The Best Man's Baby Read online

  “Hey, when did you get here? And why is water dripping down your dress?”

  Claire whipped her head around to look in the direction of the teasing voice and then down at the wet spot on her sundress. She hadn’t even heard Holly approach.

  “Sorry, Holly,” she mumbled, avoiding eye contact as she grabbed a floral tea towel beside the sink to wipe the counter.

  She hadn’t told Holly about her one night with Jake, mostly because Holly and Quinn had been away on their honeymoon. She wanted to confide in her, but Holly’s life was so blissfully happy right now, and hers was horribly messed up. Combined with the fact that Jake was now Holly’s brother-in-law, it was all very complicated.

  Claire turned her attention back to the blonde and Jake. Sly, ugly jealousy snaked its way through her already wound-up body as she watched the blonde squeeze his perfectly formed, denim-clad butt. What kind of person does that in public, anyway?

  She jumped as Holly pried the tea towel out of her hand and blotted the water on her dress. She took a deep breath and finally looked into her friend’s concerned eyes.

  “What’s going on with you, Claire? Is it your dad? I know this year has been so hard on you and I feel like I haven’t been there for you—”

  Claire waved her hand, silencing her friend. She didn’t want Holly to feel guilty about anything. And she couldn’t think about her father tonight. It was hard having him so far away, in Africa of all places. She shook her head and forced a smile on her face, gently taking the tea towel out of Holly’s hand. “Oh, please. You are the best friend I could ever ask for. I’m fine, really. I’m just tired.”

  Holly’s eyes narrowed on her as she tilted her head to the side. Claire knew her best friend wasn’t buying her explanation. Holly had a sixth sense about lies. She avoided eye contact with her and pretended to be overly fixated on drying her dress.

  “You? You’re never tired,” Holly said.

  Yeah, until she became pregnant. Now she had to fight a losing battle with keeping her eyes open all day, while Jake just carried on with his normal life.

  “Enough about me. I haven’t heard a thing about your month-long honeymoon. How was the cruise? How did Ella like it?”

  “That’s a nice attempt at changing the subject. The trip was great, Ella loved it. We loved it. Now back to you and why you look so spacey.”

  So much for trying to divert the attention off herself. “Who’s Jake’s date?”

  Holly eyes widened comically. “You mean you don’t know?”

  “I didn’t see her face,” she said, panicking now.

  “I almost kicked her out, but Quinn stopped me. It’s Amanda,” Holly said wincing. Claire felt whatever bit of hope there was for her and Jake die faster than a rose in a blizzard. Amanda.

  “Oh, wow. I haven’t thought about her in a long time,” Claire said, doing her best to fake a casual smile, doing her best to pretend she hadn’t thought of Amanda since high school.

  “Good, because she’s still as irritating as before. Jake has the worst taste in women. You know, I wish you’d just tell him how you feel and put us all out of our misery.”

  Claire gritted her teeth. “I don’t feel anything for him anymore.” Her words came out sounding like she was choking on a dry steak.

  Holly scoffed. “Hey, this is me you’re talking to, remember? The one who spent her entire adolescence hearing about how you were going to marry Jake Manning?”

  Claire stared at her friend’s pretty face, and memories of the two of them laughing and sharing dreams of what their lives would be like when they were older filled her with sadness, because none of it had happened for Claire. Her life was nothing like she’d envisioned. She was hiding in the kitchen, for goodness’ sake. Claire was not an overweight, shy teenager with acne and braces anymore. She didn’t live with her vain, size-four-or-die mother anymore. She’d spent years trying to get her mother’s shrill, disapproving voice out of her head when she looked at her reflection in the mirror.

  Claire was a successful florist who owned her own business and home. She was not going to cower in her best friend’s kitchen while Octopus Barbie groped the father of her child. And there was no way in hell she was going to let Jake be so happy while she was miserable.

  “Earth to Claire?” Holly’s waving hands in front of her face snapped her back to reality.

  Claire didn’t answer as she marched over to her purse sitting on the kitchen table. She was not going to be a bystander to her own life any longer. Was there ever a better time to assert one’s independence than when one was about to become a parent? And what if she had a daughter? Would she criticize her and plague her with trivial ideas about weight and beauty? Or would she love her unconditionally and encourage her to be strong and independent?

  Holly’s voice softened, but the worry in it was unmistakable as she came to stand beside her at the table. “Hey, let’s get together tomorrow, okay? I’ve missed you, and now that the wedding is over we can catch up and talk.”

  She ignored her best friend and dumped the contents of her purse on the kitchen table in between Holly’s neatly stacked plates and assortment of drinks.

  She was looking for the little item she’d kept in her purse for the last five days. She’d carried it around with her because she couldn’t believe it was true, kept looking at it to see if both pink lines were still on the indicator.

  “What are you doing?”

  She still didn’t answer.

  “You’re starting to worry me. Your face is blotchy and you look upset.” Claire thought Holly sounded as though she were speaking to a mentally unbalanced person.

  She swung her arm wide, clearing some of the mess, her lipstick clinking against the china. Where was that box? Her eyes scanned the mess and finally fell on the thin box sandwiched between the San Pellegrinos and Heinekens. Bingo. She snatched the prize in her hand, clutching it as tightly as a newly won Oscar. She quickly jammed her belongings back in her purse and swung it over her shoulder as she tried to sidestep her best friend before she could see the box in her hand.

  Holly crossed her arms and blocked her path. She could be formidable, but she was no match for Claire right now.

  “What are you doing? What is that?” She tried to unfold Claire’s arms. Claire squeezed her arms together tightly.

  “I’m giving Jake a welcome-home present.” She tore past Holly, nearly knocking her worried friend over. It was now or never. Jake Manning could not sleep with her, take off for six weeks, and then reappear with another woman groping him. Especially that woman.

  “Claire!” She ignored Holly’s plea and stormed down the steps to the outdoor patio. She didn’t even falter as she approached the door and saw Amanda casually caress Jake’s back. His broad, muscular back, the one she remembered clutching, digging her nails into as…

  She flung the Victorian screen door open with a force that sent all the boisterous partygoers looking in her direction, the sound of conversation slowly fading to a frightening silence. Quinn was just placing a hamburger on Jake’s plate and stopped, the plate frozen in midair between them, each brother left holding one side.

  Claire saw Amanda’s eyes zero in on her and watched with satisfaction as the woman’s sinewy body tensed, like a cat sensing someone encroaching on her territory. Oh no, honey, not only am I encroaching, I’m claiming my throne. Claire’s eyes locked with Jake’s blue ones and the panic she read in them made all of this oh so worth it. She forced herself to turn her lip upward, hopefully pulling off a Mona Lisa-type smile. She strode over to Jake, her strappy sandals clacking confidently on the flagstone patio.

  Claire clutched her precious piece of evidence in her right hand, holding it like a knight would hold a sword, ready to pierce his opponent through the heart.

  Jake opened his perfectly chiseled mouth. “Claire.”

  “Welcome home, daddy.” She stabbed the positive pregnancy indicator stick through his hamburger with enough force that it could have kil
led the cow had it still been alive.

  She didn’t wait, didn’t stop for a reaction. She just kept on walking.

  As she burst through the iron gate leading to the street, her legs trembled while adrenaline propelled her forward. Her shins ached, her head throbbed, and her throat burned with unshed tears. She heard her name echo, painfully loud in the quiet street, but there was no way in hell she was going back there. She heard loud male voices. She heard Holly yelling out after her. She heard Octopus Barbie screaming something about the fact that the indicator must have pee on it. She cringed at Holly’s voice, yelling at Jake. She heard Quinn’s loud cursing.

  But she didn’t hear anything from Jake.

  And then a loud crash ripped through the air.

  Jake’s beer. That almost brought a smile to her lips. Almost. But the tears finally won out over the smile as she furiously pounded the lock release button on her car key. She whipped the door open, threw her purse inside, and scrambled to get in before she lost all control.

  Just a few more seconds, just hold it in for a few more seconds.

  Blindly, she turned the ignition and pulled away from the curb, letting the sobs loose, and they pummeled through the open gates, taking with them no prisoners. Claire tried to stay focused on the road as tears washed over her face.

  She wept at her own stupidity in thinking Jake had feelings for her, and she wept for the bitter finale to her fantasies of Jake Manning.

  Chapter Two

  The deep rumble of a motorcycle approaching and stopping made Claire freeze for a moment, her pruning shears about to snap the head off a plump pink peony. She looked down at her watch. It had taken Jake exactly one hour to make the ten-minute drive from Quinn and Holly’s house to hers. So what had he been doing for those last fifty minutes? Trying to explain to Amanda that he and the boring florist had a one-night stand? And that Claire was a complete idiot?

  After she’d gotten home and changed into jeans and a T-shirt, she had wandered out to the gardens in her backyard. The plan that had seemed genius in Holly’s kitchen now felt rather drama-queen-ish for her. And now, thanks to her impulsive little performance at the barbecue, there was the added complication of her mother. Because now the news was out. It was just a matter of time before the small-town gossip circle would make its way to Mrs. Holbrook. Her insides churned at the idea of telling her mother. And her heart broke a little more at the thought of having to tell her father over the phone, because she knew her mother would tell him if she didn’t. He didn’t need to be distracted from his missionary work in Africa with news like this. She’d hoped she could wait until her father returned and then break the news, but her impulsiveness destroyed that idea.

  She didn’t bother standing up when she heard the wooden gate swing open. Her chest constricted painfully, as though her mind hadn’t made it clear to her heart that they were done idol-worshiping Jake Manning.

  “Hi.”

  She paused, still crouched over her peonies, as a shiver ran up her spine when his deep voice called her, instantly evoking the memory of him whispering her name against her cheek that night in the hotel. But tonight it wasn’t that same voice. Claire took a deep breath before slowly rising to face the father of her baby.

  Jake Manning filled up her yard like a giant in a meadow. His masculinity was a blasphemous slap in the face to the utter femininity of the budding pink peonies and fragrant lilacs.

  “Claire.”

  She forced herself to look him in the eye as he approached, tried to ignore how good he looked in his dark jeans, faded along the thighs, highlighting how fit he was. If she didn’t know better she’d think the man had jeans custom-tailored to fit his body.

  She folded her arms across her chest. “Hi.” She was glad she had changed out of her sundress. This was who she really was. She wasn’t the high-maintenance, look-at-me type of girl. And she wasn’t going to pretend to be. She was done trying to impress him.

  Jake ran a hand through his hair roughly. Claire fought the jolt that snuck through her as she remembered running her fingers through his thick hair. She looked away and crossed her arms. He should not look that good with five o’clock shadow, either.

  “That’s one hell of a way to tell a guy he’s going to be a father. Couldn’t you have just called me? Or pulled me aside?”

  He had a point. He sounded logical. It was a fair question. But right now she didn’t feel like being fair. Blame it on the hormones or blame it on the blonde, but she wasn’t going to apologize for her delivery.

  She shrugged. “So sorry I couldn’t have made it more of a joyous moment for you. Do you want to know how I found out?”

  He shifted from one foot to the other and gave a curt nod.

  “It started with me vomiting my morning coffee out my car window at oncoming traffic.” Sick satisfaction almost made her smile at his expression. There was something so exhilarating about watching the epitome of cool look very, very agitated. She wanted to continue, especially when the image of Amanda at the barbecue floated into her mind again. Opportunities such as this only came along once in a lifetime.

  “Then, as I was standing in church, beside my mother, the entire floor tilted—or so I thought. I had to plunk my butt down on the pew and try not to faint.” She was about to recount her peeing on a stick at work when he broke the silence.

  “I’m sorry as hell.”

  The wind ruffled the trees, but the sound did nothing to muffle the regret and anger in Jake’s voice.

  Claire sighed and picked up her basket of peonies, looping the handle under her arm, and stared at him. “Sorry for what?”

  “For everything.” He shoved his hands into the front of his jeans pockets, his legs firmly planted in a wide-legged stance. For everything? What the heck did that mean?

  “I shouldn’t have gone into that hotel room with you.”

  Sorry for sleeping with her? “Screw you, Manning!” Claire threw the basket in his general direction and stomped toward her house.

  A strong hand prevented her from closing the door on his face. She stared at his hand for a moment, startled by the vivid recollection of it on her body. It was an image she’d never forget—his tanned skin against her paler skin, trailing down her body as he explored…

  His voice interrupted her thoughts. “I’m sorry. I get that you’re mad. I deserve it. I shouldn’t have walked out after. I had to go away on business the last few weeks.”

  Claire shivered as his warm breath caressed her neck, his voice low and rough, but she wasn’t going to fold to his sexiness. She’d done that before and look where that got her.

  She whipped around to face him. “You needed to leave at four a.m. on a Sunday morning, the day after your brother’s wedding? Is Manning Construction building condos in a third-world country where there are no cell phone towers?” She yanked her wrist from his grasp.

  “You’re not getting rid of me that easily. We have to talk.”

  …

  Claire’s pretty brown eyes fired up as Jake all but forced himself into her house. He wasn’t used to her being mad at him. As he stepped into the pristine kitchen, he was momentarily distracted by his surroundings. He’d never been in her house. Funny, he’d known her practically his entire life but knew very little about the woman. Not true. He’d always known Claire was too good for him. Too pretty. Too perfect. Too sweet.

  On his way over here, after escaping an imminent beheading at Quinn and Holly’s, he’d stopped on the old lift bridge, gotten off his bike, and just stared into the river. The self-loathing he’d felt nearly made him want to jump. How could he make mistake after mistake in his life? And what about her father? He owed Reverend Holbrook much more than knocking up his daughter. Times like this made him think his own father had been right about him.

  His older brother, Quinn, had salvaged the family business. His younger brother was a surgeon. But Jake…he didn’t know what he was. Actually, he did know. His father had never failed to remind him e
xactly what he was, either verbally or physically, every day since he’d found out the truth. There were things about himself he was too embarrassed and too ashamed of to ever confide in anyone, even his brothers, and especially not to Claire. She would never understand. She had grown up with perfect parents, in a perfect home, and was the cherished daughter of two of the town’s finest citizens.

  Tonight he was an ass. No, the night of the wedding he’d been an ass. Sure, he had no idea when they stumbled into the suite that Claire was a virgin, but still. Claire was not your one-night-stand kind of girl and he knew that. That was his other problem—it had been the best night he’d ever had with a woman. His need to have his hands and mouth on her, all over her, had taken over all logic. He’d had an overwhelming urge to drown in the passion she was offering, in the sweetness she embodied, and it had been all-consuming, hot and passionate. For the first time in his life he’d connected with someone. What they shared had nothing to do with experience, with the right touch, the practiced moves…it had been real, raw.

  But then they’d each fumbled with their clothes, getting dressed like two strangers, not like two people who’d just shared the most intimate act together. He’d mumbled something about having to leave early, and then he left her there, alone. He had left Claire, the woman he’d avoided his entire adulthood because he thought she was too good for him, alone after taking her virginity. Even when her eyes had glistened with tears and she’d lifted her chin proudly, even when he knew he was breaking her heart, he’d left. So, right now, whatever attitude she was dishing out, he deserved.

  He glanced around the kitchen while Claire clanked vases and mumbled under her breath. He would have bet he heard a few expletives in all that grumbling. Everything in her house was perfect. Feminine, sure, but perfect. Tiny, but cute. There wasn’t a thing out of place. It even smelled feminine and flowery. Hell, if he hadn’t been so blindsided by the pee-stick news he might have felt compelled to take off his shoes.