Harlequin Special Edition November 2014 - Box Set 2 of 2: The Maverick's Thanksgiving Baby\A Celebration Christmas\Dr. Daddy's Perfect Christmas (11 page)

“I'm not,” he said quickly. “You know this is what I wanted.”

“I
thought
it was what you wanted,” she acknowledged. “But clearly I'm having trouble reading your signals, because when you asked me to marry you, I didn't think you intended for us to sleep in separate bedrooms.”

He opened the bacon, peeled off several strips and placed them in the pan. “When you accepted my proposal, you didn't say you wanted to share a bed,” he countered.

“I'm carrying your baby,” she reminded him. “And there was nothing immaculate about the conception.”

“We've done some things out of order in our relationship,” he said, keeping his gaze focused on his task as he moved the slices of bacon around with a fork. “I just thought we should take some time now to get to know one another.”

She tried to think about what he was saying objectively. The words sounded reasonable—considerate, even. But she couldn't help but wonder when exactly he'd decided they should take this time: Before or after he'd seen Shaelyn?

Maybe seeing the woman he'd once loved had made him realize he'd made a mistake in proposing to Maggie. But if that was true—why hadn't he called off the wedding?

“If it's so important to you that we take time to get to know one another, why didn't you want to take that time
before
we got married?”

He shrugged. “I wanted to make sure our baby would be born to parents who were legally married.”

She nodded. From the moment he'd learned that she was pregnant, he'd been clear that the baby was his primary concern. Maybe his only concern.

What I want—what you want—isn't as important as what our baby needs.

She'd accepted his proposal because she'd been certain that there was more between them than their baby. She'd believed that their relationship was founded on mutual attraction and growing affection.

Now she knew the truth. Jesse didn't want her—he only wanted their baby.

* * *

If her silence wasn't evidence enough that he'd said something wrong, the white-knuckle grip in which Maggie held her cup further substantiated the fact.

He'd never been good with words—or relationships, but he'd never had so much at stake before. He decided a shift in topic toward something less personal was warranted.

“Did you have breakfast?” he asked.

She shook her head. “No. I'm not hungry.”

“You have to eat,” he admonished. “Skipping meals isn't good for the baby.”

Apparently he'd said the wrong thing again, because when he glanced up, he saw that her eyes shone with telltale moisture.

Damn.
His brain scrambled for something,
anything
, to divert the ensuing flood of tears and recriminations, but he came up empty.

To his surprise—and relief—Maggie lifted her chin. “You're right.” She took a banana from the bowl of fruit on the counter. “I'm going to check my email.”

And then she was gone, and he didn't know whether he was relieved or disappointed.

The only thing that was certain was that he'd lost his mind—most likely sometime between the minister proclaiming he and Maggie to be husband and wife and his return to the house to make breakfast this morning. It was the only possible reason that might explain why he'd suggested his wife should sleep in something less see-through and more flannel.

Not that what she'd been wearing was exactly see-through, but the morning light coming through the window had backlit her so that her silhouette was clearly visible. And those delicious curves had tempted him to touch, to trace her feminine contours and revel in the satiny softness of her skin. He'd had to curl his fingers into his palms to prevent himself from reaching out for her. And then she'd turned to face him, and the outline of her peaked nipples pressed against the gauzy fabric had actually made his mouth water.

The first time he saw her, he wanted her. In the five months that had passed since their initial meeting, he hadn't stopped wanting her. And being with Maggie had escalated rather than satiated his desire.

She was right—he hadn't planned on separate bedrooms when he'd asked her to marry him. He couldn't think of anything he wanted as much as he wanted Maggie in his bed again—just imagining her naked body wrapped around his was enough to make him ache. He'd been eager for their wedding day to conclude so that their wedding night could begin. And then he'd been cornered by her brother at the reception.

His conversation with Shane Roarke had made him realize that he'd pushed Maggie into this marriage because it was what
he
wanted. He hadn't asked what she wanted. In fact, he'd ignored her efforts to tell him.

On more than a few occasions, he'd been accused of being stubborn and single-minded, because he rarely gave up until he got what he wanted. And usually the end justified the means—except that, in this situation, he wasn't entirely sure what “end” he wanted. Why had he insisted on this marriage? To ensure he would have a place in his child's life? Or to hold on to Maggie?

Because he didn't know the answers to those questions, and because he wasn't comfortable acknowledging the possibility that he might have pushed her into a marriage she wasn't ready for, he'd forced himself to take a step back.

The fact that she'd slept in that—what had she called it?—peignoir set, suggested that she hadn't planned on sleeping alone.

But the weight of her brother's words continued to echo in the back of his mind.

He'd never even taken Maggie out on a date. They'd gone from introductions to intercourse in a matter of hours. They'd both been on the same page, had both wanted the same thing, but their compatibility in the bedroom aside, what did he really know about her?

After she'd gone back to LA, they'd had several long telephone conversations, they'd exchanged emails, they'd planned to get together again. But it hadn't happened.

Weeks and then months had passed, and he'd been certain their relationship was over. If what they'd shared could even be categorized as a relationship. After a few more weeks, he'd even managed to convince himself that he didn't care. Yeah, and that conviction had lasted right up until he'd looked up and saw her standing outside the paddock where he was working with Rocky.

He'd been genuinely happy to see her—and mad at himself for being so happy. She'd unceremoniously dumped him, and then reappeared out of nowhere, and his heart had practically leaped out of his chest.

Now, only two weeks later, they were married.

He didn't doubt that they'd done the right thing for their child. Whether it was right for him and Maggie remained to be seen.

Chapter Eleven

O
ver the next few days, Maggie and Jesse started to become accustomed to living together—albeit as roommates rather than husband and wife. They shared conversation and ate their meals together, but it was all superficial.

They talked mostly about the weather, which Jesse described as alternately chilly/nippy/frosty/blustery or simply cold, and which Maggie interpreted as unbelievably mind-numbingly and bone-chillingly frigid, and the local news: old Mr. Effingham slipped outside of the post office and broke his hip; six-foot-five-inch local basketball star Wendell Holmes was caught with his girlfriend in a compromising position in the backseat of a Chevy Spark at the high school; three ranch hands spent a night in lockup after the most recent brawl at the Ace in the Hole; and Tom Riddell's yellow lab had given birth to a litter of puppies that confirmed the doggy daddy was Liza Weichelt's German shepherd, despite her repeated assertions that Rex never showed any interest in Taffy. The discussion of which might have been more interesting if Maggie knew any of the people involved.

Maggie did most of the cooking, because she enjoyed it, and Jesse did the cleanup. And as they went about their respective duties, he didn't touch her—either by accident or design. It was as if every movement he made was deliberately intended to ensure there was no contact between them. If she asked him to pass the salt, he put the shaker in front of her plate rather than in her hand. If she needed help reaching something on the top shelf of the pantry, he'd wait until she moved aside rather than reach over her.

On Wednesday morning, just four days after her wedding, Maggie was scheduled to start working for Ben Dalton. She woke up early—both nervous and excited about her first day.

Although she'd learned a lot in her tenure with Alliston & Blake, she'd also had almost limitless resources at her disposal. At Ben's office, there weren't a dozen other junior associates to ask for help, there was no senior associate assigned to review her work. There was only Ben, his secretary, Jessica Evanson, and his paralegal, Mallory Franklin. Which meant that if she didn't know how to do something, she would have to ask her boss.

She hoped she didn't have to ask her boss, because she really wanted to make a good impression.

She knew that the people of Rust Creek Falls were reserving judgment—that they were wary of outsiders and didn't trust her not to run out on Jesse the way his former fiancée had done. Only time would convince them of that. She was more concerned with proving that she was smart and capable and independent of the man she'd married.

Ben had confided that he was usually in the office before eight-thirty, but he told her that she could start at nine. Since she was accustomed to early hours and Jesse was up as well, she decided she might as well head into town. She pulled into the small parking lot beside the building at eight-twenty-two and found Ben's Suburban was already there.

She picked up her briefcase and drew in a deep breath, trying to calm the butterflies that were swooping around in her tummy. Apparently it was early for most of the townsfolk, as the streets were quiet. Quite a different scenario from the nearby ranches, where the men would have been up at the crack of dawn, feeding stock and mucking out stalls and whatever else ranch hands did at the start of the day.

Jesse always began his morning at The Shooting Star. After he'd taken care of the animals there, he'd drive over to Traub Stables, where he'd put in several hours training other people's horses. She didn't know what exactly it was that he did, but she knew that when people spoke his name, they did so with respect. Aside from the fact that he had an undeniable gift when it came to animals, he was also universally regarded as a good man.

Maggie didn't disagree, but she would add
enigmatic
,
confusing
and
frustrating
to his list of attributes. And apparently, since their marriage,
celibate
—which contributed in no small part to the
frustrating
.

As she made her way around the building, she was startled to find Homer Gilmore sitting on the bottom step that led to the front door of the law office. She'd seen him around town before, but she didn't know much about him. She didn't put much stock in gossip or rumor, although the consensus was that he was a crazy old coot. She thought
lost
was a more apt description, as if he wasn't quite sure where he was or how he got there, but he seemed harmless. Certainly she'd never had reason to fear him, so she greeted him pleasantly now.

“Good morning, Mr. Gilmore.”

He scrambled up from the step and moved out of her way. “The past is the present.”

She wasn't sure if the mumbled words were intended as some kind of cryptic response to her greeting or if he was talking to himself.

“It's a little chilly this morning,” she said, making her way up the steps. Actually, it was more than chilly by LA standards, but she knew that saying so would only highlight her status as an outsider.

“The past is the present.”

“O-kay.”

“The past is the present.” He muttered the same statement again, so quickly now the words almost ran together.

“Well,” she kept her tone cheerful, “I should get in to work.”

“Thepastisthepresent.”

She opened the door and stepped into the outer office, concerned that the rumors about his sanity might be true.

* * *

Maggie spent the first hour and a half in her new office reviewing the client files her boss had put on her desk for later discussion. Jessica arrived just before nine and settled at her desk; Mallory came in a few minutes later, after she'd taken her niece Lily to school.

Everyone seemed to have their own routines and enough work to keep occupied—except for Maggie.

Just before ten o'clock, Ben Dalton knocked on her open door. “I've got a settlement conference in Kalispell,” he said. “If you want to come with me, I can introduce you to the court staff and some of the local Bar members.”

“I'd like that,” she agreed readily.

On the way, he gave her some background information about the issues to be discussed, his client—an employer trying to negotiate an agreement with a former employee—the opposing counsel and the judge who was scheduled to preside over the conference.

Afterward, they went for lunch and while they were waiting for their food to be delivered, they discussed the files Ben had asked her to review. One was an application for a variation of a custody agreement, another was a landlord-tenant dispute and the third was a breach of contract case. Maggie had not just familiarized herself with the details of the cases but made notes of relevant statutes and precedents for each.

Ben seemed pleased with her initiative and insights, and confided that he'd been thinking about expanding his practice for a few years. Hiring Mallory Franklin as a paralegal had been the first step, and because she now did a lot of the paperwork that he used to do, he was able to keep more regular hours than he had in years. He hadn't given up on his plan to bring in a second lawyer, but there hadn't been any qualified candidates in Rust Creek Falls—until Maggie.

“With your background and experience, we can expand the services offered to our clients,” he told her.

“I'm looking forward to being able to help,” she said.

Ben nodded. “And maybe we can even work out some kind of partnership agreement after you pass the Montana Bar, so that you can work with me instead of for me.”

Maggie stared across the table at him, too stunned to reply.

“What do you think—should it be Dalton & Roarke or Dalton & Crawford?”

She hadn't thought about whether she would take Jesse's name professionally. As for a partnership, she hadn't thought about that at all.

“Or maybe that's more responsibility than you're looking for?” he asked, when she didn't respond.

“No,” she said quickly. “That's
exactly
the kind of responsibility I'm looking for.

“I guess I'm just...surprised,” she admitted. “I worked more than sixty hours a week for years at Alliston & Blake before there was any mention of a promotion, and I haven't even worked here for six hours and you're offering me the possibility of a partnership.”

“You think a small-town Montana lawyer doesn't have sense to know what he's doing?”

“On the contrary, I think you're a lot smarter than any of my bosses in Los Angeles.”

He chuckled. “And I like to think you'd be right. I did my research,” he assured her. “Beyond the work experience that was outlined on your résumé, I know that you graduated in the top five percent of your class from Stanford Law and passed the California Bar on your first try. In addition to the sixty-plus hours a week that you worked at your firm, you somehow found time to be an active member of the Women Lawyer's Association of Los Angeles and volunteer at a local women's shelter.”

“That's pretty thorough research,” she noted.

“I assure you, Maggie, I didn't hire you on a whim because your husband works for my son-in-law or because your cousin is married to the sheriff. I hired you because I want to expand the range of legal services available to the people of Rust Creek Falls and because I want to know this firm will be in capable hands when I decide to retire.”

“Then I guess we should talk about the specific areas of expansion,” she said, already looking forward to it.

* * *

Jesse spent the majority of his time at Traub Stables with the horses, but he always ended his day in front of the computer. He made detailed notes of his interactions with every animal and meticulously documented those notes in individual folders on Sutter's computer so they could be easily referenced by the owner.

He was at the computer on Thursday when Sutter strolled into the office with a baby carrier in hand.

Jesse looked over and couldn't help but smile at the wide-eyed infant.

“Good-looking kid,” he said. “Must take after his mama.”

Sutter chuckled, unoffended. “That he does. But his mama had a meeting at the school today, so the men are hanging out together.”

“Drinking beer and smoking cigars?”

“Maybe in a few more years.”

“Good call,” Jesse told him.

“I hear you're going to have a baby of your own in a few months.”

“News travels,” he said, not at all surprised by the fact.

“Are you excited or terrified?”

“Both,” Jesse admitted.

“I was, too,” Sutter said. “Truthfully, I still am. But I wouldn't give him back for anything in the world.”

As he spoke, he set the baby carrier on the desk to pull his cell phone out of his pocket and glance at the display.

“Brooks is here,” Sutter said, naming the local vet. “Do you mind if I leave Carter with you while I go talk to him?”

“No problem,” Jesse assured him.

“I won't be more than ten minutes,” his boss promised.

It was the longest ten minutes of his life.

While Carter had seemed perfectly happy to gurgle and coo while his daddy was in his line of sight, as soon as Sutter walked out of the room, the baby began to squirm and fuss. Jesse tried rocking the carrier, to no avail. The fussing escalated to crying. He unbuckled the straps and lifted Carter out.

The little guy looked at him, his big blue eyes filled with tears, his lower lip trembling.

“Daddy's going to be right back,” Jesse promised.

Carter drew in a long, shuddery breath, as if considering whether or not to believe him. But when “right back” was not immediate, the crying started anew.

Jesse tucked him close to his body, the baby squirmed; he cradled him in the crook of his arm—a favorite position of his niece Noelle's when she was younger—the wails grew louder; he propped him up on his shoulder and patted his back. The baby let out a belch surprisingly disproportionate to his size—and the crying began to quiet and, finally, stopped.

“That feels better now, doesn't it, buddy?”

Of course, the baby didn't respond. He let out a long, shuddery sigh, rubbed his cheek against Jesse's shoulder, and his eyes drifted shut.

Jesse couldn't help but smile.

His sister's little girl was the epitome of sugar and spice. She was soft and feminine and heartbreakingly beautiful. Sutter's son, although only four months old, was already snakes and snails. He was solid and sturdy and 100 percent boy.

Jesse hadn't given much thought to the gender of his own baby. When he'd learned that Maggie was pregnant, his primary concern had been marrying her to ensure his place in their baby's life. Now, however—

That thought was severed by the sudden realization that the back of his shirt was wet.

Carter hadn't just released an air bubble—he'd spewed the contents of his stomach all over Jesse.

* * *

“Why is there a sticky note on the fridge that says ‘burp cloths'?” Maggie asked when Jesse came in for dinner later that night.

“I thought we should start making a list of things we'll need to get before the baby comes,” he said.

She eyed him skeptically. “And the first thing that came to mind wasn't a car seat or crib or even diapers—it was burp cloths?”

“I spent some time with Sutter and Paige's little guy today.”

“His proud grandpa has shown me about a hundred pictures,” she said.

“He puked all down my back.”

She laughed. Then pressed a hand to her lips in a belated attempt to hide the fact that she was laughing.

His gaze narrowed.

“I'm sorry,” she apologized, not sounding sorry at all. “I'm sure it was disgusting.”

“I know that babies puke and poop and cry,” he acknowledged. “But it's one thing to read about it in a book and another to experience firsthand.”