The Pregnancy Clause. Elizabeth SinclairЧитать онлайн книгу.
for her future. “Artificial insemination has its possibilities, however.”
“Good grief, Emily, you sound like you’re talking about one of your horses.”
“The problem is—” Emily went on, as if Honey hadn’t said a word “—I’d have to find a donor.”
Honey emitted a very unladylike snort. “Why don’t you just stroll down Main Street stopping every man you see until you find one willing to donate a few of his little guys to the cause.”
Emily threw her sister a disparaging look. “Can we be serious here for a minute? We’re talking about a baby for goodness’ sake.” She shook her head. “I don’t want just any man fathering my child. I want to know who he is.”
“Why?”
“Because I want my child to have the best possible start in life that he can.”
A smile curved Honey’s lips.
“What’s that grin for?”
“I was just thinking that the idea of this baby has really got you interested and not just because you can keep the farm. You want this baby, don’t you?”
Avoiding her sister’s gaze, Emily gave a noncommittal shrug. “Maybe.”
For a long time, neither of them said anything, each lost in their thoughts. Emily once again pictured herself with a baby, soft, tiny, warm and loving. Although the picture left her smiling inside, the responsibility still scared her half to death.
Honey sat up straight and turned to Emily, her eyes glowing, her lips curved in a self-satisfied smile. “I’ve got it. If you’re so determined to do this, why not ask Kat?”
At that precise moment, Danny’s balloon popped, and so did Emily’s daydreams about the baby. When her heart had stopped doing doubletime, Emily turned to her sister.
“Kat?”
A knowing expression transformed Honey’s face. “I always felt you and he had something going as kids. And who was it who always rode to your rescue—” Honey went silent. She stared at Emily.
Emily swirled the suggestion around in her mind. Even as angry as she was at Kat, the suggestion appealed to her in a very comforting way.
“Em, I was kidding. You’re not seriously considering—”
She left her perch on the railing and came back to hunker down next to Honey on the step. The last thing she wanted was the baby’s father hanging around. With Kat’s nomadic track record, he was quickly becoming a strong candidate for fatherhood. “Why not?”
“Emily Kingston….” Honey grabbed her sister’s arm. “Are you nuts? You have no idea what he’s been doing since you last saw him.”
“But he’s perfect. Clean-cut. Good-looking. He’s a rolling stone, never settles down. He’d probably donate his sperm, finish the house and hit the road again. Voilà! No attachments.”
Honey thought for a minute. “Healthy. Is he healthy?”
“A doctor’s exam will determine that. I’m sure you can’t donate sperm if you aren’t healthy and I’m sure they must do some kind of tests, even if you know who the donor is.” Emily waited, knowing by the look on her face that Honey had not given up. She didn’t have to wait long.
“Okay. What about willing? You don’t know that he’d even do this.” She smiled as if in victory. “I wouldn’t start buying the layette just yet.”
For a second Emily was stumped, then she recalled a trump card Honey hadn’t counted on. “He owes me after walking out on me without explanation. Maybe, if he does this for me, I might forgive him.”
Honey shook her arm. “Em, you’re letting your desire to keep the farm do your thinking. For all you know, Kat could be an escaped convict, a serial killer, an alien.” Emily cast her a look of incredulity. “Okay, so the alien thingy was a bit much. What I’m trying to say is that this is not a good idea. Besides, how do you plan on explaining this to Rose?”
“I’ll figure out something. She won’t be home for weeks. I have plenty of time. And as far as asking Kat goes, I disagree. With a few ground rules—” She jumped up. “I have to go home and figure out how to contact him.”
She kissed her sister’s cheek, then raced down the stairs to her truck, yelling goodbye to Danny as she climbed into the driver’s seat. In the rearview mirror, she could see Honey standing on the porch, mouth agape, hands outstretched, as if wondering what just happened. For once, she’d left her older sister speechless.
Emily didn’t have to wonder what had just happened. She’d had an epiphany. Kat had always helped her before. Why not this time? All she wanted was one healthy, enthusiastic sperm to conceive her baby. Surely he could spare one. Besides, he owed her for running out on her.
KAT SETTLED into the black leather chair across from J. R. Pritchard. Pritchard looked more like a successful CEO than a P.I. Navy suit, burgundy-and-beige tie executed in a perfect Windsor knot beneath the button-down collar of a crisp, white shirt. Definitely not the Bogart type Kat had anticipated.
“Mr. Madison—”
“Kat.”
Pritchard raised an eyebrow. “Kat. What can I do for you?”
Reaching into his back pocket, Kat extracted a worn, brown leather wallet. From it, he pulled a slip of paper, which he unfolded, then passed to Pritchard. “This is a rubbing off the end of a handmade cradle. I want to know who made the cradle and who it was made for.”
Pritchard studied the design, one Kat was very familiar with: a hand-carved, crude reproduction of a rose twined around an equally crude heart, all enclosed in a circle.
“I’ve never seen anything like this before.” Pritchard continued to study the rubbing. “There’s a good chance that someone might recognize it for that very reason. There’s also a good chance, again for that very reason, that you’ll never find out who carved it.” He tossed the paper on his desk. “Why is it important that you find the artist? Is this cradle an antique or something?”
An explanation hung on Kat’s lips. No one knew about the cradle or his adoption. He didn’t like sharing that knowledge. “The rubbing might have something to do with my birth parents. I was adopted by Hilda and Charles Madison when I was ten months old.” He pulled another folded sheet of paper from his wallet. This one showed the wear marks of having been unfolded many times. He handed it to Pritchard.
He nodded, then looked at the paper. “Ah, so you’re looking to be reunited with your birth parents.”
“No.” Kat’s tone was much sterner than he’d planned. Pritchard’s head jerked up. “No emotional reunions. Just find the artist and the information I asked for, then call me. I’ll take it from there.” All Kat wanted to know was why anyone would abandon a ten-month-old infant to strangers and walk away. He didn’t need Pritchard digging around in his life—not that he had anything to hide. But some things were better off staying between a man and his conscience.
Pritchard stared at him for a long time, then shrugged, as if he really didn’t care to know Kat’s reasoning and that suited Kat just fine. He had no intention of sharing it. “Any hurry on this?”
Kat shook his head. “None.” He’d already spent sixteen years searching, he could wait a while longer.
IT HAD BEEN a full two days since Emily had talked to Honey, her decision to ask Kat to father her child already taking form in her mind. Trouble was, when she got home, her nerve had deserted her. After the things she’d said to him, how could she now ask for such a monumental favor?
She leaned against the rail fence separating the corrals. She still hadn’t forgiven him for deserting her all those years ago, but that was something she’d have to worry about later. Right now, she didn’t have time to waste. She needed