Free The Tycoon's Paternity Agenda by Michelle Celmer Page B

already determined that she agreed to have a child with the most demanding and obstinate man on the face of the earth.
    Adam had called her about a million times.
    Okay, so it was more like fifteen or twenty, but it sure felt like a million. She had only been back to Peckins an hour when he phoned to check on her, which, in light of his cool attitude the night before, she found sort of touching. He reminded her that the doctor said to take it easy for several days, meaning no heavy lifting or strenuous activity. Which she, of course, already knew. She assured him she was following the postprocedure instructions to the letter, and he had nothing to worry about.
    Thinking that she’d made herself pretty clear, she was surprised when later that evening he’d called again.
    Was she eating right? Drinking enough water? Staying off her feet?
    She patiently assured him that she was still following the doctor’s orders, and when they hung up shortly after, assumed that would be the last she heard from him in a while. But he called again the next morning.
    Had she gotten a full eight hours sleep? She wasn’t drinking coffee, was she? And since country breakfasts were often laden with saturated fats, she should consider fruit and an egg-white omelet as a substitute.
    She assured him again, maybe not quite so patiently this time, that she knew what to do. And she was only a little surprised when he called later in the day to say he’d been doing research on the internet and needed her email address so he could send her links to several sites he thought contained necessary information about prenatal health. And had she ever considered becoming a vegetarian?
    If he was this fanatical before there was even a confirmed pregnancy, what was he going to be like when she was actually pregnant? Two to three calls a day, every day, for nine months?
    She would be giving birth from a padded room in the psychiatric ward.
    It wouldn’t be so bad if the phone calls were even slightly conversational in tone. As in, “Hi, how are you? What have you been up to?” Instead he more or less barked orders, without even the most basic of pleasantries.
    On day seven, he called to say that he’d been giving their situation considerable thought, and he’d come to the conclusion that he would feel more comfortable if she cameto stay with him in El Paso for the duration of her pregnancy. So he could “keep a close eye on her.”
    It was the final straw.
    â€œI will not, under any circumstances, drop everything and move two hours from home. The ranch is my life. My parents need me here. And all the phone calls and emails…it has to stop. You’re smothering me and we don’t even know that I’m pregnant yet.”
    â€œBut you could be, so doesn’t it make sense to start taking care of yourself now? This is my child we’re talking about.”
    â€œIt’s also my life.”
    â€œIf you were here with me I wouldn’t have to call. And you wouldn’t have to do anything. Celia would take care of you.”
    She liked Celia, but honestly, it sounded like hell on earth. She wasn’t an idle person. Most days she was up before dawn and didn’t stop moving until bedtime. “I love working, Adam.”
    â€œBut obviously you’ll have to quit.”
    â€œWhy would I do that?”
    â€œBecause you’ll be pregnant.”
    Oh, he did not just say that. “What century are you living in? Pregnant women work all the time.”
    â€œAt a desk job maybe, or as a clerk in a store. I seriously doubt there are pregnant women out there roping cattle on horseback and mucking stables.”
    â€œIs that what you think I do?”
    â€œIt’s not?”
    â€œNot just that. And, of course, I wouldn’t do those things when I’m pregnant. Do you really think I would be that irresponsible? And for your information, I spend a lot of time behind a