The Pregnancy Test Read online

  “Did you happen to get a look at your new neighbor?”

  Jenna clamped her lips tight before the demand for a description could emerge. The new neighbor she had seen was a little girl. Married men were off-limits. So were single guys with kids. It wasn’t that she had anything against children, per se. They were great at a distance. It was just that the idea of being responsible for another person, especially a little one, was…overwhelming.

  She had enough problems with a dog.

  “Admit it, you really want to know. Tall, sandy-blond hair, nice shoulders and a to-die-for butt.”

  Jenna groaned. “All I saw was a little kid.”

  Jenna leaned on the railing, sipping her drink and staring next door. A to-die-for butt? On an off-limits dad?

  That really wasn’t playing fair.

  Dear Reader,

  When I wrote The Mommy Plan, and met Rachel’s brother Sloan and his teenage daughter, Brook, with her pierced eyebrow, I just knew they had a story of their own to tell. I also felt he deserved a happy ever after for himself and his kids.

  It took a while to coax the story from him, and you’ll understand why when you read it, but here it is. I had a good time seeing Rachel, James and Molly again, and hope you’ll also enjoy catching up with them and seeing how they’re doing.

  I’m dedicating this story to a very special person— Linda, my husband’s birth mother. Years ago she had the courage and strength to let him go so that he could have a better life than she could provide at the time. She also had the courage and love to let him back into her life, proving that you can never have too many people who love you. If she hadn’t let him go, odds are we would never have met and married. If she hadn’t let him back in, my husband (and the rest of us) would have missed out on knowing so many wonderful people.

  A birth mother who gives up a child out of love is definitely a hero in my book. As are the adoptive parents who make the child their own.

  I love hearing from readers, so please let me hear from you! Your letters and e-mails just make my day! Visit my Web site at www.susangable.com, e-mail me at [email protected] or send me a letter at P.O. Box 9313, Erie, PA 16505.

  Susan Gable

  THE PREGNANCY TEST

  Susan Gable

  Books by Susan Gable

  HARLEQUIN SUPERROMANCE

  1103—THE BABY PLAN

  1150—THE MOMMY PLAN

  1204—WHOSE CHILD?

  To Linda, who had the love and courage to let him go,

  as well as the love and courage to welcome him back

  with open arms and an open heart.

  And in memory of eHarlequin’s beloved Sir Jamey, who

  touched our hearts with his gentle spirit and sense of humor.

  Special thanks to:

  Jen Widholm, from Realityworks.com, for helping me out

  with information on the Baby Think It Over® program and

  the infant simulators—what a great idea!

  Sus, for the encouragement and ability to spot a missing

  word at 100 paces.

  Holly, for administering a kick in the pants

  when I needed one. I love your car. Really!

  Jen, always there, always with the right thing to say.

  Best friends are true treasures, and you’re a

  one-of-a-kind gem!

  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 ONE

  “ERIE SUCKS.”

  Sloan Thompson gritted his teeth as he shut off the pickup, then turned to face his daughter in the passenger seat. Slowly counting to ten, he forced himself to relax his grip on the steering wheel. The move had been tough on all of them. “Lucky for you, then, our house is actually in Millcreek, huh?”

  “The mailing address is Erie.” Brook folded her arms and leaned her forehead against the window. “I don’t see why we couldn’t just stay in Texas.”

  He had a long list of reasons, and ninety percent of them came back to the sullen teenager next to him. She needed a new start. New friends. Friends more appropriate than the crowd she’d run with in Fort Worth.

  “Well, I like it.” Ashley released her seat belt and leaned in to the front, wrapping her arms around Sloan’s neck. “It’s closer to Granddad and Aunt Rae. And I can’t wait for snow!”

  He chuckled, grateful for the six-year-old’s enthusiasm. At least she cooperated. If only she could stay six until her twenty-first birthday, then magically fast-forward to adulthood, skipping over adolescent hell. “I’m glad you like it, Peach, but let’s not rush the snow, huh? Besides, I don’t think August is prime snow time, even this far north.”

  A huge green-and-yellow truck rumbled to a stop in front of the house. “Okay. Operation Moving Day will now commence.”

  “Whoopee.” Brook toyed with her seat belt, but left it fastened.

  “Look, Granddad’s here! I can’t wait to have all my stuff again.” Ashley slammed the door and ran toward her grandfather.

  After living with his father for the five weeks since he’d started his new job as chief engineer at an Erie TV station, Sloan knew exactly what Ashley meant. He couldn’t wait to have all his stuff back, either. And while he appreciated his dad taking them in while he searched for a house, he needed their own space again. “Brook, I want this day to go smoothly. Make that happen and maybe I’ll set up your computer tonight.”

  She turned to him, her pierced eyebrow arching in a way that made the little silver ball move.

  God, how he hated that thing. But it had been one of his many compromises, an attempt to ease the friction between them.

  “I’m perfectly capable of doing it myself. Besides, it doesn’t matter. The DSL isn’t hooked up, is it?”

  “Not yet.”

  “So I still won’t be able to talk to my friends.”

  Sloan sighed, then reached for the cell phone attached to his belt and held it aloft. “Thirty minutes tonight, but only if everything’s done to my satisfaction. And you keep your attitude in check today.”

  “Okay.” She slid from the truck.

  Pretty pathetic that he was reduced to bribing her with phone time. But it beat listening to her grumble the whole day.

  By midmorning, all the furniture was in place. His sister, Rachel, paced the screened front porch, directing traffic while jiggling her fussy ten-month-old son in her arms. “Those boxes go in the third-floor attic for now,” she instructed one of the movers. Frequent relocations while growing up in a military family had made both Sloan and Rachel experts on unpacking and setting up a household.

  Sloan lifted a white rag from Rae’s shoulder and wiped at Jamey’s mouth, where drool oozed around the small fist the teething baby chewed on. “Your momma’s bossy, do you know that?”

  “I learned from a pro. My big brother.”

  “Nah, we both learned from the old man.”

  “I heard that,” their father hollered from the living room, where he was involved in arranging Sloan’s electronic equipment.

  Rachel smiled. “Busted.”

  Sloan shrugged. “Nothing new about that. He won’t ever need a hearing aid.” The light in his sister’s eyes warmed him. For the longest time he’d thought he’d never see her smile again
, but his new brother-in-law, James, and James’s daughter, Molly, had put the spark back in Rae’s life. Still, the baby had sort of surprised Sloan. After all the effort it had taken for her to recover from losing her son, he hadn’t expected her to risk motherhood again. It was quite a testament to James and Molly that they’d taught Rachel to risk so much for love.

  Feet thundered down the stairs inside the house, and Sloan turned to find Molly and his younger daughter in the foyer. “We got Ashley’s bed all made, Mom. What’s next?”

  “Good job. Now start unloading the boxes, and put everything away. Don’t just dump it onto the floor. Away.”

  “Okay. Come on, Ashley. Bet we can have it done before my dad and Brook get her room together!” Molly grabbed Ashley by the hand, dragging the smaller girl back upstairs.

  Another pair of movers climbed the porch steps, arms loaded. Rachel studied the symbols on the sides of the boxes. “Take those down to the basement, please.” She shifted the baby onto her other shoulder. “Wonder if James is getting anywhere with Brook?”

  “I doubt it. Brook’s not stupid. I’m sure she suspects we’ve ‘planted’ him with her on purpose.” He ran his hand through his hair, raking back the annoying piece that fell across his forehead.

  “Hey.” His sister placed her hand on his elbow. “Remember, you’re not alone anymore. We’re just over an hour away now, not twenty. Dad’s only twenty-five minutes from you. We want to help.”

  “I know.” That was what had brought him north in the first place, to be near them again. But he wasn’t sure if, even with the support of his family, he could reclaim his daughter and get her back on the right track. “And I need that help. I love her, Rae, but damn, sometimes she makes it so hard.”

  “Parenthood’s not for sissies, is it?”

  Sloan shook his head.

  “Good thing you’re not a sissy then.” Rachel grinned, and for the first time in a few years, he felt optimistic. Maybe Brook wasn’t lost to him after all.

  BROOK SMOOTHED the blue-and-purple comforter, then flopped down on the bed, watching her aunt’s husband connect the stereo speakers. Real subtle of them to assign the shrink as her work partner.

  At least so far he hadn’t said much of anything to her, besides the necessary stuff, like where did she want this or that. Come to think of it, even though she’d met him several times at family reunions and holidays, she’d never spent much time around him.

  No question her lame-o dad thought she could use counseling. Like she needed some other adult asking stupid questions and not really listening to the answers.

  A moving guy—the cute young one with the tight gray T-shirt and great muscles—stepped into the room, biceps bulging as he gripped a garment box. “Here’s another one of yours.” He smiled at her and set it next to the closet.

  “Thanks.” Brook stretched, knowing full well what it did to the tank top she wore—not that she was stacked or anything, but still, she wasn’t bad—and then bit back a grin when the guy’s eyes widened.

  “Uh, sure.”

  “More boxes?” Uncle James prompted him. “That need to be brought in? From the truck out front?”

  “Oh, right.” Moving Guy flashed her another quick smile, then turned and headed out.

  Uncle James caught him in the doorway. “Have you noticed her father? Her grandfather? Both former military men. Both very protective of their family. Especially the females. Especially the ones who are still minors.”

  “M-minors?”

  “She’s fifteen. Jailbait for you. So keep your eyeballs to yourself or one of the Thompson men is likely to knock them right out of your head.”

  The guy’s tanned face lost some of its color. He gave her one more quick glance, then disappeared down the hallway.

  Brook climbed from the bed, grabbing a blade off her dresser to cut the tape on the garment box. “Jeez, you’re as bad as he is.”

  “He being your father, I assume.”

  “Who else?” Brook plucked some clothes from the bar in the box and hung them in the closet.

  “There’s nothing wrong with your father wanting to protect you.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with me wanting to breathe, either.”

  “Yes, I saw what your ‘breathing’ did to that guy. Playing with fire like that is likely to get you burned.” He reached for another cable and disappeared behind the stereo again.

  “Yeah, well, it’s cold here in the north and maybe I just want to be warm.”

  The furniture muffled his response. “Warm and burned are two different things.”

  “Whatever.” Brook fingered the fringe on her favorite short skirt before putting it away. “I think it’s pretty sad that they sent you up here to analyze me.”

  He straightened and looked at her. “I’m thinking it would probably take more than a day to analyze you, Brook. You seem like a rather complex person to me. Besides, I’m not allowed to treat family. It’s unethical.”

  “Yeah, right. You can’t stop yourself, from what Aunt Rae’s said.”

  His face colored a bit. “Well, official and unofficial are also two different things. I’d always be happy to talk to you, Brook, or offer you some advice.”

  “And then spill your guts to my father. No thanks.”

  “If you want to talk to me confidentially, that’s not a problem.”

  Brook tipped the box over and dumped several pairs of sandals and mules onto the floor. She knelt in the closet doorway. “I’m fine.”

  He chuckled, making her glance up in surprise. “That’s what your Aunt Rachel always says. Usually she doesn’t mean it.”

  “Well, I do.” She turned her back on him and kept positioning her shoes. Who was she kidding? Her father had totally messed up her life, taken her away from the only home she’d ever known, her friends, her boyfriend, Brian.

  And according to her sources, Brian, that slimeball, was already sniffing around Heather Blake. Which explained why he hadn’t been taking her phone calls or answering her IM’s the few chances she’d had to use a computer after they’d left Texas.

  Yeah, her life was just great.

  “THE DOG STILL HATES ME.” Jenna Quinn watched the little brown-and-white Cavalier King Charles spaniel jump onto the couch and snuggle up to Margo. The remainder of the pink slush oozed from the smoothie machine on her kitchen island, so Jenna flipped off the tap.

  “She doesn’t hate you. You just haven’t bonded yet.”

  “Okay, she doesn’t hate me. But she doesn’t like me much, either. I wish I knew what was wrong with her.”

  “She misses your grandmother, same as you do.” Margo scratched the dog’s ears.

  “Yeah, well.” Jenna didn’t want to talk about that. Despite eight months’ grieving time, she missed the carefree, vivacious woman who’d taught her so much about life. And from whom she’d inherited, among other things, a pet she hadn’t been prepared for.

  “Your first mistake was trying to un-paper-train her. I don’t think that scored points with her. And you have to admit, a paper-trained dog is much easier—you don’t have to take her out, especially in the winter. For another thing, stop calling her ‘the dog.’ Try using her name.” Margo glanced down at the animal on her lap. “Right, Princess?”

  “Thank you, Dr. Dolittle. Here.” She pressed the cold glass into her friend’s hand, then collapsed into the recliner. She surveyed what was now the living room of her loft apartment. The tall, three-section oak entertainment center divided the space, concealing her bedroom on the other side. “Drink up. That’s to say thanks for helping move the furniture. This place really needed an overhaul.”

  Margo raised her glass in salute. “No problem. And you’re right. I mean, really, you’d had that arrangement for what, three whole months?” She laughed before sipping her frosty daiquiri.

  “Yeah, well, I have to change what I can these days.” Ever since sinking her savings and her inheritance from her grandmother into buying—well, mortg
aging—the building and opening her own casual jewelry store downstairs, Jenna had been grounded.

  No, not grounded. That made it sound like she was being punished. Okay, sometimes that was how she felt. She searched for a better way to phrase it. Putting down roots, maybe. Trying her best to change her wanderlust ways.

  Moving the furniture around helped preserve what was left of her sanity.

  “So, now, tell me. How was your date last night?”

  Jenna groaned. “I’m giving up men.”

  Margo snorted, then choked. Her face turned the color of the drink she set on the coffee table. She coughed and spluttered, waving a hand as Jenna moved forward to the edge of the seat. The dog, long-plumed tail swishing through the air, licked her cheek.

  “I’m okay.” Margo cleared her throat to prove it, then gently moved the spaniel aside. “It’s just the idea of you giving up men is so, so…ludicrous! Hon, you draw men like you draw breath. It’s a force of nature. Unstoppable. And you’d probably die if you tried.”

  “Thanks. You make me sound like a first-class slut.”

  Margo giggled. “No, you’re not! I never said that. You’d only be a slut if you slept with them all, which you don’t. You just…” She shrugged. “Experience them? Date them? Smile at them? Like I said, you can’t help yourself. It’s out of your control.”

  “That’s so reassuring. I can’t control it, and I’d die if I tried.”

  “Need I mention I’d probably die, too? I mean, how can I live vicariously through you if you give up men?” Margo sighed, settling back against the cushions, drink in hand once again. Princess laid her head on Margo’s lap.

  “Get one of your own and live it up for yourself. I’ve been telling you that for years.”