The Cliff House. RaeAnne Thayne

it through the first twenty-four hours and then the week after and was well on the road to recovery now.

      He hadn’t wanted to come here to Cruz’s estate to recover, but with his only fixed address a third-floor walk-up in Manhattan Beach that he used as a home base, he hadn’t had many choices.

      Gabe still wasn’t sure he liked the guy’s music but had to admit Romero had stepped up to show his gratitude, insisting on staying with Gabe through those early days in the hospital and then arranging for him to fly here upon release.

      Cruz hadn’t listened to a single argument.

      There were far worse places to rest and recuperate.

      Gabe sank into a bench overlooking the ocean, enjoying the waves crashing against the rugged cliffs below.

      He would rest here for a minute, he told himself. Just long enough to avoid the prickly Daisy, whose last name he still didn’t know.

      She was lovely. He couldn’t deny that. At first glance she seemed almost forgettable but then a man looked closer and saw those stunning hazel eyes, full mouth, lush curves.

      He hadn’t been able to look away when he’d seen her in the grocery store the other day. He was rather embarrassed to remember that he might have stared. She had seemed familiar to him and now he knew why. In the hallway outside his room was a picture of Cruz and a little girl he assumed was his daughter. Also in the picture was a woman who looked a lot like the little girl, which he now figured was Cruz’s ex-wife, an older woman with short hair and glasses and the voluptuous Daisy.

      Those hazel eyes had gazed out of the picture, hypnotizing him.

      He would love to photograph those eyes. Maybe he would pose her on that Marguerite table she loved so much, wearing nothing but scarves, with only her vibrant eyes visible above the filmy material...

      The image came out of nowhere, unsettling him...and arousing him, he realized, as his body stirred to life.

      That was a relief. The business downstairs had been listless and uncooperative since the stabbing.

      Good to know things appeared to be in working order, though apparently nearly dying had the odd and unexpected side effect of making him develop a sudden fierce attraction for prickly businesswomen with sharp tongues and questionable taste in art.

       6

      STELLA

      “It is one hundred percent official. You are pregnant, my dear.”

      Stella gazed at her friend and longtime OB-GYN, still reeling from the shock of it. “You’re sure?”

      “The numbers don’t lie, honey. Congratulations.”

      She smiled at Jo, who had held her hand through the entire process of fertility treatments. “I feel like you did half of the work. Shouldn’t you be passing out cigars right about now?”

      “I’m afraid it doesn’t quite work that way. You get to do all the work from here on out, until the last bit.”

      She wasn’t going to stress about that part until she had to. “I don’t know how to thank you. Seriously. You’ve been amazing.”

      “Everything looks good so far. I would say, considering the date of your last insemination, that puts you at approximately six weeks along—assuming you haven’t been finding a little action on the side, anyway.”

      “No action here, except you and your turkey baster, which I’m sure doesn’t surprise you. It’s all you, Jo.”

      “Well, I couldn’t be more thrilled.”

      “I don’t know how to thank you. It’s amazing.”

      “Don’t thank me yet. We have a few weeks to go.”

      Six weeks down, approximately thirty-four to go. She couldn’t quite believe this was happening. She would be holding her own baby in just a little over eight months.

      “Do you have any questions or concerns for me?”

      “That depends. How much time do you have?”

      Jo laughed. “I can give you another fifteen minutes. If you have more than that, we’ll have to meet for lunch next week.”

      “Fifteen minutes will at least get us started.”

      The truth was, Stella had been dreaming of this day for so long, visualizing what it would be like to be right here, finding out positive news from her doctor, that she had already researched everything she might have wanted to know. She had just about memorized the stages of fetal development, what symptoms she might be experiencing at each stage of the pregnancy and any concerns she should be watching for.

      All that and much, much more was available with the click of a keyboard. Seriously, how had women survived all the questions of pregnancy before the internet?

      She knew the answer. They had a village. Mothers, sisters, grandmothers, friends. She had that, too, and was deeply grateful.

      They talked about a few of her symptoms—the breast tenderness, the sleepiness, the hints of nausea she’d been feeling throughout the day.

      “That might get worse before it gets better,” Jo warned. “Make sure you let me know if it becomes more than you can handle.”

      She knew as a woman past forty—barely!—she would face additional challenges and was completely confident in Jo, grateful she would have a friend and solid partner in this whole baby business.

      “If that’s it for now,” her doctor said, “I’d like to see you again in my office in two weeks. Be warned, I’m going to be following you more frequently than most first-time moms. Because of your age, this is considered a high-risk pregnancy, which means we’ll become even better friends before we’re done here.”

      “Sounds great to me.”

      “Go ahead and get dressed and the nurse will be in with the bundle of information we give to all first-time expectant mothers.”

      She was an expectant mother. It still didn’t seem real.

      “Thank you.”

      “I’m so thrilled for you, Stella. You’re going to be an amazing mother.”

      She wasn’t at all convinced of that. She was fairly certain self-doubt would be more of an issue throughout the pregnancy than anything else. She was in it now, though. Like every other mother, she imagined, she would have to figure things out as she went along.

      The nurse, Katie Frye, had been Stella’s student years ago. She knocked just as Stella finished dressing. “Come in,” she called.

      Katie marched through the door carrying a large cotton tote with flowers on it. “Here you go. This is the swag bag we give to all new prenatal patients. There are samples, coupons, leaflets and a nice pregnancy journal, as well as a book we give expectant moms. You might find it answers your most common questions. Read through it when you can. And congrats, Mama.”

      Her stomach, which hadn’t felt the most stable all day, seemed to twist at the words.

      “Remember, you can call us any day or night,” Katie went on. “Now, make sure you stop at the reception desk to set up your next appointment.”

      “I will. Thank you.”

      When she walked out to the luxuriously appointed reception area, she saw a couple of women she knew, including one who was a notorious gossip. She waved, grateful the swag bag was somewhat discreet and didn’t scream Baby Mama on it. She wasn’t ready for the whole world to know yet. She didn’t even know when she wanted to tell Daisy and Bea.

      After making the appointment with the receptionist—another of her old students—she was entering the info into her