Harlequin Special Edition October 2015, Box Set 1 of 2 (32 page)

Another type of quiet fell. One that resonated with...well, hope? Might have been.

“You about done with the sappy emotional speeches?” Zeke asked. “Or is there more you're angling to get out before I have my say?”

“Nope. I'm done. But I thought you'd been having your say all along.”

“I was just fussing, really.” Zeke thrummed his fingers on the surface of his desk and lowered the volume of his voice a notch. “Now see, it's like this. Giving up my cigars isn't the real issue, though I'm not gonna lie and say I'm overly fond of that plan.”

“Oh, you've made that clear,” Logan said. “Abundantly so. But if that isn't the heart of the issue, how about sharing what is?”

“I'm trying, aren't I?” Frustrated, Zeke swiveled in his chair and pointed to a framed photograph that had hung on the wall for years. It was of Zeke and Rosalie on their wedding day. “See that man? He was strong, had youth on his side and could go for days without sleep, if necessity demanded. And now my body tires earlier every night, my bones hurt if the wind blows too hard, and looking in the mirror and seeing an old, worn-out man looking back?”

“Granddad—”

“I'm not done. It's shocking, is what it is, seeing my reflection, realizing how I look to everyone else, because inside—” Zeke pounded on his chest “—I'm still that man in the photo. Inside, I haven't changed a lick. I'm still young and strong and bullheaded, ready to tackle life. And out of those three, there's only one—one!—I can hold on to.”

Ah. Yeah, he got it. “Your bullheadedness.”

“That's right, because youth and strength are not in my control. I can't do a damn thing about my body changing, growing older and weaker. So I gotta hold on to something, Logan.”

“How about holding on to us, your family? Besides which, no one says you have to stop being a crotchety, cantankerous, old-style cowboy. Just... I don't know...choose areas other than your health.” Logan grinned, realizing he'd just given his grandfather permission to complain about every last thing under the sun, supposing that thing wasn't about ignoring his health. “You'll live longer, be around longer to keep all of us in our places.”

Zeke's eyebrows scrunched together. “Annoys me greatly how there are times you're a whole lot smarter than I am. Sitting right next to that annoyance, though, is pride.”

“Well, you're to blame for both.” Logan spoke lightly, but he was humbled by his grandfather's words. “I wouldn't be near as smart without you in my life. And in this area, it really boils down to having a different view. I can see the truth easier, is all.”

“I guess that makes some sense.” Then, with a short, quick nod, he opened his desk drawer and yanked out the small, antique humidor that had once belonged to his father. “I love a good cigar, but I reckon I'll love my great-granddaughter a considerable amount more. So, here—” Zeke passed the beloved mahogany box to Logan “—take them.”

“You can't get rid of the humidor,” Logan said, running his hands over the smooth grain of the wood. “It was your dad's. Just dump the cigars and use this for something else.”

“I can't keep it,” Zeke admitted. “I'll just have this real deep need to fill it with more cigars. Maybe...maybe turn it into a jewelry box for your baby girl. With some type of engraving so she knows it came from me. Have it say something special.”

“Okay. I can do that. Thank you.” Logan blinked to eradicate the watery feeling in his eyes and swallowed to diffuse the thickness in his throat. “You... Ah, what about your meds?”

Rolling his eyes, which also appeared suspiciously damp, Zeke said, “There you go, moving on without a breath in between. Sure. I'll take the meds, too.”

Huh. That had been easy. “That only leaves your diet. Mom said your cholesterol hasn't dropped any, and that you're ignoring the advice from your nutritionist, so maybe—”

“Don't you start in on my diet!” In a snap, Zeke's bluster returned, and for that, Logan was infinitely relieved. “I'm a beef man, through and through. Nope. No way. I'm not caving on this one, Logan. I refuse to start eating like a...a persnickety, floppy-eared, bug-eyed rabbit. Might as well wipe that thought clean from your head, because it is not happening.”

And there they were, back on solid, familiar ground. Grinning, Logan held up a hand in surrender. “We've made a lot of progress for one day, so we can save that topic for down the road some, once you've adjusted to these other lifestyle changes.”

“Sure,” Zeke said with a wider grin than Logan's. “I'll have that conversation with you, just as soon as you're ready to admit that you're falling in love with your wife!”

Chapter Nine

C
hristmas Eve afternoon passed in a blur of food, tree trimming and numerous introductions to the rest of Logan's vast family. There were his uncles and their wives: Amos and Glory, who had three sons and one daughter; Micah and Tess, who had three sons; and Eli and Sunny, who had one daughter. Add in Logan, and that totaled nine grandchildren whom Zeke and Rosalie had been blessed with. But Anna's daughter would be their first great-grandchild.

Astonishing, really, as none of the cousins seemed that spread apart in age. As the eldest, Logan was twenty-nine, and from what she could tell, the youngest was likely in her early twenties. Eight years—max—separated the first-born from the last-born, with the rest dotted in between. So, to think that all of them were still single sort of boggled the mind. Especially since not a one of them was hurting in the good-looks department.

Right now, the living room—or as Carla continually called it, the great room—was filled with bodies sitting, standing, talking and laughing, and oh, was Anna enjoying herself. The loud, rambunctious feeling of family surrounded her, offering her comfort in being one of the crowd.

Though the Cordero family made for a heck of a lot of names and faces to keep track of, she wanted to be able to recall what name belonged with what face. These people would represent a sizable portion of her daughter's life and would offer a different experience from the one she'd have with Aunt Lola, who was Anna's only close family member.

So Anna decided to play a mental game of sorts and see if she could, without any help from Carla—who was seated next to her on the long leather sofa—bring to mind the names of each of the many cousins Logan had introduced her to.

Three of the men were standing near the fireplace, involved in what appeared to be an intense discussion. Anna decided to start with them. The tallest of the trio, a man with blacker-than-midnight hair, was Reese, and she thought he was the oldest son of Micah and Tess. Right next to him stood his brother Avery. Rounding out the group was... Gideon?

Yes. Amos and Glory were his parents. So far, so good.

On the other side of the room, talking to Rosalie, were the two female cousins, Maisie and Saige. The problem she encountered here was deciding which name went with which woman. Was Maisie the brunette, who wore her hair in Laura Ingalls braids, or the strawberry blonde, who looked runway ready with her long, styled hair and glossy makeup?

Ugh. Anna didn't know.

Moving on, she searched for the three remaining Cordero cowboys and found one of them roughhousing with the trio of dogs that lived in the house. As the solitary blond man in the room, he stood out, and she easily recalled his name was Paxton. He was Gideon's brother, and...geez, one of the women's, as well. Maybe the strawberry blonde's? Maybe.

Finding the last two took zero effort, as they were with Logan and Zeke, and the four men's combined voices, all robust and deep, carried easily through the room. Again, she knew the correct names. The problem was matching them to the correct man. She thought it was Blaze sitting directly next to Logan, while the other man—who greatly resembled Logan—was Zane.

And...that was the entire crew. Anna gave herself a virtual pat on the back, pleased she'd done as well as she had. Later, she'd ask Logan if it was Maisie or Saige who'd worn her hair in braids and if she'd guessed correctly in identifying Blaze and Zane.

Yawning, tired and drained, she considered calling it a night and heading upstairs, sure that no one would think less of her, but...well, she wasn't entirely certain if she would ever return to this house, and she hated losing even a minute of this day to sleep.

“Tired?” Carla asked, apparently noticing Anna's yawn. “Of course you are! You've been going since early this morning, and you're six months pregnant. When I was carrying Logan, I couldn't get enough sleep. I napped constantly toward the end.”

Slowly, throughout the day, Carla's behavior toward Anna had grown warmer, more welcoming, and she'd started dropping a few questions here and there, while offering something personal about herself, Logan or other members of the family. Anna had come to the conclusion that she liked Logan's mother, and she hoped the woman liked her back.

“A little tired, yes, but I'm content. It's good to have this opportunity to get to know Logan's family,” Anna said. “It's good to get to know you, Carla.”

“I agree. I meant to be at the wedding. I'm sorry I wasn't.” Carla stole a glance across the room, where Zeke was sitting. “Dad was ill, and he can be a little hard to manage on the best of days. Mom was worried she wouldn't be able to handle him. I felt I was needed here.”

“I understand, and honestly, I was a nervous wreck,” Anna admitted, surprising herself. She hadn't meant to say the words, really. They just...sort of came out. “I think it all hit me then, how fast we reached the decision and moved forward.”

“Do you regret marrying my son?”

“I... No, I don't. In my heart, I believe we made the right decision.”

“I'm beginning to believe that, too.” And then, before Anna could reply, Carla continued by saying, “My son watches you, Anna. I noticed right off. He...searches the room and locates you, and this relaxed smile touches his lips. It's as if he needs the assurance that you're nearby. That you're safe and sound. I find that interesting. Are you aware he does this?”

“Um. No, I'm not,” Anna said, shocked and...well, pleased by this information. And her hope climbed another inch or two...or twenty. “Or I wasn't, until just now.”

“What do you think it means?”

Anna forced a laugh, her head—or maybe it was her heart—spinning. Smarter, though, to not share her hope, which could be in vain, with Logan's mother. “Oh, just that he's a worrywart. I think he's always expecting I'm going to faint to the ground or something.”

“Hmm. Perhaps,” Carla said, sounding an awful lot like her son. “Except you realize, don't you, that you do the same with him? Are you also a worrywart, expecting he'll pass out?”

“No... I wouldn't say that. I...” Oh, screw it. Some things were too obvious to deny. “Your son is a striking man, Carla. I like to look at him. And I feel better when he's close by.”

“That's interesting, too, then. Isn't it? For a loveless marriage?”

“Loveless isn't the same as careless.” Ready to cut this topic of conversation off at its knees, Anna said, “I've been meaning to ask you about Logan's baby pictures. If possible and if it isn't any trouble, do you think you could show me some?”

“Of course that's possible, and it isn't any trouble whatsoever.” Tucking a curly strand of her shoulder-length, almost black hair behind one ear, Carla said, “We can do that tomorrow. I'm not sure if Logan explained, but Christmas Eve is the big family event. Other than a few friends who might stop by, tomorrow will be quiet.”

“He didn't mention that, no.” Dang it. She was really going to have to do something about Logan's inability to share information. “And thank you. Other than the little he's said about his father...” Anna trailed off and swallowed her words. “I'm sorry. I just meant that Logan hasn't said a whole lot about his childhood.”

Too late. Shadows had appeared in Carla's eyes. “Denny died when Logan was two and a half, in a motorcycle accident. I... It's difficult for me to talk about him.”

“My mother passed when I was in grade school, and I don't really share much about her with anyone, so I understand. And again, I'm sorry. Please forgive me.”

Oh. All of a sudden, Anna realized she wasn't that much better than Logan at communicating. Did he even know her mother had died? No, she didn't think he did, because she had not told him. So really, who was she to throw stones? That road traveled in two directions.

“I'm sure he'll explain more about the situation,” Carla said. “If you ask.”

“Maybe I will, but he... Oh!” She gasped as her daughter gave her a solid round-kick and then another. “Carla, give me your hand.”

“My... I'm sorry, what?”

“The baby's kicking. Do you want to feel her?”

Light and joy entered Carla's gaze, overtaking the shadows. She nodded, and Anna guided her hand to the area just below the belly button, hoping her daughter would continue to demonstrate her expert kickboxing techniques. And yes, she did.

She was a wiggling, karate-kicking, take-no-hostages phenom.

“My goodness, this is delightful!” Laughing, Carla pressed her palm tighter against Anna's stomach. “She's quite fierce, isn't she? I didn't expect to have this opportunity.”

“Why not? This baby is a blessing for all of us, and you're a part of that.”

“I wasn't sure how you'd feel about... That's neither here nor there now,” Carla said, her voice emotional. She glanced up to meet Anna's gaze. “Do you mind if I get my mother? So she can feel her great-granddaughter? I know it would mean the world to her.”

“Get whomever you want,” Anna said, laughing, as well. “But hurry. I can't promise how long my stubborn daughter will put on her show. Even Logan hasn't felt her move yet.”

“Then I'll get him, too.”

In a feat of remarkable speed, Carla made the rounds of the room, telling everyone—yes,
everyone
—to line up in front of Anna's stomach. If it hadn't been so...well, awesomely fantastic how excited the whole darn Cordero clan got, Anna would've been, without a doubt, embarrassed and self-conscious. But when faced with such sheer enthusiasm, the solitary emotion whipping through her blood was happiness. Of the unfettered sort.

Carla tried to push Logan to the front of the line, but he refused to go before his grandmother, which Anna found endearing and sweet. She pointed out, in a loud and clear voice, that her stomach was quite large enough to manage two hands at a time, so Logan ushered Rosalie to the sofa and helped her sit next to Anna. Together they placed their hands on her belly, and Anna prayed hard and fervently that her daughter wouldn't tire out and stop.

She didn't. It was as if she somehow knew that this was her moment, that she was the undisputed star of the room, and she slipped on her dancing shoes—three-inch spiked heels, if Anna were to guess—and danced her tiny heart out. Well, she flipped and twisted, as well, and she might have even head-butted Anna a time or two, but she didn't slow down.

Logan sucked in a breath, lifted his eyes to Anna's and gave her that smile she so adored—the one that lit up the room with its warmth—and in his gaze, she saw awe and pride and...love. Deep, abiding love. For their baby, of course, but wow...what a look.

That look alone could keep her going through just about anything. A frigid cold winter without any heat to speak of, an earthquake breaking apart the ground beneath her feet, fire-breathing dragons and scary closet monsters and...even the horrible heartbreak she'd suffered as a child. Whatever evils, real or imagined, struck Anna's life, she could survive.

If Logan was there with her, looking at her just as he was now.

* * *

“We're in trouble, Logan,” Anna said as they walked hand in hand down the sidewalk, toward Foster's Pub and Grill, where they'd decided to grab dinner. They had just finished their first birthing class, which Logan thought had gone quite well. “And we're idiots. I know what my problem is—pregnancy brain!—but what's yours? Because we are not ready for this baby.”

Before responding, Logan opened the door to the restaurant and ushered Anna inside, where they quickly found a table in the rustic, wood-floored dining area. Trouble, huh? Idiots, as well? “Now, sweetheart,” he said once they were seated, “do you think you're overdramatizing just a small amount? After all, this was only our first class, and it's called a class for a reason. If we already knew everything, we wouldn't have signed up to begin with.”

“I don't mean the class. But didn't you hear the couples around us, talking about what they were naming their babies and how they'd decorated their nurseries and...and...?” Emotion and worry crumpled her face, brought the sheen of unshed tears to her eyes. “I'm seven months pregnant, Logan. Seven! And other than a few useless toys and a solitary sleeper, we have nothing. Nothing! Our poor nameless daughter, getting stuck with dolts for parents.”

“There's plenty of time left,” he said. “We have two months before she'll require a name, a place to sleep or anything material. Right now, she has every last thing she needs.”

Logan's goal here was twofold: one, he wanted his pregnant wife to calm down. Two, Haley and Lola were throwing her a surprise baby shower in two weeks, and while that was going on, Gavin and a few of the Foster men would be at the house, helping Logan put the nursery together. He figured since Anna slept in his bed every night anyway, they might as well give the second bedroom to the baby. But he did not want her to catch on to any of these plans.

“So you think! But she isn't waiting two more full months. I give it no more than six weeks before this baby insists on being born. And we are not ready.”

“Honey, even six weeks is plenty of time.” Logan nodded as the waitress dropped off their menus. “Six weeks equals forty-two days. My estimate is we'll need no more than three days, tops, to have everything situated and ready to go. Please try to stop worrying.”

And this woman he might be falling in love with sneered. It was, he had to admit, not her most attractive look, but he found it charming just the same. “Really, Logan? Three days? So, I take it you haven't noticed how slow I walk or that I can hardly bend over anymore? How I'm always exhausted and spend half my day in the bathroom, or how my brain has turned to...to...?”

“Mush?” he filled in.

“See?” she wailed. “I can't even think of the correct word to describe the mushy state of my brain, and you believe we can go out and buy everything we need, launder all of her clothes, set up an area in that squashed house for her to sleep in and for all the stuff she'll require, in three—three!—days? Oh, and don't forget those weeks you're at the ranch.”