Making Babies

CHLOE'S DONOR

By

Sabine Ferruci

© copyright by Sabine Ferruci, April 2008

Cover Art by Eliza Black, April 2008

New Concepts Publishing

Lake Park, GA 31636

www.newconceptspublishing.com

This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author’s imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence.

Chapter One

“Sending me the wrong sperm sample is not a minor customer satisfaction problem, Dr. Ashtar.” Clasping her palms across her pregnant belly, Chloe Simon willed her stomach to stay calm.

“I’m not minimizing the complexity of the situation, Miss Simon.” The physician looked down at the open chart on the conference table in front of him, then hit her with a high wattage surely-we-can-solve-this smile. “I’m merely trying to assure you that your actual donor, Sergeant, uh ….”

“Gallagher. B.D.” Those were the first words that Chloe’s donor had uttered since his arrival in the clinic’s conference room. “Broderick Devlin,” he added, his clear green eyes giving nothing away as they observed her. By his unconcerned demeanor, he could have been sitting in a clubhouse waiting for his tee time.

“I assure you,” Ashtar continued, “Sgt. Gallagher provided a specimen of the highest quality. He’s in excellent health.” Dr. Ashtar beamed with pride as he gestured to Gallagher. “No family history of inherited disease. Meets-in fact, exceeds-our extremely rigid donor standards. Had he appeared in our catalogue, he would have been very popular with our clients.”

Chloe conceded that the hunk sitting across the table was as perfect a physical specimen as a man in his mid-thirties could be. A moss green sport shirt accentuated his tanned forearms, well-muscled arms, and wide shoulders. The short cut of his light brown hair emphasized the square jaw and the shadow from his clean shave. His nose was a little big for his face and his eyebrows a little too heavy, but B.D. Gallagher would never be voted off the island, at least by any of the women.

“I’m sure the Essence of Sgt. Gallagher would have been a sell-out, Doc.” Chloe was satisfied to see a flash in Gallagher’s suspiciously bland eyes, but her satisfaction was short lived. Nausea that had been simmering just below the surface since this morning’s phone call was beginning to churn in earnest. Breathe in. Breathe out.

“Another positive attribute you should not discount, Miss Simon, is the superior strength and quality of the sperm you received.”

Trailing her fingertips lightly over the swell of her belly, Chloe took a deep breath and tried not to hyperventilate.

“In order to achieve success, our average client inseminates over a period of at least three cycles, using as many as six vials at each setting.” The little man in the starched white coat could hardly contain his excitement as he leaned forward on the table to touch her arm. “You merely used one vial and became pregnant on your first try. Superb results, really.”

Chloe swiveled her chair away from the contact and watched Gallagher closely. If he moved so much as an eyelash to display macho pride, she would purposely lose her breakfast all over his crisp khaki slacks. She was almost disappointed when not so much as a facial twitch occurred. It was smooth sailing in the ocean of those green eyes, no victory flags flapping in the breeze.

“Dr. Ashtar.” Chloe was tired of hearing about the upside of this little glitch. “I selected donor attributes that were of more importance than Olympic caliber sperm.”

FULFILLMENT

By

Kimberly Zant

© copyright by Kimberly Zant, March 2008

Cover Art by Alex DeShanks, March 2008

ISBN 978-1-60394-139-6

New Concepts Publishing

Lake Park, GA 31636

www.newconceptspublishing.com

This is a work of fiction. All characters, events, and places are of the author’s imagination and not to be confused with fact. Any resemblance to living persons or events is merely coincidence.

Chapter One

I suspected my belly was beginning to look like origami. It tied itself into another knot as I watched Christian ‘Chris’ Jones weave his way to the bar for yet another drink. He wasn’t a drinker, ordinarily, which made it abundantly clear that he was even more disturbed by our plans than I was.

Or maybe not. I was pretty stressed about it myself.

He was my best friend, but we hadn’t exactly hit it off when I’d first gone to work for Mueller Enterprises the year before. Chris suffered from what I called optical-rectumitus-he had a shitty outlook on life-worse even than mine. I supposed, once I got to know him better, that he had every reason to. He was gay. Life had been hell for him just because he was ‘different’. It didn’t help that his life partner, whom he’d been with since college, had just recently dumped him for a younger man.

Oddly enough, it was his jaded view of people in general that had drawn me to him. He was critical of everyone and that just aroused a need in me for his approval. I supposed part of it was because he reminded me of my favorite uncle, the one person in the world I adored more than anyone else. A person had to be exceptional to earn his approval and I wanted to be exceptional.

Chris also had a viper tongue-another similarity to my uncle-and a rapier wit.

He could cut you to pieces without breaking a sweat and I admired that in a man-as long as it wasn’t directed at me, which was another reason I desperately wanted his approval. I wanted to stand behind him and watch in admiration while he cut other people to the quick-not me.

Anyway, I did eventually earn his respect and once I had we’d become best friends. He was actually the best friend I’d ever had. I could talk to him about anything-anything-without worrying that he would look down on me. He might not always approve, but he always accepted me for what I was.

It was his willingness to listen that had led me, in a moment of weakness, to confess just how devastated I was that I’d never had children and how frightened I was that I’d missed my chance and never would.

I’d met my husband in college and fallen truly, madly, deeply-So truly, madly, and deeply that I was content for a long time just to worship and follow him around like a hopeful puppy. He didn’t want children-not right away. He was ambitious. He wanted to build his career. He wanted to have me all to himself.

He didn’t want to have to pay child support when he dumped me.