Who's The Daddy?. Judy Christenberry
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the changes that would occur in the next few months. She groaned. Even the clothes she was wearing were a little snug, uncomfortably so. Before too long, they wouldn’t fit her at all, and she’d have to start shopping all over again.
Not necessarily an unhappy thought, she realized with a grin. What woman didn’t enjoy a little shopping? Sliding her hands into the pockets of her navy slacks, she felt the card Max Daniels had given her.
Resolution filled her. She had something more important than shopping to do right now. It was time to take back her life. And she would start with Max Daniels. She ignored the thought that she was starting with him because she wanted him to be the father of her child. She had to start somewhere.
She crossed the room to the telephone.
“Daniels Vacation Homes.”
Caroline frowned at the sexy female voice that answered the phone. “I’m calling Max Daniels.”
“Max is out of the office at the moment. May I take a message?”
“This is Caroline Adkins. I need to—”
“He just came in. One moment, please.”
“Caroline?”
She released a sigh at the sound of his voice. It was as if she’d feared she wouldn’t find him again. With no memory to support their relationship, she only had those few minutes at the hospital.
“Hi, Max. I—I wanted to invite you to dinner.”
The silence that followed her request left a hollow feeling in her stomach.
“To dinner?” he finally asked.
“Yes.” When he said nothing else, she asked, “Is that an odd request? Do you not eat?”
“Of course I eat, but you never even admitted you had family in the area, much less offered to introduce me.” There was an antagonism in his voice.
“Look, I don’t remember what I did…or why. I’m just trying to figure out what happened. I thought I’d start with you. If you don’t want to talk to me, then say so.” She could match his reluctance any day, she assured herself. Especially if she didn’t think about him.
“Of course I want to talk to you. I want to know what happened as much as you do. And whether the baby is mine.”
The doubt in his voice was like a blow. “You sounded a lot surer of that fact yesterday.”
“That’s before I realized I was one of a crowd.”
Even as anger filled her, it was tempered by understanding. “It came as a shock to me, too.” When he said nothing else, she asked, “Did I ever mention anyone else?”
“No. Like I said, I thought you had recently moved here. That you knew no one.”
This discussion was going nowhere. She returned to her original question. “Will you come to dinner? I need to ask you a lot of questions.” She didn’t intend to plead, but she recognized a hint of persuasiveness in her voice.
“Tell me when.”
“Tonight?”
“I can’t. I’ve already made an appointment with prospective clients.”
He could’ve sounded a little unhappy that he couldn’t come right away. “Tomorrow night?”
Letting out a gusty sigh, he agreed. “What time?”
“Seven o’clock. And would you mind not sounding so put upon? I have no intention of torturing you!” she snapped, any patience she might normally have had having disintegrated between her headache and her heartache.
“It’s too late. You already have.” He hung up without waiting for a response.
“Oh yeah?” she yelled into the dead phone. “Well, just wait until tomorrow night!”
How dare that man act as if she’d intentionally hurt him? She was suffering just as much as him.
Recalling her bout with morning sickness, she decided she was suffering more. She strode to the closet and her wonderful new wardrobe. He thought he’d been tortured before? She’d make sure the torture continued.
“Caroline?” Mrs. Lamb called softly, rapping on the door before opening it. “Oh!” she exclaimed as Caroline appeared at the closet door.
“Hi. Did you need something?”
“I have a luncheon tray for you,” the housekeeper explained, pushing the door open and stepping inside.
“I could’ve come downstairs,” Caroline assured her.
“You’re always so thoughtful, child, but you need your rest. What are you doing out of bed?”
“Trying to decide which outfit is my most killer one.”
“Killer?” Mrs. Lamb’s face was a perfect picture of puzzlement.
“Don’t worry. I’m not plotting a murder. I don’t think. I’m wanting to, uh, look my best. By the way, my dinner guest is coming tomorrow night. Is that okay?”
“Sure is. Do I know him?”
“His name is Max Daniels.” Caroline studied the housekeeper’s expression, but she saw no sign of recognition. “You’ve never heard of him?”
“No. Should I have?”
“He’s one of the three… Has anyone told you I’m pregnant?”
Mrs. Lamb almost dropped the tray and Caroline rushed forward to support her.
“Oh, my stars. Are you serious? I can’t believe it. Isn’t that wonderful? You and Chelsea will have babies almost the same age. I—who’s the father?”
Mrs. Lamb’s abrupt question showed her sudden awareness of Caroline’s situation. With a self-conscious shrug, Caroline said, “I don’t know. The amnesia.”
“Well, surely he’ll come forward. I mean, a man should be responsible for his actions.”
“That’s the problem,” Caroline replied. “Three men have claimed responsibility for—for my baby.”
“Three? Oh, my stars! Caroline!”
Taking the shaking tray from the housekeeper’s hands, Caroline set it on the lamp table. “Lambie, I need help.”
“Why, I’ll do whatever I—I don’t see how—I mean, what are you going to do?”
“I need to find out what was going on in my life two months ago.”
As if her knees had collapsed, Mrs. Lamb sank onto the bed. “Oh, my stars.”
“What’s the matter?”
“Two months ago? A little over two months ago, you had a fight with your father.”
“A fight? What about?”
“I don’t know. But the next morning, you called a taxi, and you left.”
“A taxi? I don’t have a car?”
“Of course you have a car. A Mercedes. Your father insisted, saying they were the safest. He buys you a new one every year.”
She kept her feelings about her father’s domination to herself. “Then why a taxi?”
“I don’t know. You had a bag packed and you hugged me, saying not to worry, you were going on a vacation.”
“Did I tell you where I was going?”
“No. You left a note for your father, but it didn’t tell him anything, ‘cause he questioned me.”
She had some questions for her father the next time she saw him, too. “Did I call you after I left? And how long