Panic assaulted her. She'd have to visit her doctor to confirm. But she already knew the diagnosis. She was never this late.
She'd done a good job of avoiding Quentin since that fateful night. He'd reluctantly agreed to drive her home after she'd agreed to allow Muriel to come over and help her for the next few days—until she could walk without the crutches.
In fact, since that night she hadn't seen Quentin and had dealt only with Noah about the day-care project.
If Noah had thought it strange that she and Quentin didn't deal directly with each other, he kept his thoughts to himself.
She'd been miserable, of course. She'd lost weight in the past month, which made the pregnancy a double surprise. She'd have to force herself to eat more now for the sake of the baby.
If only she could deal with her problem sleeping through the night as easily. Since leaving Quentin's house, she'd lain awake many a night thinking about what to do.
Yet, she hadn't been able to work up any interest in the literature she'd collected at the sperm bank.
She thought back to the night she'd lain in Quentin's arms. Their mutual desire, once unleashed, had been a force greater than either of them, demanding satisfaction. Afterward, she'd become frightened by the emotions he'd aroused in her and what she'd allowed herself to admit in a moment of passion: she loved him.
She'd reacted by retreating, doubting whether she could go on with their plan without incredible heartache. And Quentin had exited her life, a tacit understanding between them that they'd both “forget” their night of shared passion and go on with their lives.
The trouble was, in less than nine months, they'd have a very real and constant reminder of that night!
Liz's visit to the doctor's office the next Friday confirmed what she already knew. If the doctor was surprised at the rapid turn of events, he didn't show it.
After receiving instructions from the doctor about appropriate supplements, collecting what seemed like three dozen pamphlets on childbirth, and scheduling her next visit, she left the doctor's office and drove home.
What was she going to do? She might be able to convince everyone she'd been artificially inseminated in such a short time, but what would she do when the baby arrived? What if it was a little boy with the Whittaker trademark gray eyes? How long before her secret would become known?
Of course, she could move to another town. Maybe even join her father down in Florida. But that would mean folding up Precious Bundles and starting again from scratch.
No, she had to face reality, which was bearing Quentin's child right here in Carlyle, which was Whittaker family home turf.
Sooner or later she'd have to tell Quentin, of course. But, please God, not now.
She needed time to marshal her forces. Time to think. And, Lord knew she didn't want Quentin to think she was going to him for money. That would only confirm his opinion of women and their motives.
Ordinarily, she'd turn to Allison in moments like these. Ally was at her best in crises. But she knew what Allison's reaction would be. She'd be overjoyed that the plot she'd originally set in motion had come to fruition. She'd insist on telling Quentin right away and having him assume his responsibilities—financial or otherwise—or else.
Arriving home, she dropped her purse on a side table and headed toward her desk. The only other person she could trust was her father. And he wouldn't be happy.
She chewed on her lower lip and eyed the phone on the desk as if it had been possessed by evil spirits.
How her father would react to the news that his only child—his unmarried daughter—was pregnant, heaven only knew.
Well, best to get the inevitable over with, she decided. Grimly, she picked up the receiver and dialed her father's number. His greeting a second later made her stomach twist in knots.
Patrick Donovan immediately started in on his favorite topic: his only child's recalcitrance about calling and visiting. “Lizzie, if you're too busy to come down here, I'll come to you instead. It'll do me some good to see the lads.”
By lads, of course, her Dad meant his sixty-ish buddies, business associates, and fishing companions, many of whom had yet to be lured to sunny Florida, despite, she was sure, Patrick Donovan's formidable sales pitch.
Her father having given her an opening, she took a deep breath and plunged in. “I'm glad you're planning to come up here. How about Labor Day Weekend, Christmas, and, let's say, the middle of next April?”
Her father laughed. “Ah, it warms my heart, it does, that you're so anxious to see me. And what would next April be, if you don't mind my askin'?”
She closed her eyes. “Having a baby. No due date yet. But if we're lucky, you'll be here for the blessed event.”
There was a pause at the other end.
“Dad?” she asked uncertainly, opening her eyes.
“What!” She heard him mutter under his breath. “When I said I was lookin' forward to the pitter-patter of li'l feet, sweet pea, I thought it was clear I preferred for you to be married at the time. Seems like I was right to worry about you up there all alone.”
She winced. She'd known he would be disappointed in her. Still, it didn't make things any easier to hear him give voice to it.
“Next you'll be tellin' me who the father is, no doubt,” her father grumbled.
She steeled herself for what was to come. “Quentin Whittaker.”
“Saints alive!” Then, “Whittaker, is it?”
“Now, Dad, don't be angry—”
“Angry?” Her father gave a hearty laugh. “I'm delight-ed!”
“What?” He couldn't have shocked her more if he'd just announced plans to give up fishing and join an order of Franciscan monks.
Her father chuckled. “Well, I'm going to be a granddaddy. Now, mind you, that's enough to warm my heart. But, sweet pea, you've also managed to bring the family business back into the family!”
“What are you talking about?” For a moment, she wondered about the onset of senility, then dismissed the thought. Her father was as sharp as a tack.
“Quentin owns most of what was Donovan Construction, Lizzie.”
“Wha—? How?” Her world tilted on its axis. It wasn't possible!
“Oh, he didn't buy it outright,” her father continued chattily. “No, he bought it from Scudder Brothers about a year after I sold out to them. Quentin is the major shareholder in a holding company called Samtech Enterprises that now owns what used to be Donovan Construction.”
Liz's head began to pound. The enormity of her predicament hit her like a ton of bricks. It was even worse than she'd realized… for she'd unwittingly played into her father's hands.