Black Hills Baby Page 2

  “Of course you are. But none of you have walked in my shoes, so to speak. Kat, you’re so fertile you could conceive after an evening of talking dirty. Tag and Jordie prove it.” Her sons by two different husbands were eight and six.

  “Jenna doesn’t want kids,” she went on, moving her finger to the woman on Kat’s left. “And Char…” She looked at the woman with short spiky hair that she dyed anything from orange to purple, depending on her mood. At the moment, she resembled a rock star – black with pink highlights. “Char has always been surprisingly mum on the subject.”

  All started talking at once. Libby moved the TV tray to one side and picked up the venerable five-foot-long yew branch that was a part of every meeting. “Stop. Everyone. I have the talking stick. That means I speak and you listen. Without jumping to conclusions or rushing to judgment. Remember?”

  When they’d started the group two years earlier, Char had suggested they borrow the idea from a Lakota friend who ran a free clinic on the Pine Ridge reservation. The talking stick was empowering to the speaker and symbolically reminded listeners they could get whacked over the head if they didn’t shut up and pay attention.

  “Kat, you know I’ve been thinking about this for a long time. Even before Misty died.” Mac’s wife had been killed in a car accident the previous fall.

  “What does your slutty sister-in-law have to do with your decision to get pregnant?”

  Libby shook the stick at Jenna, who even on the best of nights was rushed for time and tended to cut off every long-winded discussion topic to keep things moving. This attitude partly stemmed from the fact she was a downtrodden caregiver whose only night off from caring for her difficult, hypochondriac mother was spent counseling her friends, whose lives seemed to be shrinking to one solitary point of focus – men.

  Or rather, the lack of them.

  “Misty – for all her faults – was only twenty-eight when she died. Twenty-eight. In a few months I’ll be thirty-five. That’s two decades of menses wasted every month instead of nurturing a new life. I’ve read that some women are starting to enter peri-menopause in their early forties because of stress and the environment. I need to do this. Now. And I’m willing to pay for it.”

  “But—”

  She shook the stick. “But the only thing of value I own – outside of this house -- is half interest in a gold mine. We all know the Little Poke's never going to be the next Homestake, but what man wouldn’t want to brag that he owns a share in a gold mine?”

  “What about your Mom’s settlement money?” Jenna asked, ignoring the stick.

  “You all know how I feel about that. Dad called it ‘blood money’ and refused to touch it. After he died, Gran set up trusts for Mac and me, but we both decided the money should go to our children. Of course, that was before Misty got hold of it.” What happened to a good-size chunk of the money was still a sore subject that Mac refused to talk about. “Megan will inherit what’s left of Mac’s share, but I…I don’t even have a cat to leave it to at this point.”

  She lowered the stick, indicating that the others were free to ask questions.

  “Why now?”

  “Why online? There are all kinds of kooks and weirdoes out there.”

  “Why didn’t you ask Clive? He’s been in love with you since grade school.”

  Libby finished her wine in one gulp then turned to Jenna, her closest and oldest friend, who knew better than to suggest such a thing. Clive Brumley was a nice guy. One of Libby’s most reliable rural carriers. But he’d never be anything more to her than a friend. “He kissed me when we were in the third grade. I remember because it was so traumatizing. I ran home to Gran and told her his lips were soft and slimy and his breath smelled like fish sticks. To this day, a part of me thinks of him as Fish Lips.’”

  Char’s slightly upturned nose wrinkled.

  “Exactly.”

  A moment later Kat said, “Libby, I think you’re one of the smartest women I’ve ever met. You’re capable and strong and a born leader, but being a single parent is the toughest thing I’ve ever done--and I started out with a partner. Both times.”

  Libby smiled at the compliments. Wouldn’t her friends laugh if they knew how terrified she felt? She’d agonized over this decision for weeks and still, at times, was certain she was a self-serving fool. But, ultimately, her rationale would come back to Kat. “Kat, you’re partly the reason I decided to do this.”

  “Me? I work two jobs and have two kids from two ex-husbands who make me jump through hoops to get my sons’ monthly child support. What part of this madness I call a life do you find attractive?”

  “You’re a single mom getting her teaching certificate while juggling part-time work and child care. Jordie and Tag are great kids who adore you and don’t seem to resent the fact you’re not married to their fathers. That was my biggest concern. Would my child hate me for not giving him or her a standard, two-parent upbringing?”

  Char leaned in. “Of course he or she will hate you – at some point. No matter what you do.”

  Char could always be counted on to salt the pot of controversy with a dash of negativity.

  “On the off chance that’s true, I’ve decided I need to meet the father face-to-face. No anonymous donor list for me. I don’t have time to court some guy and fall in love – and we all know the pitfalls that come with love. But if I handle this as a business transaction, there won’t be all the angsty emotions that could turn us into enemies.” The way Mac and Misty were at the end. “We’ll stay in touch. By email. From a safe distance.”

  Nobody said anything, so she added, “And he’ll be available in case anything happens to me. My child will never be an orphan.” Her voice faltered on the last word, as it always did. She looked at her lap, hoping her friends wouldn’t notice. She didn’t want their sympathy, only their support.

  “So, you’re not planning on having sex with this guy?”

  A telling question. Not surprising coming from someone with Jenna’s history.

  “No. Absolutely not.” Even though I feel like a dried up shell and am afraid my soul is too barren at this point to host a fertilized egg. “After I’ve narrowed down my search, I’m going to require the applicant I choose to come here for a week. I haven’t worked out all the details, but I figure he can stay in Gran’s cabin out back. If we both agree that we can work together on this project, he’ll deposit his sperm at the clinic in Rapid City and leave. My doctor gave me a bunch of information about hormone shots and whatnot. Once she says it’s time, I’ll go in and we’ll let nature take over.”

  There was a bit more muttering and shaking of heads, but Libby carefully laid out her baby-by-contract strategy. These were her friends. They knew and loved her. If she couldn’t convince them this was a good idea, then her plan was doomed where the rest of the town was concerned.

  And did the town’s opinion matter to her? Of course it did. She’d known most of the residents of Sentinel Pass all her life. But was she willing to give up becoming a mother just because her postal customers didn’t approve?

  She’d wrestled with the question on more than one sleepless night, and the answer, she’d finally decided, was no. This was her life, and there came a point when even a people-pleasing good girl had to put herself first.

  I can do this. I will do this. Provided she could find the right sperm donor. Someone who was more interested in claiming an interest in a gold mine than actually getting rich from it. If such a man didn’t exist, she would fall back to Plan B and pay him a portion of her trust fund for his contribution to her private sperm bank. But ideally he’d want that money to go to their child. In a perfect world.

  Chapter 2

  “I have a plan,” Cooper announced, breaking the uncomfortable silence that had grown to elephant-size in the few short minutes it had taken his friend and colleague Shane Reynard to read the email threats Coop had decided to show him.

  Shane’s dark head appeared to one side of the computer monit
or. “Does it include leaving the state before some psychotic loan shark rearranges the bones in your trademark face?”

  Coop glanced at the now-empty display case where his mother’s collection of figurines had once rested. “Yes, actually it does. I’m going to the Black Hills of South Dakota. Your old stompin’ grounds.”

  Shane stood up and walked to the window to stare at the view. Coop wondered which of the sights the reticent and very private billionaire was taking in. The bikini-clad co-eds playing volleyball on the sand? The slightly past-her-prime actress strolling hand in hand with her latest boy toy? Or was he checking for paparazzi?

  “Not exactly,” Shane said, his back to Coop. “I grew up in Minnesota and went to college in Brookings. That’s on the eastern edge of the state.”

  Coop walked to the window, too, his flip-flops shush-shushing on the smooth floor. “Close enough. You know where South Dakota is, anyway.”

  Shane looked at him. “I do. Although I have to say, I’m a little surprised you do. Didn’t you once tell me you’re geographically-challenged?”

  “I can never keep Ohio and Iowa straight.”

  “Ah. Four letters each. Three of which are o's. Could happen to anyone.” His narrow lips lifted slightly at the corners. A Shane Reynard excuse for a smile. “So, what exactly is the big draw to the Black Hills?”

  “Gold. I’m trading sperm for a quarter share in a gold mine.” He rushed to get out the spiel he’d been practicing in the mirror before Shane could recover from his obvious shock. “It’s a win-win situation. It’s not like I’m using that sperm at the moment. In fact, most of it just goes down the drain of the shower.”

  Shane made a sound of disgust and backed up a step.

  “This is a joke, right?”

  “Nope. My little swimmers are going to buy me part ownership of a mine.”

  “What does your lawyer say about this?”

  “He doesn’t know.” Arthur Brannigan was his mother’s age and conservative to the extreme. He and Lena had had a love-hate relationship that at times had bordered on obsessive, yet Lena had insisted Arthur was the only man she’d trust with her son’s finances.

  Too bad Arthur had put a similar trust in Lena.

  “If he did, he’d tell you you’re insane.”

  “If Arthur were privy to the specifics of this situation – like the death threats I showed you but nobody else -- he’d say, ‘Go for it.’ Because, think about it, man, this is all good.” He paused a moment. “Actually, it’s more like win-win-win, because you’re going to benefit, too.”

  “Your sperm and I have something in common? Lord. Do I even want to know?”

  Coop walked to the printer beside the filing cabinet where he’d stashed the towering stack of unpaid bills and picked up the copy he’d made of Libby McGannon’s proposal. “As you’re reading, think about the story behind this woman’s situation. The pathos. The humanity. The universality of her goal.”

  Shane’s left eyebrow went up at the three-dollar word Coop had pulled from his research.

  He waited for some kind of remark. When none came, he added, “Think of the demographics we’d reach with a television show centered around that goal. Every single gal over thirty is going to tune in every Thursday night to see what becomes of this woman on her quest toward motherhood, love, happiness…you get the picture.”

  Shane glanced up. “You’ve already picked the night? Don’t you think the networks will have a say in the matter?”

  “Not when they hear our pitch.”

  The piece of paper lowered. “Our pitch? How did I get involved?”

  “I’m the idea guy. You’re the producer. You take my ideas and make them workable. And I dare you to tell me this isn’t a great idea. Think The Bachelor meets Northern Exposure.”

  Shane’s poker face didn’t give away much. He finished reading Libby’s bio, then said, “Where exactly do you come in? You’re not serious about donating sperm to father this woman’s baby, are you?”

  Coop smiled, feeling both relieved and validated. Questions meant Shane was intrigued. “I am. That’s part of what makes the story work. Popular actor and TV personality with an irate bookie on his back decides to answer this woman’s call for help and at the same time hide out in the Black Hills until he, a, gets enough gold to pay off the loan shark or b… Things get a little fuzzy here. Maybe the bad guy shows up and the locals protect the hero.”

  “Why would they do that?”

  “I don’t know. I’m tossing out ideas here. Maybe the postmaster lady dies in childbirth and the hero moves in to raise the kid. You’ve got that whole fish-out-of-water thing.”

  “But you lose the single-mother vote. And any chance at a love interest. And what about the bloodthirsty loan shark? Is this a comedy or a Sopranos spin-off?”

  Cooper flipped him off. “Quit jerking me around, man. I’m serious. I know you. You’ve taken smaller ideas than this and turned them into hits.”

  Shane was quiet a good minute. “Okay. The initial concept has a certain ring to it. But we could work on this idea without you handing over your sperm. For God’s sake, Coop, think about the consequences. A kid means some major bite-you-in-the-butt opportunities for the next eighteen years. Or more.”

  Coop hated to be told to think. His mother had used that expression all the time – particularly when she didn’t want him to use his head. And Coop had been thinking. He’d done nothing but ponder his fate and future ever since he discovered his nearly depleted bank balance. He refused to tell Shane he was broke. That was too humiliating. How dumb did you have to be to put your complete trust in a woman with a gambling problem?

  “The kid’s mom will be in charge of that. Unless something happens to her, I’m just a name on a birth certificate. Fifth-string stand-in.”

  “You’re crazy. You know that, right?”

  Crazy. And desperate. But nobody was going to know just how desperate. Not even Shane.

  “Are you going to sleep with her? What if she’s a dog? Hell, she must be a dog if she has to buy sperm over the Internet.”

  Cooper walked to the computer and pulled up the webpage he had bookmarked. “Here’s her photo. She’s no beauty queen, but she’s not ugly. In fact, she looks nice. Responsible. She has a government job with great benefits. The kid will have a trust set up, but she’s got this thing about not leaving her kid an orphan.” Like me.

  He pushed the thought away and quickly added, “And, to answer your question, no. I won’t be sleeping with her. I’m staying in her guesthouse for a week so we can get to know each other and decide if this is what we both want. Then it’s me and a dirty magazine in some clinic in Rapid City. Her doctor takes it from there. Simple.”

  “Right. Like anything in your life has ever been that easy.”

  Shane’s cavalier tone made Coop’s pent-up anger snap. “Hey, some of us weren’t born with a golden touch. Isn’t that what the reviewer for People said about you, Mr. Wonderkid.”

  “Kind. Wunderkind.”

  Coop made a snarling sound and gripped the edge of the desk. “Yeah, we all know you’re a brainiac. But are you smart enough to see the potential in this story? I don’t have all the answers. I don’t even have a plot, but something tells me I’ll find what I’m looking for – storywise – once I get to Sentinel Pass.”

  Shane sighed and crossed his arms. He studied Coop in a way that made Cooper antsy, so he quickly sat at the desk and moved the mouse around.

  “Maybe it would be a good idea for you to leave town for a week or two. But all joking aside, what if this bookie tracks you to South Dakota? You’ll be out of your element, Coop. Anything could happen. At least take your assistant along.”

  And pay her how?

  He clicked on his email icon. “The postmaster wants me to come alone. I’ll have my cell phone. It’s not like I’m going to Fiji or something.”

  Shane walked to the pointed end of the surfboard desk and rested one hip against it. “Still�
��did you ever see the Hitchcock movie North By Northwest? Cary Grant and Eva Marie Saint? They filmed part of it at Mount Rushmore. It didn’t end well, as I recall. And, knowing you, if something can go wrong, it will. Wanna bet?”

  Coop scrolled down his list of new messages. The latest one from his mother’s bookie was accompanied by a fierce red exclamation point. “Sorry, pal. You have me confused with my mother. I don’t gamble.”

  ---

  Libby dropped her purse to the floor beside her chair. The long day was finally over. She’d been waiting all day to rush home and check her email. Would his answer be here? Would today be the day she decided? Or would his answers to her questions be enough to make her wake up and admit what a farce this had become?

  She clicked on the little envelope icon and waited. It made no sense to keep corresponding with someone like him. A guy so far out of her league they weren’t even breathing the same atmosphere. But, if she were being honest, she had to admit that his fame and high-profile lifestyle was faintly titillating, if nothing else. How often did a postmaster in South Dakota get to communicate one-on-one with a TV star? At first, she'd been sure CLtheman was some goof-off in Outer Mongolia stringing her along.

  But they’d finally worked past her suspicions and doubts. She was convinced – well, ninety-eight percent sure, at least – the man calling himself Cooper Lindstrom really was the actor and TV personality Cooper Lindstrom.

  She hoped.

  She scanned the page on her screen and quickly spotted his email name. She ignored the other three hundred and fifty emails to click on his.

  “Good morning, fair mayden. I’m looking at the first hint of dawn on the ocean. More gray than

  pink. Another day in paridise.”

  She couldn’t help but smile at his typos. They made him more human. Which was good. Because if she went by his photos and all the information on his website – interviews, press releases and hype – she’d have thought he was perfect. She was too much of a realist to put her faith in perfection. But he couldn’t spell worth a darn. And neither could she. At least they had one thing in common.