Becca's Baby

“Guess that would test a man’s mettle. Probably more than some white-collar game you could get all wrapped up in, working for some big company in some big city somewhere.”

Will pondered his statement.

“You and Becca are separated, right?” John asked.

Will nodded. John knew that. Hell, the whole damn town knew that.

“What could possibly be more of a test than losing your wife?”

NOT BOTHERING to change out of his sweaty dusty clothes, Will left John in the parking lot of the golf course and drove straight to his brother’s house. Greg and his family weren’t back yet from their summer home up in northern Arizona, but Will had a key. He only needed access to the attic above the garage, anyway.

Greg and his wife had taken their van, leaving the floor beneath the attic clear for the ladder Will lifted off its hook on the wall. He hadn’t been up in Greg’s attic for years. Had no idea how hard the package would be to find. He knew only that he’d find it if he had to open every dusty old box up there.

WITH RANDI OFF watching a practice tennis match—and keeping an eye on her new women’s tennis coach, as well—Becca had the house to herself again. Wandering from room to room, she regaled her baby with facts about his father, merely sharing the memories as they came to her.

She missed Will so much her body ached. Someday, maybe, she’d be able to get angry with him for what he’d done, for promising to love her forever and then taking it back. She’d heard that anger was a cure for pain.

She’d just didn’t feel angry yet.

The problem was, she understood. Will was a good man. A great man. The best. Honest. Caring. Responsible.

“He’ll make a perfect daddy,” she assured her baby.

He could control many things, could make himself do whatever needed to be done. But he couldn’t make himself love her.

No one could do that.

He’d stick by his marriage vows. She knew that. Simply because he was Will. But if he didn’t love her as she loved him, the marriage would not only be empty, it would be too painful to bear.

“Please don’t hate me,” she whispered to her sleeping baby. “But I’ve called an attorney in Tucson. I’m going to file for divorce and release your daddy from an impossible promise he’s trying to keep.”

Before the tears that threatened could overwhelm her, Becca made herself keep moving. She shuffled blindly into the master bathroom, squirted some bubble bath into the tub, and then maneuvered for another couple of minutes until she was sitting on the side of her huge garden tub, able to turn around far enough to reach the faucet.

With the water running, she peeled off the lightweight maternity dress she’d worn all day, but had to stop to blow her nose before removing the gargantuan underwear she’d had to purchase that summer.

“Stop crying,” she demanded as she gazed at her form in the floor-length mirror. “You have to do something besides cry.”

Clothes in hand, she wiped fresh tears from her eyes and stepped into her room-size closet to deposit the day’s wardrobe in the dirty clothes hamper. Which brought a fresh wave of tears. The hamper never got full anymore.

She thought she heard someone call her name as she came back into the bathroom. She stopped a moment, then chided herself for her folly. Randi would be out for another couple of hours, at least—more if she went for drinks with some of her friends, who’d driven up from Phoenix.

Becca was going to have to get used to being alone.

“Becca?”

Freezing in midstep, Becca listened. “Will?” she called, feeling foolish as her voice echoed in the silent house. Was she so desperate that she was concocting his voice from the sound of water running in her tub?

Becca shook her head, grabbed her robe from the back of the door so she’d have it within reach when she got out of the tub and closed her ears to everything but her own thoughts. Picturing the baby she’d soon be able to hold.

“Becca? Can I come in?”

Spinning around, Becca clutched her long robe in front of her.

Will? She tried to answer him, but no sound came out.

“Becca? Are you all right in there?” he asked, but didn’t give her a chance to answer.

His dear, sweet, worried, gorgeous face appeared in the bathroom doorway, to be followed by the grungiest body she’d ever seen. He was covered in dust. His clothes were sweat-stained. His hair, a little grayer at the temples than it