Anything but Mine (5 page)

His face closed and his fingers tightened. “It does that to a lot of women. Hormones.”

“Yeah.” Foreboding settled in her chest, a sharp, pinching sensation. He didn’t want this baby, not really, and did she think that would change in a month?

He patted her knee and straightened. “Bags in your bedroom?”

She nodded, not looking at him. “Yes. But I can—”

“I’ve got them. Be right back.”

His footsteps creaked on the old wood of her hallway. Autry closed her eyes. Right? Any of this?

Anything but.

Stanton dropped Autry’s bags by the door and turned to take the grocery bags from her. They’d ended up with more than a chicken. “Let me get those.”

She surrendered the bags, but rolled her eyes. “I’m not an invalid, Stan. I’ve been doing this on my own for months now, remember?”

“You didn’t have to,” he said, his voice quiet. “You know that, don’t you, Autry? I’d have been with you from the beginning if I’d known.”

“I know.” She folded her arms across her chest, the self-defensive gesture he’d seen her use more than once the night before. “But I didn’t want it to be because you had to. I still don’t.”

He unpacked the makings for their supper quickly and glanced over his shoulder at her. “Where do you want your bags?”

“This is so cold-blooded. Yesterday, we were nothing and tonight you’re asking me if I want to sleep in your bed.”

“You act like I’m just waiting to drag you off and ravish you. If you want to use the guest bedroom, that’s fine.”

“But that wasn’t the agreement, was it?” She lifted her chin, a hint of defiance in the angle.

“Do you always have to be such a lawyer?” He leaned against the counter. “We agreed to live together for a month, to see if we could make a go of things, with marriage being the end goal. And yeah, I meant live together in every sense of the word, but hell, Autry. I know what the last twenty-four hours have been like for you. I wasn’t planning on making any demands on you.” He relaxed his death grip on the counter’s edge. “Now, where do you want your things?”

“The guest room.” She held his gaze, but her voice was soft, a little tremulous. “For tonight, anyway.”

He nodded. “Fine. I’ll be right back.”

Hefting her suitcase and garment bag, he carried them through the living room to the guest room. An odd relief flowed through him. Autry was right on this point—a renewed sexual involvement too soon would muddy the waters even further. A little more space there was probably a good idea. Once he touched her, gave into the low hum of desire she always inspired, he wouldn’t be able to keep a straight head where she was concerned.

He’d need that too, not only to keep her safe, but to muddle his way through the next month. He couldn’t afford to screw this up.

She waited for him in the kitchen, placing salad greens and slices of fragrant roasted chicken on plates. Stanton paused in the doorway and watched. She moved with smooth grace, and the sweater she’d changed into before they left her house hugged the tiny bulge of her pregnancy. An urge to embrace her, fold his hands around the swell of their child, caught him by the throat. He didn’t remember wanting that when Renee had been pregnant with their sons.

Autry glanced up, her expression tense, her eyes troubled. “Think it’s warm enough to eat on the deck?”

“Probably. I can always light the fire bowl.”

Once they were settled at the deck’s glass-topped table, a fire flickering in the copper and iron bowl in the corner behind them, he watched her play with her food, pushing the lettuce around her plate and only nibbling at the chicken.

He cleared his throat. “How has it been? Physically, I mean.”

Surprise flickered in her blue eyes. “I’m still fighting morning sickness that lasts all day, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“I’m sorry.” What else could he say? Hell, it was basically his fault. He was the one who’d told her it was safe to make love. He was the one with a faulty vasectomy. “What did your doctor say?”

With her fork, she danced a slice of tomato around the edge of her plate. “Just that it wasn’t anything to worry about. It’ll go away.” She rested her chin on her hand, expression glum. “With my luck? The day I have the kid.”

The conversation only made it more real, even though, sitting across from her with the table hiding her stomach, he couldn’t see a lot of changes in her body. Her breasts might be a little fuller, but if anything, her face was thinner, the line of her clavicle sharper.

He frowned. “You’re gaining weight, right?”

She pinned him with a look and reached for a roll. “You know, sometimes I can see why Renee divorced you. You don’t ask a pregnant woman that, Stan.”

“You do when she’s carrying your child. Are you gaining what you should?”

“Yes. I am. Right now, everything is fine. Anything else you’d like to know?”

He cleared his throat again, looked away then back to hold her gaze. “Do you know the sex?”

Her eyes softened. “Not yet. I’m scheduled for a sonogram on my next visit, a couple of days from now, and we might find out then. It’s one of those new four-dimensional sonograms.” She paused, head bent for a moment, and pushed the tomato around her plate again. Finally, she lifted uncharacteristically shy eyes to his. “Would you like to come with me?”

An opportunity to see his baby growing within her? To make sure she actually was okay? More than he wanted to admit. “I’d like that. Thanks.”

Yawning, she stretched and rolled her shoulders in a small circle. “Lord, I’m exhausted. And I’ve got a ton of prep work to do.”

Stanton pulled his gaze from her breasts. Yep, definitely fuller, a little rounder. She’d filled his hands nicely before and he itched to find out what that fit would be like now. He swallowed, hard. “Why don’t you grab a shower while I clean up? You can relax and do what you need to do, make an early night of it.”

“That sounds wonderful. I think I will.” She folded an arm over her head and tugged on the elbow with her other hand, a move he remembered seeing Tick’s ex-girlfriend the yoga instructor do. The movement lifted her breasts higher beneath the thin cotton sweater. “What will you do?”

Probably suffer unrequited lust even after a cold shower. He laid his fork across his plate. “Go to bed early, try to get some sleep. Pulled doubles the last three days, and I’m beat.”

He rose, stacking her plate on top of his and grabbing the serving platter with the remains of the chicken. She reached for their glasses and the breadbasket. “Are you sure you don’t want help cleaning up?”

With his hands full, he couldn’t tuck that errant wisp of chestnut hair behind her ear or stroke a comforting finger down her bruised face, as badly as he wanted to. “I’ve got it. Enjoy your shower.”

She pushed the patio door open with her elbow. After setting the glasses and basket down, she glanced at him. “Um, do you mind if I use yours?”

He shot a quick look at her. She’d always loved the openness of his semi-outdoor shower, one of the main reasons he’d bought the big cedar contemporary overlooking the Flint River. He’d loved the things they’d done in that glass cube, open to the stars and night air. “Sure. Go ahead.”

“Thanks.” With an impish smile, she disappeared down the hall.

Stanton rubbed a hand over his face. He needed to call Tick, find out what Nate had had to say. Maybe, just maybe, that would take his mind off the woman getting naked in his bathroom.

Tick took the back steps two at a time. His stomach gnawed at his backbone and he still felt grimy and soiled after his little conversation with Nate. He flipped through his key ring and unlocked the back door, well aware Caitlin never left a door or window unlocked in the house. He felt like crap. But home? Coming home felt pretty darn good.

The mail sat in a neat pile on the kitchen island and scents of spicy tomato sauce and melted cheese lingered in the air. Lasagna. Or Caitlin’s incredible spaghetti Bolognese. His stomach gnawed harder and his mouth watered.

Caitlin’s laptop stood open on the dining room table, glossy crime scene photos lying amid scattered reports and a legal pad full of her neat handwriting. He tossed his keys on the island and picked up a photo, grimacing a little at the dead girl’s face. She was just a baby, not more than fourteen or fifteen.

He dropped the photo. “Cait?”

“I was wondering when you’d straggle in.” She emerged from their bedroom clad in a faded Quantico trainee shirt and brief gray gym shorts. A pair of his boot socks covered her feet and he grinned. Beautiful runner’s legs, but the coldest feet known to man. Married little more than a month and he was still getting used to those feet hitting his calves in the middle of the night. Still getting used to being a husband after years as a bachelor.

Smiling, she went into his arms and he wrapped her close, kissing her. Tugging his mouth free, he buried his face against the sleek mass of her black hair.

“Lord, I missed you.” He exhaled hard, the tension already draining out of his body. “It’s been a long day. Sorry I’m late.”

“It’s okay. I held supper for you. It’s in the microwave.” She arched into him, arms twined around his neck. He trailed his mouth down to the hollow of her shoulder and she sighed. “You need to eat something. I’d lay money you skipped lunch.”

“You’d be right.” He pulled the neckline of her T-shirt to one side, giving him greater access to her soft skin.

“Tick?”

He made a noncommittal sound in his throat.

“You’re not the only one who’s late.”

“Yeah?” He scraped his teeth lightly against her shoulder, the gnawing in his gut turning to a different type of hunger.

“Mm-hmm.” She ran her hands beneath the hem of his shirt, caressing his spine. “Three days.”

The words and her thinly veiled excitement penetrated the desire. Her period was late, but that wasn’t a big deal. It wasn’t like he could set his watch by her irregular cycle, caused in part by a missing ovary and Fallopian tube.

He lifted his head. “Cait, precious, come on. Don’t get your hopes up. Dr. Astin’s not even starting you on the Clomid until next month—”

“I took one of those home tests, just to make sure.”

He closed his eyes, steeling himself. This whole trying-to-have-a-baby thing was going to be one wicked rollercoaster ride and somehow he knew the first dip was about to hit. “Cait, we agreed we weren’t going to do this to ourselves.”

“It was positive.” She was biting her lip, obviously trying to hide a grin.

Hopeful joy spiked in him and he squashed it. “Those things aren’t always reliable. Deanne got two false negatives when she was pregnant with Charlie—”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought too. A false positive.” She leaned back in his arms, her dark green gaze glowing. “So I did it again, three different times, with three different brands.”

That was his Caitlin, covering all the angles. A burn of excitement started in his chest. “And?”

“And I got three more positives.” The grin spread across her face. “So I dropped in on Layla at the clinic. We did another urine test and a blood test.”

“Both positive.”

She nodded.

An answering grin tugged at his mouth. “For real?”

“Would I kid about this?”

“Good Lord.” He ran a hand through his hair. She was pregnant, without all the fertility drugs and artificial insemination, the in-vitro process and everything else they’d researched in the last few months, getting a head start before they’d even exchanged vows. He laughed, hugging her close and rocking from side to side. “Holy hell. You’re pregnant.”

She wrapped her arms snugger around his neck, her husky laugh bubbling between them. “I know.”

“A baby.” The rocking wasn’t enough, and he lifted her, swinging around with a wild whoop. Laughing, he set her on her feet, still bound in his embrace. He slid his hands to her stomach. “Our baby.”

“Yes.” She bit her lip again and a sheen of tears glimmered in her eyes. “Our baby.”

The joy was unbearable and he wanted to yell again, to shout it for everyone to hear. Instead, he leaned down to kiss her. His mouth whispered over hers, lowered again, clung. “I love you, Falconetti.”

She pulled him close, her kiss fierce and possessive. “I love you too, Calvert.”

At that moment, he had to be the happiest man in Chandler County, Georgia, and absolutely nothing could change that.

“Baby,” she mumbled around her toothbrush after retching her lungs out again, “you’d better make up for this when it’s time for the terrible twos. I expect you to be quite well behaved.”

“Autry?” A quick rap at the closed bedroom door accompanied Stanton’s voice. “You up? Breakfast’s on.”

Ignoring the way his deep tones sent a rush of warmth through her, she rinsed her mouth and spit. “Be right there.”

She didn’t bother with her hair, but threw a robe on over her pajamas and padded to the kitchen. Cereal and bowls of fresh fruit waited on the small table, along with glasses of juice. She cast a longing look at the coffeemaker and covered her mouth and nose.

Stanton pulled the milk from the refrigerator and turned. His brows descended in a concerned frown. “What’s wrong?”

Breathing through her mouth, she shook her head. He followed her line of sight and groaned. Setting the milk on the table, he reached for the carafe. “The coffee. I’m sorry. The smell made Renee sick too, but I didn’t think…”

His voice trailed away as he walked outside and Autry envisioned him pouring the rich liquid off the side of the deck. Lord, what a waste. He stepped inside, the glass-paned door closing behind him with a muted snick. A small apologetic grimace twisted his brows. “I’m sorry, Autry. I just didn’t think.”

“It’s okay, Stan.” She glanced down at the table. Oh, heaven help her, he’d remembered exactly how she liked her cereal—a banana and strawberries sliced on top, a few blueberries tossed in for good measure. She frowned. There’d been no fruit in his refrigerator last night and they hadn’t picked any up at Winn Dixie, either.

She tucked her tousled hair behind her ears. “Did you go shopping?”

A crooked smile curled his mouth. He set the milk in the middle of the table. “Yeah. I remembered you liked fruit in the morning and I was out, so I skipped my run and went to the store instead.”

This was what had started her slow tumble into love with him in the first place—these small kindnesses, the little ways he paid attention to her likes and dislikes. She hadn’t intended to love him at all. She’d been exploring an unexpected attraction, had told herself she could handle a short fling with the handsome new sheriff, no worries.

She really had to stop listening to herself like that.

He pulled out a chair for her. “Did you sleep well?”

How was she supposed to answer that? Exhaustion had pulled her under pretty quickly, but she’d woken often during the night, disturbed by nightmares as well as the knowledge he was mere feet away. “Better than I thought I would, thanks.”

He poured milk over his cereal. “Feel okay this morning?”

Was this how it was going to be? This awful stilted conversation, them tiptoeing around each other? She picked up a banana slice from her cereal and popped it in her mouth. “Same as yesterday morning. Stanton, we’re not doing this.”

Nervousness flickered in his eyes. “Doing what?”

She reached for the milk. “Having too-polite conversations. Acting like strangers turned roommates. I’m a big girl. Like I told you, I’ve made it through four months of this pregnancy without you watching my every move. I’m not a fragile flower who can’t take a little stress.”

He laid his spoon down and leaned back, frustration darkening his face. “This is out of my league. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”

“That’s my line, sheriff. You have two children already, remember?”

The short bark of his laugh dripped self-deprecation. “Yeah, but I was finishing my last year in the army when Renee was pregnant with Hadden. I was in Germany and she stayed in Houston. When she was carrying John Logan, I was at Quantico and doing my compulsory training with the bureau. It’s not like I was around then either.”

She sipped her juice. “Well, the first thing you’re not supposed to do is drive me up the nearest wall with those overprotective instincts of yours.”

“I think I can handle that.”

“Last night…why did you ask me if I knew the sex?” She fiddled with her spoon, watching him beneath her lashes. “Would you like another son?”

He looked up at her, his expression guarded. “I haven’t really thought about it. Curiosity, I guess.”

Mere curiosity. Silly of her to be hurt by that, when he’d never wanted to be in this situation with her. She pushed the cereal away, any appetite gone. “I’m going to get dressed. Thank you for the fruit. You really didn’t have to go to all that trouble.”

“No trouble.” His body still and tense, he fixed her with his steady, watchful gaze. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” With a scornful laugh, she blinked back more of the stupid, weak tears and walked out of the kitchen.

His chair scraped on the floor and he caught up to her in the hallway, taking her shoulders in a gentle hold and turning her to face him. “Wait.”

Maybe he couldn’t see how close her emotions were to the surface. She smiled, her face aching. “I need to get dressed. I have a meeting at nine—”

“It’s barely seven. You have plenty of time.” His thumbs caressed her shoulders and he leaned closer. “What did I do?”

“Nothing.” She shrugged and his hands fell away.

“Nothing didn’t put that look on your face.” Frustration roughened his voice. “I said or did something wrong and—”

“You didn’t do anything. I told you, I’m silly and emotional right now and it just doesn’t take much to get me going.”

He lifted an eyebrow, his eyes still confused and unconvinced. “You’re sure?”

No. She wanted to press closer, bawl against his chest, and have him promise he’d come to want their baby, to want her. “I’m positive. Now, I really have to get dressed.”

He stepped back. “Okay.”

She walked away, aware he didn’t move, feeling the weight of his gaze until she closed the bedroom door behind her.

Would you like another son?

Autry’s question dogged Stanton all morning. Most of his deputies had returned to duty, having recovered from the flu, and he was back behind his desk, swamped in paperwork. With every report reviewed, every timecard signed, every irate county commissioner soothed, the idea of having another son beat in his head.

Or a daughter. A little girl, who’d probably end up with his dark brown hair, but who might, just might, get her mother’s blue eyes and sassy attitude.

His mother would love having a granddaughter. He scratched a note in the margin of Tick’s report on Autry’s break-in, a reminder to have the GBI’s crime lab run a handwriting analysis on the notes. What kind of things did a guy do with a daughter? Hell, like he even knew what kind of things to do with a son.

A hushed hum of activity drifted in from the squad room—a couple of deputies clocking out after a split shift, the rumble of his other investigator Mark Cook’s deep voice, Tick’s good-natured cursing because the coffee can was empty. Something was up with Tick—all morning he’d been whistling and bouncing around the station like a hyperactive kid who’d missed a dose of Ritalin.

And the weird tension that seemed to cloak him lately whenever he was around Stanton felt diminished. Stanton tapped his pen on his blotter. For months now, since Caitlin Falconetti had walked back into Tick’s life, Stanton had the odd sensation Tick was pissed off at him and hiding it. In the ten years they’d worked together, there’d never been this much strain between them and hell, Stanton was glad whatever it was seemed to have vanished for the moment.

Tick appeared in the doorway, soda in one hand, computer printout in the other. “Got the list of recent parolees that Autry represented. Couple of possibilities, guys who’ve returned to the area.” He glanced down at the list. “Martin Kinney, armed robbery, did the minimum sentence at Lee State. He’s living at his mama’s over on 112. And Hunter McLeod, just released from the CI over in Valdosta. He’s moved in with a girlfriend at the Miller Place apartments.”

Stanton leaned back. “What’d he do time for?”

“Sexual assault.”

“Great.” The last thing he needed was images of a convicted rapist trying to get into Autry’s house. He shuddered.

“After lunch, I’m going to run them down and—”

“Come get me when you’re ready. I’ll go with you.”

“Two days in a squad car and being behind a desk is killing you.” Tick stepped inside, closing the door. “Listen, I thought you’d want to know the office scuttle has Autry’s car outside your place last night.”

Stanton ran a hand over his hair. “She’s moving in for a while.”

“Putting a new spin on ‘to serve and protect’?”

“She’s pregnant, Tick.”

“Holy hell.” Surprise flared in Tick’s dark gaze. “Must be something in the water. Damn it, Stan, that wasn’t supposed to happen.”

“You’re telling me.”

Tick’s laugh emerged rusty and a little rough. “You got snipped for nothing.”

“Go ahead. Have a good laugh.” Eyes narrowed, Stanton glared at him. “What did you mean, something in the water?”

The tension Stanton had thought diminished rose between them again. Tick rolled up the printout and stuck it in his pocket. “Cait’s pregnant.”

And he was absolutely overjoyed—the emotion was all over him, the reason for all that vibrating energy he had this morning. So why the waves of ill-temper suddenly rolling off him?

Stanton shook his head. “That’s…great.”

“Don’t lie, Stan.”

The abrupt hostility took Stanton back for a half-second. “Tick—”

“But yeah, it’s pretty damn great that we didn’t have to go through all the freakin’ fertility treatments.” The flare of antagonism banked again, Tick rocked back on his heels. “So what are you and Autry going to do?”

No way Stanton could explain the convoluted mess they’d talked themselves into. “We’re going to take it one day at a time, see what happens.”

Irritation fired in Tick’s eyes. “A little casual about the whole thing, aren’t you? This is a kid we’re talking about.
Your
kid.”

“Don’t you think I know that? Why do you think I’m—” Stanton bit off the words.

“You’re going to break her heart.” Weariness dragging at his features, Tick dropped into one of the chairs before Stanton’s desk. “I knew it. I told you she wasn’t your type.”

“Yeah.” Stanton reached for a pen and slashed his signature at the bottom of the daily jail headcount. “About like I told you about Falconetti.”

“Well, you were wrong, weren’t you?” A hard edge entered Tick’s voice, the enmity flickering to life again.

“Guess I was.” He wasn’t going to point out that one month and a pregnancy didn’t a successful marriage make. His pen stilled over the second report. But wasn’t that the agreement he and Autry had? One month to prove to her they could make it work.

He seriously needed to renegotiate for more time.

After a sharp rap at the door, Cookie stuck his head in. “Yo, boss. You’ve got a visitor at the front desk.”

What now? Stanton tossed his pen down. “Who is it?”

Cookie grinned. “Your ex-wife.”

Renee, here? Stanton exchanged a look with Tick and pushed up from his chair. A pharmaceutical rep, Renee traveled the area frequently, but didn’t usually come by. Lord, he hoped nothing had happened to one of the boys.

She waited for him at the front desk. A red suit set off her dark hair, caught up in a sleek knot. A bright smile lit her face.

“Stan! Hello, Tick.” She leaned up to kiss Tick’s cheek. “You look wonderful. Marriage agrees with you.”

“You look great too.” Tick tagged Stanton’s arm. “I’m going to grab a bite, but I’ll catch up with you and we’ll do those interviews. Good to see you, Renee.”

Once he disappeared through the front door, Renee fixed Stanton with a look. “Now you…I’ve seen you looking better.”

“Thanks a lot.” He gazed down at her. Amazing that as much as he’d felt for her once upon a time, everything from love to hate and all the cold places in between, her presence held only warm friendship now. “Not that I’m not glad to see you, but what are you doing here? Boys okay?”

“They’re fine.” The dimple in her left cheek flashed. “I thought I’d save you a stamp and pick up the child-support check.”

“Funny, but I mailed it yesterday.”

She rolled her big green eyes. “Oh, the check’s in the mail. Where have I heard that before?”

“Not from me. Really, why are you here?”

“I had sales calls in the area and I decided to take you to lunch.”

“That sounds great.” He grinned. “Diner across the street okay?”

They walked to the little storefront diner and she filled him in on their sons’ latest accomplishments and elicited a promise that he’d attend Hadden’s next basketball game.

Once they’d settled into a booth and ordered, Renee folded her hands atop the table and narrowed her eyes. “Now, what’s going on?”

He opened his mouth, closed it, gave up the idea of lying and sighed. “Autry’s pregnant.”