THERE WAS nothing dignified about peeing on a stick.

Not exactly what Carey Langford had imagined thinking at this particular milestone in her life. But there it was, the depressing truth.

The foolish, idealistic part of her had always imagined this moment of truth to be a little more...romantic, for starters. Not so lonely. Maybe filled with jittery excitement and a strong, loving man pacing outside the bathroom, anxiously waiting to learn if "Daddy" would become his new handle.

Instead, she was alone, her gut as well as her body twisted like a pretzel, dreading the appearance of a double line.

One hundred and twenty seconds had never lasted so long.

She sat on the edge of the drab green bathtub, elbows on her knees, and covered her eyes with her hands as if hiding behind her hair would make the whole matter disappear.

Carey checked her watch and stood. Her heart pounded as she crossed to the counter. Still not looking at the results, she picked the test stick up with shaking hands, said a short prayer and looked.

There were two lines.

She swore out loud, a single word that hardly seemed adequate to describe her circumstances.

Apparently no higher powers were listening to her prayers tonight.

Now what?

There were two other tests — she'd bought a three-pack. She'd use them as soon as she could to be sure the first one was right. But she knew the odds of getting a false positive — almost nil. Opening a drawer, she tossed the extras inside.

She shoved the stick with the two lines back into the wrapper and carried it to the kitchen trash, stuffing it in. In an effort to have the last say, she pulled the trash bag out, tied it shut and marched out to the banged- up metal garbage can in the garage. Ceremoniously, she dropped the bag in and slammed the lid down.

As if that would get rid of her problem.

The cool dampness characteristic of Iowa in late April made her shiver, and she hurried back to the house. The dramatic blues and violets of twilight, her favorite time of day, barely filtered through her consciousness. She let the door bang shut behind her.

Carey fell into the kitchen chair closest to the door. Somehow she'd managed to go from relatively carefree independence to the sobering prospect of parenthood in mere weeks.

She'd never run into something she hadn't felt she could handle, but right now a human-sized vise seemed to close in on her.

The phone rang, but she didn't move to answer it. She wasn't in the mood to talk to anyone. The machine on the kitchen counter picked up and she listened to her own cheerful voice state that she wasn't home.

"Carey, where are you? I just got back in town. Thought I'd stop by tonight if you were there. Guess not. I'll talk to you later."

Devin Colyer, one of her two best friends. Splendid timing for him to want to catch up. She hadn't had a chance to spend much more than an hour at a bar or five minutes on the phone with him for ages. His life had been hectic lately because of the computer security business he was launching.

She wasn't up for a visit from him tonight. Her ex- boyfriend was Devin's cousin and not his favorite person. Devin wouldn't take the news that she was pregnant with Jerod's baby well at all. When they'd first started dating, Devin had tried to tell her Jerod wasn't right for her. She didn't like to take the chance of him reminding her he'd told her so.

She'd just started to get over the anger and pain since she and Jerod had broken up a month ago. Granted, they'd only actually been together four months. But she'd known him for years, had practically idolized him since high school. That was a long time to build someone up.

That she'd been so stupid still smarted. How could she, cautious and jaded thanks to her mom's history with men, have been so blind as to think Jerod was the long-term type, the family type? He'd been seeing other women the entire time they'd been together. The truth hit her right in the face. Where men were concerned, Carey's judgment was completely unreliable.

Over the years, her mom had been used, dumped, snowed over, you name it. But at least she'd been happily married and very much in love when she'd wound up pregnant. So much for striving to be wiser.

Without thinking, Carey stood and grabbed the faded mustard-colored wall phone and dialed Monica Garrett, her friend since the first day of kindergarten.

But just before the phone could ring, she disconnected the call.

Damn.

Monica was the last person she could turn to with this. She and her husband had been trying to get pregnant for almost the entire year they'd been married. Carey's news would be like acid on the wound.

She slammed the receiver down, upset on Monica's behalf as well as her own. Still holding on to the outdated phone, she took a deep breath, closing her eyes.

All right. She was on her own with her numbing news. Might as well get used to it.

She shuffled to the living room, hitting the kitchen light on the way, plunging the house into darkness. Blessed darkness.

Grabbing an old fuzzy blanket from the couch, she settled into an ancient recliner on the far side of the room to ponder the irony of her life.

There wasn't a whole lot she could do, other than run out and tell Jerod the oh-so-happy news. She shook her head. He'd made it clear he had no interest in settling down.

She rubbed her belly, trying to imagine how it would feel to have a huge bump there, filled with a tiny being who would depend on her for everything. Everything. It was almost too much to grasp.

There were options, of course. Ending the pregnancy. Finding someone to adopt her child — but that was just it. It was her child already.

Carey adored babies. She'd always wanted kids even-tually — lots of them. The thing was, though, she'd always wanted a husband to go with the kids. She knew from experience that growing up without a dad was difficult.

Her head throbbed as the truth set in — she'd be raising this child by herself. Huddling down deeper into the thick blanket, she let the tears fall.

She had no idea how much time had passed when the sobs finally subsided. Gradually, her thoughts calmed to one at a time instead of the painful barrage.

One thing she was certain about. She absolutely would not let her child grow up in a home without love or security.

A steady, heavy rain had started to fall at some point. After a long while, she heard sturdy footsteps on the walkway outside her front door.

The knock fifteen feet away from her recliner startled her. She didn't move, barely breathed, willing the visitor to go away. At the second knock she glared at the door.

She heard keys jangle, and before she could process what was happening, the door opened.

"Carey?"

Devin stepped into the dark living room. She wished she hadn't given him the spare key. Her heart thudded so loudly she expected him to hear it, and she pulled the blanket up a little higher. He apparently didn't spot her sitting across the room, but she could see him in the glow from the streetlight through the doorway.

He was drenched. His dirty-blond hair hung limply to his collar. She watched a drop of water make its way down the slight bump in his nose. He blinked a few times, as if to adjust to the darkness.

"Carey?" he hollered. "You home?"

Taking a few steps into the hallway, he glanced toward her bedroom, his back to her. He flipped the light on, and Carey squinted against the brightness. He still didn't see her.

"What do you want, Dev?" He whipped around, finally spotting her. Mopping his face with his upper arm, he stopped in the middle of the room. "What the hell are you doing?" he asked, hands on his hips, hair dripping onto his shoulders.

"What does it look like I'm doing?"

"Why didn't you answer me?"

"Why did you let yourself in?"

"Your car's in the driveway. I figured you were here."

"I'm here."

If she'd been in a better mood, she would've laughed at the contrast they made. Devin was dripping wet, yet instead of looking like a drowned dog, he looked good — from his soaked Swim Naked T-shirt to his ratty tennis shoes. Carey, who was warm and mostly dry, could probably scare a small child with her tangled hair and puffy red eyes.

"So?" he said.

"I really want to be alone, Devin."

"I've been out of town for two weeks and that's all you can say?" His voice was teasing.

She grasped the arms of the recliner, willing herself not to snap. "Please, just go."

Turning, he headed toward the hall bathroom. "Be right back. I need to dry off. If you'll hear me out, I'll leave soon."

He acted as though he found her huddling in the dark every day.

When he returned, rubbing the back of his neck with a towel, he lowered himself to the couch. "When was the last time you talked to your friend in the IT department of that local textbook publisher?"

Carey wanted to scream — or maybe cry again. She was suffering and he wanted to talk about a possible client for his start-up company. Sometimes she admired his insane drive to make it a success, but not right now.

"It's been awhile," she told him. "A few weeks."

"I'm ready to get rolling, and I need some business. The publishing company would be a big boost if I could land it. Can you talk to him again, warn him I'll be calling and get me his contact info?"

"Devin, did it not occur to you that I'm having a crisis?"

He stopped drying himself and looked at her as if he hadn't seen her before. "What's wrong?" His eyebrows lowered. "This isn't...tell me this isn't Jerod related."

"It isn't Jerod related."

"Liar."

Carey shrugged.

"Thought you got rid of him."

"I did." So to speak.