January 2 Rick watched anxiously as Abby undid the buttons of her silk blouse. On the last button, she froze. He followed her gaze as she looked at the license she’d placed on her nightstand after retrieving it from today’s mail. He watched her eyes trace and retrace the words embossed in gold at the bottom: “United States Government -- There is only one good reason to have a child.” It wasn’t that Abby’s looks repulsed him. She was just the kind of woman who failed to inspire a second glance. She was doughy and overweight. Skin pale and freckled. Hair black and wiry. The one beautiful thing was what she didn’t have: a gene tattoo. From the way Abby stared at her license, she must have been on the verge of changing her mind. Rick couldn’t let that happen. He’d invested too many years in her. “What’s wrong?” he said. She didn’t look at him. Instead, she focused on the last button, still undone. “I don’t know.” Naked under Abby’s large and luxurious comforter, Rick slid over to the edge of the bed. If Abby wasn’t beautiful, at least she owned a beautiful sky-rise condo in the heart of Houston. The rooms were spacious, the carpets plush and feather soft, and the furniture was heavy and expensive. With a soft and gentle touch, he caught her hovering hands inside his. Abby looked up abruptly. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s because I’m 40 and you’re 28. Maybe I’m having second thoughts about--but I can’t be having second thoughts! I’m so lucky. So fortunate. This is exactly what I’ve always wanted. Beyond my wildest dreams, even. I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t--” Abby gasped softly as Rick pressed the back of her hands to his lips. Rick watched her closely. He paid attention to the tiniest hint of color creeping across her face. The expression in her eyes. The flickering of her gaze. Rick kissed her fingertips lightly. “Do you trust me?” When her hands trembled inside his, Rick squeezed to hold them steady. “Yes. Of course. I put my life in your hands every day.” Rick rose on his knees on Abby’s bed to face her as she stood next to it. He let loose the last button and pushed her blouse off her shoulders. “Show me where they took it out.” Obediently, Abby raised one arm to show him the underside of her biceps. The scar was fresh and tender, about half an inch long. “I took the bandage off this morning,” Abby said. Rick took a good look at it. He traced his fingertips around the scar. He drank in the moment as if it were well-aged whiskey. He savored every second. Her doctor had removed her Preconceive implant, leaving tiny and precise stitches. It was official. Now she could get pregnant. Abby was likely to be the richest and most powerful woman Rick would ever know, but touching the skin around her scar drove the point home. But Abby looked scared, like a little girl. For a brief moment, it touched a place in Rick that made him want to protect her. The words popped out of his mouth before he could take them back. “We don’t have to do this. Not if you don’t want to.” It was all Rick could do to keep a sincere look on his face. He had to stay focused. Keep his eye on the prize. Failure was not an option. He had to get Abby in bed. Abby’s words flooded out from some secret place where she’d been damming them up. “It’s impossible somebody like you--anybody who looks like you--is alone. I keep thinking you must have a wife. A girlfriend. This is terrible and wrong.” Rick reminded himself of the cold, hard facts of life. One: Life is war. Two: Everyone else is the enemy. Three: The only way to win the war is to fight for yourself. He kissed Abby slowly and passionately. “How could I kiss you like that if I loved somebody else?” He could see Abby steeling herself as she looked deeply into his eyes