Harlequin Special Edition October 2015, Box Set 1 of 2 (22 page)

Anna tucked the multicolored crocheted afghan around her legs and watched her aunt, who sat across the room from her, seemingly lost in a book. They were at odds with one another, as they'd gone round and round on the topic of her wedding for the past two weeks.

Oh, when she'd told Logan that her aunt was “pretty much on board,” she hadn't outright lied. Lola
had
offered to buy Anna's wedding dress—which she had now done—and she would support Anna, regardless of whether she agreed with her decision. But no, she did not agree.

And Anna craved her aunt's approval. In many ways, Lola had become her mother, and Anna hated to cause her even a second of undue stress. And that was partially why it was so important to get her point of view across. If Lola understood, she wouldn't worry so much.

For now, though, it might be smarter to wait for Lola to bring up the topic.

So, while she waited, she'd drink her chamomile tea, unwind and watch some cotton-candy television. And do her best not to think about the fact that in twenty-four hours, she'd be in Logan's house, in the bedroom he'd set up for her there—displacing his office furniture to the already cramped living room—and... Well, she didn't know, precisely, what she would be doing.

Sleeping, maybe.

The past few weeks had swallowed every scrap of her energy, and truly, she would have liked nothing better than a solid eight hours of deep sleep. It had been very much like a race to the finish line getting to this point, with all the conversations, the details to be worked out and finalized, setting boundaries and expectations and, of course, planning for the wedding.

Tonight, as tired as she was, she'd be lucky to sleep at all. Tomorrow, with the ceremony behind her and the move to Logan's house complete, she should—please, God—be able to relax.

She had the odd realization that she'd miss their evening phone calls, even though they would be living together. Ever since Logan's first spontaneous call, they'd taken to having a conversation each night, and throughout the daytime hours, she looked forward to those quiet, private moments when it was just them. No matter what she was feeling or going through, the deep, rich tone of his voice served to temporarily soothe her troubles into extinction.

One thing was for certain: she was still just as attracted to Logan as she'd been that night at Mick's Place, without the help of even a drop of alcohol. She liked his eyes, his smile, those long, firm legs of his, and every time she saw him, she was reminded of how well he wore a pair of jeans. On Logan, plain old denim was anything but boring.

Anna gnawed on her lip, remembering the flat, muscular tightness of his stomach and the sensation of being encircled in Logan's arms. He was, without doubt, the epitome of male strength, yet nothing about his physical presence threatened her. Not even the day she'd finally forced herself to pull into his driveway to deliver the news of her pregnancy.

The culprit of that withering mass of anxiety was simple: undiluted fear of what he would say, of what would come next, if he'd prove he was a stand-up guy or run for the hills.

And Lord, had he proved the former.

Tightening her hold on her tea, Anna let the comforting warmth sink deep into her skin. She understood her aunt's concerns...of course she did, but why couldn't Lola see all the amazing qualities in Logan that she herself saw?

When she'd first told Lola the news, her aunt had said, “Sweetie, all those pregnancy hormones are frying your brain cells, making you believe that marrying this man is a good idea. But it flat-out isn't. Neither of you has any shred of a clue as to what you're really getting yourselves into. Stop and think before charging ahead.”

Well, she'd stopped, and yeah, she'd thought long and hard, but Anna hadn't changed her mind. True enough, she was a good deal more emotional as of late. Commercials could make her cry at the drop of a hat, and the other morning, she'd broken down into semihysterical sobs when she realized she could no longer zip her favorite jeans. In cases such as those, yes, she blamed her out-of-whack hormones. But marrying Logan was an entirely different matter.

Whether it was instinct or women's intuition or the voice of fate or all three, Anna didn't know, but she was
supposed
to become his wife. And no, she wasn't envisioning that they'd somehow beat the odds, fall in love and stay married. What she did believe, however, was that their marriage would create a lasting bond between them, so that as their child grew, they'd become better parents than they would've been otherwise.

It was intrinsic, this knowledge, as real to her as anything else she'd ever known.

Tomorrow, unless an act of God stopped her, she would become Logan's wife. His partner and he, hers. Not forever, but for long enough.

How to explain this sensation of rightness properly to her aunt had thus far escaped Anna. Tired of the wait, of Lola's seemingly endless stubbornness, she let out a long, vocal sigh and cleared her throat. Twice. In the hopes of grabbing her aunt's attention.

“I can hear you just fine,” Lola said. “And I know what you want to talk about, but honey, we stand on opposite sides of this dilemma, and I finally understand that I'm not about to change your mind, and you're not about to change mine. I'd rather not quarrel with you.”

“This isn't a forever marriage, auntie,” Anna said, purposely using the term of endearment to remind Lola of their bond. “And I don't want to fight, either, but can you please try to trust in me? It hurts that you're not in my corner for something so important.”

“I am in your corner.” Lola looked up from her book, her bright red hair—courtesy of a bottle of hair dye—appearing almost cartoonish due to the glow of the lamp. “Always have been, always will be. But I'm allowed to have an opinion that differs from yours, and I think this is a mistake. I think you're so wrapped up in the details, you can't see the full picture.”

“We have spent a lot of time on the details,” Anna agreed, “but that's because we do see the full picture and we don't want anything to compromise the end goal. All of this is rather cut-and-dried. Most of our conversations could have taken place in a boardroom.”

Lola sniffed and gave her a point-blank stare. “Even when there's love and the plan for a lifelong commitment, marriage is a ridiculous amount of hard work. You can write up all the rules and go over all the details you want, as I'm sure doing so makes both of you feel as if this is a controllable situation, but you do not know what you're getting yourself into.”

“Maybe we don't, exactly. I'll give you that. But we're not going into this blind, either.” Anna returned her aunt's stare. “I really need you to be my ally here. Not my...my debate opponent. I need you to trust that I know what's best.”

“I am your ally.” Lola closed her book with a smack. “And I trust that you believe you're doing the right thing. I'm worried that at some point, you'll start to think there's a future for you and Logan, and unless he happens to feel the same...you'll be crushed.”

Oh. “I don't see myself waking up one morning and forgetting what this arrangement is or why we made it in the first place.” Anna rubbed her stomach. “I can't forget, now can I?”

“You won't forget. But you might start to hope, and...” Lola's words trailed off and she closed her eyes. Sighed and shook her head. “Do me this favor, please. Accept that the possibility is there, so you can at least be on the lookout for it.”

Good advice, even if Anna didn't believe it was warranted. Attraction was one thing. She could keep her libido at bay. Hadn't she done exactly that for close to two full years? Love, however, was another ball of wax, and she had zero intention of falling for Logan Daugherty.

Therefore, it was easy to assure her aunt by saying, “I will keep the possibility in mind.”

“Then I suppose you have my blessing, for what that's worth, and I'll do whatever is needed to help you succeed. Which I would've anyway,” she said with a small smile.

“Thank you, auntie,” Anna said as the pressure encasing her heart evaporated. “Having your support means the world to me. This
is
the right decision.”

“You're welcome, and I suppose time will tell us that, won't it?” Lola opened her book, but before returning to her reading, she said, “Just remember that you are never alone. You are never stuck. I'm not going anywhere, and this house will always be a safe haven.”

And there went Anna's crazy hormones, filling her eyes with a bucketful of tears. “I won't forget,” she said. “Promise. Do you think you can stop worrying so much now?”

“Hmm. Yes. And maybe we'll win the lottery,” Lola said with dry humor. “Fact is, I never stop worrying. It's the way of life when your heart belongs to a child, even when that child is all grown up. I expect you'll discover that on your own soon enough.”

“I still can't believe I'm going to be a mother,” Anna said. “I hope...well, I hope I can be the type of mother Mom was to us girls. The type of mother you were—are—to Laurel and me.”

Anna was too far away to be 100 percent positive, but her aunt's eyes appeared shinier than normal. Lola lifted her book to hide her face. “You'll be a wonderful mother,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. “Now, if you don't mind, I think I'll finish my book.”

“Okay, auntie. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

While her aunt pretended to read, Anna finished her tea. In one form or another, some of what her aunt worried about would likely come to fruition. Oh, not the bit about wanting the rules to change, but about not being wholly aware of what she was getting into.

Of course she wasn't. But it wasn't as if she had nothing to go on, either.

Two people, whether married or platonic roommates—and, she supposed, she and Logan would soon fall into both categories—couldn't live together free of issue. Someone would finish off the milk without buying more, or he'd forget to take out the trash on collection day, or she'd accidentally ruin his favorite shirt in the wash, or one of them would just wake up grumpy.

The key was learning how to exist somewhat compatibly within the same walls even when a day or a week or a month went wonky. Anna had managed to live with her father, her sisters, her aunt and her ex-boyfriend, and she'd got along mostly okay.

And her ex? Jamie always drank all the milk without buying more, and he'd had a lot of grumpy mornings, and yes, she'd once ruined his favorite shirt in the laundry. But they'd figured it out, for a really long time. There wasn't any reason to believe that she and Logan couldn't do the same, especially with all they'd already discussed and agreed on.

With motherhood on the horizon, she had plenty to think about, worry over. Obsess about, possibly. But her relationship with Logan did not fall into any of those categories. Some leeway might be required as they adjusted to sharing a home and becoming parents, and understanding for the possible issues that might arise, on both of their parts, as they moved forward.

Overall, though, Anna was sure they'd be fine.

Chapter Three

F
rustrated, Logan straightened his tie in front of the full-length mirror in an extra bedroom at Gavin and Haley's farmhouse. After some discussion, Gavin had insisted that Logan and Anna have their wedding there. Since trying to plan a ceremony—even a small one—at the ranch had seemed impractical, Logan had agreed. It felt right, being married on land that was owned by family, even for a union that wouldn't make it past the two-year mark.

What didn't feel right was getting married without his mother's presence. She'd called yesterday to cancel due to his grandfather's so-called sudden bout of bronchitis. Wasn't that sudden. The old man had been hacking for days, but he'd sworn up and down and sideways that what ailed him was nothing more than a head cold. Finally, a combination of extreme fatigue and chills had worn Zeke down, and he'd agreed to see the doctor.

Leaving her father in that condition, with her mother already requiring extra help, was an impossibility for Carla. And Logan got it. But not having her here resonated as a bad omen.

A ridiculous notion. If he was about to marry the woman he planned on spending the rest of his life with, that would be different. Then he'd have postponed for as long as necessary. In this situation, however, he did not want to delay so much as one additional day. Mostly because he kept waiting for Anna to back out of the entire ordeal.

Fortunately, she'd remained steadfast in her decision.

Logan glanced at his watch, and his heart nose-dived for his stomach. In less than an hour, he would have a wife. He would be a husband. And the real biggie: several months down the road, he'd have a son or a daughter. Surreal, on all accounts.

Other than his growing affection toward the prospect, the baby hadn't yet become more than a hazy image in his mind. Try as he might, he couldn't envision what life would become, how having a child would change him or his heart or how fatherhood would affect the day-to-day way of things. Oh, he had no question that he'd never be the same.

It was the specific details of those changes that escaped him.

“Looking good,” Gavin said, entering the room. He lightly punched Logan on the shoulder, his affable nature not quite enough to hide the worry lines around his eyes. “Now, I know I have little right to offer advice, seeing how we're still relative newcomers to each other's lives, but I feel compelled to ask one last time. You're solid in this decision to marry Anna, correct? Because you can do right by your kid without a wedding.”

“Yup, I'm aware. Doesn't hold any water in my book, but I'm aware,” Logan said, taken aback as he was every time he laid eyes on his half brother. The resemblance between Gavin and the Denny whom Logan had seen in those photographs was strong. Eerily so.

Whereas Logan and Gavin shared only one like feature: their eyes. The shade and the shape of his were identical to his half brother's. In every other way, the two men looked nothing alike. Gavin was several inches taller than Logan's height of six foot two and had lighter hair and the build of a quarterback. Or a lumberjack.

Logan's skin was slightly darker from the Cordero side of his heritage, and while fit—you couldn't work a ranch for most of your life and be anything but—no one on God's green earth would compare him to a quarterback. Or, for that matter, a lumberjack.

That being said, they shared other similarities. They analyzed problems in the same manner, and their belief systems were almost identical. Hell, when Logan had told Gavin the truth behind this wedding, his half brother had admitted he would've done exactly the same.

“Alrighty then,” Gavin said. “I just wanted to be sure.”

“Thank you. If we were standing in each other's shoes, I'd want to know, too.”

“And my answer would match yours.”

Gavin moved forward as if going in for a hug, had second thoughts and nodded. He ran his hand over his trimmed beard. “We're getting there, aren't we? Becoming family?”

“I am.” Logan shrugged. “Can't speak for you.”

“Think I just spoke for myself.” Without hesitating a second time, Gavin gave him a fast hug, which he followed up with another punch to the shoulder. Stepping backward, he said, “I've never had a brother before. Takes some getting used to, but Logan, I'm glad you're here. I'm glad to know you, and I'm honored to stand for you today.”

And Logan no longer worried that his mother's absence was a bad omen. He had family here. In his head and in his heart, the “half” distinction disappeared. He had his
brother
.

“I'm glad, too,” he said, wishing he had other words, better words to express how much this moment meant. “It's...ah...been good, getting to know you. And thank you for hosting the ceremony and agreeing to be my best man. Makes all of this easier.”

“Welcome.” Turning toward the door, Gavin said, “We're about ready downstairs, and from what Lola says, Anna is, too. Might want to come down soon.”

“Got it.” Alone again, Logan inhaled a deep, fortifying breath, took one final look at himself in the mirror and followed Gavin's footsteps. Husband and father. Two titles he'd never really believed would be his. He'd carry one forever, and for a time, he'd carry both.

Yup.
Surreal
was the word, all right.

* * *

Mrs. Logan Daugherty. Anna Daugherty. Anna Rockwood-Daugherty. Any way she sliced it, she was now Logan's wife, and the reality of that, along with the current state of her overactive hormones, had whipped her emotions to a crescendo.

Delusional, to believe that she'd find peace tonight, with the wedding behind her and the rest of what was to come looming uncertainly in the future.

Oh, she woke this morning with the same surety she'd carried since accepting Logan's proposal. Everything about the wedding itself had fallen into perfect order, and since her stomach was barely rounded at the four-and-a-half-month mark, she'd made a presentable enough bride in the simple Empire-style, knee-length dress she'd worn.

But then, out of nowhere, a flurry of doubts had flown into being. She'd left the bedroom that Gavin and Haley had settled her and her aunt in to dress and prepare for the ceremony. She'd gone downstairs, still feeling secure in her decision. It wasn't until she'd stepped onto the house's enclosed back porch—the rainy weather had derailed their plan of being wed in the tree-filled backyard—and she'd seen Logan standing there, austere and handsome and sexy in his dark suit and tie, that something deep inside had started to crumble.

Her aunt's words had sounded off in her head. This was a mistake.

She had come so close—this close—to running away, then and there. How had she believed, even for a moment, that this was a good, smart idea? How had that even happened?

As if sensing her distress, her near bolt for the exit, Logan's eyes found hers, and he smiled. He held his hands out toward her, and that simply, she regained her balance and her surety. Confidence returned, she walked the few remaining feet toward him and put her hands into his, and with very little fanfare, they exchanged their vows.

Celebration and food followed, and through the festivities, she held on to her belief that marrying this man, the father of her unborn child, was a sound decision.

Her confidence might have continued to hold steady if not for the posing of the photographs. Logan's wish for their child to believe they were once in love had led them to the decision that there should be a wedding album, with as many of the traditional shots as possible.

So, Logan had wrapped his arms around her. He'd whispered nonsense into her ear to make her smile and laugh. He'd ruffled her hair and kissed her cheek. And in these staged moments, she somehow bought into the charade. Darn if she hadn't felt
loved
by him. Cherished and protected and a part of something grander than she'd ever known.

She'd enjoyed those feelings. More so than she would've believed. Unfortunately, every one of them vanished the instant they finished with the photographs. Logan reverted to his normal self. He was as kind as ever. Considerate and accommodating and...sweet.

But now that Anna had a flicker of an idea of what being loved by Logan might feel like, she recognized a distance existed, as well. Between them, in every word spoken, every look and, yes, every action. And she hated it. The distance felt...awful. Strategic, in a way. As if he had to force himself to be kind and considerate and accommodating and sweet.

Because she was his responsibility. A burden he had to deal with, so he would.

Unfair, she knew, to draw these conclusions without even broaching her thoughts to Logan. Unfair, as well, because even if she was right, her emotional reaction was not Logan's fault. He was only following the terms of their agreement. Platonic. Friendly. Partners.

Which was precisely what she wanted from him.

Yet, hours later, she still hadn't bounced back. The second they'd arrived at Logan's—no,
their
—house, she'd done what any crazy and hormonal and hurt-when-she-had-zero-right-to-be-hurt shotgun bride would have: she'd told him she wanted to change clothes, escaped to her bedroom and locked the door. And, pitifully enough, had spent thirty minutes crying her eyes out in as silent a fashion as possible, all the while trying to pull herself out of the muck.

Sitting up on her bed, Anna wiped her eyes and took in a breath. Yes. She was behaving unreasonably. It was time to stop. She had to believe that her hormones were the cause of this ridiculous show of emotion. Of the deep, almost desperate yearning that now ached in her heart.

Well, maybe she couldn't put the entire blame on her hormones. There was a loss here, as well. A final goodbye, she supposed, to her girlhood dreams of growing up and finding the right man and having a fairy-tale wedding and... Oh. Suddenly, she got it.

She
wasn't
wishing for more from Logan or their relationship. She wasn't going crazy, either. She was simply reacting to the realization, the remembrance, of what she'd once wanted on the day she became someone's wife, and coming to terms with the true reality of today.

When she added in the hormone-induced warfare raging in her body, her strong emotional response to the photo session made perfect sense. As did the yearning to be loved and cherished by her
someday
husband.
Not
by her husband in name only.

The oh-so-logical explanation sifted in and found stability, and relief quickly followed. Good. Now that she understood why she was so upset, she should be able to pull herself together. Her mother used to say that a good cry solved more than it hurt, and Anna had cried long and hard, so really, she should be good to go. She
should
be ready to face Logan.

Why, she'd just open the bedroom door, walk into the living room, and—

Damn it! Another full-body blast of emotion hit her head-on—likely caused by the bittersweet recollection of her mother—and her tears, which had
finally
tapered down to mere watery eyes, started anew. They drenched her cheeks and dripped into her mouth. Her throat tightened and her chest heaved. Lovely. Just freaking lovely.

At this rate, she'd be lucky to have herself under control by her due date.

* * *

Logan paced the living room, every now and then glancing toward Anna's closed door, his gut telling him that something was wrong. She'd been in there for too long, and he didn't believe she was tired enough to turn in for the night when it was barely seven thirty.

She could be ill. Or upset, in some form or another.

He stopped pacing and ran his fingers through his hair, trying to think. She hadn't mentioned feeling sick, and their agreement was that she'd keep him informed of her physical well-being. Upset seemed the likeliest possibility, but for the life of him, he couldn't think of anything that might have caused her distress. The day had gone beautifully, precisely as planned, down to the last detail. Well, except for his mother not being there.

Anna couldn't be upset by that, could she? No. Made absolutely zero sense, as he'd told her about his grandfather's illness and she'd reacted with sympathy.

What should he do? Leave her to her own devices or knock on her door and...what? He seriously did not have a clue, but leaving her alone, potentially upset, was not a proactive solution. If they were to make this work—and he had every intention of doing just that—then they had to start off in the proper manner, right from the beginning.

But he couldn't exactly order her to come out here, now could he? Well, no. Doing so wouldn't instill trust in him or their partnership. He had to try
something
, though.

Without having any sort of a feasible plan in mind, Logan went to Anna's door and raised his fist to knock when he heard... Dear God, was she
crying
? He pressed his ear against the door to confirm that the sounds emanating from the room were those of a woman sobbing.

And yes, damn it, yes, they were. Logan backed away, fast, and considered his next move. Crying was not a positive sign.
Hiding
from him while she cried seemed even worse. They were supposed to be in this together. She was supposed to feel safe leaning on him.

Yet she hadn't uttered a solitary syllable to let him in on her distress.

Raking his fingers through his hair again, he stared at the door as if he could see clean through the wood. Other than the stray emotional moment with his female relatives over the years, Logan did not have that much experience with crying women. He had a sum total of zero experience with crying women who were also pregnant.

And this woman was his wife.

Inhaling a breath, Logan pushed himself forward and rapped on her door. A startled sob-yelp hit his ears, and he cringed. “Anna? Can I come in for a few minutes?”

Silence. The deafening type, and it lasted for close to thirty seconds. When she finally spoke, it was in a louder, higher-pitched voice than typical. “Now r-really isn't the best time, Logan. Sorry. But, see, I'm—I'm in the m-middle of something.”