The Father of Her Child
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Joan Elliott Pickart
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15,1K
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16
Chapter One
Ted Sharpe leaned against the wall of the elevator, closed his eyes and drew a weary breath.
He could easily fall asleep standing right here on his feet, he thought. He’d just ride the elevator up and down for ten or twelve hours until he had rejuvenated his tired body.
If anyone poked him and questioned what he was doing there, he’d switch into his tough-cop mode and tell them he was on official elevator-security detail. That ought to impress ‘em.
He and his partner, Ryan MacAllister, had pulled a double shift of duty in their patrol car, due to the fact that the Labor Day weekend brought people flocking to Ventura and the surrounding area. It was the last hurrah of summer, and the party goers did it up royally, overindulging in food, drink and reckless driving.
Police officers all along the California coast were kept busy, hauling in the drunken drivers and the brawlers who lost their common sense for the duration of the extra-long holiday weekend.
But now, midmorning on Tuesday, things were back to normal, as though someone had waved a magic wand and restored peace and order. People had returned to work, some a bit worse for wear, the visitors had exited and Ventura was once again as it should be.
Sleep, Ted thought foggily as the elevator bumped to a gentle stop at his floor. His kingdom for a long stretch of blissful, uninterrupted sleep.
The doors swished open and he left the elevator. His feet felt as though they weighed a hundred pounds each. As he plodded along the carpeted hallway, he absently noted that the door to the apartment before his was ajar and two men in white coveralls were coming out, leaving the door open behind them.
The men stopped in their tracks when they saw Ted, a common reaction when suddenly confronting a police officer in full uniform.
In spite of his bone-deep fatigue, Ted cataloged a detailed description of the pair, including the red stitching above the pockets on the upper left of the front of their uniforms. The red thread spelled out the message that they represented Ace Moving and Storage, one of them was Pete, the other was Jake.
“Hi,” Pete said. “Nice day, huh?”
Ted stopped his sluggish trek. “Yep. You must be moving someone in. The previous tenant left a couple of weeks ago.”
“You live in this building?” Jake said.
Ted nodded. “Next apartment.”
“Good,” Pete said, smiling for the first time. “We’ve had the cops called on us twice in the past year. People watch television one night, see a dumb flick about robberies pulled off by guys posing as moving men, and the next day…bingo…they’re reaching for the phone when we show up at the house next door. What a hassle.”
Ted smiled and nodded. “My partner and I went out on a call like that a few years ago. It was a false alarm, just like you’re talking about. You guys are covered today. That place has been empty, so there’s nothing to rip off. You have to be bringing stuff in, not out.”
“Are we ever,” Pete said. “The big pieces don’t fit in the elevator. We just hauled a sofa up four very long flights of stairs. We’re really earning our pay on this one.”
“Well, enjoy,” Ted said, starting away. “Me? I’m hitting the cool sheets. Someone could probably rip off the whole building, brick by brick, and I’d sleep right through it.”
“See ya,” Jake said.
“Yep,” Ted mumbled.
As he entered his apartment, he gave fleeting thought to the fact that he should have asked ole Pete and Jake about the person, or persons, who were moving in. His previous neighbor had been a mousy little guy, an accountant, who was as quiet as the mouse he looked like.
Since Ted had the last apartment on the floor, he only had one close neighbor to be concerned about, as far as noise sifting through the connecting wall. A tiny, elderly widow lived directly above him on the fifth floor, and he never heard her footsteps.
A man on shift work was very often asleep while others were awake, and neighbors could play a bigger role than normal in his life.
Yeah, he thought, removing his gun and holster. He definitely should have asked the movers about who was taking up residence beyond the mutual wall. Well, too bad. He was so beat, he didn’t have the energy to retrace his steps. He’d just wait and be surprised. Pleasantly surprised, he hoped. Yep, he was casting his vote for another mousy accountant.
Ted yawned three times in succession as he stripped off his clothes, then sighed in pleasure as he sank onto the unmade bed, pulling the rumpled sheet and blankets over his naked body.
“Mmm,” he said at the sheer ecstasy of the soft pillow cushioning his head.
Within moments, he was asleep, wrapped in a protective cocoon of soothing silence.
Two hours later, Ted shot straight up in bed, his heart beating wildly. He’d been having a rather nondescript, boring dream. He’d been ambling through a huge grocery store, pushing a cart and tossing things in without bothering to see what he was taking from the shelves. The dream no doubt meant that he was hungry.
So what had jolted him awake?
A sound reached him and he shook his head in disbelief, attempting to dispel the lingering fogginess of sleep.
He was now, he knew, wide awake, and the noise was real, not a leftover memory from the dream. He was hearing…Yes, it was a piano being played with a great deal of enthusiasm and volume. Someone was pounding out “Yankee Doodle” on a piano!
“No way,” Ted said, flinging back the blankets. He left the bed and pulled on the uniform trousers that he had dumped on the floor in a heap. “Not a chance. I need sleep. I’m going to get some sleep. Mr. Doodle can take a hike.”
Adding nothing more to his limited apparel, he strode from the bedroom with heavy, angry steps. Leaving the apartment, he stopped for a moment to determine the source of the music.
“Mmm,” he said, starting down the hallway.
The door to the apartment next to his was open, as it had been earlier. Ted went to the doorway, intent on marching right in and making it clear to the merry music-maker that playing the piano at an ear-splitting level was not remotely close to acceptable. Not when the closest neighbor was a wiped-out cop who had just gotten off a grueling double shift.
Instead, he took one step into the living room and stopped so suddenly that he teetered for a second. His eyes widened, and he had to order himself to close his mouth that had dropped open as he took in the view before him.
The piano was on the far side of the room at an odd angle, as though not yet placed in its designated spot by the movers. The piano player was facing him, although obviously unaware he was there.
The “Yankee Doodle” enthusiast was a woman.
And she was absolutely beautiful.
Because several cartons were stacked next to the piano, Ted could only see the woman’s face and shoulders.
Like a cameo, he thought. Lovely.
She had silky black hair that swung in graceful waves around her face and brushed the tops of her shoulders as she moved her head to the beat of the peppy tune. Her eyes were large and very dark, further accentuating her fair skin. Her features were delicate…femininity personified.
And she was smiling.
Man, oh, man, Ted thought as heat rocketed through his body. This woman could wake him up any day of the week if she wanted to. He would wholeheartedly prefer, however, that when she did, she be next to him in bed, wearing nothing more than that pretty smile.
Forget the mousy accountant type. This was a new neighbor a man could really appreciate.
No, now wait a minute, he thought in the next instant. His rapidly heating-up body was running roughshod over his mind. Gorgeous or not, the lady had to be made to understand that pounding on a piano was not socially correct apartment-living behavior.
Ted moved farther into the room, stopped, crossed his arms over his bare chest and cleared his throat to gain the woman’s attention.
She continued her rousing rendition of “Yankee Doodle.”
“Hey,” he yelled, “Ms. Doodle. Could I have a minute of your time here?”
Hannah Johnson jerked at the sudden bellowing sound of a man’s voice, her hands crashing onto the piano keys. She snapped her head up, then stared at the man standing in the middle of her cluttered living room.
Heavenly days, she thought. From where had this half-naked, magnificent specimen of a man come? He was tall, with blond, sun-streaked tousled hair, tanned skin and the bluest eyes she’d ever seen.
His shoulders were wide, his chest broad, his arms nicely muscled. The curly hair on his chest was a shade darker than the hair on his head. His features were rugged, removing him from the pretty-boy arena to a place clearly labeled male.
Oh, yes, he was gorgeous.
But if the volume of his voice and the frown on his face were clues to his frame of mind, he was not a happy camper. So, what was Mr. Body Beautiful’s problem?
“Hello,” she said pleasantly. “You startled me. I’m Hannah Johnson.”
“Ted Sharpe,” he said gruffly. “I’m your neighbor.” He nodded briskly in the direction of his apartment. “I live next door. I also sleep over there when I’m not jarred awake by a piano concert.”
“Oh, I see,” Hannah said slowly. “You’re a late sleeper? It is past noon, you know.”
“I realize that, but I’ve only been asleep for two hours. Ms. Doodle, I’m a cop. I just put in a helluva double shift. I need sleep. Are you with me here? Knock off pounding on that damn piano.‘’
Hannah matched his frown. “There’s no call to be rude, Mr. Sharpe. A quiet explanation as to the fact that I was disturbing you would have sufficed.” She slid her eyes over him from head to toe. “Do you always greet your neighbors half-naked?”
“I’m half-dressed. You’re lucky I stopped long enough to put on my pants before I came over here. A dead-tired man who is blasted out of a sound sleep by a lousy rendition of “Yankee Doodle’ is not in a friendly-neighbor mind-set.”
“Lousy rendition? Lousy! I’ll have you know, Mr. Sharpe, that I play the piano extremely well. Thank you very much.”
“No, you play very loud.“
“You really are rude. What happened to the motto of ‘Policemen are our friends’?”
“It got blown away by ‘Yankee Doodle.’ I assume we’ve reached an understanding here? If you’re going to play that damn thing, do it quietly.“
“Or what? You’ll arrest me?”
Ted nodded. “You’ve got it, darlin’. I’ll slap you with a citation for disturbing the peace, Ms. Doodle.”
“Johnson. It’s Hannah Johnson.”
“Whatever.”
“And I’ll have you arrested for indecent exposure. You can’t waltz into my home half-naked.”
“Like I said, I’m half-dressed. And your door was open. You don’t have a case.”
“My door,” she said, “is about to be closed. Behind you. After you leave. Now.” She got to her feet and came around the stack of cartons.
Ted’s eyes widened as he stared at her.
Ms. Doodle, his mind hammered, was pregnant!
“You’re pregnant,” he said.
“Really? Gosh, I’m glad you pointed that out. I wondered what this funny lump was under my blouse. My, my, I’m going to have a baby. I certainly appreciate your telling me that, Mr. Sharpe.”
Ted rolled his eyes heavenward. “You must drive your husband totally nuts. You’ve got a real temper there, Mrs. Doodle.”
“It’s Ms. Doodle. I mean, Ms. Johnson. I’m divorced, Mr. Sharpe. There’s no husband to drive totally nuts. I sincerely hope for the sake of Mrs. Sharpe that there isn’t a Mrs. Sharpe. You are not a pleasant man.”
“There’s no Mrs. Sharpe, and I can be as pleasant as the next guy, once I’ve had a decent stretch of sleep.”
“Fine,” she said, starting toward him. “Go tuck yourself back in bed with your teddy bear. If I decide to play the piano, I’ll do it more quietly.”
“Thank you,” Ted said, glaring at her.
Just then, Pete and Jake entered the room carrying boxes, which they set on the floor.
“That’s the last of it,” Pete said. He took a clipboard from the top of one of the cartons. “If you’ll sign this receipt, we’ll be on our way.” He glanced at Ted. “Let me guess. You got yourself mugged and they ripped off your cop suit.”
“Cute,” Ted said.
Hannah signed the paper, thanked the men, then followed them to the door.
Pregnant, Ted thought, watching her. Divorced and pregnant. Ms. Doodle had a lot to deal with on her own. She sure was feisty, though; gave as good as she got.
Did she have a family who would be showing up to help her unpack, move furniture, set this mess to rights? Hell, what difference did it make? It was really none of his business.
After Pete and Jake disappeared, Hannah stood with one hand on the doorknob.
“Good day, Mr. Sharpe,” she said, lifting her chin.
Ted dragged one hand through his already sleep-tousled hair, then started slowly forward, finally stopping in front of Hannah. He looked directly into her eyes, realizing they were so dark he could hardly discern the pupils.
“Look,” he said, “I apologize for storming in here and yelling my head off. Exhaustion is no excuse for being…um…”
“Rude,” Hannah supplied.
“Yeah, okay, I was rude, and I’m sorry.”
Hannah sighed. “Well, I’m not without fault, Mr. Sharpe. I was feeling a bit overwhelmed by this move, the mess, the general confusion of it all. I’ve found that by playing an upbeat tune on the piano, I can often gather myself together.
“I’ve been living in a house, and I now realize that apartment dwelling is going to require some changes in my behavior. I’m sorry that I woke you.”
“Let’s start over, shall we?” Ted extended his hand. “Hello, Ms. Doodle, I’m Ted Sharpe, your neighbor. Would you like to borrow a cup of sugar?”
Hannah smiled, then tentatively raised her hand to place it in Ted’s.
“Hello, Ted,” she said, her smile fading. “Thank you for the offer, but I have sugar somewhere in this disaster area.”
Dear heaven, she thought, Ted Sharpe was even better looking up close than from across the room. She’d never seen such blue eyes, and they were framed by long, blond lashes. He had tiny lines by those incredible eyes, created from squinting against the California sun, or maybe from smiling that knock-’em-dead smile of his.
His hand was big and warm, so very warm, and the heat was traveling up her arm and across her breasts. That chest…so broad, tanned and beautifully muscled. The hair there caused her fingertips to tingle with the urge to touch, then weave, through the enticing curls.
Oh, Hannah, she admonished herself. What on earth is the matter with you? Retrieve your hand. Right now!
She started to remove her hand from Ted’s, only to have him tighten his hold enough to keep it firmly in his.
The beautiful Ms. Doodle, he thought. Hannah. It was an old-fashioned name and it suited her perfectly. She really was as lovely as a cameo picture, with her dark, dark eyes and hair, and her skin that would feel, he just somehow knew, like ivory velvet when he caressed it.
When? his mind echoed. Whoa, Sharpe, hold it right there. The last thing Ted needed in his life was to get involved with a woman who was going to have a baby in a few months. He kept his social scene uncomplicated; easy come, easy go. And he only dated women who played the game by those rules.
Yes, Hannah Johnson was enchanting.
No, he wasn’t going to do more than say hello to her if they happened to pass each other in the hall.
“May I have my hand back now, please?” Hannah said quietly.
“Your what?” Ted blinked. “Oh, your hand.” He released it quickly, as though it had suddenly become a hot potato. He glanced around the cluttered room. “When I moved into this building, I had the movers put my furniture in place. Your buddies Pete and Jake shouldn’t have left things like this.”
“That was our agreement. They gave me two estimates for the move. I took the less expensive one, which means they brought in my belongings and plunked them down.”
“Is your family coming over to help you get squared away?”
“I have no family, Mr…Ted, but several of my friends will be here after school to pitch in.”
“School?”
Summer vacation is over and classes started today, but I’m on leave for this school year. I taught music appreciation at an elementary school.”
Ted nodded. “I see. I bet those little kids could really belt out ‘Yankee Doodle.’”
“They certainly could,” she said, laughing.
Oh, hell, Ted thought, that cooked it. Hannah’s laughter was like tinkling bells. A coiling heat steadily built low in his body. He had to get out of here and safely back to his own bed.
“Well, it sounds like you’re all set,” he said, “so I’ll go catch some more z’s. It was nice meeting you, Ms. Doodle, once we got past the war.”
Hannah raised her right hand. “I solemnly swear I won’t play the piano for the remainder of the afternoon.”
“My tired body will certainly appreciate that. I’ll see ya.”
Ted left the apartment, strode down the hall to his own and hurried inside.
Hannah stood in her doorway until Ted disappeared, then continued to stand there, staring at the empty hallway.
A swift kick from the baby caused her to jerk in surprise, come out of her somewhat hazy state and step back into the living room. She closed the door, turned to survey the clutter, then allowed herself to execute a long, weary sigh.
“Well, Ms. Doodle,” she said aloud, “unpack a box, or two, or three. Oh, ugh.”
She started across the room, but changed her direction and went to the piano, gently lowering the cover over the keys. She shifted her gaze to the wall separating her apartment from Ted’s.
“Sleep well, Officer Sharpe,” she said, saluting the wall.
Smiling, she took the lid off the nearest box.
Late that night, Hannah turned off the small lamp on the nightstand next to her bed, then shifted into a more comfortable position beneath the, blankets. As she closed her eyes with a weary sigh, her hands floated upward to rest on her stomach.
“Good night, little one,” she whispered.
As though hearing the softly spoken words, the baby moved, then stilled.
So tired, Hannah thought. Oh, goodness, she was exhausted. Even with the help of four friends from school, getting the apartment into a livable condition had been very hard work. There were still boxes to unpack, but she’d run out of energy and had finally quit for the day.
Her friends had been wonderful, pitching in like troopers and moving the furniture into place. One of the women had discovered the box of linens, then had made up Hannah’s bed, stating it would be ready and waiting for Hannah to climb into.
They’d sent out for pizza for dinner, insisting that Hannah take a break and put her feet up. The two men had toted the emptied packing boxes down to the Dumpster, and except for a half-dozen small cartons, her home was in order.
Home.
This was it. This medium-size, two-bedroom apartment was now her home. Oh, how quickly her life had changed, falling apart and shattering hopes and dreams for the future, as well as the trust and belief in the man she’d vowed to love until death parted them.
A man she’d never really known at all.
A man who turned out to be far, far different than who he presented himself to be when they had married over two years ago.
“Go to sleep, Hannah,” she told herself.
She’d get an energy-restoring night’s sleep and wake up in the morning refreshed in mind and body. Wake up in her new home.
While Hannah’s friends had been there, everything had been dandy. They were busy working, laughing, talking. The teachers had shared the tales of woe of the first day back at school.
But finally they’d gone, each hugging her, saying they’d see her soon, that they would keep in constant touch.
And then it had been so quiet.
Exhaustion had swept over Hannah like a heavy cloak, accompanied by the silence that seemed to have an oppressive weight of its own.
She’d taken the lid off a box, stared at the contents as though she’d never seen them before in her life, then thrown up her hands in defeat.
After a warm bath, she’d gone to bed, the soft pillow feeling heavenly as she lowered her head onto it. It was her familiar pillow, her bed, her sheets and blankets.
But how long would it be until this place really felt like her home?
“Attitude, Hannah,” she said to the darkness. “It’s all in the attitude.”
The apartment was cheery, with sunny rooms that were spacious enough to hold the furniture she’d kept. The piano was polished and ready for her to give private lessons to her young students.
She’d shop tomorrow for more food for the cupboards, unpack the last of the boxes, and everything would be shipshape.
She could start to make plans for the baby’s nursery that would occupy the now-empty second bedroom. That would be fun, exciting.
Heavens, she even had a gorgeous hunk of man as a neighbor. She could gawk at him if she happened to see him in the elevator or hallway.
Ted Sharpe, she mused, smiling. How many women had a half-naked, drop-dead handsome man show up in their living room the day they moved into their new apartment? No, no, half-dressed, to quote Officer Sharpe.
And that was another thing to be grateful for. She had a policeman living right next door in case a band of thieves tried to break in. How lucky could a woman alone get?
A woman alone.
Oh, dear, Hannah thought, she mustn’t dwell on that while she was so tired. She’d frighten herself to death if she gave further thought to going through the remainder of her pregnancy, the birth of the baby, then raising the child, all alone.
Facts were facts. She was alone. She was twenty-five years old, divorced, pregnant and alone. So be it. She and this baby she loved and wanted with every breath in her body would be all right. Whatever came along, she would handle it, one day at a time.
Two tears slid down Hannah’s cheeks and she dashed them away angrily. She was overtired, that was all. Overtired and momentarily overwhelmed by everything. She was going to sleep. Right now.
“I’m trying, Gran,” she whispered with a wobbly little sob. “I’ll be fine tomorrow. Yes, in the morning there will be daffodils and daisies.”
