Marion Lennox - Adopt-a-Dad

“My love,” she whispered, and she turned, snuggling into the pillows and drifting into dreams in which Michael had no part.

HOW COULD HE sleep after that?

He couldn’t. No man could. He lay and stared into the dark for a long, long time. At about three or four there was a whimper from the laundry room, then another. Not a howl. If it had been a howl, maybe he could have resisted, but the dog sounded as miserable as he was. And lonely.

He swore, then padded through the living room and opened the laundry room door. Socks lay on his towels and looked at him with eyes that expected nothing-he’d lost all hope.

“This is ridiculous,” Michael said. “You should be in the pound.”

The dog’s eyes said he agreed with him entirely. That was what he deserved.

“She wanted me to brush you. I’ve fed you and housed you. There’s nothing else you need.”

The eyes said he was entirely right. Socks needed nothing more. Except…

“Come on,” Michael said, goaded, holding the door wide. “I guess I’m lonesome, too.”

It was the first time he’d admitted such a thing in his entire life.

It was also the first time in his entire life that Michael Lord shared his bed with a dog. Yet still he stayed awake.

Because all he really wanted to do was to share a bed with Jenny.

JENNY SLEPT LATE-gloriously late. She woke to sunlight streaming in over her bright coverlet and to a snuffling at her side. A moist tongue touched her tentatively on the cheek. She smiled with delight and rolled over to embrace one ecstatic dog.

“Socks! How did you get in here?” And then she frowned, remembering the events of the night before. “How did I get in here? Michael?”

He must have carried her in. Her eyes flew open, and the memory of a dream came back to her-a dream so sweet it made her toes curl and a blush creep across her cheeks. Michael holding her. Michael’s mouth on hers, the feel of his body…

“It must have been a dream,” she said fiercely, sitting up with a start. Socks looked inquiringly at her and let his tongue loll, waiting for the next move. “I never would have… He wouldn’t…”

Unbidden, her fingers came up to touch her mouth, and the taste of him still seemed to be there, infinitely sweet.

Michael.

“For heaven’s sake, what am I thinking of? It was probably you doing the kissing, you dopey mutt.” She gave Socks a hard, swift hug and swung her feet out of bed-then stopped as a knock sounded at the apartment door.

She froze. Michael would get it. She’d just stay here.

Michael didn’t get it. The knock sounded again, firm and sure, and Jenny figured this wasn’t someone who’d go away. She looked at the clock on her bedside table and gasped in disbelief. It was ten o’clock!

She never slept until ten o’clock. Never!

Michael would be at work. He must have left without waking her.

The knock sounded again.

She didn’t want to answer it. Not alone. But if it was the immigration people, then the worst thing she could do was to pretend not to be here. She took a deep breath, hitched her pajamas over her pregnant tummy, grasped Socks’s scruff and padded barefoot toward the front door.

“This is your job,” she told Socks firmly. “I’m the one in charge of TV dinners and you’re the one in charge of security around here. You’re a guard dog, Socks. Guard!”

He looked adoringly at her and wagged his tail. Yeah, right.

IT WAS MEGAN MAITLAND.

Jenny opened the door half an inch without releasing the chain and checked the front step with one cautious eye. Then she gasped and withdrew, fumbling to release the chain. Megan! The CEO of Maitland Maternity-the matriarch of the entire Maitland clan-and here was Jenny looking like…

“Like something the cat dragged in,” she told Socks desperately. “Or maybe you dragged in. For heaven’s sake, I’m wearing Peter’s old pajamas…”

It couldn’t be helped. Megan had seen her and Megan was waiting. Pinning on her most welcoming smile and hoping her hair wasn’t sticking straight up-which it always did after sleep-Jenny opened the door.

When she finally made her voice work, it came out a ridiculous squeak. “Hi.”

“Hello, my dear.” Megan smiled, unfazed at the sight before her. She appeared not to notice the pajamas, or the amazing hairstyle, or even the pregnancy, but took Jenny’s hands in hers as though welcoming her into the family. “Michael told me you’d be home and that I could find you here.”

“I-I don’t…” Jenny was floundering like a fool but Megan didn’t seem to notice that, either.

“I wanted to catch you yesterday at the children’s wedding,” she said, edging around Jenny and heading straight for the kitchen. She left Jenny to follow, talking over her shoulder. “It was so like Michael to bring you to an occasion like that and then take you away before we could meet you. Honestly, we were ready to shoot him.”

“I was tired.” The squeak was still there. It was all she could do to get her voice to work.

“I don’t blame you for that,” Megan said warmly, turning to face her. “Sit down, child. You look exhausted. Ellie says you’ve had quite a time, and your baby’s almost due.”

“I-”

“Now I’ve pieced together quite a lot between Ellie and Garrett and Lana,” Megan said briskly. “But why don’t you tell me all about it yourself? Michael’s my godson, you know, and I’ve always been an honorary aunt to all the Lord children. I want to know…”

And then her voice trailed away. Jenny stared.

Megan Maitland. Although Jenny had seen Megan at the hospital, she’d never been formally introduced, but her reputation as a mover and shaker was daunting.

But now, despite this woman’s power, despite her obvious authority, her beautifully groomed appearance, her confidence and her interest in Michael’s life, there was a hint of appeal in the older woman’s voice. It was as if she really did want to be allowed to come close.

As if she really cared.

“I want to know everything,” she said, and her smile wavered. “Please. I care so much for those children-Michael and his sisters and brother. It’s as if they’re partly mine.”

“I don’t-”

Megan’s hand came out and took hers. “Please, my dear. I care about Michael, and if what Garrett says is true, then I intend to care about you, as well.”

Jenny hesitated. For seven long months she’d kept herself apart. Her troubles had been hers and hers alone. But now she had a husband who cared about her, and her husband had family and friends who wanted to know all about her.

Who had a right to know. And who might just care for her, too.

“Let’s get you some breakfast, child,” Megan said. “And then tell me everything.”

To do anything else was impossible.

Jenny found herself talking freely. She talked and she talked, in between tackling the cornflakes and coffee Megan insisted she demolish. After a while she forgot about the baggy pajamas and her tousled curls and even Socks devouring cornflakes under the table. And all the time she spoke, Megan listened, as if every single word was important.

As she told her story, Jenny watched Megan’s face, expecting condemnation, but there was no such thing. When she had finished, there was a twinkle in those compassionate eyes.

“Well,” she said. “Well, child.”

“I never wanted to draw Michael into this mess,” Jenny said desperately. “What you must think of me…”

“What I must think? I think you’re an incredibly brave woman,” Megan said warmly. “The easiest thing in the world would have been to return to England, to surround yourself with luxury and allow your baby to be brought up by others. To stay here must have taken sheer courage.”

“But in one way, it’s selfishness to keep my baby away,” Jenny said slowly, thinking about it, as she’d done a million times before. Thinking of what Peter would have wanted. Her baby’s father. “I’m robbing my baby of his birthright so that I can have a say in how he’s raised.”

“You’re not robbing him of his birthright,” Megan said solidly. “Are you telling me when he comes of age he can’t head back to Britain and claim his birthright?”

“No, but-”

“Then don’t be silly. You’re his mother. It’s your right-your duty even-to raise your son the best way you know how.”

“You know-” Jenny hesitated and met Megan’s eyes “-I have the feeling that’s why Michael’s helping me…because his own birth mother didn’t do that. Raise him, I mean. I’m starting to feel that Michael’s carrying so much anger. And by helping me he’s almost thumbing his nose at his birth mother, saying, ‘You could have taken care of us.’”

There was a long, long silence as Megan stared across the table at Jenny’s troubled face. And then the older woman’s face softened. She took Jenny’s hand in hers again and held it tight.

“Garrett said you were one amazing lady, and he was right,” Megan said. “That’s quite an intuition you have there.”

“I don’t know if I’m right.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’re right,” Megan told her. “That boy… Michael internalizes everything. He was the one who was full of questions about his real parents from the time he could understand what happened. Then, when he was about eight, all of a sudden he got angry. He hated the thought that he’d been abandoned. And now…”

“Now?”

“Now his birth mother is trying to make contact with her children. He doesn’t want to know. He’s still so angry.”

“I’d guess…” Jenny sighed and stirred her coffee. She needed to do something to keep herself from rising and pacing the floor, which was what she felt like doing. This conversation was almost unbelievable.

“His birth mother mustn’t have had a Michael to rescue her from her demons,” she whispered. “Poor lady. She must have had such strong reasons for walking away from her children.”