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  “Jennifer Harrison?”

  “Yes?”

  “This is for you.” He handed her an envelope, then walked away.

  Jenny frowned at the envelope, showing the return address of Schimmel and Rinehardt, Attorneys at Law, as she pushed the door closed. Ripping open the envelope, she stood stunned. He’d done it. George was actually suing her.

  How dare he? Anger rippled through her, building in furious waves. Having Gabe’s baby was none of his business. She wasn’t going to let him get away with this. Gabe was gone, but she could have his baby and she would. George Turner could go to hell.

  Jenny picked up the phone but didn’t know whom to call. Judith would be at work, and although they’d achieved a weird sort of friendship, they weren’t all that close. Though Jenny had to give her credit, Judith kept calling weekly and offering to help in any way she could.

  Jenny’s parents didn’t know about her plans to have a baby. Knowing her mother, she’d probably protest something so nontraditional. Nope, they wouldn’t be supportive. Which left…who? Steve? She hadn’t seen much of him lately. He’d attended the wake and funeral, but Annie had pulled him away as soon as they’d left the graveyard, and she hadn’t had a chance to talk to Steve since.

  In all honesty, after what happened that night, she wasn’t sure they’d be able to recover their old friendship. Things had changed between them. No matter how hard she pretended otherwise, she knew it was true. But still, he might be willing to help. She looked at the clock. He’d be at work now.

  Before she attacked this latest crisis, Jenny decided to pull herself together. She’d take care of her backlogged correspondence, then deal with George Turner and get on with her life. She’d be free to concentrate on her and Gabe’s baby.

  Jenny stared at the answering machine she’d been avoiding these past weeks. Nineteen messages had been recorded before the tape filled. She found a yellow legal pad and a pen, and punched the play button. The first two messages were old ones from Michael one reminding her about his soccer game, the other giving her movie times. Then Gabe’s deep voice came on the machine.

  “Jen? Are you there? I guess not. I’m going to be a little late tonight, but if you want to pack a dinner, we can eat on the boat and still catch the sunset. It’ll be cold, so bring a blanket. They’re paging me. Gotta go. Love you.”

  All Jenny’s newfound courage evaporated in an instant. She dropped the pen and covered her face with trembling hands. God, it was so good to hear his voice. Although it’d only been a few weeks since the funeral, it seemed an eternity since she’d heard Gabe’s voice or cuddled against his warm body.

  Hugging a soft pillow to her aching heart, Jenny replayed his message and sat back, savoring the sound of his beloved voice. She pushed the replay button again. And again. And again. She swallowed hard against the tears, frantically wondering how she could save just Gabe’s message.

  My God, how pathetic am I? Trying to save his message so I can play it over and over again, tormenting myself. Damn you, Gabe. Why’d you leave me? Suddenly furious, she threw the pillow to the floor and stormed into the garage.

  She punched the garage door opener to get light and then stalked over to what was left of Gabe’s bike. She kicked the tires and handlebar. She jumped on the wheels, trying to balance and hop up and down to break the spokes. When that didn’t accomplish enough damage, Jenny grabbed a hammer and beat the mirror and speedometer, over and over again, welcoming the pain vibrating up her arm.

  Ignoring flying glass and sharp metal bits, she pounded away until the bike lay in pulverized, shattered pieces. Chest heaving, Jenny turned her fury on the new helmet Gabe had insisted she wear. Tears blinded her as she fell on the silver helmet, hammering away, pocking it like the surface of an old battered golf ball.

  “Damn you.” Pound. “Why,” pound, “didn’t,” pound, “you,” pound, “protect him?” she sobbed through clenched teeth.

  Intent on destroying the helmet, Jenny barely noticed the hammer being removed from her grasp. She clutched her heaving stomach and rocked back and forth. Debris littering the cold cement floor dug into her knees. Her breath came in tortured gasps, ripping past her swollen, raw throat.

  “Damn you. Damn you. Bring him back. Give him back to me,” she wailed.

  Strong arms pulled her close, rocking with her, until the anger burned away. Worn out, she leaned into the comforting hold and then stiffened.

  “I’d bring him back if I could.”

  Chapter 8

  Jenny looked up into Steve’s glistening blue eyes. Steve, not Gabe held her. She’d never again know the comfort and security found in her husband’s arms. She frowned and twisted out of his embrace.

  He immediately released her, stood and backed away, as if remembering where their emotions had led them last time they’d cried over Gabe. Avoiding Steve’s gaze, Jenny wiped her nose on her sleeve and surveyed the broken glass sprinkled beneath the mangled bike and dented helmet.

  “Want me to get rid of it for you?”

  She nodded. The bike was a constant reminder of the accident.

  “Not the helmet.” She flashed him a sheepish smile. “I might need something to hit. I nearly broke my wrist on that damn bike.” She flexed her wrist, then wiped remnant tears from her eyes.

  Steve helped her to her feet. He led her inside, pulled out a chair for her at the kitchen table and handed her a box of tissues. Just like the old days before guilt made them polite, he snagged a Coke Zero from the refrigerator and poured half in a glass with ice for her and kept the can for himself. Leaning against the counter, he faced her.

  He frowned and pulled his phone from his pocket. He swiped it open, tapped out a quick text, then placed it on the counter. “So, other than beating the hell out of Gabe’s bike, what’ve you been up to?”

  Her lips twitched in appreciation of his attempt to lighten her mood. She shrugged. “The usual; paying bills, cleaning house, the dog, acknowledging condolences, you know. Stuff,” she said, pretending that the house wasn’t a mess, that the sink wasn’t filled with dirty dishes a week old, and that clumps of fur sticking out of Ritz’s normally smooth coat didn’t give her away.

  His phone vibrated as Annie’s face showed on the screen. Steve glanced at his fiancé’s picture, then took another sip of his drink. “How’re the notes coming? There were a lot of people at the funeral.”

  Jenny nodded at the phone. “Do you need to get that?”

  “No. She knows where I am.” He raised his eyebrows. “Got a lot of notes left to write?”

  She thought about bluffing, but decided it took too much energy and brainpower. “It’s awful.” She glanced at the basket of condolence cards, florist and gift basket cards. “There are over hundred. Do you think I have to write a personal note to all of them? It’s bad enough addressing them.”

  “Why don’t you go to a printer? They should have a stock thank you and then you could just sign them. What about Judith and the kids? Haven’t they offered to help?”

  “The kids shouldn’t have to do this.” She looked away, embarrassed. “Judith offered, but I don’t want to take advantage.”

  “What about your folks?”

  She shook her head. She didn’t want them writing her thank you notes.

  He sat at the table across from her. “I’ll address them.”

  “I couldn’t ask—”

  “You’re not, I’m offering. Gabe was my friend, I want to help.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Anything else I can do?”

  Jenny looked at Steve, considering. It was kind of personal, but she needed help and he offered. “Be right back.”

  She hurried to the study then returned to the kitchen. Envelope in hand, she stood next to him, not quite sure how to start. She sucked in a deep breath, then pushed it out. “At the hospital when I lost both Gabe and the baby, I was completely devastated. Then it occurred to me. I couldn’t bring Gabe back, but I could have another baby. So w
hen they recovered Gabe’s organs, I had them freeze his sperm so I could be artificially inseminated. I know it’s unconventional, but this way I can have our baby.”

  Jenny watched Steve, closely assessing his reaction, deciding he would be a formidable foe at poker. “Anyway, George pitched a fit when he found out about the organ donation, but he couldn’t stop it. When he found out about the sperm recovery, he went ballistic. He actually accused me of raping Gabe.” She rolled her eyes. “Then I got this today.” She handed him the restraining order. “That jerk’s taking me to court to keep me from using Gabe’s sperm. Can you believe his nerve?”

  Steve slid the sheaf of papers from the envelope and scanned the documents. Could he believe George’s nerve? He couldn’t believe any of it. Steve stared at the document in his hand. What the hell was this, a restraining order for sperm? He looked at Jenny. “Tell me again.”

  “I donated Gabe’s organs and they saved his sperm so I could be artificially inseminated.”

  Eyebrows raised, he looked at her. “You can do that?”

  “Yup.” She nodded.

  “How? I mean, he never regained consciousness. He was brain dead, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Then how’d they get his sperm?”

  It was Jenny’s turn to look perplexed. “I don’t know. Surgery, I guess. That’s how they got the rest of his organs. The important thing is they did it.”

  Steve mentally winced and resisted the urge to cup his balls. Yow. How painful would that be? But then Gabe was dead, so he wouldn’t have felt anything—but still. Owww. He looked at Jenny, curious. “Why?”

  “Why what?”

  “Why would you want to have Gabe’s baby after he’s gone?”

  Her eyes widened as if his question was incredibly stupid. “Because I love him. Because I want a living reminder of him. He was an amazing man, who has wonderful traits to pass onto our children.”

  Children? Was she nuts? She’d do this more than once? Well, with Gabe’s sperm frozen, he guessed she could conceive a whole brood of kids without the guy. Just how much semen were they able to get?

  He’d like to hear her explain that one to her future five-year old. Yes, Mommy’s going to have another baby. How? Oh, don’t worry, honey, it’s easy. You don’t need a daddy to have a baby. Heck that’s the old-fashioned way, all you really need is a petri dish and a tube of frozen semen. Too weird.

  He brought his wandering thoughts back to the situation at hand and tried to sound reasonable. “Raising a baby alone would be hard. Not to mention that if the baby looked like Gabe, it’d be a painful reminder of him. You’d have to go through the pregnancy and birth without a husband. I’d think it’d make it harder to cope with his death.”

  Jenny smiled gently and got a faraway look in her eyes. “Just the opposite.” She looked at him, pleading. “I need this baby, Steve. I need this piece of Gabe. Besides, who’s George to

  say I can’t? It’s none of his business. It’s not as if under ordinary circumstances we’d consult him before starting our family.”

  “This is a little different, Jenny.” The circumstances were light-years from ordinary. He rescanned the document in his hand but had trouble concentrating. “So tell me again how this all came about. From the beginning.”

  Jenny heaved a sigh. “It’s simple. The organ donor lady was telling me about all the people that could be helped with his organs, and I thought, what about me? If they could recover his sperm and freeze it, then I could be inseminated. I could have another baby.”

  “And this didn’t seem a little crazy to you?”

  “No—okay, maybe.” A deep frown creased her brow and she crossed her arms over her chest. “But the more I thought about it, the more sense it made. I’d just miscarried my baby and lost my husband—it seemed like a blessing. But now I got this.” Jenny leaned across the table and pointed to the paper. “I have to show up in court November sixteenth. Will you represent me?”

  He paused, trying to think of a way to soften his response. “Jenny, I can’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “Well…To be honest, I’m not sure I agree with you.” He held up a hand to forestall her objection. “I’m not sure how I feel about it. There’s a lot to think about. Secondly, this is a very sticky legal issue that I’m totally unfamiliar with—I’d be out of my depth. I think you’d be better off with someone else.”

  Jenny studied him one long minute, as if trying to puzzle something out. Then her eyes went big as she came to some conclusion. “Oh, my God. You blame me. You’re mad at me because we spent that night together.”

  “What?”

  “You won’t help me because you feel guilty about the night we spent together.” She cocked her head. “You didn’t tell Annie, did you?” She glanced at his phone on the counter. “Is that why she’s calling you all the time?”

  “No.” Only an idiot would tell his fiancée he’d spent the night with another woman—even if it was innocent. There was simply no reason to hurt her like that. Annie texted and called him frequently because she liked to stay in touch.

  “No what?” She crossed her arms over her chest and pinned him with cool blue eyes. “Not guilty or didn’t tell?”

  He pushed away from the table to stand. His chair cracked loudly against the wood floor, making Jenny startle. “Didn’t tell.” He righted the chair. “Of course I feel a little guilty—more weird than guilty, really, but I thought we were beyond that.”

  “I did too. That’s why I want your help. You’re the only one I can trust with this.”

  “Look, Jen. I wouldn’t be your friend if I wasn’t honest with you.” He picked up the document. “This is a complicated subject. I know it seems like a nuisance suit to you, but George might actually have legal grounds to block you. It’s a very touchy issue. I know you don’t think it should be, but legally it is.”

  “Why?” She looked young and genuinely confused.

  “Because. Forget the fact that Gabe’s your husband. You took his sperm without his consent—when, in fact, he was incapable of objecting should he have wanted to—for the express purpose of reproduction.”

  “But he was my husband.”

  “That doesn’t matter.”

  “Yes, it does.”

  “No, it doesn’t.” He shook his head. “It does not give you the right to invade his body, taking sperm from him to make a baby that would have half his genetic makeup. A lot of people would see that as disrespecting the deceased.”

  “But I do have the right to give away his organs? They even would have let me pick and choose which organs I wanted to give. ‘You can have his heart, nope, sorry, not his lungs’” she played out. “I can give away his organs and help as many as fifty people, they said, but I can’t save his sperm to conceive one child for me? Where’s the logic in that?”

  She could pick and choose which organs to give away? He didn’t know anything about organ donation beyond the little red heart marking his driver’s license.

  “I don’t know this area of the law well enough to debate it, but some would consider it the difference in altruistically giving a gift to save other’s lives and taking something from Gabe for yourself. What you’re trying to do breaches many legal, medical, and ethical areas. This is going to create a lot of controversy.”

  “But why?” she wailed. “It’s a personal decision.”

  “The decision might be personal, but implementing it isn’t. You need advanced medical technology to help you do what you want to do—what you already did. You didn’t just take Gabe’s sperm and get pregnant on your own. That’s where you open yourself up to criticism and interference. Are you sure you want to pursue this?”

  Jenny’s lips pinched tight, her expression angry. “Yes. Nobody’s going to tell me I can’t have my husband’s baby.”

  He dropped the document on the table. “Frankly, I’m surprised you found a doctor willing to take the sperm. He must have understood how controvers
ial this would be.”

  “He was very kind. He just wanted to help me.”

  Steve looked at the papers again. “Why was the sperm sent to California instead of a sperm bank here?”

  She glanced away, avoiding his look.

  “Jenny?”

  She raised her chin and looked at him. “The facilities here were reluctant to take it.”

  “Be-cause…” he drew out.

  “Because. Of the lack of consent,” she admitted.

  He sat. “Look, Jen, ask me to draw up your will or write a nasty letter to the insurance company. Hell, ask me to do your taxes, but don’t ask me to do this.”

  Her shoulders drooped; all the fight seemed to drain away. “You think I should forget about it?”

  He did think she should let it go, but in all honesty he couldn’t be sure he was being completely objective. “I think I’m not the right attorney to advise you.”

  “Just think about it. Please.”

  Steve hardened his heart against her pleading. He knew it was difficult for Jenny to ask for help, but he couldn’t. This trial would be messy and highly publicized. He wasn’t experienced enough. Besides, he didn’t like what she was trying to do—it just felt wrong.

  “I can’t. I want to help you, but I’m sorry, you’re going to have to find someone else.”

  She stared at him one long minute through wide, wounded eyes, making him feel like a heel. A few more seconds and he would have broken down, agreeing to whatever she wanted as long as she didn’t look at him with that betrayed disappointment.

  “Okay,” she said in a flat voice.

  Relief coursed through him. “I’m sorry.”

  “I understand.” Slumping in her seat, she looked sad and lost. She didn’t understand at all.

  He stood and slid his phone into his pocket. “Let me know when you get the notes from the printer.”

  She nodded and forced a smile to trembling lips.

  God, please don’t let her cry.