His Sugar Baby(76)

Cathy shook her head, tightening her lips. Michael had caused her considerable pain. She could not trust him. She could not open herself up to him again.

Out of the blue, she unwillingly remembered what he had said about his father, that he didn’t understand how anyone could abandon a child. “Damn it!” She knew intuitively that he would want to be a father to their child. She sighed. She couldn’t deprive him of that.

She would have to tell him about the baby. But not now. Not for a while.

Cathy shook herself free of her reflections. She turned on her heel and walked swiftly to the front door. It was time to turn in her key. She had finished her inspection of the apartment. There was nothing left. It had been swept clean.





Michael agonized over what further action he should take. He had tried for three more days to contact her. It had taken everything he had in him to place those calls. But he had done it because he was impelled to do so.

He had spent hours pacing like a caged animal. Several times he picked up his cell again, but each time, he stopped before putting the call through. He already got that she would not answer. He had left voice mails. Stupid, senseless messages. He had no real idea what he could possibly say to her, unable to articulate it even in his own mind. Emotion kept choking him up. If she had ever answered one of his calls, she would undoubtedly have hung up before he managed to find his voice.

Michael could not shake himself free of his indecision. He paced the house some more, unable to think about anything else. After the conversation with Darryl, he called the office with some lame excuse for his absence. Since he was the creator of a very lucrative software program, his explanation was accepted without question. In fact, the message was relayed by his administrative assistant that one of the board members had expressed the sentiment that he could take all the time he needed to explore his creative genius. He saw his partner’s hand in that. Darryl was obviously covering for him, which made it all the easier to duck his business responsibilities.

An unusually heavy ice storm blew in overnight, making him feel even more like he was imprisoned. When Michael couldn’t take his own company anymore, he flung on a coat and grabbed his keys. It was time to make a move, any move.

He would go to the hospital. There was a good chance that she would be there.

He was relieved that he had at least decided on a course of action.

When he showed up at her daughter’s hospital room, though, Michael knew she would be furious. But it was a gamble he had to take. He would beg her for a hearing.

He still didn’t know what he could say to her. Bleakly, he recognized the truth. There was no getting around it. He had betrayed her trust. But he figured groveling would be a decent start.

Yeah, groveling was good.

Sand had been scattered over the bridges and roads to give motorists safer passage. Michael barely noticed the degraded driving conditions. He was just anxious to have his conversation with Winter over with. Over and over in his mind, he questioned what he could say. None of it seemed adequate.

During his self-imposed leave from work, Michael had gone on the Internet to find the website that Vicky Sotero had mentioned. The long history of Chloe Somerset’s fight with leukemia had been starkly laid out. Grimly, he had read it with his lips tightened to a thin line. He now knew about Chloe Somerset, had a hint of her personality, seen pictures of her with her big brown eyes and gap-toothed grin. She was only seven years old. No one should have to go through what Chloe had, he thought. No parent should have to endure that hell. The amazed anger he had felt toward Chloe’s biological father, upon learning of the man’s refusal to try to help the little girl, deepened to cold rage.

The weather had turned gray, threatening cold rain when Michael arrived at the hospital. He parked and walked inside. He already knew the room number from his inquiry at the information desk on his last visit, and he rode the elevator upstairs. Carrying a small bouquet of white snowdrops that he had bought at a florist, he walked to the room. He hesitated before opening the door, not certain what he would say if he came face-to-face with any other visitors. He did hope to find Winter, though. If she would give him even a couple of minutes, he’d take them. She would have to see that he was sincere.

The flower bouquet gave him an excuse for being there.

Quietly, he pushed open the door, entered, and swiftly glanced around. Bunches and bunches of helium balloons floated gently in the air currents, bobbing against their tethers on chair arms. A colorful banner was taped on a white wall. There was no one else in the room except the single occupant. He was disappointed, but then curiosity impelled him softly across the floor. Standing beside the bed, he looked down at Winter’s daughter. The girl was asleep, her tiny lips slightly parted. Her little head was covered by a silky pink skullcap. She looked very small and very fragile. Tubes were attached to her. A heart monitor pinged metallically.

Tucked under her thin arm was a teddy bear dressed in a red velvet dress and a lacy overskirt.

Michael remembered when Winter had bought the plush toy. Guilt swept through him, followed by a heavy conviction of shame that settled in his chest.

Vividly, he recalled what Winter had said to him. “Yes, what you offer will help me meet those expenses.” She had beggared herself. She had prostituted herself. Everything she had done, she had done in sacrifice for her daughter. There had been no sacrifice too great for her to make. She had been driven by a love greater than her own dignity or life.