The Maverick's Bride-To-Order. Stella Bagwell

bothered him was what Maggie had said on that final night before she’d walked out.

      ‘I tried with you, Lucas, I really tried! But it was all pointless, wasn’t it? You’ve never truly loved me. Not the way you should have.’

      ‘Of course I love you—’

      She’d half laughed, half cried.

       ‘But it wasn’t real, Lucas! You thought it was, and that was the problem. You lost your heart to Callie long ago and you can’t see it!’

      ‘Callie? No, you’re wrong. She’s my friend … that’s all—’

      ‘She’s more than your friend and I can’t be second best in your life. I need someone to love me for me. I don’t want to be your substitute.’

       ‘You’re not! Maggie, you’re being ridiculous. Callie and I are just friends and that’s all we’ll ever be!’

       ‘But you still want more. Haven’t you noticed how uncomfortable it is for me every time she comes round? How you are with her?’

      He’d looked at her then, confused and still reeling from her announcement that she was leaving him.

      ‘Well, yes, but—’

      ‘I know you care for me, Lucas. Maybe you do love me—just not enough. And not in the way that you should.’

      ‘But we’re going to have a baby together, Maggie. Hopefully. One day soon!’

      She’d looked at him then, her eyes filled with sadness.

       ‘And look who you picked to carry your child.’

      Why had he allowed Callie to get into his mess? His beautiful Callie. His best friend. That was all she was. He knew her situation, knew her background—with her awful childhood and her ridiculous drunk of a mother—and he’d stupidly let her get into this situation.

      Why?

      Was it because Callie always seemed to set things right? Was it because he only had happy memories with her, so he’d let her suggest the surrogacy in the hope that her involvement would somehow set his marriage right?

      Maybe. He couldn’t be sure.

      But now his mess had got real. There was a baby. He’d just seen it. And though he was happy, and thrilled to be having a child—there was no disappointment in that—he wasn’t sure how all of this was going to sort itself out.

      He didn’t want to pretend. As he had with Maggie. The fact that he’d hurt Maggie hurt him. Pretend to Callie that everything would be fine …? He couldn’t be sure. Not really. Callie didn’t think she could be a mother so it looked as if he was going to have to raise this baby by himself.

      I could do that. Plenty of men are single dads.

      But the realisation was there that he did want Callie involved. More than she had ever volunteered for.

      Was that fair of him? To push her down a road she wasn’t ready for? Did he want to parent a baby with someone who wasn’t committed—like his father?

      The pen dropped to the table with a clatter and he glanced at the clock. He needed to be with his patients.

      I’ll have to think about this later.

      He and Callie could do this. He was sure of it.

      Callie was running the booking clinic that afternoon, and there were twelve women booked in to be seen over the next four hours. Due to Maggie’s unexpected absence they were still down a staff member and had had to rely on an agency midwife to step into the breach and help out.

      Callie took a few minutes to show the new member of staff where everything was, and how to log into the computer system, and then pulled out the first file: Rhea Cartwright. Sixteen years old.

      Callie checked to make sure she had all the equipment she’d need and then went to the waiting room and called out the girl’s name. A young girl, who was there alone and looked far less than sixteen, stood up. Clasping a large bag in front of her stomach, she followed Callie into the clinic room.

      ‘Hi, there. My name’s Callie Taylor. I’m a midwife here at St Anne’s and I’ll be following your case throughout your pregnancy—hopefully right up to the birth. How are you feeling today?’

      The girl was about eleven weeks pregnant, according to the notes from her GP, so Callie hoped she was no longer suffering the effects of morning sickness as she herself had done. Those few weeks when it had been at its worst had been just horrible!

      ‘I’m all right.’

      The girl answered tersely, without smiling, and didn’t meet Callie’s eye as she gazed about the room, taking in the breastfeeding poster, the framed black-and-white picture of a baby fast asleep surrounded by sunflowers in full colour.

      Callie beckoned her to sit down and settled into a chair next to her. ‘No one with you today?’

      ‘My mum couldn’t make it. She was busy.’

      She nodded. Perhaps Rhea’s mum was busy. Or perhaps Rhea’s mum had no idea of the pregnancy—or, worse still, couldn’t be bothered. Callie didn’t want to jump to that conclusion, but she had personal experience of having an uninterested mother. It wasn’t nice. But she couldn’t judge someone she’d never met, and nor did she want to jump to conclusions.

      ‘What about your partner? The baby’s father?’

      Rhea shook her head and looked at anything but Callie. ‘I don’t want to talk about him.’

      She was going to be a closed book. Callie knew she would have to tread softly with Rhea and gain the girl’s confidence if she was to learn anything. It was like this sometimes with teenage mothers. They suddenly found themselves in an adult world, living by adult rules, when all they wanted was to live by their own and be left to get on with it.

      And in Callie’s experience pregnant teenage mothers were often reluctant to show their trust until you’d earned it.

      ‘Okay … well, take a seat.’ Rhea still hadn’t sat down. ‘I’ll need to run through some questions with you.’

      She tried to keep her voice gentle and neutral. Nothing forceful. Nothing that would suggest Rhea was being ordered or expected to answer questions, as if she was taking some sort of test.

      ‘Just some basic things about you and your last period … that sort of thing. Is that okay?’

      Rhea sank into the chair with her bag clasped in front of her, still looking at anything but Callie. She shrugged, as if unwilling to commit either way.

      ‘Well, we’ll just start with some basics and see how we go on. Can you confirm your date of birth for me?’

      Callie sensed it was going to be a long afternoon. Rhea was not going to give up any information easily. Small red flags were waving madly in her mind. Her midwife’s sixth sense, developed over time, was telling her that there was something going on here that she didn’t know about. She had learned that it was best to listen to it. It would be so straightforward if every couple or single mother she saw had a happy home life for a baby to be born into, but quite often that wasn’t the case. There was a lot of poverty in London. There were a lot of drugs problems, lots of drink problems. Hadn’t that been her own experience?

      ‘April the first.’

      April Fools’ Day. Not a joke. It was confirmed in her notes. Callie knew she didn’t have the type of relationship with Rhea yet to make a joke about the date, so she kept a neutral face and voice and continued with her questions.

      ‘And when was the first day of your last menstrual period?’

      There was a moment of silence, as if Rhea was weighing up