The Newlyweds. Elizabeth Bevarly
and it had left him wary of ever wanting one again.
“It’s funny, actually,” Logan went on, bringing Sam’s thoughts back to the present, “because I always told my family I wanted to be a cop or investigator of some kind. My Christmas list was always filled with things like chemistry sets and Trixie Belden books and weapons of destruction and handcuffs. But what I always found under the tree was Barbies and stuffed cats and Little House books and an Easy-Bake Oven. All the stuff I wanted ended up on David’s side of the living room instead.” She smiled. “So I just ignored my stuff and played with his.”
Sam found himself wishing she would talk more about herself, about her past, about her dreams and hopes, about her… Well, just about her, but he stopped himself. None of that was any of his business, he told himself again. None of it was germane to the case at all. Besides, once you got a woman like Logan talking about herself, she probably wouldn’t shut up. He had other things to think about right now. And any minute, he’d remember what they were, too, by God.
Thankfully, Logan also seemed to remember the case, because she suddenly stopped smiling and looking all dreamy-eyed, and clipped herself into a sturdier posture. “Anyway, getting back to the matter at hand, our first order of business as newlyweds moving closer to my family is to consult my family’s pet project, Children’s Connection. Because we’re anxious to start a family right away and can’t. Is that correct?”
“That’s correct,” Sam said.
“And the reason we already know we can’t have kids the old-fashioned way is because…?”
She didn’t know the answer to that question, Sam knew, because they hadn’t gone over it at the field office. And the reason they hadn’t gone over it at the field office was because Sam had hustled Logan out of there before Pennington had had a chance to give her the rest of the particulars. Sam didn’t much care for the rest of the particulars, even if they were part of a bogus history designed to snare a crook. Still, he knew she was going to have to be filled in on them. They did have to keep their stories straight if they were going to pull this thing off. Nevertheless, he wished someone had consulted him before working up their phony backgrounds.
“We can’t have kids because…” He sighed, resigned himself to it, and just plunged in. “Our cover story goes that you’re actually my second wife, and I tried to have kids with my first, but couldn’t. When wife number one and I looked into the matter, it was discovered that I’m…infertile,” he said, trying not to stumble over that last word. Then, when he realized what he had said, he hurried on to clarify, “Because the guy I’m pretending to be is infertile. Me, personally, I have absolutely no problem in that regard. None whatsoever. That’s a negatory on that. Nada. Nil. Zilch. Zero. No worries at all on that score.”
He wasn’t sure, but he thought Logan smiled at that. And okay, maybe, just maybe, he’d gone a little overboard on the reassurances. But a guy really couldn’t be too adamant about making something like that totally, completely, profoundly clear.
“Really,” she said. “You’ve fathered a number of little Joneses, have you?”
He hooked his hands into the pockets of his trousers and rocked back on his heels. “Well, none that I’m aware of,” he said, hoping he didn’t sound too smug.
“Ah…yeah,” she replied, not sounding too impressed.
He dropped his hands back to his sides. “It was just a joke, Logan,” he told her.
“A small one, huh?” she asked.
He opened his mouth to tell her that no, as a matter of fact, it wasn’t a small one at all, and that he had absolutely no problem in that regard, either—none whatsoever, that’s a negatory on that, nada, nil, zilch, zero, no worries at all on that score—then realized she was talking about the joke, and not his— Well, that she was talking about the joke. In fact, she was the one joking now. At least, Sam thought she was joking. He hoped so. Because he really didn’t have any problem in that regard. None whatsoever. That was a negatory on that. Honest.
“According to our cover story,” he said, returning to the case and wondering why they kept veering off it, “the fact that I—the guy I’m pretending to be, I mean—was diagnosed as infertile was part of what led to the dissolution of my first marriage. My first wife decided to find a guy who could provide her with the children she so badly wanted,” he added, trying not to choke on the words because they were so laughable when compared to the developments in his own marriage. His own former marriage, he hastily corrected himself. And the words were only laughable to a casual observer, he further amended. Unfortunately, he hadn’t been casually observing when his then-wife told him she was pregnant by another man. No, laughter had been about the last reaction Sam had had to that particular news.
“So I have no trouble getting pregnant,” Logan deduced from his explanation. “Or, at least, the woman I’m pretending to be has no trouble getting pregnant,” she clarified. And then her smile returned. “Not that I, myself, have any problem in that regard, mind you,” she said. “None whatsoever. That’s a negatory on that. Nada. Nil. Zilch. Zero. No worries at all on that score.”
“Mothered a number of little Logans, have you?” Sam quipped, smiling in spite of himself.
This time Logan was the one to tuck her hands into her pockets and rock back on her heels smugly. “Well, none that I’m aware of,” she said.
Yeah, yeah, yeah.
“Look, Logan,” Sam began.
“You’re going to have to stop calling me that,” she interjected before he could go any further.
“What?” he asked, not sure what she meant.
“You can’t keep calling me Logan,” she told him. “You’re supposed to be my husband.”
Oh, yeah, he thought. “So then…I should call you, what? Babe?”
She cringed noticeably. “Okay, granted, that’s what a lot of older husbands might call their trophy wives—”
“I’m not that much older than you, Logan,” Sam interjected this time. Because he wasn’t that much older than she was. Dammit.
Her response was another one of those teasing little smiles that he was beginning to kind of like. Until he remembered that he shouldn’t like them, because he was Special Agent Samuel Jones working a case. Period.
Then she ignored his interjection by finishing, “I just don’t think I could respond to being called Babe in any way other than by throwing my drink into your face. So we’ll just have to settle for Bridget.”
Fine, Sam thought. He could call Logan that.
“And I’ll call you…?” she asked.
Hmm, he thought. Lord and Master had a certain ring to it. Or maybe Master and Commander. Or The Good Master. Or—
“Sam,” he finally said. “Sam is fine.”
“Sam it is, then.”
Until she said it aloud like that. Then he remembered he’d needed to be Special Agent Samuel Jones for this job. He should have asked her to call him Samuel. Because when she called him Sam, it made him feel like Sam. In fact, it made him feel better than Sam. It made him feel…
No, he probably shouldn’t think about how it made him feel. So instead, he thought about the case. The case where he had to be an indulgent, infertile millionaire who wanted to impregnate his beautiful, bodacious wife but couldn’t, so they’d be trying to adopt through her family’s pet project, the Children’s Connection.
Oh, man, he really wished they’d assigned someone else to this case.
“I need to call my parents,” Logan—or rather, Bridget—said, interrupting his thoughts, for which he was extremely grateful. “I’m going to get an earful from my mom for not calling or stopping by the house before now.”
“Tell