Nashville Rebel. Sheri WhiteFeather
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“But this is different. We’re not strangers. In our case, there would be a lot more to consider, particularly with how entwined our lives are. I understand that you aren’t interested in playing an active role as the father. I’m good with that, too. I want to be a solo mom. But would we tell the child who you are at some point? Or would you prefer to be completely anonymous, with no one ever knowing it was you?” She set her mouth in a grim line. “I couldn’t make those types of decisions for you.”
“And I can’t make them on the spot.” He understood there was a lot at stake, legal and emotional issues that could impact the future. He wasn’t taking this lightly. “I need time to mull over the details, and once I’ve thought them through, we can discuss it further.”
“It’s just all so much.” She seemed scared, uncertain if he could handle it.
He encouraged her to give him a chance. “Why don’t we sleep on it tonight, and in the morning, we can both see how we feel?”
“Okay.” She backed herself against the bookcase. “There’s no harm in that, I guess.”
He didn’t move forward or invade her space. He kept a formal distance, even if he ached to press his body against hers. “I am sure of one thing. If I’m your donor, I don’t want to use artificial insemination. I want to make that baby the natural way.”
When her breath hitched, he knew that he’d just sent a surge of good old-fashioned lust through her blood. At least he had that in his favor.
“I don’t know, Tommy. I just don’t...”
He tried to help her relax by saying, “You don’t have to decide now. I’m not trying to rush you. But I’m not going to pretend that I don’t want to be with you, either.”
“I’m more than aware that you’ve always wanted us to be lovers. And you know that I’ve always been attracted to you, too. But this is a lot to consider.”
“Just think it over, and I’ll see you tomorrow.” Before she made an attempt to fall into step with him, he added, “There’s no need to walk me out.” He knew the way to her front door.
She nodded and let him go, without another word between them.
Sophie barely slept a wink. She’d spent most of the night wondering what to do. And now, at the crack of dawn, she stood in the kitchen sipping her second cup of coffee with unanswered questions still swirling in her mind. Should she refuse Tommy’s offer and choose another donor? Would having a baby by him be too complicated or would it make the process easier? And then there was the sex. Should she give up the fight and sleep with him or keep it professional and insist on insemination?
So much uncertainty, she thought. So much she’d yet to figure out. But maybe all of her worrying and wondering would be for nothing. Maybe Tommy would revoke his offer, and the decision to use another donor would be made for her.
Preparing for that possible outcome, she retrieved her laptop and went into the dining room. Settling in for a brand-new search, she logged on to a different site from the one she and Tommy had used.
After sitting there for what seemed like forever, she glanced at the vintage cowgirl clock on the wall. Two hours had passed, and she hadn’t found anyone who seemed right. Now that the donors were in direct competition with Tommy, she couldn’t help comparing them to him.
Sophie heaved a sigh and reconsidered the musical-theater guy from the original site, but her attraction to him wasn’t strong enough. She needed someone who could hold his own against Tommy, a man who made her heart skip a beat.
Which was stupid, she knew. Before Tommy had offered to be her donor, she wasn’t concerned about being sexually attracted to the man she chose. But now that seemed to matter, somehow.
So maybe she should stop looking at donors with current profile pictures and focus on the ones who only had photos from childhood. Maybe that would solve her dilemma.
Unfortunately, it didn’t. None of the kid pics looked enough like Tommy when he was young to make her want to choose the grown-up donor.
Dang it, she thought. Tommy had doomed her, ruining her chances of accepting anyone else. But there was still a lot to consider. If she used Tommy as her donor, they needed to discuss every aspect of what the future would entail. They’d already agreed he wouldn’t play an active role as the father. But would he want to engage with the child in other ways? Or would he prefer to keep his identity hidden?
Whatever his decision, she was certain that they would always be friends. They’d know each other their entire lives. That was a bonus, particularly in a situation as sensitive as this one. Surely, between the two of them, they could make something like this work.
She could only hope that he hadn’t changed his mind. She wanted him to be the donor.
Did that mean she was ready to sleep with him, too? God help her, she honestly didn’t know.
Her phone pinged, signaling she had a text. She removed it from her shirt pocket. Tommy was up and wanted to come over now. She quickly replied to his message, as anxious as could be.
She considered changing her clothes, but decided to stay as she was, keeping it real. Her oversize men’s shirt had belonged to her grandpa, and she wore it hanging loose over a pair of floral-printed leggings. Her shoes were fuzzy green slippers she’d bought at an offbeat boutique somewhere—she couldn’t remember what city or state.
A short while later when the doorbell rang, she nearly skidded across the hardwood floor to answer it.
She flung open the door; the first thing she saw was both of her Pembroke Welsh corgis prancing on the porch. Typically, they came in and out through a doggy door in the den, but they were grinning at her as if they’d just rung the bell. Of course, it was Tommy who’d done it. He’d obviously let them into the front yard by way of a side gate.
The dogs scampered past her, but Tommy stood where he was, strikingly handsome in a simple straw Stetson. He towered over her five-foot frame. She always wished that she was taller, especially around him.
He shifted his booted feet. “How’re you doing, Sophie?”
“I’m okay.” She didn’t want to admit that she was a basket case. “Doing the best I can.”
“Me, too.” His eyebrows rose slightly. “Are you going to let me in?”
She wasn’t blocking the doorway, was she? She stepped back, realizing that she was. Struggling to get a grasp on her emotions, she led him to the living room.
He plopped onto the sofa, the leather upholstery creaking beneath his butt. “I hardly slept.”
“Me, neither.” She sat next to him, relieved that she wasn’t the only one who’d tossed and turned. But she couldn’t take any more small talk. “Are you still interested in being my donor?”
“I definitely am.” As sunlight spilled in from the windows, his eyes changed color, turning from green to brown to green again. “What about you? Do you want it to be me?”
Sophie nodded. “Yes, I do.”
“Good.” He removed his hat and tossed it on the coffee table, making his eyes more visible. But at least they’d settled on a color. “There’s a lot we have to discuss. Where do you want to start?” he asked.
With kissing you, her whirring mind answered. With tasting the sexy slant of your lips. Shaking away the traitorous thought, she said, “Let’s start with the type of donor you decided to be.”
He had a ready reply. “I want an open situation. No secrets, no lies. I don’t want to mimic my dad, having a child no one knows about. I’d prefer that everyone was aware of our arrangement, including the kid when he or she is old enough to understand.”
Sophie relaxed a little, feeling as if they were making headway. “I would’ve respected your