Harlequin Special Edition October 2015, Box Set 1 of 2 (33 page)

“Two weeks in the next two months, remember?” he said, scanning the menu. “Everyone there is picking up the slack so I can be here. With you. And what sort of stuff are you thinking she'll need that will take up so much room? She'll be awfully little, Anna.”

“Right. I know that. Because of my impractically narrow hips! I...I can't even grow a proper-size baby, so yes, she'll be puny. And...and that means she'll get cold easier, so she needs more than one fuzzy pink sleeper to keep her warm.”

Whoa there. This was the first time she'd mentioned overhearing his granddad's words during their visit last month. “I'm sorry you heard that, and Granddad did not mean to hurt your feelings, and I'm not sure if you've noticed, but your hips? They're not quite so narr—”

Uh-oh. Logan clamped his jaw shut and waited, half expecting Anna to leap over the table and clobber him with a good one. But she didn't. She stared at him, her lips trembling, oh Lord, he guessed ten seconds, maybe, before she burst into tears. As in lots of tears.

“You're a beautiful woman,” he said rapidly, hoping to settle her down before the waterworks came on full blast. When Anna cried, unless her tears were due to a sentimental commercial or the like, Logan's shields shattered into smithereens. “And I did not mean to imply that your hips are large. Because they aren't. In any way at all. It would simply be inaccurate, at this stage of your pregnancy, to describe them as impractically narrow.”

Should he say more? Probably not. He figured he had more of a chance of digging the hole he currently stood in deeper than he did of leveraging himself to clear, even ground.

She blinked rapidly as if trying to dislodge a tiny speck of something from her eyes, and her mouth trembled all the more, and he was doubly sure that none of his words had helped...when she all but exploded into breathless gulps of laughter. She laughed so hard, her eyes watered—but no actual tears appeared—and her shoulders shook.

And hell if he knew why. “Um. Anna? Mind telling me what's so funny?”

She held up one finger while she attempted to get herself under control. Thirty-odd seconds later, she did. “The look on your face when you realized what you nearly said—it was part horror and part... I don't know, shock, maybe. But that look was hysterical.”

And Logan wondered if he'd ever make sense of this woman. Just a few minutes ago, her fears that six weeks wouldn't give them enough time to prepare had put her into panic mode. Yet this had her squealing with laughter?

“I'm glad that my...ah...brush with rudeness caused such delight.”

“It did, Logan, oh did it ever.” She opened her menu. “Mainly because you're always very precise in the words you use, as if you've thought them out well ahead of speaking them. But this was a natural flub, and I know you don't think my hips are huge. So yeah, it was funny.”

Hmm. Her description made him sound like a stuffed shirt. “I'm careful in what I say because words matter. I just like to be sure that my meaning is clear.”

“And that's important, but what about when you don't say anything at all?”

“I'm...not sure I know what you mean. Explain?”

“Well, think back to those weeks you were grumpy. I almost begged you to let me in on what was happening, so we could talk and work it out.” She looked up from her menu, her tone serious. “You came awfully close to ignoring my request then and you haven't broached the topic since.”

A fair assessment, but, “Neither have you.”

“You're right. I haven't. The truth is,” she said, “neither of us communicates all that well about what we're thinking or feeling, let alone basic facts about our lives. I think that's something we have to get a lot better at. And soon.”

Another fair assessment. He hadn't even known her birthday.

“Perhaps so,” he said, “but it isn't as if we
don't
know each other, either. I know the commercials that make you cry, and I know how you look when you sleep.” Put him blindfolded in a room with one thousand women and he'd be able to find Anna. By her scent, by the sound of her breathing and by the awareness, that intrinsic jolt, that erupted into being whenever they were close. “I know you dance and sing when you cook, and... I know your heart.”

Her eyelashes fluttered and rosy pink circles shaded her cheeks. “Those were some real nice words, Logan, and they didn't sound preplanned.”

“Because they weren't.”

“Um.” Anna flicked the corner of the menu with her nail. “Well, of course there are specific areas of knowledge we've acquired, because we live together. When you call me from the ranch, I can tell just by the way you say ‘Hi, Anna' if you've had a rough or a good day. And when you're worried or stressed or overworked, you have the tendency of closing off and backing away. And yes,” she said softly, “I believe I know your heart, as well. Or I hope I do.”

“There you go,” he said, somewhat taken aback by
her
words. “We're not strangers.”

“Not anymore, no.” She let out a long and slow breath as if composing herself. “But aren't you interested in learning more about my life before we met? My childhood, my years in Texas, my family? What I think and hope and dream? Because—” she dipped her gaze away from his “—I'm interested in you, Logan. In all of those facets that make you you.”

“I... Of course I'm interested in you, Anna. But if you wanted to share any of these facets with me, why haven't you? I'm open. Right here, ready to listen.”

“Then why haven't you shown any curiosity?”

“Because I've assumed if there are details you want me to know, you'll tell me without any prying on my part.”

“Oh. Okay. I see. Does that mean you don't want me to know details about you or your past or your dreams?” she fired back. “Since you haven't opened up on your own? And that if I ask, I'm prying?”

Well, hell. Gavin was right. Women were formidable beings. Scraping his hand over his jaw, trying to figure a way out of this mess, Logan said, “Ah. Well, I guess I'm accustomed to keeping my thoughts to myself. And I don't have any dreams, per se.”

Mostly true. But this conversation caused Logan a load of frustration. At himself, for finding it so damn difficult to honor Anna's request. At Anna herself, for putting him on the spot.

Her brown eyes widened. “You don't have dreams? Of any sort?”

The waitress paused by their table, but he waved her off. They weren't ready to order. “No. I mean... I don't know. I guess I spend so much time focusing on today, on whatever's on my plate, that, no, I don't focus a whole lot of my energy on useless dreaming.”

“Useless?” she asked, her voice faint. Faraway. Ah, hell. “Dreaming is the solitary escape measure that got me through life when I was a kid.”

How had they gone from panicked stress over baby names and paraphernalia to this? He backtracked, tried to discern where and when the road had changed course.

“Listen to me, please,” he said. “I despise seeing you in pain, and when my careless words are the instigator, I can barely stand being in the same room with myself. To me, dreaming is useless. It's never done me a drop of good. But sweetheart, if lifting your eyes to the clouds and dreaming somehow got you through a tough period, then I'm glad for that.”

Real glad. He didn't have to understand her methods in order to be happy—relieved, even—that she'd had an escape. Naturally, he wondered about the whys, about what had caused her such pain as a child that she needed a getaway. Yet he didn't
require
the knowledge to hate the pain itself. Or, for that matter, the source from which the pain stemmed.

Mostly, in that moment, Logan just wanted her to be okay and return to obsessing over pink baby sleepers and names for their little princess-to-be.

So really, what else was left but to try to do as she'd asked?

“When I was a boy,” he said, starting off slowly, “I used to worry real hard that the reason my parents hadn't married was because there was something wrong with me. That I was damaged in some cryptic way that only my father had the ability to recognize.” Lord, he'd never uttered these words aloud. “And as a kid, a thought like that, it...well, it brands you, I guess.”

Just as surely, as permanently, as the Bur Oak Ranch branded their cattle.

Truth was, he was still trying to rid himself of those childhood beliefs. Did not matter what he knew to be fact or logic. The dregs remained. As of late, these thoughts were growing in strength again, yet... Logan could not put his finger on the reasons why.

He waited for Anna to respond. Maybe she'd express sympathy for the battle he'd fought as a boy, or perhaps she'd look at him in pity. Or, he supposed, she might speak kind but pat words of comfort, which would prove she hadn't really understood any of what he'd shared.

Instead, she reached over the table and entwined her fingers with his, sighed and lifted her chin a few inches so they were staring into each other's eyes.

“My mother died when I was in grade school, Logan, from one of those arbitrary, makes-no-sense types of accidents. She walked outside to get the mail, it was winter, and she slipped on the ice.” Anna's voice held clarity and crispness, but he heard the shadows slithering in and out of each syllable. “She fell. Hit her head on these concrete steps that led to our front door, and...she lay there for hours and hours before anyone saw her. Before help came.”

“Anna...”

“Let me finish,” she said in the same voice, with the same precision. And yes, the same shadows. “If she'd lost her balance a foot, maybe two, in either direction, she would've slammed into the bushes that lined the sides of the steps. Just frozen, ugly, scraggly bushes. She would've had a lot of scrapes and scratches, and she might have twisted her ankle, but she would not have died. And her death... It changed everything in my house. Everything.”

“Like what, Anna? What did it change?”

“I...became invisible. By choice. To stay out of my father's way, because he... It's easiest to say that he did not cope well with losing my mother. He became very hard to live with.”

And a megaload of pieces clicked together. This was the experience she'd talked about, during their very first phone call, when she told him that she wouldn't bail on their arrangement unless he gave her a valid reason. All of her examples were tied to her childhood, he was sure.

To her father and his extreme displays of behavior. A haze of blistering red bled into Logan's view. His anger was that palpable, that swift, at a man he did not know. On the periphery of that anger, though, was the overwhelming yearning to protect this woman.

So no one would ever dare hurt her again.

He squeezed her hand tightly, and somehow, though he couldn't rightly say how, her pain became his and his became hers, and for a crushing, debilitating second, this combined agony was unbearable in its intensity. Friggin' unbearable.

But in the next instant, another type of merging occurred. One that included strength and power and understanding and... Well, love was there, too, Logan thought.

Love of some sort, anyhow.

Chapter Ten

I
don't have to pee
.
I don't have to pee
.
I don't have to pee.

Except, well, she did.
Again.
Even though she'd used the bathroom less than twenty minutes ago, right after finishing breakfast at the pretty little restaurant Logan had taken her to, and right before climbing into the car. Anna squeezed her thighs together as tightly as a woman possibly could when a baby elephant played jump rope on her bladder.

Sorry, pumpkin, I'm really not comparing you to an elephant, but could you please do Mommy a favor and use my spleen as your playground instead of my bladder? Or put the jump rope away for a while and pretend my ribs are a xylophone? That could be fun!

Of course, her darling, precious,
nameless
daughter ignored her pleas in favor of doing her darned best at making Anna wet her pants. And if Logan did not drive faster and get them to this so-called wonderful, one-of-a-kind craft fair—where a ton of handmade baby clothes, furniture and toys was supposedly on sale—quickly, Anna's daughter might just succeed.

“Are we almost there?” she asked Logan. “Please say yes.”

“Getting closer, yes,” he said. “Why? Are you okay?”

“Oh, I'm just dandy. Perfect, in fact. Just, you know, drive faster.”

A rolling type of chuckle emerged from Logan's chest. “I've noticed that your sarcastic attitude increases by the day now. Poor Anna. Do you want me to pull over at a gas station?”

“No,” she said in more of a wheezy sigh than actual speech. “And let's put a fourish-pound moving octopus directly on top of your bladder and see how that adjusts your attitude.”

The dratted man laughed again. “I'd probably get much crankier than you, darling.”

“Not probably. Definitely.” And that was something else. His near-constant use of terms of endearment was starting to annoy. Only because she had no idea if he meant any of them, or if they just slipped from his mouth without thought. Sure, he'd opened up more since their conversation at the pub, but not about his feelings toward her.

If he had any toward her. Who knew? She certainly didn't.

“Talk to me, Logan,” she said, needing something to keep her mind off her bladder. “Have you come up with any ideas for baby names yet?”

“I certainly have,” he said, slowing the car and turning right onto a narrow country road. “I'll start with my favorite. What do you think of...Xena?”

“As in the warrior princess?” He was joking. Probably.

“Yup. Or if you don't like that one, how about Buffy?”

“Stop!” she said. “If you make me laugh, I'll... Well, don't make me laugh.”

“What's wrong with Xena or Buffy?” he asked in a straightforward manner. “And why do you think I'm trying to make you laugh? Naming our daughter is serious business.”

Staring at him, she tried to deduce if he was messing with her or if he, for some unknown and illogical reason, had decided that Xena and Buffy were good names for their baby. He had to be joking. But...on the off chance that he wasn't, she'd prefer not to hurt his pride.

“Hmm. Let me think more on those, then,” she said. “Any other suggestions?”

“Just one.” He eased off the gas pedal to make another turn. “Kim.”

“Kim? Just Kim, or with Kimberly as the full name?”

“No, no, not Kimberly, but not Kim all by itself, either.”

She narrowed her eyes, confused. “I see. Enlighten me, please. Kim...what?”

“Possible.” He paused, to give her mushy brain a chance to make the connection.

When it had, she smacked him in the arm. He grinned and, damn it, she started to laugh. So. Not. Good. “I swear,” she said, “you're an
im
possible man.”

“Nice one, Anna.” Logan swerved into the front parking lot of what looked to be a banquet hall. “What about Flash? Doesn't have to be a boy's name, and come on, you have to admit that Flash Daugherty sounds cool. No one would mess with a girl who had that name.”

Well. It was a cool name, as far as that went, but...no. “Obviously,” she said, now actively wiggling in her seat, “you are not going to provide any useful help in naming our child.”

“Sure I will, but I wanted to make you smile,” he said, parking the car and unbuckling his seat belt. “You know, this doesn't look right. The parking lot is near empty and I don't see a sign stating there's a craft fair today. Let me run in and check. Maybe I have the wrong weekend?”

“Oh, you are so not leaving me alone. I'm going in with you,” she said, following suit and unbuckling her seat belt. Otherwise she might have to run-waddle-run across the street and duck behind the cover of trees. “And if you brought me all the way out here only to have the wrong weekend, I'll... Well, I don't know what I'll do. But you won't like it!”

He winked. “Promises, promises.”

“You're such a man,” she said before exiting the car. “I'm not talking about sex.”

“And that,” he said as he walked to where she stood, “is quite the pity.”

She sniffed in faux annoyance. Because the easy manner in which he spoke told her he was serious. And for Logan to witness her late-pregnancy irritable nature and the immense—and Lord, sometimes noisy—changes in her body and still find her attractive enough to consider sex as a pleasurable option... That offered her a great deal of satisfaction. And naturally, his attention was flattering. Made her feel less like a...a hippopotamus and more like her pre-pregnancy self.

Not that
she
had any interest in sex. How could she, when she had to pee every freaking fifteen to twenty minutes, had incessant heartburn and seemed to exist in a foggy, continually drained haze? Half the time, she considered herself lucky if she remembered to brush her hair, and she'd completely given up on shaving her legs. Too awkward to manage, and in her current state, she just did not care if her legs were fuzzy.

So, yes, that Logan could look at her and even
think
of sex seemed rather incredible.

Though she'd really, really like them to settle on a name soon. It bothered Anna, not knowing what they were going to call their daughter, and she wanted—if nothing else—to have a list of three or four ready to go for when their daughter was born. Then it would simply be a matter of choosing whichever one seemed best suited.

“What's your mother's middle name?” she asked Logan as they walked toward the front door of the building. Well. He walked. She waddled. “And your grandmother's, actually.”

“Would you believe me if I said Mom's is Xena and Grandma's is Flash?”

“My brain isn't that far gone. Nice try, though.”

He sighed. “Carla Valentina and Rosalie Camila,” he said, apparently done with the teasing. “What was your mom's full name? And if we're considering naming our daughter after important women in our lives, we shouldn't forget your aunt. Lola...what?”

“Um. Mom was Ruby Louise, and my aunt is Lola Elizabeth.”

“All good names, sweetheart.” Logan opened the door but stepped in front of her to block the entrance. In a ridiculously loud voice, he said, “Looks like I didn't have the wrong weekend, Anna! There is a craft fair here today, Anna!”

Perhaps if she hadn't had to pee so darn bad, if her brain hadn't become the consistency of oatmeal and if she hadn't been so focused on possible names, she might have caught on to Logan's odd behavior. But wow, she did have to pee, and her brain hadn't functioned properly in weeks, and truly, she was a bit obsessed with finding the perfect name, so she didn't catch on.

At all. “Good, I guess?” She shoved at his back to push him through the doorway so she could find the bathroom. He did not budge. “Oh my God, move! I have to pee. Right now!”

So he did, indeed, move. Thank goodness.

And she walked into a room where there was not, by any means, a craft fair taking place. There were tables and people and balloons and... What was this? She would have got there, she was sure, given another ten seconds, but before her pregnancy-addled brain could add two plus two and arrive at the correct answer of four, she heard, “Surprise!”

Sadly, it still took her a second, but then she noted the many pink-wrapped gifts, a table loaded down with a mountain of food and a white-and-pink-frosted cake.

“Oh!” She looked at Logan. “You...you skunk! This isn't a craft fair!”

“It's your baby shower,” he said, bending over and giving her a quick kiss. “Planned by your sister-in-law and aunt. Their cars are in the back parking lot. I worried you and your eagle eyes would notice and figure all of this out.”

“Um. No,” she said. “I was too distracted to notice.”

“And I have to point out,” he said with that trademark smile, “that I told you we had plenty of time to prepare for our daughter's arrival. Whatever you don't get today, we'll buy this week, and our daughter will have every last thing she needs. I promise.”

Anna's aunt rushed forward, followed by Haley and her mother, Margaret, and the rest of the women from the Foster family—the spouses of the three Foster brothers—plus several women she worked with, a few of the Beanery's regulars and a couple of friends from her high school days, all of them chattering and happy and excited. For her. For this baby.

And for a solid thirty seconds, Anna forgot about her full bladder, her Swiss cheese brain and everything else. Because, you know, she had to cry. Just had to.

* * *

Standing in the doorway to what was now his daughter's nursery, Logan took in the work that he, Gavin and Haley's brothers—Reid, Dylan and Cole—had accomplished. Unfortunately, the entire process had taken hours longer than anticipated, despite his precise planning. But they'd managed to finish, and the rest of the men had just left. Now Logan was waiting for Anna to come home. So he could surprise her for the second time today.

He hoped—prayed, really—that she liked what they'd done.

Over the past several weeks, he'd paid real close attention whenever she mentioned anything baby related or when she'd ask his opinion on a crib or rocking chair or what have you she'd found online. Anything they hadn't discussed, he used his best judgment on, believing he knew her well enough to accurately predict her preferences. Not only that, but he had this silly, fanciful wish for his baby girl. And in the end, he trusted that instinct the most and followed it through. But yeah, he worried he'd made a mistake somewhere.

Throughout all of the prior week, he'd gone through Anna's bedroom whenever she was at work, trying to prep the best he could without her noticing. And the second Anna and he left the house this morning, Gavin and the Foster brothers had arrived with every piece of furniture and every accessory Logan had bought, all of which had been shipped to his brother's place.

They'd proceeded to clear out the bedroom fully by moving the bedroom furniture to the garage and her belongings to his room, and then they painted the walls. The color he'd chosen was a warm, pale green, and he thought it looked real nice.

Hard to describe the exact shade, though. It wasn't nearly as gray as sage, nor was it as whispery light as sea foam. Logan had smartly chosen a quicker-drying paint, and the guys had worked fast and efficiently. By the time Logan returned from dropping off Anna at her shower, they were able to—cautiously—put together the rest of the nursery.

Along the only full wall sat the crib. Painted white with pink accents and shaped like a fantasy carriage—the type Cinderella went to her ball in—the crib was the pièce de résistance of the entire room and, without doubt, was fit for a princess. He'd placed the rocking chair—the one his grandma had rocked her kids in and his mother had rocked him in—across from the crib, angled outward from the corner next to the window. Over the back of the chair, he'd folded a chenille throw blanket that would keep Anna and his daughter warm.

A large, heavy-duty patchwork-style rug covered most of the floor, its colors ranging from baby pink to a deep rose, with splashes of muted greens, blues and yellows. He hadn't been able to hang the pictures on the newly painted walls yet, but so Anna could see, he laid them out on the floor in front of the crib. Going with the fantasy-inspired theme, the prints were of fairies and pixies, depicting them flying and playing amid brightly colored flowers and trees, and—of all things—drinking tea at tiny mushroom tables. He'd hang them in the next day or two.

Resting alongside the rocking chair was the changing table, also painted white, and next to that, the small but sturdy dresser. None of the shelves or drawers was filled yet, but he sort of thought Anna would prefer to do that herself. And well...that was about it, other than the stuffed teddy bear they'd purchased on that long-ago day.

For the moment, Mr. Teddy was making himself at home in the crib, right on top of the pink baby quilt. And the other two toys—the doll and fire truck—were in the closet. He'd considered showing off the antique humidor-now-a-jewelry-box by putting it on the dresser but decided to wait until he could have it inscribed, which couldn't happen until they had a name.

Pleased with the results, Logan nodded and turned off the light, closed the door. God. He hoped he'd done justice to this room his daughter would spend her first year of life in. He hoped Anna would understand what had compelled him to decorate the room as he had. And yeah, he hoped Anna wouldn't be disappointed that he'd gone and done all of this without her assistance.

If she was...well, he'd tear the entire room apart and start fresh.

Antsy now, wondering what was taking so long—Haley was driving Anna home and had called a good thirty minutes ago to say they were on their way—Logan stalked the living room. Oh, hell. What if she hated everything? Maybe he should've gone with the Disney theme or the ladybugs. They'd been bright and happy and awfully cute, and he'd—