Rock-A-Bye Bride. Tracy Madison
Especially not when his mother was against his being here in the first place and his thick-skulled, ailing grandfather was pushing himself harder than he should.
Logan’s cousins—a whopping eight of them—were beyond capable of banding together to step into his shoes. And the next eldest cousin, Blaze, could fully take over in the blink of an eye. As could any one of his three uncles, but they’d separated their duties long ago and weren’t all that fond of the idea of stepping into the lead role. Besides which, Logan seemed the only member of the family able to withstand Zeke’s blustering. All it took, really, was the ability to hold your ground and wait for the old man to see reason.
Long ago, when Logan was just a kid, his grandmother Rosalie said that he and Granddad were cut from the same cloth and that they shared the same steel-minded stubbornness.
And yeah, that seemed to be the case.
Regardless of why, Logan was both wanted and needed at the ranch. And he wanted to be there, so the choice shouldn’t require an excess of brainpower. But his gut insisted he wasn’t done in Steamboat Springs, Colorado, and that leaving would prove a mistake.
Maybe there was a compromise in the mix. Rather than returning home on a permanent basis now, he’d continue his weekly commute for another month. That would have him back at the ranch full-time just before Thanksgiving, which would serve the dual purpose of pleasing his mother and allowing him another few weeks to wrap up loose ends here.
It wasn’t the perfect plan, but it worked well enough to set Logan’s mind at ease. So, with the decision set, he paid heed to his grumbling stomach and headed for the kitchen. He’d grab a bite—assuming he had anything edible left in the house—and then check in with Gavin and Haley, to let them know he’d be leaving before the holidays.
Later, he’d come back here and deal with some of the responsibilities he could tackle remotely. There was an order issue from a supplier that had his granddad fuming and a potential red flag in a crop share lease Logan was trying to put together with an old friend.
A loud rap on his front door halted his thought process. Other than Gavin and Haley, and a few members of Haley’s family, Logan really didn’t know anyone in Steamboat Springs. And at this time of day, school should be in session, so his surprise visitor was unlikely to be a kid trying to sell wrapping paper or magazine subscriptions or cookies or whatever.
Probably a home-improvement solicitor of some sort, or a group of them, as they seemed to travel in packs. Well, they’d be on their way the second he explained he wasn’t the homeowner and therefore couldn’t approve any type of repairs on the property.
Readying the words, he swung open the door and without hesitation said, “No reason to waste your time, as I’m not the person you’re looking for.”
“Actually,” the woman on his stoop of a front porch said, her voice quiet but firm, “you’re exactly the person I’m looking for.” She blinked large brown eyes, cleared her throat and blinked again. “I’m not sure if you remember me, but we...ah...met at Mick’s Place, played some pool, and we... Well, that was back in June, so...”
Of course he remembered Anna. He’d thought about her far too often since that night—a rather enjoyable night, at that—and he’d seen her once or twice after. At the Beanery—a local coffeehouse—where she seemed to work, but she’d studiously avoided his gaze, so he assumed her preference was to be left alone. He’d stopped dropping in at the Beanery for just that reason.
“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