The Baby Arrangement Page 17

  “So do you.”

  He’d noticed her looking at him. For a second there, hope flared, but he took hold of that response immediately. There’d be no inane reactions here that he’d have to pay for, or regret, later.

  “Read this over. If everything meets with your approval, sign it in front of a notary and get it back to me. I’ll countersign, my attorney will file it, and you’ll get a final copy.” He stopped short of suggesting that she have her own attorney look at it. Opinions and advice were a friendship thing.

  She took the manila envelope. “Thank you.”

  He let her get to the door and then said, “Mallory.”

  She turned around. Relief flooded him.

  He quickly put a clamp on it.

  “There are some things that wouldn’t go in the legal agreement, but that I need to have clear between us.”

  “Okay.”

  “Our friendship, the relationship we built these past three years, is ending. With that, all support ends. I need to know that you aren’t going to call for advice or just to check in, that there will be no favors asked, or granted, on either side.”

  She blanched. He wasn’t certain he’d ever actually seen someone do that before. His gut lurched but he pushed ahead.

  “If, as you say, this has to end for the health of both of us, I find that I need to be free from all sense of obligation where you’re concerned. When I go into a new relationship, I owe you nothing. My full loyalty will be to her.”

  He’d thought it all through, considering the reasons why things hadn’t worked out with Anna.

  “Of course.” Her voice broke.

  “I’ll have my contractor call you when he’s ready for your input for The Bouncing Ball 2, as he’s doing with every other tenant.”

  “Thank you.”

  He nodded. “I’m finished. You can go.”

  She left and he got back to work.

  * * *

  She was free. Completely, totally free. There’d be no more guilt. No more trying to be something she was not, to fit a mold that would make Braden happy.

  No more worrying about him.

  No more being concerned for his happiness.

  There was someone out there for him. Someone who’d be concerned. Someone who’d actually make him happy—in good times and bad.

  The good times were easy. It was the bad that had been their fatal trip up.

  She read the papers he’d had drawn up. They were, explicitly, what she’d requested. The day after she’d seen him, she took the packet to her attorney for review. When she gave the go-ahead, Mallory signed them in front of a notary, with her attorney’s receptionist as a witness.

  She dropped them in the mail and told her babies they were going out for a treat. But after a few licks of a vanilla ice cream cone, she threw the rest away and went home. In the nursery, she sat in the new rocker, holding a teddy bear. She thought about the past and about the future, telling herself that while she felt ripped apart at the seams now, the future would be better.

  Great things lay ahead for her. For her children. And for Braden, too. They just had to get through the dark moments.

  She cried herself to sleep that night and woke up with tears on her cheeks.

  Like she had after Tucker died.

  And just like then, she told herself she’d get through this.

  She was the daughter of a prostitute and a product of the foster care system. Her life experiences had given her strength.

  The universe, fate, God—whoever—had blessed her with the ability to nurture. And so she would. Her children and others.

  She would fulfill her destiny. Live up to her potential.

  She would know joy again.

  Because she was a survivor, wasn’t she?

  But, oh God, did living have to hurt so badly?

  * * *

  Braden spent the night in San Diego, mostly to prove to himself that there was no reason why he shouldn’t.

  The next day was Saturday and because he had no meetings, he decided to take the coastal roads back up to L.A. rather than joining the masses on the freeway.

  Life stretched like an open road in front of him and he was going to find out where it led. He drove leisurely, stopping to have coffee and a muffin at a little café set atop a cliff overlooking the ocean. Later he lunched at a burger joint across the street from where he got gas. He thought about what he wanted to do when Braden Property Management was up and running in L.A.

  Traveling sounded somewhat appealing. He and Mallory had always talked about vacationing on a Greek island, going to Italy and Paris.

  He thought about calling his mother, to let her know that he and Mallory were no longer friends, but she knew all she needed to know when they’d divorced three years ago.

  She didn’t know about the twins. And now, all things going as planned, she wouldn’t.

  Cruising in and out of small towns, he took his time, watching people on the street, knowing that they lived differently from him.

  And from everyone else, too.

  When he realized the ridiculousness of his thoughts, he turned up his music and blasted tunes from high school, singing along when he knew the words.

  Catching an outside glimpse of how ridiculous he was behaving he turned the volume down.

  Mallory used to drive with the music turned up. She’d pull into the driveway of his apartment complex and he’d know it before he saw her car because he could hear her pop rock songs blaring.

  He couldn’t remember the last time she’d done that. At least when he was around.

  Driving down a winding road, getting closer to the city, he slowed, not quite ready to arrive at his destination. The road narrowed as it turned sharply. Another car was coming and he had to get over toward the shoulder. His side had one, but the other side was blocked in by a rocky hill.

  He took another hairpin turn, hugging the shoulder, and then it happened. He hit something.

  Pulling off, he stopped his SUV, shaking as he looked in the rearview mirror. Something lay on the side of the road behind him. An animal. He couldn’t tell what it was or if it was breathing.

  Oh, God.

  Getting closer, he could see that he’d hit a dog, some kind of smaller shepherd. He’d had an Australian shepherd growing up. They’d had to put it down when he was fourteen and his sister was eleven. She and his mom had carried on so much that Braden had been forced to be the one who carried the dog into the vet’s office. And who’d dug the hole in the backyard to bury him. He’d had to act like it was no big deal or the two of them would never have stopped crying.

  The animal on the road was still breathing but unconscious.

  Scooping it up, he ran back to his SUV, laid it on the passenger seat and put the vehicle in gear.

  It wasn’t until he was back on the road that he realized he had tears on his cheeks.

  Chapter Twenty

  On Monday, a week after she signed Braden’s custodial papers, Mallory was digging in her purse for ChapStick and came upon his key.

  She’d forgotten she had it. Now she had to get it back to him.

  Leaving it on her kitchen counter, she figured she’d put it in an envelope and mail it back to him.

  But what if it got lost in the mail?

  And how stupid was it to mail a key to the address it opened?

  She didn’t know his hotel room number. Wasn’t even sure which of the properties owned by the chain he was at. They had two relatively close together near his L.A. property.

  She could leave the key with William. That seemed the best choice.

  Yet, what would he think, her leaving Braden’s key? Braden hated company gossip of any kind, which was why, until the past few months, they’d rarely seen each other at work.

  That’s when she had her brai
nstorm. She’d take it to his condo, leave it there, locking the door behind her. She wouldn’t be able to latch the dead bolt, but she knew the security code so she could reset the alarm.

  Liking the plan, she put the key back in her purse and went to work.

  * * *

  The dog was still hanging on. Every day Braden had been making the half-hour trip from his hotel in L.A. to the veterinarian who had him. Dr. Laura Winslow was wonderful with the dog and with Braden, too. She let him come and go as he pleased, visiting the dog after hours when that was the only time Braden could make it there.

  The animal had suffered a broken leg, which would heal, and damage to his liver, which might not. Laura had had to take him into surgery twice. They were now in wait-and-see mode.

  Braden was footing the bill, of course, and in the meantime had put up flyers and asked all over the area to find the dog’s owner.

  There didn’t appear to be one.

  The dog was only about a year old, according to Laura. He’d had no collar, no identifying chip. He hadn’t been fixed.

  He could have been a stray or, more likely, according to her, a pup someone had left behind when they’d moved. It happened more often than people realized, she told him over coffee one night.

  He was sorry to hear that.

  Mostly he just wanted Lucky to get better.

  That’s what they were calling him. Laura needed a name for her records so the dog became Lucky Harris. Braden hoped to God the creature was lucky.

  Laura called him on Monday afternoon, eight days after he’d brought Lucky into her clinic.

  “Any luck finding Lucky’s owner?” she asked.

  He was getting ready to go into a meeting downstairs in the conference room at his hotel. He’d arranged to use it as a temporary meeting site when the occasion arose. “Not yet,” he said as he walked down the hall toward the elevator.

  “Have you thought about what you’re going to do with him if he recovers?”

  He shrugged. He hadn’t thought about it. “I keep thinking his owner is going to turn up,” he said. “Let’s get him better first.”

  He sure as hell couldn’t keep a dog. He lived in a hotel suite.

  “I think we’re there.” Her words stopped him on the thick carpet. “His liver is functioning at full capacity. He’s up, eating. In my professional opinion he’s out of the woods.”

  Holy hell. “You’re serious?” The dog was going to live?

  Her affirmative made him grin.

  * * *

  Mallory left The Bouncing Ball the second the last child was out the door on Monday. She’d been checking on and off all day. Braden’s parking spot had been vacant for more than a week—and still was. Just to be sure, she called William, not to ask about Braden, which would be breaking protocol, but to make up some nonsense about needing the L.A. contractor’s number, which Braden had already given her. She told William she couldn’t get a hold of Braden, but not because she was no longer free to call him.

  She and Braden hadn’t set forth a rule to govern her business contact within Braden Property Management. Would it still be him, so that tongues didn’t wag over the change, or would he pawn her off on William?

  Either way, she’d abide by his choice.

  “Yeah, he’s in a meeting this afternoon,” William said, his usual friendly self. “He’s got more tenants than he can use for the L.A. facility and he’s interviewing them all himself.”

  So he was in L.A. She had her confirmation.

  William gave her the number she already had. She thanked him, rang off and turned her car in the direction of Braden’s condo.

  It took a second to find a spot in the visitor’s parking section and another few seconds to wait for the elevator. Watching the security camera as she stood there, she felt like a criminal.

  She was trespassing.

  But she had to get rid of his key. She couldn’t have any connection between them.

  Ironically Madison chose that second to give her a kick, too close to her bladder for comfort. She’d named the lumps on either side of her. Madison was left. Morgan was right. For all she knew, they switched. And it wasn’t like she’d know which one was which when they came out. But for now, the names worked.

  Naming them had made her babies real.

  She had two daughters.

  She just hadn’t been able to hold them in her arms yet.

  Madison kicked again. And Mallory got the message.

  The key she was dropping off was not the only connection between her and Braden Harris.

  But it would be one less connection.

  She took the elevator up and went straight to his door without a pause. It was like she had a demon at her back, pushing her to get inside his space.

  It had only been a little over a week since she’d seen him. She’d gone a lot longer than that before, and she was now facing an entire lifetime without him.

  Being in his condo meant nothing.

  And yet it meant everything.

  The second she unlocked the door she knew she’d made a mistake. The place carried a waft of his scent. Or so it seemed to her.

  She remembered the last time she’d been there. She’d eaten lasagna off his plate. And she’d wanted so much more.

  But that was back before she’d known for sure how messy it was going to get. How complicated.

  How impossible.

  Looking around, she started to tremble and then to cry.

  Leaving his key on the kitchen counter, she quickly let herself out, locking the door behind her.

  * * *

  Lucky needed a place to sleep. And someone to watch over him, at least for another week or so. Braden couldn’t possibly provide either. But he could pick the dog up from the veterinary hospital as instructed and watch over him for a night.

  Which was why, Monday night, he found himself back on the road to San Diego with a dog curled up asleep in a kennel that was strapped into the seat next to him.

  He couldn’t take Lucky to the hotel, but he owned his condo, managed the property in which it resided and knew for certain that he allowed pets. Laura had given him some pads that she said Lucky was trained to go on, and instructed him to keep them by the door for Lucky to do his business for the first few days. Just until he acclimated to his independence a bit.

  Braden had no intention of owning the dog for a few days. He’d keep him for one night and then he’d make some calls. Lucky was a great dog—a purebred, Laura thought. She’d have kept him herself if she hadn’t already had two dogs at home.

  People paid a lot of money for purebred shepherds. No doubt he’d be able to find someone who’d be happy to give him a loving home for free.

  The condo felt off to him the second he unlocked the door. The dead bolt wasn’t locked. Leaving Lucky’s kennel just outside the door, he stepped inside to check the place out. Had he been robbed?

  The security system was set, as he’d left it.

  How had someone been inside without setting it off?

  Two more steps in and he knew who’d been there. He could smell her perfume. She’d been using the same subtle spray every morning after her shower since before he’d ever met her.

  Another couple of steps and his suspicion was confirmed. There, on the counter, was his key.

  * * *

  Mallory was getting ready to leave for work early Tuesday morning, telling herself and her daughters that it was the first day of the rest of their lives, when she heard a knock at the door. Who was there at six in the morning?

  Frightened, she grabbed her cell phone, just as it started to ring.

  Braden?

  How could he possibly know she was in trouble?

  “Bray?”

  “Yeah, it’s me outside. I should have called first. I’m sorry.”

 
Rushing through the house in her stocking feet but otherwise dressed for work, she pulled open the front door. He’d sounded horrible.

  He stood there with a kennel in his hand. She could see a dog inside. It didn’t appear to be moving.

  Braden’s eyes were red-rimmed. His hair was a mess, his pants and dress shirt wrinkled.

  Had he been up all night?

  “Braden, what’s going on?” She looked at the kennel again.

  He didn’t do dogs. Years ago she’d suggested they get one, thinking it would be a friend to Tucker growing up, but he’d categorically refused.

  “I hit him,” he said, holding up the kennel. “On the way back to L.A. last week, I ran over him with my car.”

  And he’d kept him in a kennel?

  Opening the door wider, she let the man in. He was clearly not himself. She just had to figure out what she was dealing with so she’d know whom to call.

  It briefly occurred to her that they’d just promised they wouldn’t do this. They wouldn’t call on each other in need or support each other.

  But there was no way she was turning him away this morning.

  He sat on her couch, putting the kennel with the unmoving animal at his feet.

  “Have you been drinking? Are you sick?” She sat on the edge of the couch, a foot away from him. Should she call a doctor?

  “No.”

  “You look awful, Bray.”

  “I’ve been up all night.”

  “I thought you said the accident was a week ago.”

  “It was,” he said. “Nine days, actually.”

  The night after they’d last seen each other. She knew the number of days, too.

  He looked at her. His chin trembled, his eyes welled.

  Tears didn’t fall. At least his didn’t.

  Mallory’s did.

  “Bray?”

  “It’s not your emotion I can’t handle, Mal. It’s my own. I wasn’t blocking you, I was blocking me. Seeing you upset would upset me, and so I blocked.”

  His shoulders were fallen, his features ashen.