She wasn’t sure she could ever get up her nerve to make that embarrassing proposition to another man—not that she knew any other reasonable prospects at the moment, anyway.
Too bad about Geoff, though, she thought with another long, regretful sigh.
Geoff sat on his sofa with his guitar across his lap and stared down at the strings, wondering why he had suddenly forgotten how to play. He’d been turning to the guitar in times of stress since he was fourteen, taking pleasure in old Beatles tunes that had been written before he was born. Songs his mother had loved.
Today he couldn’t even remember the tunes. His mind was still filled with the echo of Cecilia’s voice as she had asked him to father her child.
Despite all the suspicions that had poured through his mind—all the precautions that had been programmed into him almost from birth—he had finally come to the conclusion that she had been completely honest with him. She’d wanted nothing more than what she had asked of him. He simply couldn’t believe anything else of her.
She wanted a baby. He supposed he could understand that. Most women did seem to want children, and he imagined Cecilia’s biological clock was clamoring pretty loudly at this point. But did she really think he was the kind of man who could walk away from his own kid? A man like—
Like his uncle Billy.
Grimacing, he set the guitar aside and stood to pace. How many times during his late teens and early twenties had he secretly wished he could be more like his father’s wild and footloose brother? While Geoff had been bound by smothering rules and regulations, spending his weeknights studying and his weekends working in the family businesses to “build his character,” Uncle Billy had been bouncing from one party to another, one beautiful woman to the next.
Billy had tried occasionally to draw his nephew into the fun, urging Geoff to rebel occasionally, to slip away and forget about family expectations, at least temporarily. But, as much as he might have been privately tempted, Geoff had been too tightly bound by the sense of obligation that had been impressed upon him from birth.
He had done everything that was asked of him—and more—without complaint, watching his uncle’s exploits with a vague wistfulness. When Billy died piloting one of his expensive airplanes, the family had sadly pointed out how wise Geoff was not to have been influenced by his uncle’s wild ways. Hadn’t they always predicted that Billy would come to a bad end? While Geoff had taken their lessons to heart, he had grieved for the man who had always been the happy clown among the somber, respectable Binghams.
While his beloved mother had lived, he’d have cut off his arms before he caused her any disappointment or distress. After her death, he’d felt he owed it to his father and sister to cause them no more worry or grief. He had rebelled in only two relatively minor ways since: the big motorcycle he kept in the condo garage, to the great disapproval of both his father and his grandmother; and his refusal to go along with their efforts at finding him a suitable match.
He thought again of the longing look in Cecilia’s eyes when she had spoken of the child she wanted so badly. He wished there was something he could do to help her. His awkward offer of financial assistance certainly hadn’t impressed her.
It wasn’t hard to guess what his uncle would have done. Billy would have happily provided his services in Cecilia’s bed until her objective was accomplished, and then he would have moved on to the next adventure without a backward glance.
He knew what his father would say about Cecilia’s request. Ron would accuse Geoff of making an error in judgment getting intimately involved with a clinic employee in the first place, even for one night. After another lecture about the expectations of upholding the Bingham name, Ron would remind him about the number of people who would take advantage of him. He would question the motives of a woman of limited financial means who just happened to choose a man with money to sire her child. And he would predict disaster if Geoff were foolish enough to fall for her scheme.
Was there any way he could combine Billy’s daring and Ron’s caution and still find a way to help out a new friend?
Cecilia was digging weeds out of the herb garden in her tiny backyard when she heard someone call her name. She swiped the back of one dirty hand across her perspiration-beaded forehead and twisted to look over her shoulder.
“Oh, hi, Brandy,” she said to the teenager standing on the other side of the low wooden fence that separated Cecilia’s yard from the one next door. “How’s it going?”
“Okay. Can I come over?”
“Sure.” Cecilia rose, grimacing when her leg and back muscles protested being in a kneeling position for too long. Apparently she had needed a break anyway. “Want some lemonade?”
“Sounds good.”
“I’ll get us some. We can drink it out here.”
Brandy was waiting for her when she came back outside carrying a tray that held two plastic tumblers of lemonade and a plate of oatmeal-raisin cookies. The sixteen-year-old redhead sat in one of the four wrought-iron spring chairs grouped around a small round wrought-iron table. The stone patio on which the furniture was arranged was surrounded by plantings and potted plants and shaded by several large old trees.
Eric had built that little patio for her a couple of years ago, and they had both enjoyed it since. She often ate outside on pretty days.
After handing Brandy her lemonade, Cecilia settled into one of the spring chairs, looking around in satisfaction. There were so many things she liked about her little house, and this tidy backyard was one of her favorite features. It had been a wonderful place to play as a child, to daydream and swing during the daytime, and to gaze at the stars at night.
“Your yard looks good,” Brandy said, her gaze following Cecilia’s.
“Thank you.” Turning her attention back to her guest, Cecilia suddenly frowned. “What happened to your face?”
Brandy shrugged, and one strap of her pink tank top fell off her skinny shoulder. Her shaggy red hair tumbled into her face, which was why Cecilia h
adn’t immediately noticed the purple bruise that darkened the girl’s left cheek. The smattering of acne that marked the girl’s skin looked even less attractive in combination with the bruise.
Brandy’s green-gold eyes shifted, and she appeared to study the plate of cookies very closely before making her selection. “Played a game of catch and didn’t get my glove up fast enough. Caught the ball with my face.”
“Ouch. That must have hurt.”