Chapter Nine

Before We Have Our Chat

The baby will have a mother and father. They just won't be married…

That thought pounded through Woody's head in synch with his feet that were hitting the pavement with the same rhythm as he ran. Not only did it seem like this baby's parents weren't going to be married, it also seemed like they were going to be barely speaking to each other as well. The most Woody had gotten out of Jordan were a few words spoken over a dead body or a mumbled sentence or two when she handed off reports to him.

In short, during the last two weeks, Jordan had tried her best to put him out of sight and out of mind. Or so it seemed to Woody. And it appeared she had been pretty damned successful at it.

To counter, Woody had waffled between wanting her to answer his field calls so he could at least see that she was fine, to wanting her to stay in the morgue so he at least knew she was safe. He compromised by allowing chance to dictate if she answered his calls for a ME and making the opportunity to be in the morgue at least once a day. While Jordan may not ever agree to be his wife, she would always be the mother of his child. And in Woody's mind, that gave him the right to be concerned about her welfare.

Unfortunately, he forgot that Jordan was very good at hiding. When she didn't want to be found, she could conveniently and efficiently drop out of sight. And right now, she didn't want to see Woody. When he did manage to find an excuse to go to the morgue, she rarely was there. He would swear she either had some kind of sixth sense that warned her when he was coming or had tapped into the GPS system on his cell phone.

Right now, he wouldn't discount either scenario. All he knew was that Jordan was avoiding him. Whether she was afraid that he would resurrect his poorly worded and badly-timed marriage proposal or push some kind of custody issue, he wasn't sure.

He just knew he was concerned about her. And the baby.

As usual, work was Jordan's cure-all for anything that ailed her. When she was worried, she worked. When she was in crisis, she worked harder. And when worry and crisis crossed paths in her life, she worked as long and as hard as she could. Or at least as much as Garret and the Commonwealth of Massachusetts would allow in overtime.

But hell, even if she wasn't paid, she'd still find herself back in the morgue when her world was crashing in around her. There was something comfortingly methodical about an autopsy. Even in the most horrendous of deaths, a lung is going to be where a lung should be. Likewise a heart or a pancreas. If they're not where they were originally intended to be, then you have a clue as to how this person died.

The insides of bodies were like pearls on a string. Exquisite, invaluable, and pretty much identical. Something Jordan could count on when her world was topsy-turvy and inside out. Like it was now.

She was pregnant. With Woody's child. But the child legally didn't belong to either one of them. Legally it belonged to Bug.

Bug. Who now didn't want the child because the whole situation reminded him too much of Lily.

Lily. Bug's now deceased wife and Jordan's best friend. Lily. Who Bug wasn't trying to forget, but was trying to somehow get on with his grief-laced life.

A life that didn't include the baby that biologically belonged to Woody and Jordan but was legally the Veejays.

A baby conceived not through traditional methods but through the methods of modern technology.

The thoughts of just how upside down her world had become made Jordan even more nauseous than morning sickness did that seemed to constantly plague her. A topsy-turvy world of her own making, all because she had tried to do a good deed…a favor for her best friend.

"See if your mom ever tries to be that nice again," she grumbled to her stomach, laying a calming hand on the kicking baby. "To you, yes. To the rest of the world…the hel…heck with them." She was trying to watch her language for the baby's sake. She figured now was a good a time as any to start. At least in utro, her voice would be muffled to the child. By the time he or she could really hear, maybe Jordan's language would at least be two notches up from a sailor's.

And if Jordan was completely honest with herself, the hours she was putting in at the morgue were for more than just trying to right her upside down world. It was a monumental effort to steer clear of Mr. Daytimer-Driven-Midwestern-Values Wilson. Yes, he knew where she worked. And yes, he could find her there. But the morgue offered lots more hiding place options than her tiny apartment. She could duck and dodge faxes, phone calls, and e-mails. She could hide in trace, autopsy, or one of the many storage rooms. She could answer field calls and simply not be present when he made his daily visit.

But in her apartment, she was trapped.

Until she was sure of herself and where Woody fit in as the father of this technologically conceived child, she needed time.

And working long hours allowed her that.

For three weeks, Woody let her dodge him, remembering that at times, it was better to let Jordan settle things in her own mind before calling her out on them. But at the end of the third week, Woody's concern had blossomed into a flower with a bit of an angry tint to the edges.

It was his child, too. And if she was working too much and too hard, she could hurt their child. One evening after quitting time, he called Nigel, who was on the nightshift and confirmed that Jordan was still in the morgue.

"Indeed, mate. She's in her office right now," Nigel told Woody.

"Can you keep her at least in the morgue until I get there? There are some questions on the…" Woody struggled to pull a case from memory that they had worked on together. "the Brady case," he finished in triumph.

"I thought that case was closed last week…"

Think quick… "Just a couple of loose ends to tie up," he stammered.

"Uhhhhhh-huhhhhhh," Nigel drawled, disbelief clearly in his voice. As usual, Nigel and nearly everyone in the office had been aware of the game of dodge ball between Woody and Jordan for nearly the entire previous month. "I'll do my best, Woodrow.

In the end, it turned out that Woody didn't have anything to worry about. When he arrived at the morgue and pushed open the door to Jordan's office, he found her sound asleep on the couch.

Looking so tired and worn-out that his heart automatically went out to her, despite any concern he had over her working long hours. Quietly he knelt beside her sleeping figure and gently pushed the hair back off her face. "Jordan?" he whispered

No response. A gentle shake and this time he whispered "Jordan" with a tad more force. Her eyelids flickered open and shut again.

And to Woody's surprise, she turned towards him. This time "Jordan" came out of his mouth with more puzzlement than anything. He had expected her to push him away. And as usual, she surprised him by doing the exact opposite. "Jo…wake up."

"Don't want to," came the sleepy reply. "I'm tired." This time she inched closer to him and Woody found his arms automatically going around her to keep her from falling off the couch.

"I can tell." Amusement laced his voice this time. "Maybe you should go home and rest instead of working so many hours?"

The practicality of his Midwestern common sense brought Jordan out of the comfort of the dream she was having…the one where her world was made right again. That the baby was healthy and she and Woody were getting along. She had assumed his voice had been part of her dream.

"I'm working a double," she answered vaguely, pushing herself up into a sitting position and out of his arms.

"A double that ended a half an hour ago," he replied, standing and reaching for her coat. "Put this on." He reached out and took her hand, hauling her to her feet. "I'm taking you home. You're too tired to drive."

"But I'm fine. Really."

Woody shook his head. "No. You're not. Really. You're exhausted."

"I'm fine."

He raised a skeptical eyebrow. "So that dead-to-the-world nap on your couch was for no reason at all?"

"I…" Jordan felt her cheeks flush. "Morning sickness…kinda caught up with me later than normal…and …"

"That combined with work has taken a toll on you," he finished, helping her with her coat the entire time. "Come on. I'm taking you home."

"But…" Jordan stood stock-still in the middle of her office, fighting against the feeling of being manhandled and the desire just to let someone else take over for a while…letting her rest.

"Your car will be fine. I'll drive you to work tomorrow morning." He tugged her towards the door.

"But I'm not coming to work tomorrow morning. I have a sonogram appointment…" She obediently followed him out her door, berating herself for sounding and feeling just a little on the slow side.

"Then I'll go with you to that…and we'll both come here afterwards."

"But…"

"That's the fourth 'but' you've given me in as many minutes. Just come on, Jordan."

The ice between them was at least thawing a little. Woody had driven her back to her apartment and then while she was in the shower, had found the makings of a spaghetti dinner. When Jordan emerged from her bathroom, she discovered salad, pasta, marinara, and garlic bread waiting on her. The nausea subsiding, she ate for the first time in days without the feeling that what was "going down must come back up." Woody waved off her attempt to help with the dishes, instead steering her towards the bedroom.

"Rest," he told her. "What time is your appointment tomorrow?"

"Eleven." Her words were already slurring with sleep before her head properly hit the pillow.

"I'll be here at ten." He tucked her in and smoothed the hair back from her forehead. "I'll finish the dishes and let myself out."

She nodded. He got up and edged towards the door, but her voice called him back.

"Woody?"

"Yes, Jordan?" He paused at the doorway to her little glass-walled bedroom. From the light in her living room, she could see his profile. Strange how she had always thought him to be broad shouldered and good-looking, but lately the years had added a more chiseled look too him. And with his tie now completely undone and his shirt unbuttoned two buttons at the collar he looked…he looked….just damned sexy. Jordan self-consciously shifted in her bed. She must look like a beached whale now. Still…despite her body remembering in tingly accuracy what making love to him felt like…she was grateful for his attention to her tonight on a purely platonic level.

"Thank you – for everything tonight."

"You're welcome." He pushed away from the doorway and went to the kitchen to finish the dishes. Then, after making sure she was asleep, he left her apartment, stopping to lock the door behind him.

Showing back up, as promised the next morning at ten. He once again helped her with her coat and she gave him directions to the doctor's office. Jordan checked in and Woody eyed the room, noting other men there with their wives or girlfriends. He seriously doubted another couple was in the same room…the same building….hell, the same city with the same set of circumstances that he and Jordan found themselves in.

He was still mulling over that fact when the nurse called them both back. A little cold jelly on Jordan's stomach and a probe of the wand and their baby's face came into view on the screen with alarming clarity. Neither of them said anything for minutes as the doctor took measurements and pictures.

"You two are a quiet pair," the nurse quipped. "It's a little overwhelming, I know…"

It was Jordan who broke the silence. "Is…everything okay?"

"Fine. Just fine," the technician replied. "Looks great and you're right on time for delivery.

"Can you tell if it's a boy or a girl?" Woody asked.

The sonogram technician looked at them both. "You're sure you want to know? Some people like to be surprised."

Woody cast Jordan a sideways look. She gave him a tiny nod. "Yeah. We both want to know.

"It's a girl. You're having a daughter.

Woody's head spun and he was never sure exactly how he got Jordan back to his car and helped into the passenger seat.

A girl. He was having a daughter. His mind flew from a baby swathed in pink blankets to a toddler with chestnut curls and her mother's honey-colored eyes. Scenes from preschool, ballet, and girl scouts soon followed.

Then schooling. Catholic schools to begin with. At least for elementary. Then middle school? He wasn't so sure. And if she had a lot of ability in math and science like her mom, only the best high schools would be good enough. Then maybe Tufts for undergraduate work. For graduate? Harvard? Yale? Brown?

Woody shook his head. They still had three months to go before the baby was born. Maybe he should concentrate on the basics…like getting a crib. What kind? Only the safest for sure…

It was Jordan's voice that brought him back to the present. She was on her cell phone. "Can I speak to Mr. Horton?" A few seconds later, Mr. Horton obviously came on the line because then Woody heard a barrage of statements about moving funds and selling stock. He shamelessly eavesdropped as Jordan finished her call.

"Who was that?" he asked her when she flipped her phone shut.

She gave a sideways glance. One that clearly told Woody he may just have overstepped his bounds. "My financial planner."

"Your financial planner?"

"Yeah. I'm going to have to move some money around…make it a little more liquid before the baby's born. I don't know what I'll be facing and…"

"Jordan." Woody took a deep breath and tightened his grip in the steering wheel as he realized his voice came out a bit sharper than he intended. "I plan on helping with the baby. You're not going to have to go through this alone."

She didn't say another word until he had pulled up at the morgue to let her out. "You're not, you know," he reiterated. "The baby has two parents, regardless of whether we're….together or not. I want to help monetarily and I want to have an active part in her life."

There was still dead silence in the car and Woody begin to feel a cold, familiar fear wash over him. The kind he had felt before every time Jordan had pushed him out of her life.

But it melted when she reached out and took his hand. "I know," she said in a small voice. "We've just got to figure out how everything fits..."