Nashville Rebel. Sheri WhiteFeather
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“When the kid is kicking, will you let me feel it?”
The heat intensified, deep in her bones. “After your recent baby scare, I’d think you’d be more shy around pregnant women.”
He shifted in his chair. “I’m just lucky they were already able to do a paternity test.”
“Yes, you got lucky.” Kara wasn’t due for four more months, but there was no reason to wait for the baby to be born. They’d agreed on a NIPP, a noninvasive prenatal paternity test, where their blood had been collected to do a DNA profile on the fetus. They’d done it just nine weeks into her pregnancy. Tommy’s brother, Brandon, had suggested the procedure. He was Tommy’s attorney. Overall, everything had been kept quiet. Kara hadn’t gone to the press, so Tommy had dodged that bullet, too.
He tugged a hand through his hair. “I’m just glad that poor kid didn’t get stuck with me being its dad. Not just from an emotional standpoint, but with the way I travel, too. I’d feel awful if it was waiting around to see me, like Brandon and I used to do with our dad. I don’t know how I’d cope with the distress it would cause. Some people take their kids on the road with them, but I couldn’t fathom doing that, either.”
“Me, neither.” Sophie’s mom had been prepared to stay home to raise her, but she’d died before she had a chance. “I want to be a traditional parent, tucking my son or daughter into his or her own bed every night.”
“Yeah, I’m sure you’ll do great. But at some point, your kid might wonder who its father is.”
“I’ve already considered that.” She’d spent every waking hour contemplating her options. “But I’m not sure if I want to use an open donor or not.”
He sent her a blank look. “Open?”
“It’s where the donor is open to contact with the child. But it can only occur after the child turns eighteen, and only if he or she requests to meet him.”
“I wonder how much of a difference that would make. I guess it would depend on the type of guy the donor turned out to be. I think having no dad would be better than having a bad one. Or one who is barely around, or drunk or stoned, like my old man was most of the time.”
“At least Kirby is trying to make amends and be a better father to all of you.”
“He still has a long way to go, especially with Matt.”
Sophie nodded. Matt Clark was the half brother in Texas whom Tommy and Brandon had never even met. Kirby had fathered Matt with one of his mistresses while he was still married to Tommy and Brandon’s mother, which eventually resulted in their divorce. It was a long and sordid story that was going to be revealed in a biography Kirby had sanctioned about himself. In a strange twist, it was Matt’s fiancée writing the book. She’d met and fallen in love with Matt while she was researching it.
Now that Tommy’s tour had ended, they were supposed to have a family gathering at the Talbot compound sometime within the next few weeks to get acquainted with Matt. His fiancée was already there, working with Kirby on the book. Both Tommy and Brandon had met her a while back, when they’d agreed to be interviewed for the biography.
No one had asked Sophie to be part of the book. But she hoped that she could attend the upcoming gathering. She was curious about the son Kirby had kept hidden away from the world. At one point, he’d even abandoned Matt.
“So how does it work?” Tommy asked.
She blinked at him. “I’m sorry. What?”
“Choosing a donor.”
She quit thinking about his family and focused on his question. “Sperm banks have websites with their donors’ information. So all you have to do is search their catalog for donors who fit your criteria. In some cases, they’ll provide childhood and adolescent photos of the donors. Some will even let you see adult photos. If the donors who fit your criteria are keeping their profile pictures private and you want your donor to resemble someone specific, you can send the sperm-bank photos showing what you want him to look like. Then they’ll go through your donor choices and rank them by how closely they match.”
“Really?” His lopsided smile resurfaced. “You should send in some pics of me.”
“That’s not funny.” She swung her legs around and kicked his longue chair, rattling the base of it. She wasn’t pleased that he’d put the idea in her head. She wouldn’t mind if her child resembled him. He was beautiful to look at, with his straight, easy-to-style hair, greenish-brown eyes and ever-playful lips. There was also a gentle arch to his eyebrows, lending his features a comforting quality—when he wasn’t making faces. She’d known him for so long that everything about him was familiar.
He leaned forward, resting his hands on his knees. He had an artist’s hands, with long fingers. He played a mean guitar, but her favorite songs of his were ballads he’d mastered on the piano, with hauntingly romantic lyrics. He sang about being painfully in love, even if he didn’t know the first thing about it. Sophie had never been in love, either, not where it tormented her soul or ripped her heart apart.
“Maybe I can help you choose a donor,” he said.
She all but flinched. His suggestion caught her off guard, making her wonder what sort of nice-guy stunt he was trying to pull. “You want to help me select the father of my baby?”
“Sure. Why not?” He tilted his head nearly all the way to the side, as if he was sizing her up somehow. “Remember when I used to help you with your chemistry homework?”
“Yes, of course.” He was good with numbers. Math and science came easily to him. “But this isn’t a school project.”
“I know.” He righted the angle of his head. “But we’re like family, you and me. The least I can do is support you on this however I can.”
“Thank you.” Suddenly she wanted to touch him, to put her hands where they didn’t belong, to skim his exquisite jawline, to run her fingers through his still-damp hair. “That means a lot to me.” More than it should. It even made her imagine him being the donor, which was about the dumbest thought she could’ve had. She wiped it out of her mind, but it spiraled back, undermining her common sense.
He asked, “Should we do it tonight?”
She struggled to comprehend what he meant. Her brain wasn’t behaving. She was still stuck on the stupid notion of him being the donor, which was complete and utter lunacy.
“Should we do what?” she finally asked.
“Look through the sperm-bank sites. I’ll ask Chef to make a batch of his double-chocolate-chip cookies, and I’ll bring them with me. I know how chocolate helps center you.”
“Yes, let’s do it,” she said, finally managing to rid her jumbled mind of the idea of having his child. “Let’s go through the sites tonight.” She needed to find a donor, a stranger.
And she was going to make sure it was someone who looked nothing like Tommy, someone who didn’t have the slightest thing in common with him.
Tommy sat next to Sophie at the computer desk in her home office, where they’d been for the past hour. She scrolled the donor search catalogs she’d bookmarked.
He could barely believe this was happening. Not just her wanting a baby, but the fact she was resigning as his tour manager. She was supposed to be a permanent fixture on the road, a constant he could count on. Sure, she would be an asset to his business management team. But that wasn’t the same as her managing his tours. Life on the road was the soul of his existence, what he loved most about his job, and Sophie had always been part of it.
He studied her profile and the way her unruly hair framed her face, with one strand falling farther forward than the rest. He’d always been