“Are you OK?”
Julia asked the question, her head tilted in concern.
“Fine,” Jesse lied quickly, not wanting to see her concern turn to pity. “I’m drunk.” Another lie.
“Jesse,” she breathed, her smile hesitant and somehow beseeching. He knew what she wanted. She wanted him to remember what he was trying so hard to forget.
He made the mistake of looking into her endless blue eyes, and he saw exactly what he had seen when he met her the first time, months ago in Germany.
A million missed opportunities. A thousand unanswered prayers and unspoken wishes.
He’d been kicked in the gut when his best friend had opened that door and introduced the woman of Jesse’s dreams as his wife.
And now fate had brought her here to finish him off.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Molly O’Keefe is thrilled to add Superromance author to her résumé. And even more excited to add her new role as mother. She lives in Toronto, Ontario, with her husband and son. She loves hearing from readers, so drop her a line at www.molly-okeefe.com.
Dear Reader,
My husband and I welcomed our son into the world in February 2006 and soon after I was right back to work on the rewrites of this book. I had no idea when I got the idea for His Best Friend’s Baby (months before even getting pregnant!) how one of its themes would resonate in my life – the need for a support system.
After giving birth (my water broke at a book signing – how about that for dramatic?) I found myself with an infant who didn’t care much for naps and some serious work to do. As much help as my husband was, I needed more. I needed support. And I found it in spades. Writing, like motherhood, can be lonely at times and I am blessed with friends, a mother-in-law and my own mother who provided me with baked goods, laughs and a couple of hours every day to get the work done.
I felt as though I belonged to a tribe. Sleeplessness, worry and a joy I’d never experienced before were my entry into that circle of mothers.
It made me feel even more for Julia, the single-mother heroine in this book. She came to life for me during these rewrites in a way I never would have dreamed. I hope you enjoy her path to happily ever after as much I enjoyed discovering it.
Happy reading!
Molly O’Keefe
His Best
Friend’s Baby
MOLLY O’KEEFE
For all the Mothers in my life:
Tracey Fader and JK, who kept me laughing.
Leslie Millan and Sarah Drynan, who kept
me sane. Cindy and Carole Mernick,
who made the revisions of this book possible.
And especially
to Mum, who made all of this possible.
You left me very big shoes to fill in the
motherhood department – I love you.
CHAPTER ONE
JESSE FILMORE lifted his fingers from the bar, signaling for another drink.
“Liquid lunch, huh?” the bartender asked with a nervous laugh as he poured Jesse another cup of coffee. Black.
“What time is it?” Jesse’s voice sounded like something that had been dragged behind a horse. His whole body felt that way—sore and beat up.
“Twelve-thirty.” The bartender leaned against the polished wood bar. “We don’t get a lot of coffee drinkers in here. You want a beer or a sandwich or something? We’ve got—”
“What’s your name?” Jesse asked. He didn’t lift his head, just stared at the bartender from under his eyebrows. His neck was killing him. Moving it would send an electric shock through his body.
“My name? Billy. This is my—”
“Billy? I’d like to drink in quiet.”
Billy looked stunned, no doubt used to a friendlier sort of drinker in this crappy sports bar. “Yeah, ah, sure. I’ll be down here if you need me.” Billy backed toward the other end of the bar where two guys shared a pitcher of beer and a plate of nachos while they watched yesterday’s sports recap on the screen in the corner.
When Jesse was a kid, this bar used to be a serious drinking place. No music. No darts. No pool tables. No damn ESPN. It had been a bar where men swaggered in after work and stumbled home at midnight, then fell into bed and slept without dreams.
Jesse wasn’t doing any drinking. The pain meds the docs had him on were bad enough, he didn’t need to let go of any more reality.
But a little peace and quiet wasn’t too much to ask for.
He’d come here to get out of the sun, stall for time before going to see what was left of the old house.
He’d come in here because he was a little bit scared.
He blocked out the noise of the television and the buzzing neon lights and drained half of his coffee mug before setting it down precisely on the damp circle that stained the napkin.
“Holy shit. Jesse Filmore!”
Jesse turned his head as much as he comfortably could and saw Patrick Sanderson barreling down on him. In high school, Patrick had tried, briefly, to keep up with Jesse and his best friend, Mitch Adams. But the kind of trouble Jesse and Mitch had gotten into wasn’t for the faint of heart and Patrick had definitely been faint of heart.
It was probably for the best. Jesse recalled the night that Patrick had gone out with them. We got arrested for stealing that car.
“How have you been, man?” Patrick slapped a clammy hand on Jesse’s back. Jesse fought the urge to shake it off. It wasn’t Patrick so much—though he had never liked the guy—as it was anyone and everyone getting too close. Even alone in a room he felt crowded. Too many ghosts.
Jesse shrugged and the gesture apparently satisfied Patrick. “We haven’t seen you in town since…?”
“My mother’s funeral,” Jesse said carefully, his throat a solid throb of pain.
“God, right, three years ago. I thought you were still over in Iraq.” Patrick slid onto the stool next to Jesse. “I heard about Mitch. Terrible news. Just terrible.” Patrick’s belly strained against his yellow golf shirt. He ran his hand over his thinning hair. “Agnes and Ron are all messed up over it.”
Jesse didn’t smile, didn’t in any way encourage this intrusion, but Patrick didn’t seem to need encouragement.
“I’d steer clear of that house if I was you. She’d probably skin you alive if she saw you.” He laughed, as though what he was saying wasn’t the heartbreaking reality of Jesse’s life. Luckily, Jesse had grown a thick skin, from years of letting the casually hurtful and completely stupid things people said roll off him.
Billy sauntered over and threw a cardboard coaster on the bar in front of Patrick.
“What can I get you, Pat?”
“Draft and whatever Jesse here is drinking—”
“No thanks,” Jesse declined. “I’m good.”
Billy shot Patrick a look indicating what he thought of Jesse’s manners, before walking