Honeymoon For Three. Sandra Field

gave up any pretence of eating. “You know what I feel like? A fly that’s blundered into a spider’s web. At first just one foot’s stuck. But the more the fly struggles, the more bits of web it gets entangled in.”

      “We’re not talking about something simple here—a game of squash, for instance,” Slade said in a hard voice. “This is a new life you’re going to bring into the world—a baby. Not something to be done lightly. If one of the reasons you chose me is because I have principles, you can’t expect them to fly out the window when it suits you.”

      The trouble was, he was right. “Maybe we should give up the whole idea. It’s getting more and more complicated.” She poked at a dill pickle with her knife and burst out, “Slade, am I wrong to want a baby? I know you’re supposed to get married first and then have children. But I hated being married! It seems to have immunized me against falling in love again. I don’t want to fall in love. I just want a baby.”

      Clearly she wasn’t talking just for effect; she wanted an answer. But she was asking the wrong man. He was immune to both marriage and children. He said carefully, “Being a single mother won’t always be easy.”

      The pickle was being reduced to a series of neat cubes. “All the other women I know are either settled with families, or else they’re having affairs and falling in and out of love. I don’t fit; that’s part of the trouble.”

      “Have you thought of adoption?”

      “There’s a huge waiting list—it could take years. I’m too impatient for that, Slade; I want the baby now. And I know you’re right—being a single mother and holding down a job won’t always be a bed of roses. But I’m learning to delegate at work. Dillon—my right-hand man—could manage the firm in a year or two, especially if I got into the perennials.”

      That nasty little jab in his gut—of course it wasn’t jealousy. “So why don’t you ask Dillon to be the father?”

      She gave a rich chuckle. “Oh, no, not Dillon. It’s not that he’s uninterested in women; he’s the very opposite—altogether too interested. A bad case of rampant hormones. When he first came to work for me, I had to set him straight in the first week... and now we’re buddies.”

      Then she sobered, pushing a French fry around her plate. “I have some money put away, from the tourist agency and from when my aunt died. I know Sue would pass on baby clothes and cribs and things.” Then she looked straight at him, and said with passionate honesty, “I have so much love to give, Slade. I’d make a good mother; I know I would.”