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Logan glanced down at the table between them. He might have been looking at the bags of groceries, or the empty soda can—or simply not looking at her. “Well,” he said, “Jenna always did want lots of kids.”
“Yes. She did.”
Logan raised that dark gaze once more. “So you came here.”
Lacey nodded. “It’s peaceful and it’s beautiful. And I have family around, ready to help if I need it. It was the perfect place to come and have my baby.”
He let a moment of charged silence elapse before announcing, “You should have come to me.”
Well, she thought. We’re into it now, aren’t we? She knew where he was headed, of course. She’d known from the moment she saw him on the front step. And even before that. She’d known what Logan Severance would do from the first day she admitted to herself that she was pregnant—because she knew him.
And she had her refusal, complete with excellent reasons for it, all ready to give to him.
But the thought of hashing through it all made her feel about as tired as he looked. And her back was aching.
If he wanted to stand up for this, fine. He could stand. She’d rather take it sitting down.
Lacey pulled out a chair and lowered herself into it.
Logan waited to speak again until she was settled—and until it became clear that she wasn’t going to respond to his last remark. “The baby’s due in a week or so, right?”
“Yes.” Her shoulders kept wanting to droop. She pulled them back and met his eyes. “Everything’s fine. Normal. I got an appointment with the doctor here as soon as I arrived. He’s been taking good care of me.”
Logan looked irritatingly skeptical. “You’ve been watching your diet, taking it easy?”
Oh, why did he so often manage to make her feel like some incompetent, irresponsible child? Apparently, old behavior patterns did die hard. In spite of the dramatic shift in their relationship last fall, right that moment the years seemed to peel away. She was the bratty kid with a chip on her shoulder and he was the annoyingly straight-arrow boyfriend of her big sister.
“Lacey. Answer me. Have you been taking care of yourself?”
“Honestly, everything is fine.”
That gained her a disbelieving glare. “Why didn’t you contact me earlier?”
“I contacted you as soon as I could bear to. And if we’re into ‘why didn’t you,’ then why didn’t you call the number I gave you and let me know that you were on your way here?”
“And have you tell me not to come? I don’t think so.”
Her mouth felt so dry all of a sudden. It was one of the many bothersome things about pregnancy. Cravings came on out of nowhere. She wanted water. She could already taste its silky coldness on her tongue. She started to push herself to her feet again.
Logan frowned. “What is it?”
“Nothing. I just want a drink of water, that’s all.”
“I’ll get it.”
“No, don’t bother. I can—”
But he was already striding to the sink. He took a glass from the corner of the counter, rinsed it, and filled it from the tap. Then he carried it to her and held it out.
She looked at the glass and then up, into his eyes. His kindness and concern did touch her. He was a good man, always had been. Much too good for the likes of her. She felt a smile flirting with the corners of her mouth. “You know, until a few years ago, there was no running water or electricity here in the cabin. It cost a bundle, apparently, to run electrical lines and water pipes out here. But my cousin Zach had it done last summer. Pretty convenient, huh? Otherwise, you’d have had to head for the well out back to fill that glass for me.”
“Just drink.” His voice was gruff.
This time, as he passed her the glass, his fingers did brush hers. His fingers were warm. She wondered if hers felt cold to him.
“Thank you.” She drank. It was just what she’d wanted, clear and cool and satisfying as it slid down her throat.
“More?”
She shook her head, set down the glass.
Logan pulled out the chair nearest hers and dropped into it. He braced his elbows on his knees and leaned toward her. The light caught and gleamed in his dark hair.
His eyes were softer now. “I didn’t call when I got your letter because I knew you would only try to talk me into staying away.”
Her smile started to quiver. She bit the corner of her lip to make it stop. “That’s true. I would have.”
“It wouldn’t have worked.”
“I know. You’ll do what you think is right. You always have.” Except during those five days last September, a voice in her mind whispered tauntingly. Then you did things you didn’t approve of. And you did them with me.
He looked down at the rough boards between his feet, then back up at her. “This baby changes everything, Lace.”
She wanted to touch him. The slight brushing of their fingers a moment before had whetted her appetite for the feel of him. Oh, to simply reach out and run her fingers through that shining dark hair, to trace his brows, to learn again the shape of his mouth.
Tenderness welled in her. He had traveled such a long way and he wasn’t going to get what he came for—what he would say he wanted, what he would call the right thing.
He said it then, as if he had plucked the words right out of her mind. “We have to do the right thing now.”
She sat back in her chair and clasped her hands beneath the hard swell of her belly. “Your idea of the right thing and mine are not the same, Logan.”
He answered her with measured care. “The right thing is the right thing, period.”
“Fine. Whatever. The point is, I’m not going to marry you.”
Chapter Two
Logan had pretty much expected this. He straightened in the chair and kept his voice level and reasonable. “Before you turn me down flat, let’s discuss this a little. You’re in no position to raise a child on your own, and I’m willing to—”
“Logan, I told you. No. It’s a two-letter word meaning negative, out of the question. Uh-uh. Forgetaboutit.” She pushed herself to her feet. “We are not getting married.”
“Why not?”
She stared at him for a moment, then made a show of hitting her forehead with the heel of her hand. “What? You can’t figure that one out for yourself?”
“Spare me the theatrics. Just answer the question. Why not?”
Muttering under her breath, she turned to her groceries, grabbed a box of Wheat Thins in one hand and a can of cocoa mix in the other and started toward the ancient wood-burning stove that crouched against the wall by the front door.
His frustration with her got the better of him. “Sit down,” he commanded.
It was the wrong thing to say, and he knew it. But something about Lacey Bravo tended to bring out the tyrant in him.
Why was that? He had no idea. He considered himself a reasonable, gentle man, as a rule. He was a reasonable, gentle man as a rule. Ask just about anyone who knew him.
Lacey ignored his command. She reached the stove and put the crackers and cocoa mix on the open shelf above it. Then she turned for the table again and shuffled his way, her abdomen heavy and low in front of her—low enough, in fact, to make him suspect that the baby inside her had already dropped toward the birth canal.
It could be less than a week before she brought his child into the world.
They needed to get married.
She reached into the bag again. He stood. “Lace. Stop. You know we have to talk about this.”
She took her hand out of the bag and raked that thick gold hair of hers back from her forehead. “Not about marriage, we don’t.”
“I disagree. I think marriage is exactly what we do need to talk about. I think that—”
She put up both hands, palms out. “Wait. Listen. You’re the baby’s father. And of course, you’ll want to see him or her, to be a part of his life. I understand that and I can accept that. But it really isn’t necessary for you to—”
“It damn well is necessary. You’re having my baby and a baby needs a mother and a father.”
“I told you. The baby will have a mother and a father. They just won’t be married to each other, that’s all.”
“A two-parent home is important to a child.”
“Sometimes a two-parent home isn’t possible.”
“In our case, it’s entirely possible. I want to marry you. We’re both single. I make a good living and I do care for you. I believe that, deep in your heart, you also care for me. I know I’m rough on you sometimes, rougher than I have a right to be. But I’ll work on that, I promise you.”
She said nothing, only looked at him, shaking her head.
He thought of more arguments in his favor. “We have…history together. I feel I really know you, that you really know me. We could build a good life together, I’m sure of it.”
Still, she didn’t speak.
A grotesque thought occurred to him. “Is there another man? Is that it?”
She closed her eyes and sucked in a breath.
He realized that, if there was another man, he didn’t want to know. Which was irrational. Of course, if there was someone else, he needed to know.
He asked again. “Lace? Is there another man?”
“No,” she said in a tiny, soft voice. “No one. There hasn’t been anyone. Since you. Since quite a while before you, if you want to know the truth.”
Relief shimmered through him. “Good. Then there’s nothing to stop you from marrying me.”
She backed up and let herself down into the chair again. “How can you say that?”
“Lace—”
“No, Logan. I am not going to marry you.” She looked up at him, blue eyes glittering in defiance, mulishly determined to do exactly the wrong thing.
Impatience rose in him again. “Why not?”
She glared at him. “You keep asking that. Do you really want an answer? Do you really want me to say it right out?”
He didn’t.
But he wasn’t about to tell her that. She’d only look at him as if he’d just proved her point.
“Let me put it this way,” she said with heavy irony. “If I ever do get married, it won’t be to a man who’s in love with my big sister.”
He tried not to flinch as the words came at him.
And he did realize the opportunity they presented. Now was his chance to tell her firmly that he was not in love with Jenna. But somehow, he couldn’t quite get the denial out of his mouth.
Lacey smiled sadly, shook her head some more, and murmured his name in a knowing way that made him want to grab her and flip her over his knee and paddle her behind until she admitted he was right and accepted his proposal. Until she confessed how glad she was that he had come at last, that he was ready, willing and able to make everything right.
Lacey wasn’t confessing anything. She said, “I have my own plans. I’m staying here in Wyoming until the baby’s born and I’m back on my feet. Then I’ll return to L.A.”
Absurd, he thought. Impossible. And harebrained, as well. “You can’t be serious. There is no way you can support both yourself and a child on what you make working odd jobs and selling a painting every now and then.”
“We’ll get by. Jenna and I sold our mother’s house. I have money put aside from that, and a new car, so the baby and I will be able to get around. In fact, I have everything I need.” Her full, soft mouth stretched into a smile—a rather forced one this time. “And besides, I know you’ll help out.”
He reminded himself that he would not lose his patience again. She had always been like this. Impetuous and wild. Running away whenever things didn’t go her way. A virtual delinquent as a teenager, hanging out with all the troublemakers at Meadow Valley High. And then, at twenty, taking off for Los Angeles to study under some famous painter, sure she would “make it” as an artist. Six years had gone by since then. She hadn’t made it yet.
Now she proposed to drag his baby to Southern California to scrape and starve right along with her.
It wasn’t going to happen. “I’ll help out, all right,” he said. “We’ll get married. You’ll live with me. You can paint your paintings in Meadow Valley just as well as in L.A.”
“I said no, Logan. And I meant it.”
He folded his arms across his chest—mostly to keep himself from reaching out and strangling her. “This isn’t last September. You can’t just explain to me how I don’t love you and I’m only on the rebound from your sister and it’s time we both moved on.”
“You happened to agree with me last September, in case you’ve forgotten.”
Had he agreed with her? Maybe. He’d been confused as hell last September. Hard to remember now what he had felt then.
Jenna had left with Mack McGarrity.
And then, out of nowhere, her little sister, who had always irritated the hell out of him, showed up on his doorstep, real concern for him in her gorgeous blue eyes and a big chocolate cake in her hands.
“You need chocolate, Dr. Do-Right,” she had said. “Lots of chocolate. And you need it now.”
Dr. Do-Right. He hated it when she called him that. He had opened his mouth to tell her so—and also to tell her to please go away.
But she just pushed past him and kept walking, straight to his kitchen. She put the cake on the counter and began rifling the drawers. It didn’t take her long to find the one with the silverware in it.
