Santa Assignment. Delores Fossen
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let that pass.
For now.
Ashley took out a spoon from one of the drawers and opened the ice cream. “Wow, this must really be something earth-shattering for you not to get right to the point. You’re not the beating-around-the-bush type.” She sampled the caramel-fudge, made a sound of approval and recapped the carton.
“This isn’t easy.” Man, what an understatement. Brayden shook his head and wished he’d at least practiced what to say. He’d interrogated serial killers and hadn’t felt this uncomfortable.
“So, why don’t we just start with you telling me how you found me?” she prompted. “I’ve changed my name and kept my address a secret, so I seriously doubt you just happened to be in the neighborhood.”
“I hired a private investigator to find you.”
“A PI? This must be important.” Ashley had already reached for the freezer door, but she paused just a second before she opened it carefully as if the handle were fragile and might shatter in her hand. “So just how important is it?”
“Very. It’s Colton.” It was all he could manage to say without taking another breath.
Her gaze rifled to his. She stuffed the ice cream in the freezer, slammed the door and went toward him. Not slowly this time. Her long strides quickly ate up the space between, and she stopped only a few feet away.
“What happened?” she asked. “Has he been hurt?”
Brayden was thankful for the true concern that went through her eyes. The only real connection he had left to Ashley was through Colton. His three-year-old son. And her nephew. It was that connection that had brought him to her.
He was prepared to beg if necessary.
“He wasn’t hurt,” Brayden explained. “He’s had some medical problems.” A simple almost sterile explanation. It still put his stomach in knots.
Ashley reached out as if to touch him but immediately withdrew her hand and crammed it into her back jeans’ pocket. “Will I need to sit down before I hear the rest of this?” she asked.
“Possibly.”
Another nod that was edgy and clipped, and she dragged out not one but two chairs from beneath the small tiled table. Brayden didn’t take her up on her nonverbal gesture to sit. He continued to stand even after she dropped down into the seat.
“The diagnosis is acute lymphocytic leukemia,” he went on, after another breath.
She made a small helpless sound and pressed her fingertips to her mouth. “Oh, God. Leukemia. How he is? Is he okay?”
No. His son wasn’t okay. But Brayden didn’t even try to get that out. “He’s had chemo and is stabilized for now. But he needs a bone-marrow transplant. Not immediately. But eventually.”
“Okay.” She pulled in her breath, hard, and repeated that one word several times. “So, you need me to be tested to see if I’m a match—”
“You’re not a match,” he explained. “You’re already in the bone-marrow registry so Colton’s doctors were able to check. That’s not why I’m here.”
That brought Ashley slowly back to her feet. “Then why did you come?”
It was a good question, and Brayden considered a detailed, clinical answer. One that would make her at least think about his proposition before she tossed him out the door.
But there was no way to make this clinical.
Tears shimmered in her eyes. “Mercy, you’re not here to tell me he’s not going to make it—”
“Colton needs a sibling donor,” he interrupted, not wanting her to finish that thought. Then, he paused. Waiting to see if she had a response. She didn’t. Ashley just stared at him. “A sibling with my DNA. And his mother’s.”
She shook her head. Maybe because she didn’t understand what he was asking, or God forbid, maybe because she was already saying no.
She couldn’t say no.
He couldn’t lose his son.
He just couldn’t.
“I’m asking you to have a baby,” he explained.
Ashley blinked back the tears, and her eyes widened. “You’re…what?”
He swallowed hard and with it swallowed what little pride he had left.
Which wasn’t much.
“I’m asking you to have a baby,” Brayden clarified. “Our baby.”
FROM THE MOMENT Ashley had seen Brayden O’Malley standing on her front porch, she’d imagined lots of things he might say to her.
But this sure wasn’t one of them.
Not even close.
Still reeling from the news of her nephew’s illness, this latest addition to the conversation caused a serious information overload.
“Our baby?” Ashley repeated, certain she’d misunderstood him.
“Our baby,” he verified.
The words seemed to stick in his throat. And probably did. After all, he was talking to her. They weren’t friends. In fact, the last thing Brayden had said to her two years, seven months and four days ago was that he hoped like hell he never saw her face again.
She’d given him that. Ashley had disappeared from his life. From her nephew’s.
From her own life.
“The doctors think a sibling donor is Colton’s best chance for a bone marrow match,” Brayden continued. “Because the DNA will be similar.”
So, she’d heard him correctly. Her nephew had leukemia and needed a bone marrow transplant. She and her former brother-in-law were the best bet for giving him that.
Oh, mercy.
When the full impact of that hit her, her heart landed somewhere in the vicinity of her knees. And because she didn’t want to risk something as dignity-reducing as her legs giving way, Ashley sat back down.
“It’s not a hundred percent,” Brayden went on. “I mean, nothing is. But at least this way there’s a fighting chance we’ll have a suitable donor. No one in my family matched. I’ve even contacted all of your relatives, including distant cousins. No luck. And there’s not a match in the international bone marrow registry, either.”
“Oh, mercy.” Ashley searched for whatever she was supposed to say in a situation like this and came up with a total blank. “A lawyer without an immediate opinion. That’s one for the record.”
“Well, this isn’t an everyday occurrence.” He groaned, scrubbed his hands over his face and tipped his eyes toward the ceiling as if seeking divine guidance. “I should have found a better way to say it.”
“Trust me, there was no better way to say what you just said. Besides, you got your point across—believe me. A baby,” Ashley mumbled, aware that by repeating it, she was starting to sound a little psychotic. “Fate sure has a twisted sense of humor, huh?”
He shrugged. And made a sound of agreement. A mild sound. Which wasn’t congruent with his rigid posture. In that calf-length black coat with a dark blue suit beneath it and with his conservative, short, bronze-colored hair, Brayden looked much like a judge or a military officer standing at attention.
Or perhaps waiting for a firing squad.
“I know it’s a lot to ask…especially since you have a new life here.”
“A new life not by choice,” Ashley reminded him, lifting her index finger in a let’s-not-forget-that-little-detail gesture. “But out of necessity.”
He nodded. “Because