Disclaimer: All characters and Crossing Jordan are the property of Tim Kring and Tailwind Productions. I don't make one red cent off of any of it. This is just mind candy for me…

Jordan pushed her way through the crowd of shoppers, trying her best to get to the toy display at the store. It was Christmas. That meant shopping. She normally was never really big on shopping, but Christmas was the exception to her rule. She enjoyed buying presents for her friends. She enjoyed picking out something that would match their tastes and likes.

And, although she would never admit it, she enjoyed looking at toys.

She was at the age and place in her life where a good number of her friends, both married and unmarried, had children. And the kid in her…the ten year-old that still stayed frozen in time in her psyche, enjoyed toys. She enjoyed buying for these children. Then she enjoyed watching them open the toys up and asking her to play with them. That was one part of her that had never grown up. And she didn't ever want it to. In many ways, it was a safe place for her soul.

What was unusual about his night is that she stopped by a display of dolls. Jordan had never been a "doll" person. She vaguely remembered having a baby doll that she would drag to bed with her when she was really little. And whether it was because she was raised by a single father, or just because her nature had always been a little tomboyish, Jordan had always preferred trucks and blocks and sports equipment over something that would wet is diaper and cry "Mama." Even her beloved Barbie dolls had not had the "traditional" roles. They were policemen and detectives and firemen….not mommies or nurses or teachers. And God forbid anyone ever bring a Ken into her Barbie townhouse. Her Barbie didn't need a man to be complete.

There was nothing incredibly different or even remarkably beautiful about these dolls. They were just the typical curly-haired, eyes-that-open-and-shut, wet-when-you-feed-it-a-bottle, frilly-dress-and-lacy-socks dolls. And it wasn't that Jordan was particularly feeling nostalgic about her childhood and lack of dolls. It was what the dolls represented.

To a little girl, these dolls meant more than just playtime…they represented a part of her future…motherhood….children….and perhaps marriage.

Dolls…babies. Why did the need to procreate rage so predominantly in human nature?

Was the reason that she was suddenly drawn to these playthings the fact that this part of her life had seemingly evaded her grasp? That she had been so caught up in her work and her mother's murder that she had pushed that part of her womanhood away…buried it deep, always imagining she would get around to it someday?

And that someday was here now?

And she didn't know what to do about it.

She had run a test. She had been to the doctor. She was pregnant. And she knew it before she had even done those things. She just kept telling herself her period was late…two months late. But the swollen breasts, the mood swings, the early morning nausea all signaled to the doctor in her that her body was harboring a new life…That the part of her that she thought that time had pushed through her fingers was indeed, now a reality. Her reality.

She had quit drinking regular coffee and switched to decaf. She had stopped drinking alcohol. She had removed herself from her smoky bar as much as possible. She was drinking more water and milk and taking those God-awful prenatal vitamins that some days just made the nausea worse. She had even looked at maternity clothes.

She had done everything but tell the father. She sighed and sat the doll back down on its shelf, straightening its little dress as she did so. Telling the father…how hard could it be? Surely he must have some idea…that one night of heated passion when emotions just took over…

The one night when she said the hell with her head and hello to her heart and just allowed herself to feel. Feel something other than logic…remorse…or fear. Just allowed herself to be loved…and to love him in return.

And she was rewarded with a conception that she never thought would happen. And she was sure he thought the same way – it would never happen. A woman's biological clock slows down after 32…not that she couldn't get pregnant….it's just that it's a little harder. Sometimes women past this age need a little hormonal help.

Evidently not her. First time without protection and she's the poster child for fertility.

Jordan sighed again and fought the crowd back out to the front of the store. She climbed in her El Camino and gently rubbed her still-flat stomach. "Merry Christmas, little one," she softly said, as she started the engine and headed for home.