Protecting Their Baby. Sheri WhiteFeather
Turning at the door, he winked. “Just staying in practice, darling.”
She rubbed the back of her neck and shook her head. Jamie must have gotten his charm from his father, because that man could charm a wolverine from its den.
“Dad, are you keeping the bar open tonight?” Hannah asked, trying to keep her voice from shaking. All at once it was too much—the wedding reception, Ross’s appearance…his marriage proposal. A woman liked to think about these things; only, Ross didn’t seem willing to wait a single day.
Reno.
She made another face, though it made the most sense; Ross wanted to get married before his ex-wife could file for custody again. Hannah didn’t know a lot about custody battles, but she could see it might look better to a judge. And it would be a lot easier getting married in Reno, than doing it in Quicksilver and trying to pretend they were in love. If they got married, that is. She still wasn’t sure it was such a good idea.
“Dad, the bar,” Hannah repeated.
“They’ll be wanting a sip or two after the chivaree,” Edgar murmured. “Best to keep it open.”
“I should stay and clean up.”
“Go on, Hannah. You’ve done enough here.” Her father angrily swiped the ancient bar with a rag, and he seemed to be talking about more than the restaurant.
“You spent eighteen years taking care of your brothers.”
“Dad…”
“It was wrong to keep you, but your mama was gone, leaving me with a new baby and more to raise. I know it all fell on your shoulders.”
“I didn’t mind.”
“I minded…more now than ever. You had a right to your life, and it’s time you got something for yourself. Ross McCoy would make you a good husband.”
“We don’t love each other,” Hannah said quietly.
“Love can come after. And if it doesn’t…well, you were always good friends.” Edgar put his hands down and stared at them. “Hannah, he’s a fine man. He’d never hurt you.”
She nodded thoughtfully. Ross wouldn’t do anything to hurt her, at least not deliberately. And their friendship was nothing to sneeze at; despite a three-year age difference, they’d spent a lot of time together.
The bell over the door jangled and Edgar straightened, once more scrubbing the bar with furious intent.
“Ready?” asked Ross.
She stood, silently daring her “fiancéé” to pick her up again. “I’ll see you later, Dad.”
“Think about what I said.”
Hannah drew a shaky breath. “I’ll be sure to do that.”
The night wind rustled through the trees surrounding the house, the whispering sound as familiar to Hannah as the dancing northern lights in the midnight sky.
She turned in the bed, listening to the voices of nature and her own heart, trying to make a decision. Over and over she replayed the day’s events through her head, torn by emotions she hadn’t felt for a long while.
Did a woman ever really give up dreams of white lace and forever-after love? Ten Penny hadn’t. After all was said and done, Ten Penny had married for love. True, she’d spent ninety odd years finding that love and worked in a bawdy house in the meantime, but she’d married for the right reason.
“Blast,” Hannah mumbled, kicking the blankets aside. She looked at herself in the old, yellowed mirror and grimaced. Her hair was neither blond nor brown, and she was reasonably well endowed, but that was all. Nothing spectacular. Just the basics. She certainly didn’t inspire any overwhelming romantic urges in the opposite sex.
It had been years since she’d indulged in romantic daydreams; the local men weren’t the type to inspire fantasies. And even if she’d felt something for one of them, they’d never looked at her twice, not with the commitment she felt to her family. By now, the ones her age were either married or had moved away.
Hannah wandered into the kitchen and set a pot of milk on the stove—might as well make hot chocolate and enjoy being sleepless.
“Make extra for me,” said a quiet voice from the shadows.
Ross.
He stepped from the screened porch surrounding the rear of the house and leaned on the doorjamb. His unsnapped jeans rode low on his hips, and the rest of him was magnificently bare—feet, arms, shoulders. Hannah swallowed and looked back at the stove.
Don’t think about it.
Right.
Good advice.
Now she just had to follow that advice, and she’d be fine. If she married Ross, she’d have to remember exactly why she was doing it: to become Jamie’s mother. Nothing more. And since Jamie was such a darling little thing, that wouldn’t be so hard, would it?
“Couldn’t sleep, either?” he asked.
“It was a busy day. How is Jamie doing?”
Ross’s shoulders lifted and fell, and a look of chagrin crossed his face. “You were right. He’s fine—sound asleep, all curled up in the middle of the bed.”
“Taking his half out of the middle?”
“Something like that.”
“You get used to that with kids and cats. They have their own way of doing things.” Hannah stirred the ingredients into the steaming pot, then poured the chocolate into two cups. She handed one to Ross and backed away quickly.
“Hey, I’m not going to bite,” he murmured.
“That’s reassuring.”
A low chuckle rumbled from his chest, then his smile faded. “Is it so terrible, asking you to be Jamie’s mother? He’s a terrific kid.”
Hannah traced the smooth edge of her cup, then shook her head. “I know you’re just trying to do the best for him. If he was mine, I’d do the same thing. I’m flattered you think marrying me is ‘doing the best’ for him.”
Sighing, Ross put his cup on the table and sat next to Hannah. He’d messed up badly, but there wasn’t any going backward; he might as well round out the day with another unfair maneuver.
“Say, do you remember the last time we had hot chocolate together?”
She didn’t look up, but he detected a small smile curving her lips. “In the clearing. You built a fire and made the worst cocoa I’ve ever drunk—from water, malted milk balls and a chocolate bar.”
“At the time you said it was wonderful.”
“I lied.”
Ross laughed; he couldn’t help himself. How could he have forgotten the way Hannah made him laugh? She’d always loved pulling his leg. Even at the worst of times she’d managed to drag a laugh from him with her teasing.
She looked at him from under her lashes with another slow smile. “Actually, I was right the first time—it was wonderful. You were so sweet to me that day, anything would have tasted good. I think our best and worst moments together have happened in that clearing.”
Whoa.
Ross felt his blood go up a few degrees from the smile—and from the worn, oversize T-shirt she wore for sleeping. The soft cotton molded her breasts with loving faithfulness, something she didn’t seem to realize. Nor did she seem to realize there were worn places in the fabric that made it nearly transparent.
Don’t stare, Ross reminded himself.
A gentleman should keep his eyes directed elsewhere. But more importantly, he didn’t want to find