Unexpected Gifts Read online

  When it’s more than just friends…

  “I have a long weekend for the holiday,” Zac said. “I’ve got to check in at the market tomorrow morning, but the rest of the day is mine. What if I come pick you up and take you to lunch?”

  “Zac, you must have better things to do,” Eli insisted.

  “You say that every time I ask to spend time with you. Since my sister is convinced we can talk without actually speaking, just like my parents can, want to guess what I’m saying without saying?”

  Eli tried to look serious, but all she could do was laugh. That seemed to be a common theme with Zac. They talked, they enjoyed each other’s company and they both laughed a lot.

  “Okay, tomorrow for lunch.” She opened the car door.

  Before she got out, Zac leaned over and kissed her cheek. It was light, platonic even, and yet she felt a bit breathless in a way that had nothing to do with the blast of cold air that flooded the car.

  “Uh, well, thanks for a lovely day, Zac. I’d really best get going.”

  And in his eyes, without him saying a word, she could see that he knew his light kiss on the cheek had flustered her, and that he was pleased.

  She brushed a fingertip over the spot.

  What was she going to do about Zac Keller?

  Dear Reader,

  This year is Harlequin’s 60th Anniversary! Being part of the Harlequin family always was and is a dream of mine.

  As my youngest child got older, I realized that one day soon she would go to school…and I’d need to go back to work. The question was, what did I want to do? This very quiet little whisper niggled around the edges of my mind…I’d like to write. And so I started writing. And submitting. And being rejected. In January of 2000 I was ready to admit defeat. I told my husband it was time to go look for a job. He told me no. We were fine financially and he was positive I’d sell to Harlequin Books. I just had to keep trying, and he was willing to do whatever it took to help. (Is it any wonder I write romance, with him as an example of what a hero should be?)

  Two months later a woman called and introduced herself as Kathryn Lye…and bought my first Harlequin book, I Waxed My Legs for This? Three months after that, Allison Lyons from Silhouette Romance bought Do You Hear What I Hear? Nine years later this book, my twenty-eighth romance for Harlequin, is hitting the shelves and I’m struck by the fact that I am living my dream. That’s such a rare and wonderful thing.

  So many dreams don’t live up to their hype, but my dream of working with Harlequin Books has been so much more than I ever imagined it could be. I’ve encountered the most amazing people, traveled all over the country and met so many truly lovely readers and other writers. I am so lucky.

  So happy anniversary, Harlequin! May your stories of love keep touching the hearts of readers for years and years to come!

  Holly Jacobs

  Unexpected Gifts

  Holly Jacobs

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  In 2000, Holly Jacobs sold her first book to Harlequin Enterprises. She’s since sold more than twenty-five novels to the publisher. Her romances have won numerous awards and made the Waldenbooks bestseller list. In 2005, Holly won a prestigious Career Achievement Award from Romantic Times BOOKreviews. In her nonwriting life Holly is married to a police captain, and together they have four children. Visit Holly at www.HollyJacobs.com, or you can snail-mail her at P.O. Box 11102, Erie, PA 16514–1102.

  Books by Holly Jacobs

  HARLEQUIN SUPERROMANCE

  1511—SAME TIME NEXT SUMMER

  HARLEQUIN AMERICAN ROMANCE

  1232—ONCE UPON A THANKSGIVING

  1238—ONCE UPON A CHRISTMAS

  1247—ONCE UPON A VALENTINE’S

  HARLEQUIN EVERLASTING

  THE HOUSE ON BRIAR HILL ROAD

  For all the amazing teachers who work in the

  Erie School District’s Teen Parenting Program,

  especially Jeanne Bender, Mary Fuhrmann,

  Connie Sementilli and Bonnie Sobeck. Thanks

  for letting me be a part of the amazing work

  you do. You have touched so many students’

  lives, and the ripple effects from your work

  will be felt for years to come.

  And for Sharon Lorei, who was an

  “Eli Cartwright” sort of teacher in my life.

  CONTENTS

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  EPILOGUE

  PROLOGUE

  “There’s no way to cheat nature.”

  —Pregnancy, Childbirth and Parenting for Teens, by Mary Jeanne Lorei

  ARIEL MAYORS KNEW that, until recently, she’d been teacher’s pet. A favorite. The student who could do no wrong.

  She’d cultivated that status with the same care that a gardener used looking after prized orchids. By the time Ariel had reached her senior year of high school she’d practically perfected the art of perfect. She was always the first one to raise her hand, the first one to volunteer and almost always the best student in class.

  Popularity was a game that she didn’t just play with the teachers, she played it with fellow students as well.

  To garner the girls’ admiration she made sure she never poached boyfriends, that she always offered a shoulder in any cry-worthy moment and that she was never without an extra Tampax in her purse for those time-of-the-month emergencies.

  She’d discovered the basic truth that once you’d borrowed a tampon from someone, it was hard to hate them.

  Ariel was a cheerleader, which provided her a readymade social group, and also meant she was one of the girls all the boys wanted to date. She knew this part of her popularity didn’t stem from any planning of hers. Biology had blessed her with blond hair and a long, lithe body. But she’d worked at the rest—worked on knowing what clothes to wear, how to apply makeup flawlessly. She worked at knowing when to laugh, when to draw closer, when to pull back.

  Well, she thought, she’d known when to pull back until that one night in Charlie Markowski’s Lumina van.

  She stood in front of Ms. Cartwright’s desk. Her teacher wasn’t beautiful, but there was something appealing about her averageness. Brown shoulder-length hair, blue eyes. A little shorter than Ariel’s five feet, six inches. Ms. Cartwright was the kind of person who was so normal-looking she could easily get lost in a crowd in a way Ariel never could. That was, until she smiled. Then Ms. Cartwright was beautiful. Ariel wasn’t sure how that worked, she just knew it did. She wanted to be like Ms. Cartwright someday. Calm, collected—a woman in charge of her own destiny. Someone who got more beautiful when they smiled.

  Only Ms. Cartwright wasn’t smiling today.

  “Ariel,” Ms. Cartwright said, disappointment right there in that one word and echoing so fiercely in her favorite teacher’s expression.

  Ariel had disappointed so many people in the last few weeks. She’d worked so hard to please this one woman, and now, she’d disappointed her, too.

  “Ariel, Mrs. Brown came to see me. She says she found this in your book.” Ms. Cartwright slid the small piece of paper across the desk. “Is this crib note yours?”

  “Yes,” Ariel whispered.

  “Pardon?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you have an explanation?”

  “I worked at the restaurant last night and planned on studying during my break but Dale, the dork manager at Barney’s, wouldn’t give me one. We had a bus come
in and…” She simply shrugged. What more was there to say? She’d done it—she’d cheated. She could add that to her growing list of descriptions.

  Cheerleader.

  Student council rep.

  Straight A student.

  Pregnant teen.

  Cheater.

  Ms. Cartwright didn’t yell, didn’t scream. She just shook her head sadly and asked, “Do you really think this is the way to handle things? By taking the easy way out?”

  “I just didn’t know what else to do.”

  “Did it occur to you that you could go to Mrs. Brown and explain the situation to her. Or, you could have come to me. It’s part of my job description…helping you find options. There are always some. I know you’re new to the program, but it’s pretty much our mantra—finding options.” She sighed. “Listen, Ariel, this stopped being about you when you became pregnant. You will be this baby’s role model. He or she will look to you to see how to live. Is this what you’d want your child to do? Do you want them to take the easy way out?”

  “No. I didn’t think of it like that.”

  “You have to learn to think about everything you do in that way—how it will affect your baby. You need to do what’s best for them, always. Even when it’s difficult for you. Now, how do you think we should handle this?”

  “You know, those are the kinds of questions all us kids hate. You make us decide on a fair punishment.”

  “I make you take responsibility for your actions. Most teens have a few more years to learn about actions and consequences—the girls in this program don’t have the luxury of time. You don’t have that luxury.”

  She looked pointedly at Ariel’s stomach and the barely there baby bump.

  “Ariel, I see so much potential in you. Don’t blow it. If you have a problem, come see me, see Mrs. Brown. There are people here for you. Don’t forget that.”

  “Maybe I should start by writing an apology to Mrs. Brown?”

  “I think that’s an excellent place to begin. Come see me tomorrow and we’ll talk about what else you think is required in order to make this right.”

  Darn. Ariel had hoped that a letter of apology would be all that she had to do to smooth this over. Obviously, it wasn’t.

  “Okay, I’ll think about it and see you tomorrow.” She practically sprang for the door, anxious to escape Ms. Cartwright’s sympathetic gaze. It would be easier if the teacher would get pissed off and yell. But no, not her, she only looked as if her girls screwing up hurt her.

  Ariel turned the doorknob, and pushed at the door, ready to make her escape when Ms. Cartwright’s voice stopped her. “And Ariel?”

  She turned back and saw pain in Ms. Cartwright’s smile. She’d do almost anything to replace that look of disappointment with one of pride.

  “You can’t cheat nature. You are going to be a mother in a few months and there are no crib notes that will let you fake your way through being a good parent. And that’s what you owe this baby. Being the best parent, the best example you can be.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “And for that matter, Ariel, life happens. You can’t cheat your way through it, either. There are no crib notes. You have to live each day as well as you can. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Finally, dismissed, Ariel hurried away before Ms. Cartwright could say anything else profoundly painful.

  There were no crib notes for being a parent. For being an adult.

  Ariel desperately wished there were.

  CHAPTER ONE

  “There are four stages of mourning. Denial. Sadness. Anger. Acceptance. Becoming pregnant in your teens means that some dreams have to be put away, others altered. It’s a death of one future. You have to mourn that loss before you can move ahead and plan a new future…one that includes the baby you’re carrying.”

  —Pregnancy, Childbirth and Parenting for

  Teens, by Mary Jeanne Lorei

  THERE WAS SOMETHING completely undignified about peeing in a cup. It took a certain knack that Elinore Cartwright didn’t feel she had acquired and, to be honest, she didn’t know that she wanted to be presented too many more opportunities to develop it.

  Despite the fact she was nowhere near a master, she managed the fill the little paper cup. She washed her hands and then, clutching the paper gown at the back, hurried across the hall to her assigned examination room. She hoisted herself back onto the table.

  Sitting on paper, wearing paper, covering herself with a square piece of quilted paper. Every movement was a festival noise.

  The only nonpaper item she was wearing for her less-than-happily anticipated annual checkup was her wildly striped toe socks. She’d left them on partly because now that it was the end of October, her feet wouldn’t be warm again for at least eight months, and partly because she felt they dressed up her paper ensemble.

  She sank back onto her paper-shrouded shrine and waited. Right on cue, as her body relaxed, her thoughts picked up steam, tumbling over themselves. There was no flitting involved, just a terrible tangled twist of to-do items and worries.

  To-do: Call Zac Keller and set up a meeting for the end of the week.

  Ariel Mayor. She replayed their talk from earlier this afternoon. It had seemed to go well. She saw a lot of potential in the girl. As a matter of fact…

  To-do: Pull together Ariel’s information and see if Zac would agree that she’d make an excellent test-run for the new Community Action, Teen-parent Apprentice Project.

  It had been almost fifteen years since Eli had started the George County School District’s teen parenting program. George County was a large, primarily rural county just south of Erie, Pennsylvania. Her job was to find ways to cut the county’s number of teen parents, and help those who were pregnant or already parents graduate and go on to be worthwhile members of the community.

  The statistics said her program was working. She experienced that warm glow of pride she always felt when she thought about the inroads she’d made.

  The number of teen mothers in the county was falling, the number of teen moms who graduated was climbing. And there had been a nice bump in the number of her mothers who went on to college or some type of vocational training after graduation.

  This new project was just another way of helping her girls. Partnering local businesses with the students in the program. Giving the teens jobs with flexibility, jobs that would provide crucial work experience.

  It sounded as if Ariel was already working hard, too hard, at that restaurant. This program might be just the ticket for her.

  And despite Ariel Mayor’s slight bump in the road, Eli was determined that this girl would be one of her successes.

  Her to-do list was replaced as a niggle of worry crept into the forefront of her thoughts. She’d figured passing so easily from fertility to menopause was a good thing. After half a year of erratic cycles, her periods had just stopped a few months ago with no other problems arising. No hot flashes, mood swings, trouble sleeping.

  Eli took this as another sign that her life was pretty much perfect. She had Arthur, who, although he was a little less than exciting, was good company and a dependable boyfriend. She had a job she loved, a great family and good friends. And now, she’d had a pain-free transition into menopause at the ripe old age of forty-four.

  At least, that’s what she thought until Dr. Benton had asked to run a few tests. One of which involved peeing in that stupid cup.

  How long did it take to do whatever voodoo test he was doing? And what did he think was wrong?

  Cancer?

  That horrible C word.

  Cancer of what? Cervix, uterus, ovaries? Maybe that was it, cancer had eaten all her eggs, so her periods had stopped.

  She tried to force her thoughts back to her long to-do list. It was much more pleasant.

  Okay. To-do…

  Her mind was blank. She was saved from trying to fill it though when Dr. Benton opened the door.

  “Go ahead and just tell me. Cancer has eaten
all my eggs, right?”

  He laughed.

  Hmm, doctors didn’t normally laugh when telling someone they had a cancer, right?

  She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, feeling better. She sat up and all the paper crinkled merrily. “I have an active imagination. So what’s the news?”

  “You’re not in menopause—”

  “Then it is cancer. Cancer of the uterus? That’s why my period stopped.”

  “You’re pregnant.”

  “Cancer of the cervix?”

  “Pregnant. As in going to have a baby.”

  She laughed. “Funny. Ha ha. You can tell me. Just say the words, I can take it.”

  “Eli, you’re not sick, there’s nothing wrong with you that I’ve found. Although you are pregnant.”

  “But…I can’t be. I mean, Arthur always uses condoms, and…” She paused, trying to process what Dr. Benton was saying. “You can’t get pregnant if you’re in menopause, so I’m not pregnant.”

  “You’re not in menopause. You’re pregnant. Some of those missed periods were because you’re going to have a baby, not because of menopause. You’re going to have a baby in around six or seven months. Somewhere around May or June would be my guess. We’ll have to do some tests to be sure.”

  “But—”

  “Listen, Eli, I’ve been your doctor for a long time, and I know this comes as a shock. Why don’t you go home, take some time and process it all, then come see me again next week and we’ll talk? We’ll do a few more tests. I want to do a sonogram so we’ll have a more accurate idea of your due date since you have been experiencing erratic cycles.”

  “But—”

  “And here.” He reached into his pocket and handed her a prescription. “Prenatal, prescription vitamins. Get it filled and start taking one a day.”