Harlequin Special Edition October 2015, Box Set 1 of 2 (20 page)

“I haven't forgotten, Anna,” he said, his tone more abrupt than intended. From curiosity and the sense of foreboding that was now heating his blood. “What can I do for you?”

Dipping her head, so her butterscotch-hued hair fell into her face, she said, “I... Well, that is, there's something...” She wrapped her hands around her slender arms and squeezed, as if the action would instill strength. Or courage. She must have found both, because she lifted her chin and looked him dead in the eye. “I'm not sure if this is a conversation we should have in the doorway. May I come inside for a few minutes?”

In a flash of pure knowledge, Logan knew what she was there to tell him. He dropped his gaze to her midsection, looking for evidence to substantiate his premonition, but she wore a long, loose burnt-orange sweater that hung straight over her hips. Even with the oversize sweater, she appeared as slim as she had the last time he'd seen her.

Didn't change anything on his end. He just
knew
, whether that knowledge held a lick of sense or not. And for a shameful second, he wished he was still in Wyoming. Or in the shower, so he wouldn't have heard the door. Or anywhere but here. Because honestly, if his assumption was correct, he had enough on his plate. Enough responsibility, enough duty, without adding another. Specifically one as enormous and life-changing as a child.

But none of those thoughts would get him anywhere, so he shook them off. Perhaps, despite the surety of his instincts, Anna was here for a different reason and had an entirely different conversation in mind. Such as she was married, and her husband had just learned of her indiscretion and was now hell-bent on kicking Logan's ass.

Except, as little as he knew about her, he didn't see Anna as the type of woman to cheat.

Pushing out a ragged breath, he nodded and opened the door wider. “Sure. I have plenty of time for a conversation,” he said, keeping his voice even. “Come on in, Anna.”

He hoped he was wrong. God forgive him, he did. If he was right, though, and their night together had left Anna pregnant with his child, Logan saw only one possibility that he could live with. Just one that made any sense or held any honor.

Because despite every other responsibility, every other duty that demanded Logan's time and attention, no way would any baby of his come into this world as he had.

Without parents who were married—if he had any say in that at all—and without the security and presence of a real, bona fide father.

Those were two legacies he'd do every last thing in his power not to pass on.

* * *

Okay. She'd made it to Logan's driveway, knocked on his door and boldly invited herself inside. He'd led her to a small, somewhat ancient kitchen badly in need of renovating and had offered her coffee or tea. She'd asked for water, which he graciously supplied.

Now they were sitting across from each other at the rectangular red paint-chipped table tucked into one of the room's corners, and he was being very quiet. Very still and watchful. His eyes—a delicious combination of gray smoke and warm blue—were hooded but steady as they appraised her. Waiting, she assumed, for her to open her mouth and start talking.

But the words weren't there to be said, not in her head and not on her tongue. Instead, to gain a few additional seconds in which she might, hopefully, find her voice, she forced a smile and took a large gulp from the glass of water. Too large, as it turned out.

And the icy-cold water went down in all the wrong ways. A strong wave of queasiness crawled from her stomach to her throat, followed by another, and she had to clamp her lips shut to stop from gagging. It worked, barely, but she still emitted a wet, choking gasp.

No, no, no. This couldn't be happening. Not here and not now. Anna focused on the kitchen window, on the golden-red leaves of the tree directly outside. Swallowing hard, she breathed in through her nose in an attempt to calm the seasick sensation rumbling her belly.

“Anna? Are you okay?” Logan asked, his brow creased in concern. In a jagged movement, he raked his fingers through his short, dark brown hair and gave her a thorough once-over. “You look fairly green. What can I do for you?”

“Oh, I'm fine! I'm...I'm just...” She slammed her hand over her mouth and shook her head.
Come on,
she ordered herself,
pull it together
. Unless she found a way to do so soon, she was absolutely going to lose her breakfast on this poor man's table.

Another fierce surge of nausea overtook her, causing her belly to seize up in rock-hard cramps and sending a series of cold shivers through her body, leaving her clammy and light-headed. She stood, fast, and managed to ask, “Bathroom? Where is it?”

Logan stood, too, instantly, and lightly took hold of her elbow. “This way,” he said, guiding her from the kitchen. They walked down a narrow hallway and through the first door on the right. He flipped on the light, saying, “There you go. I'll be right outside.”

He exited the bathroom and closed the door behind him, giving her privacy. She sucked in a deep breath, still hoping the nausea would subside, and turned on the cold water faucet to full blast. She continued to slowly breathe in and out while splashing cool water on her face.

She thought, for a precious second, she might just make it through to the other side without physically becoming ill. But in another second, she learned—at least so far as pregnancy and morning sickness were concerned—her body ruled supreme over her brain.

Fifteen minutes later, after cleaning up and making use of the mouthwash Logan had left on the bathroom counter, Anna opened the door to the hallway. And there he stood, leaning against the opposite wall, his arms angled over his chest. Tall. Strong. Concerned.

“Better?” he asked.

“Yes, thank you,” she said. “Much better.”

“Good.” And then, making no bones about it, he asked, “When are you due?”

“March twentieth.” It seemed she wouldn't have to actually speak the words after all. But so there was zero confusion, she needed to say, “And you're the only person... That is, there hasn't been anyone else, for almost two years before you. Or at all after, so...”

“We used a condom,” he pointed out. “Both times.”

“We did,” she affirmed, “but they're not one hundred percent foolproof, as I'm sure you know. And I've had no reason to be on birth control pills for a while, and I don't typically go to bars by myself, and I never—until that night with you—act so...um...spontaneously.”

Meaning, she didn't go home—or to hotels—with men she didn't know, regardless of how many drinks she'd consumed or how lonely and out-of-sorts she felt.

Never once in her life before meeting Logan. Well, she supposed there was always a first time. It was just her luck that her solitary step onto the wild side had coincided with ineffective birth control and a body primed and ready to conceive.

“I'm not sure it matters how or why this happened,” she said in a firm voice. “The facts are that I'm pregnant, and you are responsible for half of the DNA this baby carries. So, that's why I'm here. I thought you should know.”

“Of course I should know.” He didn't sound ticked off, really, or all that surprised. Just accepting and serious and maybe resigned. She got all three, as she felt the same and she'd known for months. “And why did you wait this long to tell me?”

“To be sure everything seemed healthy. To adjust. To make peace with the idea on my own first. Because—” she met his gaze with hers “—I didn't know how to tell you.”

He nodded, closed his eyes and let out a short breath. “Sensible, on every account, and I understand.” Opening his eyes, he pushed himself off the wall. “But from here on out, I want to know every detail of how you and the baby are doing.”

“I think that's fair, assuming you intend on being involved,” she said. “But we'll have to have a conversation—several, probably—to figure out what that will mean.”

“Oh, without question, I intend to be involved.” His jaw hardened slightly. “In fact, my vast, overriding preference is for us to get married. As soon as possible.”

Married?
Shock came first—at the ease of the proposition—followed by, strangely, a profound sense of relief at the one and only response Anna hadn't anticipated. It settled deep in her bones. The sensation was that strong, that real. She shook her head, tried to make sense of his words and her reaction. “Am I hearing you correctly? You're proposing marriage?”

“If there's going to be a baby, then I think there should be a wedding,” he said without so much as a tremor of doubt or indecision clouding his tenor voice. “But—and I'm thinking aloud here—I don't expect a lifelong commitment, Anna. A temporary marriage will suffice.”

“I see,” she managed to say. “Because you're worried about my reputation?”

“I'm worried about establishing a connection to my child,” he said. “I can and will explain my reasoning, and if you need time to consider the possibility, that's also sensible.”

She was crazy. Absolutely, certifiably nuts, because the idea sounded plausible. More than that, it sounded
right
. “If I were to agree, how long would this temporary marriage last?”

“My brain hasn't gotten that far yet,” he admitted. “That's something we'd have to discuss, if you're not entirely opposed to the concept.”

“I wouldn't say I'm opposed. I'm...I'm just trying to put this together in a reasonable fashion.” She pressed her fingertips against her temples. Was she seriously considering marrying a man she barely knew? Common sense tried to prevail, it did, but all she could think of and all that was in her heart was giving this baby something more than she was able to on her own.

A foundation, she supposed, to start life with.

“What are you thinking?” he asked.

“Lots of things. Like...would we live together, for the duration of the marriage?” What she didn't ask, what she
should have
asked, was if he'd expect them to share the same bed. “Or would this be an on-paper-only type of commitment?”

“If you're leaving it up to me, then yes, we would live together. As to the depth of our relationship—” he shrugged in such a manner that the action would have appeared nonchalant if not for the severe edge of his jaw “—a platonic union would be best. To avoid confusion.”

Relief and a strange thread of disappointment clashed. For obvious reasons, she chose to focus on the relief. “It would make the situation a lot less complicated.”

“Exactly.” Logan cleared his throat. “Assuming you agree, and to put everything on the table right from the start, I'd want our child to believe that our...brief commitment to each other was based on more than an accidental and untimely conception. That we were once in—”

“Love? Are you serious?”

“Think about it, Anna. If you were conceived from a one-night stand, would you want to know? I wouldn't. I'd rather believe my parents were together for all the right reasons.”

“I... No. I wouldn't want to know.” Maybe later, as an adult, when she could handle that type of information. But no, not as a child. And she couldn't stand the thought of her son or daughter carrying such a burden. Sighing, she nodded. “I see your point.”

“Good. And to serve that purpose, again assuming this happens, I would prefer to have a real wedding. Small, naturally, but not at the courthouse.” He paused, giving her a full ten seconds to consider his words, before saying, “Can you agree to those terms?”

“Actually, yes, I can agree to those terms, but there's a lot more to consider.”

“Right. We haven't talked about finances yet, have we?” Logan said gruffly. “Naturally, I will provide whatever support is required, during our marriage and after. If that's a concern.”

Wait.
What? Now they were talking about money? God, how could he think so lightning fast? Her brain hurt from trying to process each bit of information as he threw it her way.

“It isn't a concern,” she said. “I have family here, Logan. Support and love. Stability. With or without your involvement. So while I appreciate your offer, it's important that you know I didn't come here looking for money. I have a job.”

He arched an eyebrow. “At the Beanery?”

“Yes.” She waited for him to ask how much she earned and if it was enough to raise a child on. He didn't, but then...he didn't need to. Still, she felt the push to explain. “My aunt owns the coffeehouse, and it's only a short-term position. Until I can find something else.”

Sooner or later, one of the city's restaurants or the ski resort would have an opening for a pastry chef. Or a baker. Or...heck, almost anything related to the culinary world—in or out of the kitchen—that would make better use of her education and experience and offer better pay.

“That's all well and good, Anna, but whether or not you're employed doesn't alter my financial obligation. Nor my want to do what is right.”

“I get that,” she said. “But I'll only accept what is fair. This isn't about money. It's about my want for this child to have two involved parents who give a damn. So if this is...well...”

“Is that a yes to my proposal?”

“It's a maybe,” she said. “But...a strong maybe, I guess. Why is this so important to you? Most men wouldn't go to such lengths to ensure a connection with their child. And you don't have to, either. I won't stand in your way of being a father, Logan. Not unless there were extreme circumstances that forced my hand.”

“My father died when I was two,” he said, almost abruptly. “And he was married to someone other than my mother, though she didn't know that for a while. There's more to it, but the bottom line is that I want to offer my child a better foundation than what my father gave me.”