He had lustful thoughts about his dead wife’s sister. What was wrong with him?
Clutching the steering wheel, Dena turned out of the parking lot and onto Alhambra Boulevard. He’d gotten to her. Android Alex had managed to slip under her skin and make her cry.
Like a chigger.
Dena remembered Steve’s reaction when they’d learned she was pregnant. He’d been…startled, then accepting. But he’d chafed under the changes she made in their lives. She socialized less and slept more. She quit making caffeinated coffee in the mornings and didn’t serve wine or beer. She’d asked him to smoke his cigarettes outside.
He’d rebelled against the idea of assisting her with the birth, chuckling that he never could stand the sight of blood. So going with her to Lamaze was out.
When he’d seen on the ultrasound screen two hearts beating in her womb, he’d fallen silent. She’d been excited and assumed that his reaction meant that he was too stunned with joy to speak.
Less than a month later, her husband—the man with whom she’d made a lifelong commitment—was gone, after cheating on her with every willing woman in the neighborhood. A geologist, Steve had dumped his boring government job to chase his dreams of wealth in the Saudi Arabian oil fields.
He’d discarded his family the way a snake sheds its skin. He hadn’t contested the divorce. Occasionally he sent support checks. He wrote or phoned the twins even more rarely.
Steve Randolph had never met his children.
Dena stopped at a light and rested her forehead on the steering wheel. Waves of anger swept through her, leaving her shaky. Try as she might, she couldn’t suppress the rage that always engulfed her when she thought about Steve. This doesn’t help, she told herself. She’d never move forward with her life if she couldn’t find peace in her own soul with Steve and his betrayals.
She threw Steve out of her mind. He was the past. He didn’t matter anymore.
When the light changed to green, Dena accelerated through the intersection.
And now Alex Chandler wanted to be her Lamaze partner. Deeply touched by the promise he made to stay by her side when the baby came, she felt she had to sign the contract.
But now she had regrets. Had she acted too hastily?
She supposed she should be grateful for his caring attitude, but she didn’t trust him, and the habit of independence from men had become deeply ingrained.
If Alex was going to be her Lamaze coach, that meant he’d be present when she gave birth. That he wanted to be there hadn’t occurred to her. She didn’t want such intimacy with Alex Chandler. She didn’t like it. It made her feel…invaded, intruded upon.
On the other hand, she’d agreed to bear his child. Few acts were more intimate. But the surrogacy made a mockery of intimacy, didn’t it? The baby would be Tamara’s, not hers.
Dena shook her head. She didn’t want to get close to Alex in any way. He was her sister’s husband. Intimacy would seem just plain weird.
She remembered the touch of his hand on her cheek, which had been the first time a man had touched her for years. The gentle stroke had felt warm and tingly. Good. Too good.
She reminded herself that the caress had been accidental, and his concern for her based on the fact that she’d be the vessel for his child.
They’d never liked each other and probably never would.
Chapter Two
In some strange way, driving Tamara’s sleek, silver Jag made Alex feel closer to her. Yet even this fuzzy-warm nostalgia for Tami couldn’t mask his nervousness at the thought of seeing Dena again. He fingered the bundle of papers on the leather seat as he turned onto Fair Oaks Boulevard, fighting rush-hour traffic all the way.
Dena hadn’t taken a copy of the surrogacy contract with her when she abruptly left Gary’s office. Although a secretary could have mailed it, Alex liked having an excuse to drop by. He needed to visit Dena. He wanted to keep tabs on the woman who would carry his child.
Why had Tamara selected her half sister? Alex tapped the steering wheel with exasperated fingers. Would matters be easier with a stranger? Perhaps, but Dena was an honest person who wouldn’t break her word. She’d give up the baby to him when the time came, so Alex could devote himself to his and Tamara’s child.
He made a right turn onto Shadownook. At the end of the tree-lined cul-de-sac stood the old house that the Randolphs had bought when they discovered Dena’s pregnancy. Set back from the shallow curb, the rambling two-story home looked as though it had been designed for a houseful of kids. The open garage held her old clunker of a truck. Nearby, gardening tools hung on the wall in neat rows.
When Alex parked at the end of the driveway, he could see the twins’ tree house nestled on a low branch of one of the huge old oaks rimming the property. Raised-bed gardens, clothed in new spring leaves, dotted the wide lawn. Kneeling, Dena dug in one, intent upon some unknown task.
He could see Jack and Miri playing on the lawn with Dena’s golden retriever. Smiles lit the twins’ grubby faces. Their dark hair stood up in spikes; the knees of their pants were torn and dirty.
Alex opened the Jag’s door. Now he could hear the kids at play. The twins’ raucous shouts changed to squeals of delight.
“Unka Alex! Unka Alex!” Oblivious to his charcoal-gray three-piece suit, Miri hugged him around the knees. She left smears of mud on his slacks.
Alex repressed a wince, knowing that the suit could be cleaned, but a child’s broken heart might never mend. He picked up the little girl, allowing her to give him a big kiss, sticky with some mysterious snack she’d eaten. All the Cohens—even the Cohen-Randolph kids—were very touchy-feely, unlike the Chandlers. Alex hoped to achieve a happy medium with his child.
“Uncle Alex!” Jack hollered, his little legs pumping as he raced toward Alex. “Mom! Uncle Alex is here!”
Alex walked toward Dena, still carrying Miri. Jack trailed behind.
“Hello, Dena.”
She looked up. Knee-deep in the loamy bed, which was half-planted with strawberry seedlings, Dena epitomized the perfect gardener. Wearing a battered straw hat, knee pads strapped around her coveralls, and sturdy gloves to protect her hands, Dena was dressed to kill…weeds.
She swiped a stray red hair off her face, leaving a streak of dirt on one high cheekbone. “Hi, Alex.”
“Mommy, can Unka Alex stay for dinner?” Miri asked. “You said we have to love him more now that Auntie Tami’s gone.”
Smiling, Dena met Alex’s clear blue gaze. “Of course Uncle Alex can have dinner with us, if he wants.”
Alex felt his neck flush. So they’d discussed him. Not surprising. The Cohens were chatty as well as touchy-feely. Embarrassed but pleased, he said, “I’d like to stay if it doesn’t inconvenience you. There are a few things I want to go over later.”
“Yay! Uncle Alex, Uncle Alex!” Jack tried to climb up Alex to join Miri.
“Jack, don’t grab at Uncle Alex’s belt. He’ll pick you up when he’s ready.”
Miriam smirked.
“Miri, stop that. Both of you, go play catch with the dog. Goldie!” Dena’s high, sharp whistle sliced through Alex’s eardrums.
Dena’s golden retriever trotted up, two tennis balls clutched in her jaw. Goldie’s tail waved and she rubbed against Alex, leaving a load of her blond hairs on his pants. She looked at his face with adoring brown eyes.
Alex put down Miriam. “Miri, get a ball from Goldie