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  “Hi, Jenny. How’re you doing? I’m sorry about your husband.” Betty McIntyre paused beside her desk.

  “Thanks, Betty. I’m fine.” Jenny looked at the middle-aged advice columnist. Betty had a daughter graduating from high school this year. Ordinarily Jenny would have enjoyed chatting about her, but she wasn’t in the mood for chitchat and had work to do.

  “If there’s anything I can do—”

  “Thank you,” Jenny cut her off and smiled to take the sting out of her abrupt reply, then turned back to her computer. She flipped through several more pages and then moved to MSN headlines. Breakup relationships? The holidays were coming…how to survive the holiday with your mother-in-law? Or your husband’s ex-wife.

  Judith kept calling, bugging her about Thanksgiving. She’d tried not answering the phone, but then she just left messages. And messages.

  People left their desks and walked toward the meeting room. Jenny grabbed a notepad and her favorite pen, hurried in and took a seat along with five others and their boss. Karen kept the meeting blessedly short as she handed out assignments and listened to their brainstorming ideas. Jenny was rounding the conference table when Karen stopped her.

  “Condolences, Jenny.” Karen smiled. “It’s good to have you back.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I like the piece about people with food allergies surviving the holidays. Very timely.”

  “Good.” Jenny had thrown that out at the last minute.

  Karen softened her voice. “If you need a little extra time or anything, just let me know.”

  “Thanks, I appreciate that. I will need to miss Wednesday’s staff meeting. I have a meeting with an attorney that couldn’t be scheduled any other time.” Jenny didn’t explain the nature of her appointment, hoping that Karen would assume it pertained to settling Gabe’s estate.

  Karen’s face dissolved into a sympathetic look. “Certainly. Whatever you need. Just let me know if you’re going to be late with that piece—we have a little wiggle room.”

  “No need. I’ll get it in. Thanks.” She’d never missed a deadline and she wouldn’t start now—she wouldn’t allow George the satisfaction of messing up her life further.

  She really didn’t want George’s lawsuit making her private life public knowledge with a protracted lawsuit. She didn’t need people gossiping about her any more than they already were. Surely she could convince the judge that this suit was stupid and unnecessary, and then Jenny could move on with getting pregnant.

  Heck, if she could get this taken care of quickly and was lucky enough to get pregnant right away, people might even assume that she’d gotten pregnant right before Gabe died. You were pregnant—at least for a little while. She pushed the sad thought aside. She’d be pregnant again and this time she’d protect their baby better.

  * * *

  Wednesday afternoon Jenny warily examined the judge’s chambers, trying to ignore the men facing her across the gleaming wood conference table. She’d never seen the inside of a courtroom, let alone a judge’s chambers.

  Stately walnut bookcases neatly filled with volumes of legal books stood floor to ceiling. Flanking American and Michigan flags guarded a big wooden desk, with several hard-backed chairs clustered nearby. Framed credentials and scholarly achievements decorated the cream wall behind the desk. It looked pretty much like what Jenny had seen on television, with the exception of the scattered profusion of live plants, the sprinkling of family photos, and the row of fiction books lining the bottom shelf of the credenza.

  Susan Wiggs, Kristin Hannah, Julie Garwood and Stephen King and Dean Koontz? Romance and horror, how interesting. She thought about the painful, scary weeks surrounding Gabe’s death. Loving left one vulnerable. Perhaps romance and horror weren’t that far apart.

  Jenny had arrived twenty minutes early, hoping to have some time to mentally prepare, but George and his attorney were waiting in chambers. Dressed in dark suits with hair slicked back, the two huddled men looked up at her entrance. George stared at her while his attorney quickly dismissed her with barely a glance and reclaimed his client’s attention. A woman sat in front of a small gray appliance that looked like an old-fashioned adding machine, reading something on her iPad.

  Jenny took a step backward, longing to escape. A fine sheen of sweat glossed her body, chilling her, despite the heavy sheepskin coat she wore. Feeling alone and threatened, she avoided looking at the men and perched on the edge of the seat next to the court reporter.

  Her heart dropped as she took in the scene. This official room suited the serious men, and her aloneness hit her like a slap in the face. This was not going to be quickly resolved. She was in way over her head. Her abdomen cramped painfully; Jenny hoped she wasn’t getting an ulcer.

  A woman with coal-black curls breezed into the room and the court reporter immediately put away the e-reader and turned on her machine. Judge Christina Moore wore a white silk shirt and camel-colored suit with matching high heels. She glanced at the waiting group as she rounded the table and picked up a file. Resting a hip against the desk, she put on her tortoiseshell reading glasses, opened the folder and scanned it. She consulted the small gold watch on her arm before looking at Jenny.

  “We’ll wait a little longer for your attorney, but if he doesn’t show we’ll have to reschedule.”

  Jenny glanced uneasily at George and his attorney. She licked her dry lips. “I don’t have an attorney yet, Your Honor.”

  “Why not?”

  “My husband died just five weeks ago.” She gave George a reproachful look. “It’s been difficult interviewing attorneys under the circumstances.”

  The judge pinned her with a firm look. “I understand how difficult this time is for you; however, you really must give this your full attention.” She paused. “I’ll give you an additional forty-five days to find counsel.”

  “Judge, we all sympathize with Mrs. Harrison’s loss, but there are major issues at stake here and my client strongly believes that Dr. Harrison cannot rest in peace until the fate of all of him has been laid to rest.” He glared at Jenny. “Therefore, I’d ask that the court not be overly indulgent in granting a continuance. Frankly, I don’t think her difficulties in obtaining the services of an attorney are limited by any time constraints.”

  The judge glanced sharply at the lawyer. “That’s enough, counselor. I’ve made my ruling.” Sitting, she picked up a ballpoint pen and studied the stand-up monthly calendar. She reached out and flipped forward to the next month, then tapped the pen against her lips.

  “Let’s see…forty-five days from now puts us just about at Christmas, then there’s New Years…We’ll set the pretrial hearing for Monday January fourth.” She looked from George’s attorney to Jenny. “I assume that’s all right with everybody?”

  Thank God for holidays. Jenny nodded, feeling the pressure ease from her chest. “Thank you.”

  She fumbled with her monthly planner and painstakingly shaped each letter and word to record the appointment. Head down, she rearranged the contents of her purse until she heard the door close behind them.

  “They’re gone,” the judge said.

  Jenny looked up, embarrassed that Judge Moore knew she’d been procrastinating to avoid them. With a mumbled thank you, Jenny quickly gained her feet and headed for the door.

  “Mrs. Harrison?”

  Jenny slowly pivoted, feeling like a child about to be reprimanded by the teacher for dawdling.

  “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  Jenny forced a stiff smile. “Thank you.”

  She hurried out the door and paused in the hallway. The meeting had been so formal—so official. George’s attorney seemed cold and heartless. He was not going to be civil about this. She shuddered, shaking off the uncomfortable feeling of being targeted by a bully. By refusing to give in to George, she’d put a big bull’s-eye on her forehead. Geeze, was it really worth it? All she wanted was a baby; why did it have to be this hard?

  Jenny put
a hand to her pounding head and headed for the parking garage. Several people clustering around the elevator prompted Jenny to veer right toward the stairs. Her steps faltered as George moved out of a doorway to her left. He smoothed the brim of his plaid cap. “Can I have a word with you?”

  She kept moving toward the staircase. “I think you and your attorney have said enough.”

  He fell into step beside her. “It’ll just take a minute.”

  Jenny pushed through the metal door into the stairwell, then faced him. “One minute.”

  He cleared his throat, frowned and then looked away as if having trouble starting. “Ya look like hell.”

  She spun toward the stairs, releasing the heavy fire door. She knew she looked like a mangled kitten and didn’t need the reminder.

  “Oh, hey. I’m sorry.” Her foot rested on the first step when she felt a light grip on her arm. Jenny froze and looked up at George before staring pointedly at his fat, hairy hand on her forearm. He immediately released her. “Look, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it the way it came out. I…I’m sorry you’re having such a hard time.”

  I bet. She stared at him, unblinking.

  “Look, this can stop right here, right now. It’s up to you.”

  “Actually George, since it’s you who is suing me, it’s up to you.” She paused, wondering if it was even worth her breath to try to reason with him. “Gabe loved us both. Do you really think he’d want you to prevent me from having his baby?”

  “Gabe didn’t always know what was best for him. He…” Twin lines dug deep, vertical furrows into his forehead as he struggled to find the right words. “Just give up before things get ugly. I don’t want anybody to get hurt.”

  Too late. “I’m hurt.”

  “You’re hurting yourself. Look, I don’t want to fight you. Just quit before it’s too late.”

  Too late for what? “I want my husband’s baby.”

  He frowned and pursed his lips. “Why are you being so stubborn about this? This is no game. Lawsuits are ugly. Lawyers play to win. They dig and pry into things that are nobody’s business. Just let it be.”

  That part had been made crystal clear, but she’d been the one to show up to the fight unarmed; why was George warning her off? Had he found out something or was he just using scare tactics? “Are you threatening me?”

  “Threatening you?” His eyes widened as if surprised. “Hell, no, I’m not threatening you. I’m trying to make you understand the can of worms you’re about to open up. Look, we’re reasonable adults. There has to be another way to settle this.”

  “Agreed. Drop the lawsuit.”

  “I can’t do that.” George sighed and looked away. His lips thinned as he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a folded blue piece of paper. He smoothed his finger and thumb along the crease before thrusting it at Jenny.

  Jenny unfolded the paper to see her name a line above a hundred thousand dollars. She stared at the check.

  “I’m sure Gabe left you well-provided for, but…well, I don’t know how else to change your mind.”

  Jenny crushed the check in her fist and threw it to the floor. Head held high, she descended the stairs without looking back, proud that she’d managed to ignore the urge to slap the old man’s face—or cry. The heavy fire door shut and latched with a loud click that echoed with eerie finality in the vacant stairwell as if emphasizing her aloneness. She passed the first landing. What the world made George think he could buy her off?

  For a while back there, she’d actually begun to second-guess herself. Maybe it was too complicated. Maybe it wouldn’t be worth the humiliation and pain, but that was before that arrogant prick tried to buy her off.

  How dare he? How dare George interfere in her marriage? She wanted to have her husband’s baby and she didn’t give a damn what that old man thought. She’d dig up the most ruthless attorney in Michigan. Just let him try and stop her.

  Jenny struggled to hold onto the anger and push away the hurt. Did George really think so little of her? Was she really so unworthy of being a mother to George’s precious descendants? Strangely enough, George had seemed genuine in his appeal. Yet if he was so confident he was right and would win, why try to buy her off?

  It didn’t make sense. Jenny burst through the ground floor door and out into the cold, dank parking garage. Her clicking high heels ricocheted noisily, sounding like a dozen people hurrying behind, chasing her. Nervous cramping in her belly intensified, and Jenny was out of breath by the time she reached the Jeep. With trembling hands, she unlocked the car and got in.

  Calm down, Jen. You’re fine. He’s just a crazy old man—don’t let him get to you.

  She’d be okay. She could do this. She’d find an amazing attorney who would persuade that nice lady judge that she should have Gabe’s baby and this time next year she’d be rocking their darling baby in her arms. Everything would be fine.

  Then why did she feel so horrible?

  Jenny propped her elbows on the steering wheel and dropped her aching head into cold trembling hands. Tears spilled from her eyes and dribbled down her cheek. How could her life have fallen apart so completely—again? What had she done wrong to deserve this?

  A sudden knock at the window penetrated Jenny’s misery. Mortified to be caught crying in her car, Jenny brushed the tears away. An older woman with blonde hair twisted into a loose topknot stood beside her car. Folded reading glasses hung from a silver-bead chain around her neck, standing out against the black turtleneck. She hunched into her gray herringbone wool blazer. Twin lines of concern creased her forehead. “Are you all right?”

  “Fine. Thank you.” Jenny reached for her keys and put them in the ignition.

  “Mrs. Harrison, could I speak to you for a moment?”

  Mrs. Harrison? She knew Jenny’s name? She watched the lady closely while inching her hand closer to the door lock. “Have we met?”

  “I’m Deirdre Hall from the Lansing Daily.”

  Jenny punched the lock button.

  “Can we go somewhere and talk?”

  She stared at the woman.

  “Is it true that you’ve had your dead husband’s sperm frozen so you can have his baby?”

  The reporter’s words buzzed around Jenny’s tired head.

  “Is it true that a sperm bank in California was the only one that would accept your husband’s sperm?”

  She knew too much. Jenny fumbled with the keys, then started the car. The reporter backed away, still hurling questions at her as Jenny sped off. Lansing Daily? Why come all the way from Lansing to cover her story? How’d the press even gotten hold of her case?

  Jenny quickly drove home and collapsed on the couch. Next to her, the answering machine blinked a red warning. She had eight messages. Somehow she doubted it was attorneys suddenly banging down her door to change their minds about taking her case.

  Breathing in deeply, she pushed the play button. Most of them were from reporters promising her a sympathetic ear if she’d share her story with them. This had to be George’s doing. Although she’d approached a lot of attorneys, she was certain that some ethical law forbade them from talking about her case, even after they’d refused her. It had to be George. She grabbed a pillow and hugged it tight against her cramping belly. Damn him.

  * * *

  Jenny blinked, frowned, and then winced at the strip of bright light sneaking around the curtains, blinding her. Groaning, she pulled the covers over her head and flipped on her side away from the window. The doorbell rang, over and over again, making the chimes a demand rather than an announcement.

  Throwing the covers back, she growled at the sound of something thwacking the wall. What’d she knocked over? She rolled out of bed and picked Gabe’s watch up off the floor. She cradled it in her palm, carefully examining it for damage. No cracked glass face and the second hand still pivoted. Phew. She blew out a deep breath and gently returned it to her nightstand.

  The doorbell rang again. Jenny jammed her feet in
to slippers and scuffled downstairs. “I’m coming.”

  It had to be a relative, Judith, her mother, or maybe even Alex—if she was really desperate or excited. Only a relative would dare be so annoying.

  Ritz whined and pranced at the door, doing the doggie version of crossing her legs. Poor thing, it was early afternoon and Jenny hadn’t let her out yet. She opened the door and as Ritz dashed outside to take care of business, her mother barged in.

  Mary Campbell was a slight woman with short auburn hair and a profusion of freckles dotting her face. She had laser blue eyes that missed nothing. Jenny had inherited their mother’s petite statue and light blue eyes, but she possessed her father’s dark hair and compassionate nature.

  “Mom. Hi.” Jenny wrapped her arms around her stomach. Her hand snuck up to scratch her head as she, discretely as possible, checked her hair for knots.

  “I thought I’d drop by for a little visit before picking Michael up for his dentist appointment at two-thirty.” She walked in and dumped her purse on the stairs. With one eyebrow cocked, she stared at Jenny. “Didn’t you go back to work this week?”

  “Un huh. I’m working from home.” She forced a bright smile. “How’s semi-retirement going?”

  “In your pajamas?” She propped her hands on her hips. “Are you just getting up?”

  Jenny looked to the right of her mother at a clump of fur on the wood floor. “I haven’t been sleeping well.”

  She turned away from her mother’s steady, concerned stare. What could she say to get her to leave? She didn’t need to be judged nor did she need the guilt that came from worrying her parents. “I’m fine, Mom.”

  She went to the door and whistled for the dog. So? She was just having a bad day. It was to be expected. She’d set her alarm so she wouldn’t miss Michael’s game. She’d have her sadness under control long before her evening tutoring appointment with Grammy J, but this morning she’d given in to exhaustion and depression.

  Ritz trotted in and snuffled Jenny’s hand to remind her she’d like to be fed.