Baby Makes a Match Page 9

  Moaning, Bethany dropped her head into her hands while he jogged around to the driver’s side. “Oh, Chandler, I’m so sorry. I never meant for any of this to happen. I didn’t even mean to sit next to you in church! Why didn’t you say something this time?”

  “You think I should’ve whistled everyone to attention and announced that I am not the father of your child? That would’ve gone over great.” He started up the engine and pulled away from the curb.

  “Why didn’t you just walk away, then?” she asked, tears clogging her throat.

  “So you could do what? Tell everyone that you’re pregnant and unmarried?”

  “That’s better than them believing that we’re married to each other!”

  “Really? And who do you suppose they would think the father is, anyway? Especially after yesterday.”

  Bethany wept. This was even worse than her worst fears. “I don’t mean to keep dragging you into this. Honestly, I don’t.”

  Chandler sighed and pulled the truck over again to loop an arm loosely about her shoulders. “I know that, and I’m not mad, I’m just… I don’t know what I am.”

  “You’re too good, is what you are,” Bethany managed, wiping her eyes. “You’re just too good.”

  “All I am,” he said, shaking his head ruefully, “is confused. I’m just trying to figure out what God is doing in my life. I just want to know what He wants of me.”

  “That makes two of us,” she told him.

  “Well,” he said, “I expect we’ll find out soon enough. Let’s just hope it includes the whole town figuring out that they’re wrong about us.”

  “No kidding,” she muttered. They couldn’t have been more wrong, in fact, no matter how much she might wish otherwise.

  For some reason, he laughed. She didn’t know why, but she smiled.

  Nothing had changed. It was still the most awkward situation she could imagine, but for the moment, just being able to smile was enough.

  Chapter Seven

  Wondering whose luxury sedan stood parked in front of the house, Chandler hopped out of the truck and followed Bethany up the brick walkway and onto the stoop beneath the porte cochere. He had forgone practice with Drew today to take Bethany to her doctor’s appointment, which had apparently gone well. It seemed that a lot of first-time mothers had Braxton-Hicks contractions.

  “And very few of them actually deliver early,” Bethany was saying.

  “That’s a relief,” he replied absently, reaching around her to pull open the bright yellow door.

  She went before him into the darkened back hall, lighting it up with her sleeveless lime-green knit dress. Her sleek, dark hair bounced in a jaunty ponytail at the crown of her head.

  “Plus,” she went on blithely, “they’ll let me prepay the fee.”

  “Excellent.” He wondered silently how long that would take.

  They came to the central hall and made the turn that would take them to the foyer, but before they got that far, Magnolia appeared from the direction of the front parlor. He noticed her rigid posture and the grim line of her mouth, as well as a fearful hardness about her eyes. Even more worrisome, the loud, cheery tone with which she addressed them sounded patently false.

  “Hello, dear ones! We’ve been waiting for you. You have a caller, Bethany dear, a Mr. Haddon.” Chandler glanced at Bethany, who shook her head. Mags leaned closer and said, “He’s an attorney.”

  Bethany’s blue eyes widened. “An attorney? What does he want?”

  “He wouldn’t tell us,” Magnolia hissed, “and I don’t like it one bit.”

  Chandler could see the pulse leaping in the hollow of Bethany’s throat and instinctively stepped closer to her. Gulping, she looked up into his eyes, and he saw at once that she was frightened, but she turned and stiffly followed Magnolia into the parlor. He went with her, determined not to let her out of his sight.

  Defying habit, the aunties had parked their guest in the front section of the spacious room where three stiff, scroll-armed chairs, placed perpendicular to the front window, faced a hard-backed, carved oak settee. Perched on the settee was a tall, slender man in his forties with a beaked nose, freckles and an abundance of neatly trimmed, cinnamon-and-sugar hair. His paleness, coupled with the pale natural linen suit that he wore with a white shirt and beige tie, made his obsidian eyes seem reptilian. He had evidently refused tea, a fact that could not have endeared him to the aunties.

  As Magnolia hurried to reclaim her chair, the stranger rose, the handle of his briefcase clasped in one hand. “Clarence Haddon,” he said tersely. “I must speak to you in private, Ms. Willows.”

  “Not happening,” Chandler said flatly. The aunties signaled their approval with nods and taut smiles. Haddon did not so much as look at him.

  “I—I think my brother should be here,” Bethany said, lifting her chin. She glanced at the aunties, who rose as one. Nodding, they hurried from the room, ostensibly to notify Garrett. Chandler stayed right where he was.

  The lawyer abruptly sat down again and brought his briefcase to his knees. Extracting a sheaf of papers, he thrust them at Bethany. She gingerly took them and scanned down the first page as Haddon smoothly stated, “As you can see, my client has empowered me to offer you a cash settlement in return for your, shall we say, discretion.”

  A dull red flush crept up Bethany’s throat into her cheeks. To Chandler’s shock, she tossed the papers in Haddon’s face, exclaiming, “Ten thousand dollars not to name Jason Widener as the father of my child!”

  Jason Widener. That name emblazoned itself on Chandler’s mind.

  Haddon flattened the papers against the top of his briefcase, saying, “Let me remind you that a father has certain rights.”

  “Let me remind you,” Bethany snapped, “that bigamy is illegal!”

  Chandler jerked. Bigamy? It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out Bethany’s situation at that point. The poor woman had obviously fallen prey to some slick scoundrel.

  “I have seen no evidence of bigamy,” Haddon said with smugness.

  Bethany folded her arms. “I have a signed marriage license from the state of Nevada. How’s that for evidence?”

  “An unrecorded marriage license is a curiosity,” Haddon told her, waving a hand, “nothing more.”

  “What do you mean, unrecorded?” Bethany demanded, dropping her arms. Chandler stepped closer.

  “I assure you that there is no record of a duly executed marriage license with your name on it in the records of the state of Nevada.”

  “That’s impossible!” Bethany exclaimed. “I have the license!”

  “Signed by whom?”

  “Myself and Jay Carter.”

  Jay Carter? Chandler thought. Who was Jay Carter?

  “And did you receive that license in the mail or take it with you after the ceremony?” Haddon asked slyly.

  Bethany frowned. “I think we took it with us.”

  “Then the license could not have been submitted for registration, could it?”

  Chandler wanted to hit something. He had been surprised himself, upon signing as a witness for his sister and Stephen, to hear that the license had to be returned to the state. Only after it was recorded and stamped would it be surrendered to them. “Jay Carter obviously planned his scam very carefully.”

  “Perhaps,” Haddon said. “I couldn’t say. My client is Jason Widener.”

  “They’re the same man!” Bethany exclaimed, tossing her arms wide.

  Haddon looked her squarely in the eye. “Prove it.”

  The color drained from Bethany’s face.

  “If they weren’t the same, Widener wouldn’t be willing to pay her hush money,” Chandler pointed out.

  “Jason Widener is a wealthy, prominent man with the means to prevent unwarranted challenges to his reputation,” Haddon said calmly. “It’s done all the time.”

  “Unwarranted!” Bethany exclaimed.

  “Were he the father of your child,” Haddon continue
d, just as if she hadn’t spoken, “he would certainly have the means to claim his full parental rights.”

  Chandler knew a threat when he heard one. So did Bethany. She stepped back as if from a coiled rattlesnake. Impotent anger filled him. He knew that she was weighing the threat that Jason Widener would attempt to take her child from her if she so much as whispered his name in public.

  Just how much more would this villain take from her? He couldn’t be satisfied with her heart, her self-respect, her dignity? He had to threaten her child, too?

  Oh, Lord, please help her, he thought. And then it hit him. God had helped her. He’d sent her to the Chatams, to one Chatam in particular, to him.

  While Chandler was grappling with that, Bethany softly said, “I have no intention of claiming that Jason Widener is the father of my child and never did.”

  Haddon lifted an eyebrow, as if to say that was not quite sufficient.

  Bethany swallowed, dropped her gaze and said, “Because he is not the father of my child.”

  “So who is?” Haddon pressed, clearly intent on a complete denial. “This imaginary Jay Carter you speak of?”

  Imaginary? Chandler felt his hands coil into fists, but this snake was not the one that deserved the beating. Hurried footsteps sounded in the background, but Chandler was too angry to pay them much mind, too focused on Bethany and her misery.

  She dropped her gaze, whispering, “I don’t know who the father of my child is.”

  It was total humiliation, and Chandler could not bear it.

  “That’s a lie,” he said, jolted by the sound of his own voice. The next words, however, were completely intentional. “I am the father of this child.”

  Oddly, it was a relief to say it, even if it wasn’t, strictly speaking, true. A father could be a father by choice, though, he told himself.

  It was impossible to say who was more startled, Haddon or Bethany.

  Haddon blinked. “You’re not Garrett Willows?”

  “I’m Chandler Chatam,” he said, “and you are leaving.” Striding forward, he reached down and hauled Clarence Haddon to his feet.

  “Ch-Chatam?”

  “That’s right.” Chandler smiled, relishing the power of the Chatam name as never before. “You can tell your client that if he knows what’s good for him he’ll leave us alone. We don’t ever want to hear from him—or you—again. Now, get out.”

  Clasping briefcase and papers to his chest, Haddon beat a hasty retreat.

  Chandler sighed, feeling better than he had in some time, and turned to Bethany. She stood with both hands clasped to her head as if to prevent it from exploding. Beside her stood her brother, arms folded, rage snapping in his electric blue eyes.

  “You’re the father, after all?” he yelled, glaring at Chandler.

  Chandler winced, realizing what Garrett must have heard—and, thankfully, what he hadn’t heard. Suddenly, the aunts were in the room, and everyone was talking at once.

  After several moments of chaos, Chandler roared, “We’re getting married!”

  It was like shutting off the radio. Instant silence.

  Chandler parked his hands at his waist, defiantly adding, “That’s all anyone needs to know.”

  Suddenly, Odelia rushed forward, hanky waving. “I told you! I told you! How wonderful!”

  At the same time, Garrett’s face cleared and his arms dropped. “Really?” he said to Bethany. “You’re getting married?”

  “Of course we are,” Chandler replied for her, catching Odelia as she threw her arms around him in a congratulatory hug. “That’s what people having babies do.”

  Hypatia beamed, her glowing amber eyes telling him that, while she didn’t know the details, she knew exactly what he was doing and approved wholeheartedly. Mags just smiled, then broke out laughing in wonder.

  Only Bethany stood like a statue, her mouth ajar. After a moment, she began to shake her head, but he knew that marrying her was the only thing to do, the right thing to do, and exactly what he wanted to do.

  Now all he had to do was convince Bethany.

  “You’ve got to be kidding.” It came out as a mere whisper, her expression one of disbelief. He could not have meant what he’d said. Yes, everyone assumed that they were a couple, but… She shook her head. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  Taking her by the shoulders, he bodily turned her before wrapping his arm about her waist and walking her right past her brother and his aunts, through the foyer and into the library. It was one of Bethany’s favorite places, a handsome, spacious room, with rich furnishings, a beverage bar and walls of books. She walked through it numbly. A lovely, quiet, very private study opened off the far corner, and that was where Chandler took her now, guiding her straight to the massive Victorian walnut partner’s desk. Spinning her to face him, he placed his hands atop her shoulders and looked down into her face, his expression intense.

  “This marriage is best for all of us. Think about it,” he urged. “My own father believes that this child is mine. And he’s not alone. Your brother even believes it now. The doctors and nurses at the hospital, everyone at church thinks that this child is mine. At least, they assume that we’re married, too. So, okay. Maybe God is trying to tell us something here.” He dropped a hand to the side of her stomach. It radiated warmth and strength. “Maybe I should be this little boy’s father.”

  Bethany shook her head. He couldn’t have thought this through. “Do you have any idea what you’re saying?”

  Chandler backed off a step then, his hand going to the back of his neck. “Oh, yeah.” He huffed out a breath. “But, look, I’ve always wanted a son, and he needs a father, a real father. Seems like I’m elected.” He spread his hands. “Okay, I’m not much of a bargain, I know, but better me than Jason ‘Jay Carter’ Widener. Bigamist.”

  “No kidding,” she concurred, blushing to the roots of her hair. She’d hoped that he would never know what a fool she’d been.

  “Bethany, look,” he said, moving closer again. “No one has to know that we haven’t been married all along. Well, no one who doesn’t already know.”

  And those few were not likely to say anything, Bethany realized. Still… “I won’t ask anyone to lie for me.”

  “Of course not. I wouldn’t suggest such a thing, but if we marry quietly and just don’t broadcast the date…” He shrugged.

  Bethany bit her lip, trying to think it through, but her mind was whirling like a tornado. She managed to snatch one thought out of the swirl, an important one.

  “Chandler, do you want to marry me?”

  He took his time formulating his reply. “Bethany, right now I can’t afford a wife and child, frankly, but I think we’re supposed to do this, and if we are supposed to do it, then God will work it out, and in the meantime, that little boy is safe from a man who is not his father and doesn’t want to be. I at least want to be his dad.”

  “Matthew,” she whispered, her throat clogged with disappointment. Oh, what a fool she truly was! “His name is Matthew.”

  Chandler’s gaze dropped to her middle, and he swallowed. “Matthew,” he said. “I like that.”

  “W-we still need a middle name,” she told him inanely, blinking back tears.

  “How about Chandler?” he suggested hopefully, lifting his gaze to hers. “Matthew Chandler Chatam. Has a nice ring to it.”

  That was when she began to cry, big, splashy tears flooding her cheeks.

  “Hey, look,” he said quickly, “I get that your first stab at marriage didn’t turn out so well for you, but you know exactly what you’re getting into here. This is to protect Matthew. All this means is that Widener will have to come through me to get to him. Not that he will. Why would he? He wants to keep you from naming him as the father. Okay. Name me. But for my sake, let me be Matthew’s married dad, not his unmarried dad.”

  “So it would be a marriage in name only,” she surmised dully. Of course. What else could it be?

  Blinking, Chandler shifted
his weight. After a moment, he said, “B-but not forever.”

  She sobbed, no longer sure why she was crying now. Her gratitude was all mixed up with her admiration of this man and her stupidly breaking heart. Had she really, in some secret part of her brain, thought he might come to care for her?

  He rushed on. “What I mean is, we can separate quietly later when…” The words tailed off.

  Feeling weak suddenly, Bethany sagged against the edge of the desk and tried to get hold of her rioting emotions.

  What difference did it make that he didn’t want her? He wanted her son, and she would be selfish beyond bearing if she didn’t grab such a father for her little boy. God might well have brought them here for this very reason. Where was her faith?

  Keeping her gaze averted, she began drying her cheeks. “All right. When d-do you w-want to do it?”

  “You mean you’ll marry me?”

  She nodded, unable to say more.

  He leaned forward at the waist and braced his hands on his thighs, gasping as if he’d just finished a footrace.

  “Whew! Wild, huh?”

  Watery laughter startled out of her. “No kidding.”

  He laughed. Laughed. Then he straightened and strode for the door, saying, “I’d better get on this. The sooner the better, right?”

  “Guess so,” Bethany murmured as he left the room.

  She glanced around the study, taking in the warm oak paneling, the sheltered window seat, the lovely old paintings, the antique armchairs and handsome grandfather clock. All was exactly as it should be.

  And yet, everything was different.

  She was getting married. Again. This time for real. And yet, not.

  She shook her head, tears starting again. That seemed to be her particular talent, making marriages that were not quite real. At least this time, she knew it up front.

  They married the following Friday in the office of a Justice of the Peace in Lawton, Oklahoma. Chandler wore his best boots and a brown felt hat, his darkest blue jeans, a white shirt piped in navy and a brown tie and matching Western-styled sport coat. Bethany chose a knit jumper the same shade as her blue eyes and a ruffled white blouse with white sandals.