THE BABY PLAN Read online

  "I said not to open those cookies! Don't you ever listen to me?"

  Harley planted herself next to the cart and waited. The woman, clad in tennis whites and expensive sneakers, snatched the package of cookies from the child and hurled them into the cart. She did a double take, then frowned at Harley. "What are you staring at?"

  "Not much."

  The woman raised carefully plucked eyebrows. "Are you judging me?" She gazed down at Harley's feet, then slowly upward. "You presume to judge me?"

  "Appearances can be deceiving." Harley shoved her hands into her pockets.

  "Of course they can. And underneath that appearance, you're actually a Harvard graduate with a degree in child psychology." The woman grabbed the little boy by the arm. "Let's go. And next time, you listen to me or you'll really be sorry when we get home."

  As the pair turned the aisle corner, the boy looked back over his shoulder at Harley, a tear dripping down his cheek. Her chest tightened, empathy for the child mingling with remembered pain of her own.

  Who was she to think she could interfere? Besides, getting involved with a case like that was a risk; the child could be removed from his home. And she knew from firsthand experience that the state's idea of a better situation wasn't always so.

  Foster homes could be hell.

  Maybe she'd saved the kid from one more slap. That was something, wasn't it?

  Harley sighed and turned, heading back down the aisle to retrieve her peanut butter from the floor. Twenty-seven years old, and she couldn't even help a child. She still struggled to help herself.

  Sometimes she wondered if the words not good enough were stamped on her forehead.

  Why did people have children they didn't want? Kids deserved loving homes, where they were cherished and cared for properly.

  For sure, she wouldn't be having a kid of her own. The world was too cruel. Besides, she'd never be able to provide the ideal home she'd created in her childish dreams.

  * * *

  Several days later, Jake sat in his home office, which he used a lot less now that his architectural firm could afford a downtown office. Cradling the phone between his shoulder and ear, he reached for a sheet of paper and a pencil, then laid the paper on his stepfather's old drafting table and copied the information spewing from the receiver. "Slow down, Dusty. E-m-e-r-s-o-n? Okay, what else did you find out?"

  "Positive criminal record. Busted four years ago."

  "Let me guess, grand theft auto?"

  "No, but close. Garage that employed her at the time was running a chop-shop. She got caught in the sweep. Insisted she had no idea what was going on after hours."

  "What do you think?"

  "Jake, they all claim they're innocent."

  Maybe she is. "What happened then?"

  "First offense. Sentenced to probation and community service. The judge told her to straighten out her act. Told her if she came before his court again, she'd do time."

  Jake used the sharpened pencil to scratch behind his ear. "And since then?"

  "Not so much as a parking ticket."

  That said more to him than the fact that she had a record in the first place. "Hmm … okay. Phone number?"

  "No phone. Address is in one of the seamier sections of town."

  Jake jotted down the rest of the stuff his brother read off to him, then dropped the pencil into an old coffee mug on the desk.

  "Jake?"

  "Hmm? I'm just thinking."

  "Uh-oh, I recognize that tone. Don't you dare."

  Toenails clicked along the wooden floor beside his desk, and Jake suddenly found himself with a lapful of dog. "Benji, get down." He fumbled with the telephone while gently returning the animal to the floor. "Not when I'm at the desk. You know the rules."

  The wiry-haired mongrel cocked his head, offering a quizzical look made all the more intriguing because he had only one ear. Jake snapped his fingers and pointed at the floor. Benji sneezed, turned in a circle, then settled down by Jake's feet.

  "Sorry, Dusty, you were saying?"

  "You don't need any more strays in your life. Two dogs and assorted cats are more than enough. Stay away from this woman, Jake."

  "Only one cat now. Mel inherited the other two. And you watch it or I'll come over tomorrow, take you out back and whup you. I'm the one who's supposed to be giving you advice, not the other way around."

  "Just practicing. I'll be a daddy soon, remember?"

  How could he forget? "I remember." He anticipated the arrival of Dusty and Kate's baby almost as much as they did. But their baby wouldn't fill the emptiness in his life, his home.

  For a moment, he listened to the silence, emphasized by the ticking of the mantel clock.

  He glanced up to the picture of Austin and him that hung over his desk on the wood-paneled den wall. It'd been taken by Mel at the Erie Zoo. The little boy stood on a tall flower planter, one arm looped around Jake's neck, a mint-chocolate-chip ice cream cone clutched in the other hand.

  Jake sighed. "Thanks for the help, Dust. You take care of Kate and my nephew-to-be, and I'll talk to you tomorrow."

  "Jake?"

  "Yes?"

  "Nothin'."

  Jake smiled slightly at what had begun as a bedtime ritual when seven-year-old Dusty had become too cool to confess love to his big brother anymore. "Back at you."

  "One more thing." Dusty cleared his throat. "I hope I'm as good at raising my son as you were at raising me."

  The phone disconnected—his little brother wasn't any good at what he called "sappy stuff," and that was as close to sappy as he'd ever gotten. But Jake couldn't think of a nicer thank-you. He hung up the receiver, still staring at Austin's photo on the wall.

  A surrogate mother. That had been his lawyer's latest advice. He looked over at the stack of papers on his desk. He'd downloaded a bunch of articles from the Internet. There was one question they didn't answer, though. How the hell was he supposed to find and choose a woman to carry a baby for him? A woman who could give up her child? Generally those were the kind of women he avoided. Women like his own mother, who'd walked out on them when Jake was twelve. Dusty had only been two, Mel six.

  The paper with the notes on Harley Emerson fluttered to the floor, and he bent to retrieve it. Now, there was another problem. Guilt over Harley's lost job still plagued him. But maybe this problem was more easily solved than the question of a surrogate. In fact, maybe there was one solution to both…

  Nah. He shook his head. He shouldn't be thinking this way, not for a second. His surrogate should be a woman he wouldn't be tempted to care about—to fall for. He'd simply find out whether or not she had a new job. If she said yes, he could put aside his guilt. If she said no…

  * * *

  Chapter 2

  «^»

  Harley needed an answer but doubted the universe was in the mood to supply her with one. Now that she was without a job, her practically nonexistent savings wouldn't last long. Every extra cent she'd earned over the last seven years had gone to college tuition and books, the expenses of her climb to a better life. The budget would have to be trimmed again. Not that there was much left to trim.

  Exhaling loudly, she slapped the checkbook shut and tossed it on top of the pile of bills.

  Some days it wasn't worth getting out of bed, and this was one of them. She'd tried two other garages today, but no one needed—or wanted—a mechanic with a record. To make things worse, Ned had put the word out that he'd fired her for theft from a customer's car. Even with her skills, no one wanted her.

  Unless she was willing to work in a chop-shop. Then she'd find another job easily. But she'd been innocent the first time, and she wasn't knowingly going to put her neck on the line. The slammer wasn't a place she wanted to visit ever again.

  So much for next semester's tuition. That was out of the question.

  She reached up to grab her ponytail, freeing her hair from the tight rubber band. The long strands cascaded down around her shoulders and she ran
both hands through it. The slight pain as it returned to its natural state only heightened her sense of misery.

  Harley pushed the stool back from the scarred wooden counter that separated her kitchen from the living area. One of the legs caught in a crack along the faded linoleum, nearly tipping her off. "Good, fall and break something. Add more bills to the pile. Great." She crossed the room.

  The rust-and-rose-colored cushions of the battered old couch echoed her weary sigh as she collapsed onto them. White cotton curtains stirred with the breeze, while outside the window magenta streaks heralded another spectacular Erie sunset. Maybe she'd haul herself down to the Peninsula to watch. She propped herself up on her elbow to evaluate the timing, then slumped back down, deciding she couldn't make it before the sun actually set.

  Closing her eyes, Harley summoned the image of the Mustang's handsome owner, an image she'd toyed with ever since their disastrous meeting. While he'd been partly responsible for her firing, she wasn't mad at him. No, she was angry with Ned and whoever had lifted Manning's cash and phone.

  Manning. A perfect name for someone who was one hundred percent certifiably all man. In her mind, Harley took a step closer to him. His dark walnut hair brushed the collar of his shirt and his summer-sky eyes sparked with the knowledge of the chemistry between them. His scent, a spicy cologne, conveyed strength, as did the muscles of his exposed biceps. The loose-fitting shirt piqued her curiosity about the secrets it hid. Did he have a chest as muscular as those biceps suggested? Exactly what kind of horsepower did the man have under his hood?

  Even more than the physical tug between them, the flash of compassion she'd seen flash in his eyes intrigued her. In her experience, compassion was hard to come by in this harsh world.

  The sharp odor of marijuana wafted into the room, drifting along the breeze. The downstairs neighbors were starting their weekend early. Soon they'd be buzzed. She climbed off the couch to slam the window shut with a bang. The thin glass rattled.

  Denied the movement of the breeze, the tiny, second-story apartment suddenly seemed even smaller. A hardcover copy of the latest Janet Evanovich mystery lay on Harley's coffee table—made from an old wire spool with a tablecloth thrown over it. The library. That's where I'll go. She could return the novel and check out the on-line classifieds. She scooped up the book, then grabbed her small canvas purse. Loud rap music from the house two doors down vied with the Spanish dance music from across the street as she stepped onto her porch. Harley tested the lock, then whirled to begin a careful descent of the uneven steps.

  Halfway down, a blur of green polo shirt hurtled in the opposite direction. She skidded to a halt and grabbed for the banister to avoid crashing into someone. Rough wood scraped her palm; her hip banged against the railing. A splintering crack sounded, and the banister gave way. Harley found herself teetering on the edge of the stairs, arms flailing wildly.

  A hand closed around her wrist and yanked her back to safety. Jake Manning's blue eyes, wide with concern, stared down at her. "Are you okay?"

  What's it to you? sprang to mind first, but she bit back the retort and nodded. She peered over the edge of the steps. The shattered railing lay on the dirt and gravel below. The library book had bounced off the garbage cans beneath the stairs and landed on the narrow, newly greened strip that passed for a lawn. "Good. The lid was on."

  "The lid?"

  She'd forgotten all about him—odd, since the man still had hold of her wrist. She tugged it free. "On the garbage. I don't want the book to get ruined." One more thing she would've had to pay for. As it was, she knew that the landlord—who was really just one rung above a slumlord—was going to expect her to cover the damage to the railing. She sighed.

  "But you're okay, right?"

  Her hand stung, and Harley winced. She sank to the stairs, careful to stay on the inside, then examined her palm closely. "No, dammit, I got a splinter."

  Jake sat on the step below her. "Let me see. I've taken the advanced course in splinter removal." He laid her hand gently across his own. His were warm, soft, well-manicured. Permanent stains marred her nails, and calluses announced that she made her living with her hands—and he didn't. She wanted to yank hers away and cram them into the pockets of her jeans.

  "What are you doing here, anyway?" She chewed her lower lip as he probed the sliver of wood.

  "Checking on you. I guess it's a good thing I was here."

  "If you hadn't been, this wouldn't have happened, thank you very much. Ouch."

  "Sorry. That's in there pretty good. We're going to need tweezers to get it out. Why don't we go into your apartment?"

  "Yeah, right. I often invite strange men who have stalked me into my apartment. What, do I look stupid?"

  The blue eyes widened and they appeared slightly … hurt? She'd hurt his feelings?

  "No, you don't look stupid. Not at all."

  Harley turned around and stretched to retrieve her purse from one of the upper steps. She pulled out her Swiss Army knife and opened the tweezers feature. Using the tip, she poked at the splinter held captive underneath her skin. "So, why did you need to check on me?"

  Jake studied her as she struggled to remove the piece of wood. Her long hair shimmered, hanging loose around her face. This close he could smell her soft floral scent. "Just wanted to make sure you'd found another job. I feel pretty bad about what happened the other day."

  "Unfortunately, no, not yet. Damnation." The tweezer point slipped across her palm.

  He silently echoed her curse. She was supposed to say she'd found a new job so he could go on his merry way and sleep at night. So he could forget any dangerous and inappropriate ideas about Harley Emerson and babies… A glance around her neighborhood—shabby houses with peeling paint, empty beer bottles in the yard across the street, rusted-out cars that made her Toyota look new—only strengthened his impression that she needed a job, and badly. Where was her family and why did they let her live in such a place? He'd designed sturdier and nicer-looking doghouses, and would've had a fit if he'd found his sister living in an area like this.

  "I can't get it out," Harley muttered.

  "Let me have a try." He held out his hand, and she hesitantly passed him the red knife. He grinned at her. "Guess you do trust me a little, huh?"

  "Very little." A slight smile lessened the sting of her words. God, she had beautiful eyes.

  Which he wasn't supposed to be looking at. No, since his wife had solidified his Revolving Door theory of women by leaving him behind while she went off to pursue her rising career as a news anchor, he'd sworn off the "fair" sex. Fair. Ha. That was a joke. What was fair about a woman abandoning her family?

  As his gaze slid lower, he realized he wasn't supposed to be staring at Harley's chest, either, but the form-fitting pink T-shirt that clearly defined her breasts didn't help in that department. Jake bent over her palm, blocking out all distracting views, then worked the splinter free. "There." He folded up the knife and returned it to her, then rose, wiping his hands on his pants. "I, uh, should probably be going." He pulled his wallet from his pocket and offered her his business card. "Listen, if you need anything, give me a call, okay? Or stop by my office. I'm on the corner of State and Twelfth."

  She accepted the card with a wary expression. "Why?"

  "Why what?"

  "Why would I call you if I needed something?"

  "Because I lost your job for you. You were telling the truth about not taking my stuff, weren't you?"

  She nodded.

  "I believe you. You have any ideas who might have taken it? Maybe we can go to Ned and get your job back."

  "Yeah, right. I'm sure he'd be very happy to rehire me when I tell him I think his daughter snatched your stuff."

  "Oh, crap. Really? His daughter?" Jake groaned. "Was she the kid in the front office? You know, she acted kind of weird when I went in."

  "Yeah, that was Summer. And I'm betting it was her." Harley tucked the knife and his card into her purse, then got to
her feet. "So, forget Ned wanting to hear that."

  The stairs wobbled as Jake escorted her to the bottom. Definitely not structurally sound. Her landlord needed a kick in the butt, making tenants put up with that. Once Harley had retrieved the library book, they walked toward her truck.

  "So, you'll call me?" he asked as she climbed into the pickup.

  "Thanks for the concern. But I'm used to taking care of myself. Been doing it for years."

  After she drove away, he glanced around her neighborhood again. She might've been taking care of herself, but she sure as hell wasn't doing a particularly good job. He slid behind the wheel of the Mustang. A pile of papers on the passenger's seat made him groan. More stuff on surrogacy, information he'd gotten from his lawyer.

  He needed to find a woman he could count on to spin through the revolving door of his life, enter, give him a child, and then leave again.

  He needed someone who'd do things according to his plan.

  * * *

  Finding another job—any job—was turning out to be a lot harder than she'd expected. With so many of Erie's plants closing, everybody and his aunt was out looking for work. And given a choice between Harley with her criminal record and somebody's aunt—well, the old biddies seemed to be winning out.

  Harley parallel-parked the truck a half block from her apartment. New blades of grass poked through the cracks in the sidewalk's uneven surfaces. She recognized the white Mustang right away. That meant Manning was here again, for the third time in a week. His second visit had been a brief pass-through, catching her on the way to fill out an application. She wasn't sure if she should be flattered, annoyed or worried. Men like Jake Manning didn't usually take an interest in a woman like her—a mechanic from the wrong side of town—unless they wanted something. Usually sex. On the other hand, he could be a stalker. Of the two, she'd rather deal with the first.

  Elbows propped on his khaki-clad knees, chin in his palm, he was sitting on the third step and— She did a double take. She could smell fresh sawdust. Small piles of wood shavings littered the ground and a black metal railing gleamed in the sunshine. Jake grinned at her. "It's about time you came home. The crew left almost an hour ago."