Who's The Father Of Jenny's Baby?. Donna Clayton
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concern she read in his gaze made her blood heat. She wanted this man. In a purely carnal sense. The thought shocked her. And at the same time the realization made her feel terribly conscious of her disheveled appearance.
“I’m a mess,” she murmured, averting her face and combing her fingers through her hair.
“You’re beautiful.”
The compliment had been whispered so softly, she couldn’t even be sure she’d heard him correctly. Jenny lifted her eyes to his and saw a sincerity there that stole her breath away.
She didn’t know what to say, how to act, and the silence swelled until it seemed to swirl and pulse with some mysterious energy. Jenny was sure he must hear the thunder of her heart in the utter stillness.
Finally, Luke came further into the room, stopping a few feet from the bed. “How’s your headache?”
“Gone,” she said, realizing that, for having fallen asleep with such worrisome thoughts, she felt well-rested. “Actually, I’m feeling pretty good.”
“I’m glad to hear that.”
The silky baritone of his voice sent shivers coursing down her spine. He was close enough to her now that she could smell the warm scent of him, an appealing mixture of woodsy cologne and the clean smell of shower soap. His black hair glistened damp in the fading, rosy glow.
Feeling desperate to break this tense allure threatening to overwhelm her, she reached over and switched on the bedside lamp. But the artificial light did nothing to dissipate the sparks that snapped and crackled in the air.
“Are you hungry?”
How could he ask such a mundane question with all this electricity throbbing in this suddenly-too-small room?
Whether he was conscious of the underlying current or not, his pretense of normal behavior was probably the best way to handle the situation, she decided. She’d simply follow his example.
“I’m starved,” she told him, proud of the confident smile she was able to offer him.
Absently, he slid his palm across the front of his shirt. “Mary fried some chicken and made a bowl of potato salad. Oh, and there’s baked beans and biscuits, too. And she didn’t forget that lemon meringue pie she promised.”
She sensed rather than saw his grin as he listed the dinner menu, her gaze glued to his hand where it rested on his broad chest. Even though she knew it was the last thing she should be doing, she couldn’t help but imagine how his pectoral muscles might feel under her own fingertips.
Hard and hot, she was sure.
Blinking, she realized that Luke’s eyes held an expectant look, as if he’d asked her a question and he was waiting for an answer. Heat suffused her cheeks as she said, “Um, I beg your pardon?”
He chuckled. “I guess the sandman still hasn’t let you completely loose.”
“I guess.” She didn’t mind jumping at the excuse he’d given her for her lack of attention, even though her brain was quick and keen, and had been since the instant she’d opened her eyes.
“I asked if you’d like me to bring you a tray,” he repeated. “Or would you rather join us downstairs?”
“I’ll come down,” she said, sliding to the edge of the mattress. But then she stopped, remembering that Luke had mentioned Mary. “Is she still here? Mary, I mean?”
He shook his dark head. “She had to go fix Bud’s dinner.” After a moment, he softly added, “Mary was disappointed that she didn’t get a chance to talk to you.”
Relief flowed through her when she realized she didn’t have to deal with yet another new experience. What do you say to people who know more about you than you do yourself?
Evidently, Luke recognized what she was feeling because he said, “It is going to be okay, you know. We’re just going to take it one day at a time.”
She smiled at him, his use of the plural pronoun making it seem as if she wasn’t in this all alone. But she didn’t let down her guard completely, remembering how, just a few hours ago, he’d acted irritated, almost standoffish toward her. Luke wasn’t going to be an easy man to figure out.
“I don’t mean to be timid about meeting Mary. It’s just that...” She let the sentence trail, knowing from the look on his face that he understood she wasn’t quite ready to take on the whole world.
His black gaze took on a note of warning. “Chad’s downstairs. You’re all he’s talked about today. He wants to see for himself that you’re really okay. I hope he won’t overwhelm you.”
The concern biting into his brow made Jenny feel secure for some reason. After her reaction to Luke and Chad’s bickering this afternoon, she didn’t feel that her husband would allow the situation to get out of hand.
Her husband. Thinking of herself as married gave her such an odd sensation. A sensation filled with a multitude of emotions. A sensation she really didn’t have time to ponder in depth at the moment.
She hitched up one shoulder a fraction. “I won’t lie to you,” she said. “I am a little apprehensive.”
“There’s no reason to be.” His smile faded as determination overtook his expression. “You can trust me on that.”
This fiercely protective side he was showing made her grow silent, thoughtful. It put her at ease and melted some of the anxiety jittering inside her. She liked the feeling, she decided.
Drawing her spine straight, she didn’t smile as she told him, “I do trust you, Luke.”
He held her gaze for only a moment, then stuffing his hands into his pockets, he looked away. Was he embarrassed by her admission? she wondered. The thought was heartwarming.
“Let me run a brush through my hair,” she told him. “And I’d like to splash my face with a little water. I’ll meet you downstairs in a few minutes, okay?”
Luke nodded silently and then left the room.
Padding into the master bathroom, Jenny pulled a clean washcloth from the shelf, moistened it and smoothed it over her face. She scrubbed her teeth and brushed her hair.
Finally, she stared into the mirror at the image that was no more familiar to her now than it had been when she’d regained consciousness four days ago. Jenny Prentice was an unknown entity. As strange to her as Luke and Chad, as Mary and her husband Bud. But in order to get to know the woman staring back at her from the mirror, Jenny knew she needed information. She turned to the door, straightening her shoulders. It was time to come face-to-face with the two men who could give her the facts she desperately needed.
The fried chicken was juicy and tender, and Jenny didn’t realize just how hungry she was until she took that first bite.
“This is delicious.” she said.
Luke nodded. “Mary’s a good cook.”
“But so are you, Jenny,” Chad told her. “You always loved working in the kitchen.”
Jenny tossed her brother-in-law an awkward smile, his compliment making her wonder what kind of meals she used to prepare. Did she favor fancy dishes such as fettuccine Alfredo and seafood paella? Or did she cook simple fare like franks and beans, hamburgers and fries?
“Baking bread was your specialty,” Luke said, scooping up a forkful of chilled potato salad.
Chad chuckled. “We always knew when Jenny was upset, didn’t we, Luke? She’d be in the kitchen, up to her elbows in flour, bashing the heck out of some bread dough.” He grinned at her. “You called it kneading, but Luke and I knew you were imagining one or the other of us under those pummeling fists of yours.”
So, Jenny mused, she worked out her aggressions by baking bread. Interesting.