided a strong clue to his character.

At the nurses’ station, Harper made sure no last-minute patients had been squeezed into the schedule before lunch. No one had, which left her free to return to the ultrasound.

She’d reached the room when Stacy hurried alongside, no doubt having just finished assisting at a surgery. “Jim’s out of town,” she explained breathlessly. That was Una’s husband, a long-distance truck driver. “Una asked me to be here.”

“No problem,” said Nora Franco, appearing behind them. With a smile, the obstetrician added, “I love the way you two have bonded.”

“I wonder if my triplets can sense when they’re in the same room as their half siblings,” Stacy mused as she preceded them inside.

Una, reclining on an examining table as Zora readied her equipment, beamed at them. “You bet they can!”

Zora and Stacy exchanged quick nods of acknowledgment. Working at the same complex had been awkward for the two women, but recently they’d reached a sort of truce.

Stacy went to hold Una’s hand. The technician spread gel on the patient’s abdomen and gently applied the paddle-shaped sensor device. On the monitor, black and white eddies yielded to the curling shapes of two babies.

Instinctively, Harper touched her own flat stomach, recalling when she’d undergone this experience with Mia. What a miracle, to see her little girl for the first time. Sean had practically levitated off the floor.

She got an extra squiggle of exhilaration as she recalled the phone message awaiting her response. Maybe she’d been chosen. In a few months, she might be watching her own genetic baby or babies inside the surrogate.

On the screen, the little ones’ hands met over their hearts. As one of the pair shifted toward the other, Una said, “It almost looks like they’re playing.”

“They might be,” Nora said. “We now know that twins do interact in the womb.”

“Interact how?” Stacy asked.

“Researchers taped ultrasound images of twins and studied the recordings,” the doctor explained. “It became clear that the fetuses were deliberately stroking each other.”

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