Not Precisely Pregnant Read online

  Not Precisely

  Pregnant

  Holly Jacobs

  The characters and events in this story are fictitious. Any similarities to real people, living or dead, is coincidence and not intended by the author.

  Ilex Books 2017

  Originally published by Harlequin Books

  ISBN-10: 0373441584

  ISBN-13: 978-0373441587

  Copyright © 2003 by Holly Fuhrmann

  All Rights Reserved

  For Donald Jacob Fuhrmann, Sr.

  A man whose tough act

  merely covered a very soft heart.

  Don, you are sorely missed.

  Special thanks to Lisa Adams, WICU12 News;

  Eda Burhenn, R.N., M.S.N, CRNP;

  Anna Gehringer, hairstyling goddess

  Any mistakes, or embellishments, intentional or not,

  are completely the author's.

  Reviews:

  “Holly Jacobs’ latest… is a delight. A darkly comic whodunit, it’s her best book yet.” ~Catherine Witmer, RT BOOKclub

  “Ms. Jacobs delivers a sweet love story filled with humor to enchant her readers. . .prepare to be thoroughly entertained.” ~Kelley Hartsell, Love Romances

  About the Author

  Award-winning author Holly Jacobs has almost three million books in print worldwide. The first novel in her Everything But… series, Everything But a Groom, was named one of 2008's Best Romances by Booklist, and her books have been honored with many other accolades. She lives in Erie, Pennsylvania, with her husband and four children and two dogs, Ethel Merman and Ella Fitzgerald. You can visit her at http://www.HollyJacobs.com.

  CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Epilogue

  1

  BEWARE OF THE BEACHED WHALE!

  That's the warning Paige Montgomery wanted to call out as she jostled her way through the crowded shuttle. Instead, she offered a series of prim and proper "Excuse me's."

  The small shuttles moved up and down Peach Street, transporting shoppers from one mall complex to another. They were built for Twiggy types, not for women who were wide as Mack trucks—Paige looked down at her humongous belly—maybe even wider.

  "Take my seat," said a boy who couldn't have been out of his teens. Thankfully he was toward the front of the shuttle, saving her the effort of trying to get to an empty seat in the rear.

  "Thank you." She smiled at him, sank gratefully into the seat and rubbed her distended belly beneath the thin jacket. Her back ached from lugging the extra weight around.

  How on earth did women do this for nine months?

  "When's the baby due?" the older woman next to her asked.

  "Soon. Very soon," Paige said.

  Sooner than this lady could know. At the shuttle's next stop Paige was ready to head back to the studio. She had her footage, thanks to the small hidden camera in her purse. She'd add a brief interview when she got off the shuttle, and she'd be done.

  The shuttle slid in front of Wal-Mart and Paige rose with difficulty. There wasn't much to recommend pregnancy, in her opinion. Although she'd only been pregnant for the past three hours, enough was enough. She wanted nothing more than to rid herself of this pregnancy belly she'd borrowed from the hospital's birthing program and slip on her jeans.

  Nice, tight, formfitting jeans.

  She rubbed at the fake belly again as the shuttle reached its next stop and she slowly climbed down the steps. She'd had a nagging pain in her right side all day. Psychosomatic labor pains maybe? Even her subconscious knew it was time to de-pregnate herself.

  A sharp jab made her wince. Psychosomatic, she told herself. That had to be it. As soon as she got rid of this humongous belly she'd feel right as rain.

  She waddled after the boy, afraid she'd lose him.

  "Pardon me," she called.

  He turned, saw it was her and, with the concern in his dark brown eyes echoing in his tone, asked, "You okay?"

  The look endeared him to her as much as his giving up his seat. "I'm just fine. I wanted to know if you'd consent to be interviewed."

  Suddenly concern was replaced by suspicion. "For what?"

  "I'm Paige Montgomery, from WMAC news." She lowered her voice. "And I'm not precisely pregnant. I'm doing one of my About Town pieces and I'd like to use you. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?"

  "What for?"

  "You offered me your seat. It might seem like a small thing, but let me tell you, after hauling this belly around all day, it's bigger than you know."

  "It was nothing," he insisted.

  "It was kind and I'd like to let people know that there are still people who are kind. So would you mind answering a few questions?"

  Continuing to look unsure, he nodded. "Okay, I guess."

  She opened her giant purse and took out her camcorder. Most of her reports required a cameraman, but it wasn't always easy to get one when you needed one. The About Town segments weren't exactly earth-shattering news, but just brief stories the station was using in its promotion, WMAC, Where Nice News Matters campaign. So she'd forgone a cameraman. The fact that they were shot by an obviously less than professional camcorder was part of their charm.

  Erie liked to think of itself as a big city with a small-town heart. It was the fourth largest city in Pennsylvania, having just lost its third-place rank to Allentown, much to the entire community's chagrin. But whether it was third or fourth, it still hadn't lost its small-town flavor. It was nothing to walk through the mall and bump into friends or acquaintances. And Paige's job with her About Town segments was to capture that small town-ness in the heart of the city.

  "What's your name?" she asked the boy.

  "Danny."

  "Danny, you let me take your seat on the shuttle. Why?"

  "'Cause you needed it." His eyes narrowed. "But you didn't really, did you?"

  "No, not really. But it was still nice that you did it." Wanting to put him at ease, she switched to some easy questions. "What school do you go to?"

  "Mercyhurst Prep. . ."

  She led him through the rest of her questions, only a small portion of which she'd use on the air. She'd spend part of her afternoon editing the piece and probably doing a voice-over for part of it.

  "Well, thanks again, Danny," she said. "I'll contact your mom to make sure it's okay to air this story. But I imagine she'll be as proud of you as I am, and she will want the world to know what a fantastic kid you are."

  The boy walked into Wal-Mart with a small wave.

  Paige was thankful this was his stop. Her car was across the parking lot, near Media Play. Rather than walk along the sidewalk, she took the most direct path diagonally through the parking lot. She just wanted to get home and out of this huge belly.

  She pulled the thin jacket tighter around her. It was cold, and getting colder. Last week they'd had a brief taste of Indian summer, and now snow couldn't be far behind. Late October was a little early though, and Paige hoped that the snow held off until at least November—

  Another stab of pain hit her and she doubled over with the severity of it. This was no psychosomatic pain. Something was wrong.

  The pain ebbed slightly and she unbent herself as much as she could. The pain left her feeling too weak to make it to the car. She was going to die out here in a parking lot, strapped in her pregnancy belly.

  Things couldn't get any worse.

  "Is there a problem, ma'am?" asked a male voice.

  Paige craned her neck upward so she could see t
he man through the screen of her fake red hair. As she saw the sinfully sexy, dark-haired man peering at her, she knew not only was she going to die, but that things could indeed get worse, because she was going to die at Riley Calhoon's feet.

  Another wave of pain made her forget all about everything else, even dying at this man's feet. The only thing she wanted was for the pain to stop.

  "I need to get to a hospital," she gasped. Whatever was wrong wasn't going away. It was getting worse. What she wanted to say was Hi, Riley, long time no see, but she couldn't spare the energy. Breathing was about all she could manage.

  "Don't you worry. I've got my cab right here and we'll get you there pronto. Just don't go having the baby in the back seat." There was more than a little concern in his voice.

  He didn't recognize her, she realized. The wig of red hair and the pregnancy belly obviously were a better disguise than she'd imagined. Paige wanted to ask what Riley was doing driving a cab. She wanted to explain she wasn't pregnant, so there was no danger of a baby. But she couldn't make the words come out around the all-consuming pain.

  The pain intensified, and she groaned as he helped her into the back seat.

  "You just hang on," he said.

  Hang on. That was about all Paige could do.

  RILEY CALHOON GLANCED at the redhead doubled over with pain in the back of his cab. "You okay?"

  She groaned her response.

  Stupid question, Calhoon, he thought. Of course she wasn't okay. She was about to have a baby. "Don't you worry. We'll be at the hospital in just a few minutes."

  Riley didn't have to be a real cabbie to drive like one. He wove in and out of the busy Peach Street weekend traffic. Of course the woman had to be shopping as far away from the hospital as she possibly could. There were stores right across the street from it, but shopping there would have made Riley's life far too easy.

  And Riley's life was never easy.

  "You okay back there?"

  She groaned again.

  This was just what he needed—some lady having a baby in the back seat of his borrowed taxi. He'd seen enough of those medical re-creations on television to know that having a baby was a messy business. If she gave birth in the cab he'd have to pay to clean the goo up. Chet might be enough of a pal to let him spend a day playing cabbie, but Riley doubted he'd be feeling very friendly when he found the back of his cab trashed with post-baby slime.

  "You just hold on, lady. Don't you do anything back there."

  She groaned again.

  "Can I do anything for you?"

  "Hospital, quick," she gasped.

  "I'm going quick. Any quicker and we'll both be dead. Did you know that they don't call this Peach Street anymore? No, they call it Peach Jam, especially on the weekends." Traffic was at a standstill, so he laid on the horn a moment. It didn't get the traffic moving, but it made him feel a bit better.

  "First, there was the Millcreek Mall," he explained, "and now they've added all these other malls and plazas. No matter how much they expand the street, they just can't keep up with the traffic demands. It's great news for the local economy, but frustrating for the drivers."

  Riley—the man known for being stingy with words—was prattling. Riley Calhoon didn't prattle.

  Another groan.

  Prattling forgotten, he started again, anxious to fill the cab with any sound other than the woman's groaning. "It used to be I could have driven you from up here near the Interstate to hospital in five or ten minutes, tops. Now, it's a good fifteen-minute drive on a weekend with all the lights and traffic. But we'll make it, so you just hold on, okay?"

  Another groan.

  Riley, who liked to think of himself as calm, cool and collected, started to sweat and desperately tried to think of something else to say.

  The traffic started moving again, and Riley eased forward, looking for a chance to move to a faster lane. But all there seemed to be was molasses and slower-than-molasses lanes of traffic.

  "You're not much of a conversationalist, are you?" He realized what he'd said and wanted to groan himself. "What a dumb thing to say. I don't normally say dumb things. Actually, I don't normally say much. People say I let my pen do the talking, and they're right. I like it that way. I can really think about what I'm going to say and not make a fool of myself like I'm doing now. Not that you'd notice, eh?"

  Groan.

  "Did you see that green car? Of course you didn't. He just totally cut me off. Here I am, running my four-way flashers and speeding down the road with a lady ready to give birth and he cuts me off. Why am I not surprised?"

  Groan.

  Talking about cars didn't seem to be helping. Maybe she wanted to talk about babies? "My boss's wife just had a kid. He claims it's kind of nice, but I don't know. The time I saw it he just cried. I mean, what's so nice about that?''

  "Babies are nice," she gritted out mid-groan. The exertion left her panting and groaning.

  He'd annoyed her. Annoying people was Riley's specialty, but this one time he wished he wasn't so good at it. "Maybe they are."

  He tried to think of something comforting, and added, "I'm sure yours will be. But most of the babies I've met haven't been all that great. I mean, they just make a lot of noise, take up all your time, grow up and start taking all your money. Go ahead and have all the kids you want, but I'll pass. Thank you very much."

  He glanced in the rearview mirror. The lady's long red hair had fallen forward, shielding her face, but he didn't need to see her face to know the pain was worse. And if the pain was worse, the baby had to be on its way.

  "Hold on. Look, there it is. I can see the hospital. Once we're through this red light we're there. You can hold on that long, can't you?"

  "I'll try," she said softly, punctuating the statement with another groan.

  "That's my girl. You just go ahead and have that baby in the hospital, not in this cab."

  "I'm not—"

  "You're not having it in here." He swung on the sidewalk and flew past the cars.

  "This is what I get for following an impulse," he said, more to himself than to her. "I should have just left you there in the parking lot. Someone could have called for an ambulance."

  Her groaning seemed weaker. Did that mean the kid was almost here? "Don't you have that baby in this taxi, lady. I'm not cleaning up your mess. I'll bill you for the cleaning. That's what I'll do. I'm that kind of a guy. I'd do it. I mean it. So cross your legs if you have to, but don't have that kid in my cab."

  She didn't say anything. Didn't even groan. Riley glanced back. She was slumped against the seat.

  "Lady?" Silence was her only reply. "Look, I'm pulling into the hospital now. There's the sign for the emergency room. You just hold on one more minute."

  He pulled the cab right up to the door and honked on the horn. He was out of the taxi and opening the back door when an orderly ran out. "You can't park here."

  "This lady's having a baby, but I think there's something wrong. She's not making any noise anymore. She was making noise, groaning and all, but now she's not. That can't be good can it?"

  Gently he slid her out of the back seat and into his arms. She dangled over. He bet she was on the tallish side when she was standing. Even with her enormous purse resting on top of her, the lady still was an awfully light burden for as round as she looked. Weighing so little couldn't be good for her or the baby.

  He had an impulse to brush the long red hair off her face and take a good look at the woman he'd just rescued.

  What was he doing?

  He was wondering how this pain-in-the-butt lady looked, and whether or not she'd put on enough weight, that's what. It was absurd. He didn't care how she looked. And how much she weighed was her worry. He just wanted her gone.

  Riley quickly—as if she had a case of childhood cooties—handed her off to the orderly. "She's all yours now."

  A nurse was coming out of the hospital with a gurney.

  That was one burden Riley was glad to be
rid of. He slammed the back door and walked around the car to the driver's side.

  "Hey, you can't just leave her. You've got papers to sign." The orderly was setting her down onto a gurney as he spoke.

  Riley almost yelled at the guy to be careful moving her, but caught himself just in time. "She's not my problem now, she's yours."

  He needed to remember that. This lady wasn't his problem. He didn't even know why he involved himself in the first place. Someone else would have called an ambulance, or driven her down Peach Street to the hospital. It wasn't as if they were in some isolated place or anything. There was no place in Erie busier than the Peach Street shopping centers and malls.

  Riley got into the cab and slammed the door. What had he been thinking, playing the hero for some knocked-up woman who was about to unknock in the back of Chet's cab?

  That was some wild hair he'd got up his butt, but it was over now. He wouldn't be doing something that stupid ever again.

  He glanced over his shoulder and spotted the orderly and nurse wheeling the lady into the hospital. Having a baby was certainly more painful than he'd ever imagined, not that he spent time imagining what having a baby would be like.

  His passenger didn't look up to it. She looked sick. But then, you had to be a little sick to bring a new life into such a crazy world.

  It was a good thing he got out of there before anyone found out who he was.

  Playing the hero? No. He wasn't the type to rescue a damsel in distress. Distressing a damsel was more his style.

  Riley Calhoon cruised down Peach Street and tried to put the pregnant lady out of his head. He proved just how not concerned about her he was to himself by hollering expletives at another driver who tried to cut him off.

  He felt more like himself when the driver made a hand gesture.

  Yeah, whatever that brief lapse in character was, he was over it. Riley Calhoon was back to being himself.

  Though later that afternoon he called the hospital; they would only tell him the lady was fine.

  Fine?

  That didn't tell him anything at all.