The M.D. She Had To Marry. Christine Rimmer
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glance flicked over the stained sink, the old iron daybed bolstered to double as a sofa, and the faded curtain that served as a door to the sleeping nook.
He dipped his head at the grocery bags. “Where do you want these?”
Lacey moved to clear a space on the old pine table, shifting a stack of books, a sketch pad, a box of pastels and some pencils to one of the four ladderback chairs. “Right here.” She pulled the chain on the bulb suspended over the table. The resulting wash of light was harsh, but functional.
Logan moved forward and slid the groceries onto the table, then stepped back. They regarded each other. She saw that there were circles under those fine dark eyes of his.
Was it only the severity of the light? No. Now that she stared directly at him, she could see more than irritated disapproval in the sculpted planes of his face. She saw weariness. Reproach and concern were there, too.
She cleared her throat and spoke gently. “Did you drive all the way from California?”
He shook his head. “I flew out of Reno. To Denver, where I transferred to a smaller plane, which got me to Sheridan. Then I rented a car for the rest of the trip.”
“You must be tired.”
His mouth tightened. She read the hidden meaning in his expression. He’d come to take care of her, whether she liked it or not. His own comfort was nothing. “I’m fine.”
“Well. I’m glad to hear it.”
The silence stretched out again. Maybe he was thirsty. “Do you want something to drink?”
He shrugged, then answered with a formality that tugged at her heart. “Yes. Thank you. Something cold would be good.”
“Ginger ale?”
“That’s fine.”
She went to the refrigerator, which was probably a collector’s item—it stood on legs and had a coil on top. She took out a can, then turned to the cabinet over the one tiny section of counter.
“Never mind a glass,” he said. “Just the can is fine.”
She handed it to him across the table, absurdly conscious of the possibility that their fingers might brush in passing. They didn’t.
She gestured at the chair in front of him. “Have a seat.”
He ignored that suggestion, popped the top on the can and took a long drink.
She stared at his Adam’s apple as it bobbed up and down on his strong, tanned throat and tried to ignore the yearning that flooded through her in a warm, tempting wave.
She wanted him.
Even big as a cow with the baby they had created together, she’d have happily sashayed right over to him and put her mouth against that brown throat. With delight, she would have teasingly scraped the skin with her teeth, stuck out her tongue and tasted—
Lacey cut off the dangerous erotic thought before it could get too good a hold on her very healthy imagination. As if she even could sashay, big as she’d grown in the last month or so.
Logan set the ginger ale can on the table. “How long have you been here?”
“Seven weeks.”
He waited, clearly expecting her to elaborate. When she didn’t, he asked, softly, “Why?”
She looked away, realized she’d done it, and made herself face him again. “Why not? This ranch has been in my family for five generations. My second cousin, Zach, runs the place now.”
“That doesn’t answer my question. What made you choose to come here?”
“Jenna suggested it.” As Lacey said her sister’s name, it became clear to her that she’d been avoiding saying it. For her own sake or for Logan’s, she couldn’t be sure. But the name was out now. And the world hadn’t stopped. “She and Mack stayed here for a few weeks last year.”
There. She had said both of the dangerous names. Jenna and Mack. The woman Logan loved. And the man who had taken her from him.
Lacey watched for his reaction. If he had one, he wasn’t sharing it. His face remained composed. He didn’t even blink.
“Jenna knows—about you and me?” His voice was cautious, but resigned.
“Yes.”
“She knows that the baby is mine?”
Lacey nodded. “I told her about you and me not too long after it happened—and about the baby a few months ago. She wanted me to go and stay with her and Mack in Florida for the birth.”
“Why didn’t you?”
Lacey stared at him. Did he really want to hear the answer to that one? Apparently he did, or he would not have been so foolish as to ask.
She shrugged. “I didn’t want to intrude on their happiness.” Jenna and Mack were like newlyweds, having recently reunited after years apart. “And Jenna is pregnant, too. Her baby is due in September.”
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