Chapter Four

“You have the most fantastic bottom of any burglar I’ve ever seen.”

Liz was halfway through her kitchen window with her legs dangling out at nine thirty that night when she heard Grant’s voice, which made her startle and bump her head on the window frame. She’d gotten home a few minutes before and realized she’d left her key at the office. Hence the reason she was trying to break into her own house.

She was almost there. All she had to do was squeeze her butt the rest of the way through the window and climb in over her kitchen sink. Then she’d be in, except she was using all her arm power just to hang there midair. And her arms were starting to quiver.

Seemed like the Unending Day from Hell was continuing in full force, and worse, now he was here to witness it.

“Might I offer some assistance?” he asked. Or at least it sounded like that was what he said. His voice was a little muffled from her perch half in and half out of her house. And had he just said she had a great ass?

That might have been the high point of her very long and awful day.

“I’m…almost…through,” she said with a grunt.

“Fine, then. Keep on struggling and I’ll keep enjoying the view.”

She wanted to kill him, or at least tell him off, but she was in survival mode, her butt suddenly wedging tighter in the window opening. She tried to use her torso strength to pull it through but no luck. Her ass was squeezed hopelessly in the window for all the world to see. Or at least Grant. Which she didn’t even want to think about. “Grant, I’m stuck. Could you—could you please help me?”

“Of course, sweetheart,” he said, grabbing hold of her ass and pushing. The feel of his hands on her ass was shocking—nothing like the simple graze of a hand on a shoulder, or fingers sliding down a cheek, or any other tentative first touch. No, this was full-court press, a firm, competent hold and a big utilitarian shove until her butt cleared the window and she found herself elbow-deep in her sink. A little banged up but not too much the worse for wear. But shaking a little from the contact just the same.

At least he didn’t get pervy about it. And she tried to ignore the fact that he’d called her sweetheart, even if it was sarcastic.

She righted herself and somehow managed to climb out of the sink and reach the floor. He was standing in the window, grinning.

She smoothed down her blouse, trying to maintain her shredded dignity.

“You do know I have a key,” he said.

She shot him a look loaded with daggers.

“In my defense,” he continued, “you were halfway there. I didn’t want you to feel like a failure.”

“You just wanted to feel my ass.”

He shrugged. “It is exceptional as far as bottoms go. But I was a perfect gentleman.” He paused. “Why don’t you come over for a glass of wine? We could sit on the porch.”

Oh, she’d love a glass of wine right now—and some company—after this difficult day. But with him? She didn’t want to encourage this friendship he kept trying to strike up between them.

As if in protest, her stomach grumbled so loud Mrs. Patterson across the street probably heard it.

“Well then, it’s settled,” Grant said, moving toward her door. He waited until she unlocked it and held it open for her. She hesitated in the doorway.

“Come on, Liz,” he said. “You can tell me all about your awful day. Plus I have food. No animal products, I promise. Except cheese. Is cheese okay?” He cracked a grin, and that nearly melted her. She found herself walking over with him and being guided into one of Dottie’s wicker rockers while he dashed into the house.

He returned with a bottle of wine, two glasses, good cheese, a cutting board, crackers, and an apple. She poured the wine while he cut the cheese and the apple, then set everything down on a little table between them.

“Cheers,” he said, lifting a glass.

“Cheers.”

“You do know you’d make a terrible burglar,” he said.

“You know you’d make a great member of the senior citizen neighborhood watch group.”

“I thought someone was breaking in. I nearly called the police.”

She snorted. “Good thing you didn’t. I’ve already run into my ex once already today.” And that had been one time too many.

Even in the dim light, he looked like the best thing she’d seen all day. Dressed in a simple gray T-shirt and jeans, five o’clock stubble shadowing his strong jaw. “Do you care to talk about it?” he asked.

Oh, she shouldn’t be here. Because his concern was tempting her to talk, and that would be a very bad thing. She reminded herself how she’d thought there’d been something amazing and meaningful between them…but in the end he’d left her, too.

She must have zoned out for a moment, because he asked, “Are you all right?”

The flash of worry in his eyes brought to the surface raw feelings she’d been pushing down all day. “I just had…a hard day,” she said. Except saying that made her voice crack a little, so she turned away, looking out into Dottie’s yard, where a once-elegant old garden was now filled with weeds.

Suddenly Grant’s big hand was on her arm, rotating her to face him. Caught off guard by his touch, she stared up into his fathomless blue eyes, a clear, marble blue, pure and intense.

Just the pressure of his hand on her, securely anchoring her down, so competent and warm, did things to her, unwanted things she tried to ignore. The currents of electricity sizzled and snapped, from the place he touched to ones a little farther away that were just as reactive to him as ever.

For a second she thought he was going to do something—pull her to him, kiss her, say something—but he didn’t move a muscle. When he spoke, it was soft. “Did you lose a patient or something?”

Or something. Not a patient, more like her mind. “No, nothing like that,” she said quickly. “Thanks for your concern, but I’m fine—”

Because that’s what she always was, fine. She preferred to do her suffering in private, especially in this town where word spread like the flu.

Without asking, he poured her more wine. “Regardless of what happened between us,” he said, “I would hope you’d think of me as a friend.”

She’d always loved his voice. He was born to broadcast that deep rumbling baritone to the world. God, that voice did things to her. For one crazy second she wanted to kiss him right on his full, beautiful lips, drag them both down to the wooden porch floor and forget about everything for a while. But she’d done that in Nairobi, and look where that had got her.

“My ex’s girlfriend is pregnant.”

“Oh,” he said. There was silence as he took that in. “Are you—still in love with him?”

“Not at all,” she answered without thinking. She suddenly laughed. “Actually, I don’t hate him anymore, either, and that’s probably a good thing.”

“Then what bothers you?”

She paused. Looked him in the eyes. Decided that this time, she was going to be honest. Her eyes threatened to tear up but she blinked hard. She would get through this without inciting pity. She would just tell it like it was. “I have a medical condition, endometriosis, that makes it…difficult for me to get pregnant. And I want a baby. More than anything. Before it’s too late.”

He raised a brow.

Liz sighed. “Unfortunately, I haven’t been smart about picking men.” And she did not need a man. Except for one small, tiny little thing.

“You see the best in people,” he said softly. “Perhaps that’s not as bad a fault as you say.”

“It’s much smarter to see people exactly as they are. No sparkles or fairy dust.”

He reached over then and smoothed back her hair. “You certainly saw the best in me.”

“And look where that got us.”

For a moment, their gazes locked. Her pulse pounded out a hard, driving rhythm. This was not going to solve anything, talking about their past. About her bad judgment. She could not bear to make herself vulnerable to him. She’d done that before with disastrous consequences.

She got to her feet. Dusted off her butt. “Thank you for the wine. And for listening. But I’m really okay.”

He touched her arm. Looked at her strangely. Opened his mouth to say something, but no words came.

Well, she didn’t need or want his pity, or anyone’s, because a brilliant idea suddenly struck her. An idea that would prove she’d moved on from the mistakes of her past and was ready to start her future. “If anything, today has made me even more determined to go through with my plans.” She paused. Her idea was too crazy. But it felt right. For the first time in a long time, she felt like she was taking charge of her life. “I want to ask you a favor.”

“Of course,” he said, seeming relieved at the change of subject. “Ask away.”

She looked him straight in the eye and plunged in. “I want you to be the father of my child—genetically speaking, that is.”

…

Grant swallowed hard. “I beg your pardon?” Surely, he must have misheard. Although helping her out in that regard might be very fun indeed. He tried to wrap his head around what she’d just said.

She blushed. “Not in a traditional sense. In the laboratory, by donating a sperm sample.”

Oh. A sperm sample? He had to admit, for a wild moment, hope had blazoned within him. That she would say something like, we were perfect together, I want us to have another chance, let’s get right on it.

Because he wanted to talk with her. He’d tried to, just now, but he’d stopped himself. Seeing her again had stirred so many feelings that he’d pushed far to the back of his mind. Not that he deserved another chance, but he couldn’t help wondering what it would be like to try.

Just for a few moments, a different reality seemed possible. Yet he was rarely in the same place for more than a month at a time. He was too busy, too in demand to settle down. Besides, he’d learned it was far smarter never to get close to anyone. Ever since he’d been orphaned as a boy, he’d never taken that risk.

And he certainly didn’t possess the genes to be a parent. He wasn’t patient or particularly kind, and he was never in one place long enough to be domestic. His parents had been international jet-setters, rarely home, and he’d had more family life with his nannies than with them. What would he ever know about a stable, long-term commitment? Add a child into that mix and you’d get…disaster.

“A sperm sample?” he asked carefully. “I’m not sure I understand.”

“I’m already scheduled for an artificial insemination procedure, but I’ve been nervous about using an anonymous donor. I want to know more about my donor than basic physical traits like eye and hair color.”

“I thought sperm banks were very good at all the traits they can quantify. Even intelligence-related ones.”

“I’m worried more about the things that aren’t quantified, like temperament. And I know donors are required to list mental illness, but that stuff is self-reported and I worry what people might leave out.”

She came closer, examining his face. “You’d be perfect. You’re good-looking and have nice features. Your personality might leave something to be desired, but I think I can work with that. You’re not a serial killer or a psychopath. At least I don’t believe you are.” Her full lips turned up in a smile.

Funny. Very funny.

“Best of all, you have no interest in being a parent and you’re leaving soon for good, so there won’t be any interference in my parenting.”

There you have it. She wanted him for the most unflattering reason: because she knew he’d flee without a doubt. “So you want me to donate my sperm—into a test tube?” He could hardly say it. He could hardly believe he was having this discussion. The idea was utterly ludicrous.

“This would be a one-time thing, the perfect arrangement. You give your sample and walk away. Easy-peasy.”

“You mean create a child and walk away?” Somehow, his brain felt numb. He was having difficulty wrapping his head around it.

“Well, I wouldn’t want you to think of it like that. You’d donate a sample and I’d do the rest. You’d do it as a favor to me. No strings attached. No responsibilities, no worries, and no claim to fatherhood. There’d be no need to tell anyone that you’re the father. And Dottie will be moving soon, so there’d be no need to say anything to her, either. You’d just go back across the world to your job and forget about me. Simple, yes?”

He struggled not to physically wince at her words. How little she thought of him. But then, he’d given her no other way to think. He’d been a no-show. He plowed his fingers through his hair. God, he should never have come here. What had he been thinking, getting tangled up with her again? The intensity of his feelings for her had caught him by surprise—all it had taken was one glance at those big, dark, pleading eyes, her lovely full lips, her vivaciousness, her compassion, her sarcasm…

He’d known he was in trouble from the second she’d tossed her tea at him. The same stirring, the same wanting that he’d fought so hard to forget, it had all come avalanching back.

And God help him, he wanted her now, just as he had on all those hot, humid African nights. Yes, he’d admit it—he’d wanted to see her. To know how she’d been. To say he was sorry.

What a fool he was to think that that would be enough.

Yet what could he really offer her? He was at the top of his game as a reporter, recognizable around the world, always ready to go anywhere at a moment’s notice. He had no family, no home. He was as domesticated as a Bengali tiger.

“So will you consider it?” she asked.

He opened his mouth to say no.

“I desperately want this, Grant. It’s my last chance to become a mother.”

Damn her for turning to him with those big doe eyes, with a pleading look that gutted him. That had the effect of rendering him utterly helpless. If he had any sense at all, he’d flee into the house and take cover immediately.

This seemingly simple request was surely fraught with a million complications. If he was wise, he’d simply say no immediately and cut this ridiculous discussion off at the pass.

He tried to avoid eye contact but like a wreck on the side of the road, he couldn’t turn away.

The answer was no. It would always be no. But he couldn’t bear seeing the hopeful expression she wore.

One look at her and he understood down to his marrow exactly what he was seeing in her eyes. Longing, yearning, desperation. She was asking him for something so simple and yet so life-changingly complex.

He’d have to disappoint her, of course. He’d be out of his mind to say yes. The word no formed in his throat, one breath away from being expelled through his lips.

“Let me think about it,” he found himself saying instead.

…

Grant had a friend in town, Preston Guthrie, and that evening they met up at the local park to shoot some hoops. They’d first met back in college, one of the summers when Grant had been visiting Dottie, and had hit it off immediately. Preston was a war vet and a venture capitalist, and they always had interesting discussions.

They’d also become good friends despite the fact that Preston came from a very different background than Grant. Preston’s father was an alcoholic and abusive, nowhere near being the celebrities Grant’s parents were, yet they understood each other’s childhoods too well. Never feeling truly wanted, always feeling that practically everything was more important than you were. They both grew up believing that you had to earn love from your parents instead of it being given freely.

Yeah, Preston got him, but there was a problem. He was also Liz’s brother-in- law, happily married to her sister Cat. So while Grant could use a friend to talk to, he wasn’t quite certain Preston was the right one.

He was pretty sure Preston didn’t know anything about his and Liz’s time together in Nairobi, and he wasn’t really sure he wanted him to. He was also pretty sure Liz hadn’t told anyone about her plan to have a baby, so he knew it would be wise to keep the conversation away from anything too personal.

It would be great to hang out and catch up. Keep it light. Maybe exercise would give him some perspective on what to tell Liz about his decision.

“Ten bucks says you can’t make a three-pointer from there,” Preston said, after they’d been shooting for a while.

Grant bounced the ball a few times, eyed the rim, took his time, and made the shot.

“You shoot pretty well for a guy who’s played cricket his whole life,” Preston said, picking up the ball.

“And it looks like you’ve finally stopped hobbling around on that bad knee.” Preston had sustained a war injury that had required multiple surgeries.

“You mean my brand-new knee,” Preston said, jumping up and dunking the ball. “All new parts. Not exactly good as new but a whole hell of a lot better.”

“I’m happy for you. Married life suits you.” How had he done it, managed to leave his past behind? How do you even ask someone that?

“Thanks, man. Yes, it does.” Preston stopped dribbling. “Cat’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Grant wanted to ask him how the hell he’d let that happen, but he didn’t have the words for such an intimate question. So he tossed the ball, asking instead, “Hypothetically speaking, if an ex asked you a favor, would you do it?”

“Is it sexual?” Preston’s mouth turned up in a smile.

“No. But if I did this favor, I’d probably never see her again.” How could he? She’d named the terms and conditions. She didn’t want his interference, only his sperm. Besides, he’d already made it clear he wasn’t pursuing a relationship.

“Wow. Can you give me a little more to go on here?”

Grant shook his head, dribbling the ball to the hoop and taking another shot.

“She’s your ex, right? Not seeing her again could be a good thing. Unless you want to see her again?”

“I—didn’t think I did. But this favor—it would make that permanent.”

“Is it a selfish favor or an unselfish favor?”

“Definitely unselfish.”

“Jesus, what are you giving her, a kidney?” Preston took a shot and missed. “Well, then, I guess you do the right thing for her, not necessarily the right thing for you. If you really are thinking unselfishly. Does that help?”

“I honestly don’t know.”

Preston passed the ball. Grant, saving it from going out-of-bounds, kicked it back in with his foot.

“Hey,” Preston said. “We’re playing basketball, not soccer.” Grant shrugged but didn’t laugh. “This is really eating at you?”

“How did you—you seem so happy.”

Preston stopped playing and stood in front of Grant. “If it helps, I can tell you it wasn’t me, it was her. I did my best to push her away, but she made me let her in. She taught me that I wasn’t as unlovable as I thought I was.” He slapped Grant on the back. “Keep that in mind, okay?” Preston glanced at his watch. “Hey, I gotta go. You ever want to shoot hoops again, give me a call, okay?”

They said their good-byes. Preston picked up his keys and water bottle from the ground. “Oh, and Grant,” he said, straightening up. “I know about you and Liz in Africa. Apparently my wife is the sister she tells all that shit to. So a friendly reminder, if you break her heart again, I know where you live.”

He tossed Grant the ball. “Good luck with your decision.”

…

After Preston left, Grant stayed to shoot a few more baskets by himself. He was making too big a deal out of this. Liz had asked him for a simple sample. He was leaving anyway by the end of summer. He didn’t want children, and he could never imagine himself settled in one place. And definitely never a place like this, a small town in the middle of nowhere. What was the big deal?

Of course she’d be a fantastic mother. He, on the other hand, had no skills for a relationship or, God forbid, being a parent. He enjoyed his adventurous life, was well suited for it, and had an important, vital job that he loved. Any part of him that wasn’t emotionally shut down before his parents died had finished shutting down afterward. Liz had been the only woman who had ever made him want to try having a normal relationship, and he’d failed miserably at that.

Even though he had no desire to bring a child into the world, could he intentionally father a child and leave forever—never to see her or him? Never to see Liz again? Logically, the plan seemed fine, but on a visceral level it didn’t sit well at all. That shocked the hell out of him.

And led him to wonder why exactly he’d come here. He could have had his pick of small towns anywhere. And yes, of course he had Dottie’s house to stay in. Helping her out with that was a secondary goal. But how much of him had simply wanted to see Liz again?

He was imagining Liz bending down next to a dark-haired toddler, holding a bubble wand up to little heart-shaped lips, helping blow a huge bubble. The image was so vivid he missed a shot.

It wasn’t like him to be sentimental.

Do what’s best for her, Preston had said.

Wasn’t that what he’d planned to do anyway? He couldn’t give her what she’d wanted—not a relationship, not a steady, stable life. It was better for her that he exit, and exit forever.

“Play ball.” The voice of a child drifted through the mild spring evening as Grant did a layup and dunked the ball.

He looked over to find a little boy, not more than two, standing in the grass near the court. “Play ball,” he said again, pointing to the basketball.

Grant squatted down next to the kid and held out his ball. The kid immediately grabbed it and smiled.

“Where’s your mummy, kid?” He looked around. Running toward them on the paved jogging trail that ran between the tennis and basketball courts and the playground in the distance was a young woman. She wasn’t running very fast, because she was tugging a young child by the hand and holding a baby.

“Oh-oh. I think your mummy’s coming for you.”

“Want to play ball,” the boy said.

Grant stood up and signaled the mom. She waved frantically but didn’t slow her pace. He spent the next few minutes letting the child toss the ball around, mostly rolling it back to him so he wouldn’t miss a catch and get a bloody nose from the heavy ball.

“Oh, thank God. Creighton!” the mother said, running onto the court. The baby in her arms was young—practically a newborn, Grant thought, not that he knew much about babies. But it was pretty tiny. “I was so worried,” she said, hugging her son to her while balancing the baby in her arms. The other child, a girl of about four, stood by and then threw her arms around her little brother.

“We thought someone stoled you, Creighty!” the little girl said.

The mother seemed on the verge of tears. “I’m so sorry,” she said to Grant. “This is my first time to the park with all three of them. The baby was fussing and I couldn’t find his bottle and…well. I’m so grateful.”

“No problem. He likes to play ball,” Grant said, tousling the little kid’s head.

“I was so frightened I left my stroller and bag over by the swings. I’d better go.”

Grant picked up the toddler and accompanied the woman back to the playground.

As he left the park and walked the short distance to Dottie’s, he thought what an exhausting, worrisome pain in the ass young children were. And yet there was that mother, clinging onto her child like she’d rather die herself than lose her kid. To witness that kind of love made him speechless. Who even had the capacity to love like that? Not him, he was certain.

But he was certain Liz did, and she wanted this more than anything. Helping her out required an easy, mindless action on his part. For the simple reason that she’d asked him, how could he refuse?

He stopped by Liz’s on his way home. It was getting dark, the streetlights had turned on, and the sun was setting over the treelined streets in a fiery pink blaze. She opened the door, already in pajama bottoms and a T-shirt.

“I’ll do it,” he said, skipping the hellos.

She threw herself into his arms. For a moment, he held her, his arms wrapped tightly around her waist, her body flush against his, inhaling the flowery smell of her hair as he suddenly found his nose buried next to her sweet neck.

“Oh thank you, Grant!” she said, smiling. “That’s great news.”

Her smile lit up her face. It was the first time he’d see her genuinely happy.

Great. He’d just done something altruistic. He should feel relieved, gratified that he could do this easy, painless thing for her, someone whom he’d once cared for a little too much and had treated quite badly.

His stomach churned anxiously, and he found himself having a million questions. It would be a simple procedure, over in seconds, really. But it wasn’t simple at all, because it came with risks. The more time he spent with her, the more he wanted her. And that was a complication he simply could not afford.