Becca's Baby

CHAPTER ONE

THE STICK HAD TURNED blue. Another mistake in a day that seemed to be full of them. The stupid thing wasn’t supposed to turn blue.

At forty-two, Rebecca Parsons had firmly believed she was on her way into early menopause. A welcome relief from the monthly inconvenience she’d endured for thirty years. For many, many of those months, the inconvenience had been accompanied by bitter disappointment—not pregnant—until she’d eventually given up hope. She’d accepted a life without motherhood. A life with other compensations. And now…

She’d only bought the dumb test to prove to herself that she did indeed have cause to celebrate the departure of monthly cramps, weight gain and irritability. To prove that she’d missed her period because she was menopausal.

“Dammit, don’t you know anything?” she swore at the stick. She tossed it into the bathroom trash and proceeded out to the kitchen to prepare Friday night’s dinner. She’d been in committee meetings all day and Will would be home soon with only half an hour for his evening meal. Becca intended to make sure he enjoyed it.

No idiot stick was going to get in her way.

HIS THICK DARK HAIR silvered at the temples, Will looked as handsome as ever when he strode through the door a little while later, depositing his briefcase on the counter before he came over and gave her a kiss. Becca deepened the kiss.

“Mmm,” he murmured, the sound vibrating against her lips. Beginning an intimately familiar dance, his tongue met hers, mingled. His arms went around her and he pressed his hips to hers.

Becca moaned, and begged with her body, suddenly desperate to be lost in Will’s lovemaking.

“Hold that thought,” he said, giving her one last kiss before he stepped away. “I have to be back at the U in twenty minutes.”

Becca wished she could go with him. Not because she had any interest whatsoever in the Friday-night National Honor Society awards ceremony he, as president of Montford University, had to attend, but because she wasn’t looking forward to an evening at home with her own thoughts, her own pile of work to get through.

Oh, yes, it had been a bad day.

Pulling a casserole, one of Will’s favorites, from the oven, she joined him at the table. They were both still dressed in their sleek business suits, Becca’s shoulder-length dark hair styled as though she’d just stepped from a fashion magazine, Will’s looking as though he’d run his fingers through it more than once. They were the epitome of the successful, happy couple.

“How’d things go with Mayor Smith today?” Will asked. He barely glanced over at her as he devoured two helpings of the casserole.

“Worse than we expected,” she said. “The guy’s a butt.”

Stopping in midbite, Will raised his eyes. Her less-than-flattering description brought a frown of commiseration to his face. It touched her familiarly. Warmed her up a bit.

“That bad, huh?” he asked.

“Everyone who voted for me, everyone in town, knew I was running for city council to see this Save the Youth program born,” Becca said, putting down her fork as she stopped pretending to eat. “Now that I’m elected, our dear mayor tells me he doesn’t intend to part with one dime of city money to help fund the program.”

Will swore. Checked his watch. And swore again. “So you’ll fight him, honey,” he said, standing. “You’ve got a lot of strong supporters.”

Yeah. She did. But… “Do you think I’m thinking with my emotions, Will? That I’m being illogical?”

“Hell, no!” He carried his plate to the sink, rinsed it and dropped it in the dishwasher. “The town of Shelter Valley owes it to its teenagers, dammit. We have to educate our youth about the dangers of alcohol and drug use, give them other options, provide them with support. To continue pretending that teenage pregnancy and drug abuse don’t exist here is ludicrous. Don’t let that weasel make you second-guess yourself, Bec.”

“He claimed that I’m only fighting this battle because of Tanya.” Becca almost teared up when she thought of her young beautiful niece—her sister’s only child. The promising life cut cruelly and senselessly short by a teenage drunk driver.

Will leaned against the counter, drawing her attention to thighs visibly muscular even in the dress slacks he wore. Distracting her again. At forty-two, Will’s body was still as lean and virile as it had been at twenty-two. And still had the power to make her forget everything but making love with him.

“Tanya’s death certainly opened your eyes to the need for the type of program you’re proposing,” Will said. “But don’t forget that’s how most great programs get started. Because someone saw the need. And unfortunately that often requires a tragedy.”

He was right, of course. Will usually was. Which was why she valued his judgment so much.

Glancing at his watch again, he pushed away from the counter, grabbed his briefcase, then approached the table. “Gotta run, honey. See you tonight.”

Lifting her mouth for his goodbye kiss, Becca wished she could entice him to stay.

When they were twenty-two, she would’ve been able to.

OUT ON THE GOLF COURSE the following Wednesday afternoon, Will was feeling pretty pleased with himself. Mid-March, and the Arizona afternoon was near perfect. Clear, seventy degrees, the desert air so fresh he’d be richer than Bill Gates if he could bottle it.

The morning’s business had been good, productive beyond his tentative hopes. As an architect, John Strickland was the best. The plans he’d drawn up for Montford University’s new “signature” building were downright impressive. A brick exterior that would blend with the hundred-year-old buildings surrounding it and an interior that made superb use of space and offered a calm atmosphere conducive to learning.

As a golfer, John Strickland was better than average, but Will, even with a good five years on the other man, could still beat him. Will’s shot was on, his putting accurate. Life was good.

“We’ve never done a college building before,” Strickland said, aiming up for a difficult putt on the eleventh green.

Will watched the other man prepare, admiring his slow controlled movements as he stepped up to the ball, pulled back on the club, and then gently tapped the ball at enough of an angle to take the roll.

“That’s an asset in my book,” Will said, watching it fall in the hole. Maybe his easy win wasn’t going to be quite so easy, after all.

“You mean the putt?” Strickland asked, rubbing in his expertise with a grin.

“No—your inexperience,” Will grunted. Strickland’s experience was legendary. The man was one of the leading commercial architects in the country. Will considered himself fortunate to have snagged him for the project that was so important to Montford’s future.

Lining up for his own putt, one just as challenging as Strickland’s and a little farther from the hole, Will said, “We need a fresh vision if we’re going to stand out above the rest.” He tapped the ball. Felt a thrill of satisfaction as it disappeared into the hole.