His Woman, His Child (3 page)

"I'm going to tell Caleb," he said. "No one else."

"Promise?"

It took a great deal of strength not to reach across the table and grab her small, delicate hands, but Hank resisted the almost overwhelming urge.

"Susan, why are you so afraid of me? Don't you know that I'd never hurt you?" Every time she looked at him, he saw the fear in her eyes. Was there something more to her fear than not wanting anyone to know the truth about their child? If so, what was it?

"But you could hurt me," she said, gazing into her lap, letting her long lashes shade her eyes. "If you don't keep my secret … our secret. Yours and mine and Lowell's."

"I want to tell my brother, but I promise no one else will know."

Susan gulped in a large swallow of air and nodded her head affirmatively. "All right. Tell Caleb. Sheila has been my one confidante, so …"

"This isn't what I wanted, either." Hank shoved the untouched mug of coffee away from him, scooted back his chair and stood. "I never planned on being a father. The last thing I need in my life is a child. The plan was for that baby—" he glanced at her stomach "—to be Lowell's and yours. Not mine."

"I haven't asked you to take responsibility for this child," she told him, her cheeks flushed with emotion. "I don't expect you to be a father to—"

Hank slammed his fist into the palm of his hand, creating a loud smack. Susan jumped.

"Dammit, don't you see? Without Lowell around, that kid isn't going to have a father unless I step in and do the right thing."

"And just what is the 'right thing,' Hank?" She watched him pace the floor in her kitchen, his big, lean body stalking back and forth like an animal trying to escape a captor's trap. And that had to be the way he saw her and her baby— a threat to his much-loved freedom.

"I don't know."

Yes, you do,
some inner voice urged.

The right thing to do would be to marry Susan and for the two of them to raise their child in a family unit. But heaven help him, he wasn't willing to put his head in that particular noose—no matter how desirable he found Susan or how determined he was to not abandon his child.

"The right thing is for me to do what I can to take care of you while you're pregnant and then to take financial responsibility for my child."

"I see." Susan eased back her chair, stood and faced Hank. "You've undoubtedly given this a great deal of thought."

"Look at it from a logical standpoint. You're a pregnant widow, without parents or brothers and sisters to help you. As Lowell's best friend, no one is going to think it odd that I've elected myself as your guardian or the child's godfather."

"Yes, you're right, of course. And I know I should be grateful that you're willing to give up a year of your life, to take a leave of absence from the FBI and—"

"I don't want your gratitude," he told her. "I want your cooperation."

He infuriated her with his cool logic. So calm and controlled. So unemotional. She was sure he hadn't shed one single tear for Lowell. Hank wasn't the kind of man who cried. Not ever. No matter how much he was suffering.

Tallie had told her once that of her three brothers, Hank was the most bitter and resentful about having been raised poor and parentless. Where Tallie had no memory of their parents and Caleb only vague memories, Hank and Jake did remember. Their father had been a gambler and a drinker and they'd moved from pillar to post and had often been run out of town by the local authorities. When their parents had been killed in an accident, the four Bishop children had come to Crooked Oak to live with their paternal grandfather, a good man but not a warm and loving parent by any stretch of the imagination.

"Hank won't ever marry and have kids," Tallie had told her. "He'll never take the chance that he might not be as perfect at fatherhood as he is at everything else."

Remembering her friend's words, Susan sighed. "All right, Hank. I'll cooperate." She held out her hand, pretending that she was as unemotional and in control of the situation as he was. "You'll watch over me until the baby's born and then you'll be his or her godfather, doting 'Uncle Hank.' But no one, other than Sheila and Caleb, will ever know Lowell isn't the father of my child."

The thing Hank wanted most at that very minute was to touch Susan, to take her hand and pull her close. And it was the last thing on earth he should do. He stared at her proffered hand—a gesture to seal the bargain.

She waited, shifting uncomfortably several times before he reached out and took her hand in his. The moment his skin touched hers, she felt an electrical current zing through her body. She closed her eyes momentarily and prayed for the strength to not succumb to the desire she felt for this man. How could she be so wanton? Lowell hadn't been dead two weeks!

Hank held her hand and gazed into her big blue eyes. He should be damned to hell for what he was thinking— for what he was feeling. If he acted on his desire, he'd scare her to death and offend her so grievously that she'd never forgive him.

He shook her hand, then released it and stepped away from her. "I'll come back over tonight and pack up Lowell's clothes."

"All right. Thank you."

"If you need me, I'll be in the sheriff's office this afternoon, and later, I'll be out at Caleb and Sheila's. I'm staying with them temporarily, until I find a place to live."

"I'll see you to the door."

When he turned around, she followed him. He didn't pause until he stepped out on the front porch, then he faced her briefly, smiled weakly and nodded farewell. She stood in the open doorway and watched him as he drove off down the road.

Tears trickled from the corners of her eyes, dampening her cheeks in their descent. Life was unfair. So terribly unfair. She'd taken every precaution to keep her unrequited love for Hank Bishop from becoming an obsession. She had loved him from afar when she'd been a teenager, mooned over him the way some girls mooned over rock stars. But he had never noticed her, except as Tallie's little friend, and deep within her she had known it was for the best. As much as she adored Hank, she was afraid of the way he made her feel.

Aunt Alice had insisted she always be the perfect little lady. No vulgar displays. No immoral thoughts or feelings.

"Sex" was an unspoken word—a strictly taboo subject in her aunt's house. What she felt for Hank had been wrong, and probably sinful, and had certainly frightened her. So, she had dated the safe boys—the ones who didn't make butterflies soar in her stomach or create tingling sensations in the most intimate parts of her body.

Hank had left Crooked Oak and she had prayed for Prince Charming to come along and sweep her off her feet, to make her fall in love with him and give her a happily-ever-after life. And she had been sure that she wouldn't feel ashamed of or frightened by the way Prince Charming made her feel.

At thirty, she'd given up hope of this sweet and safe Prince Charming and settled for sweet and safe Lowell Redman. She had loved Lowell. And her feelings for him had never scared her, never frightened her, never consumed her to the point of madness.

No, those emotions had been reserved for Hank Bishop. The man whose child was now growing inside her body.

"That's the last box," Hank said as he closed the car trunk. "I'll take these things over to the shelter in Marshallton tomorrow."

Susan stood on the front porch, the last rays of sunlight streaking her light brown hair with gold. She looked so small and fragile and alone, like a drifting soul seeking a safe haven. He wanted to open his arms and tell her to come to him—that she could find sanctuary there, within the boundaries of his protection. He could offer, but would she accept?

He hesitated by the car, watching her as she waited for him, her head bowed and her eyes downcast. Two cats curled about her legs and two fat little dogs stood guard on either side of her. Sweet Susan, with a heart as big as all outdoors. He'd never known anyone who loved animals the way she did. And every critter on earth took to her as if she were one of them.

How was he going to be around this woman—this kind, gentle, loving woman—let alone take care of her for the next year, without making love to her?

Women came and went in his life. He had deliberately steered clear of long-term relationships and women who would expect more of him than he was willing to give. He liked women—hell, he loved women. And they seemed to not only like him, but to be drawn to him. Jake had once told him that the fairer sex was attracted to Caleb because he was so damn pretty and later because he was a superstar athlete. And they were attracted to Hank because he was such an old-fashioned, Southern gentleman, with a hint of danger to pique their interest.

Susan Redman was different. She was absolutely nothing like the women he had dated. She was quiet and shy and a little naive. And she made him want her in a way that shook him badly. He was a man who took pride in always being in control of his actions and his emotions. But his attraction to Susan undermined his iron will.

"Is there anything else I can help you with today?" he asked, not wanting to leave. Not yet.

She lifted her head and focused her gaze on him. Even at a distance, he could see the sheen of tears misting her eyes.
God, honey, don't cry,
he wanted to tell her.
Lowell wouldn't have wanted you to be in so much pain. And I can't bear seeing you like this.

"No. There's nothing else to be done. Not today." She smiled weakly and the sight of her sad little face unnerved him.

"Well, then, I guess I'll go."
Don't let me leave,
he silently pleaded.
Ask me to stay. Think of a reason to keep me here.
He turned his back to her.

"Wait!" She took several hesitant steps forward, then halted at the edge of the porch.

He snapped his head around and walked up the brick walkway. "What is it?"

"I—I need to talk to you." She held her hands together in front of her, as if she had to restrain herself from reaching out for him.

"Sure." He walked up the steps and stopped directly in front of her, only a couple of feet separating them. "What do you want to talk to me about?"

His gaze followed hers as she glanced around, noticing that Mrs. Dobson, whose house was across the street, was thoroughly cleaning the glass in her front door and that Mrs. Brown, whose house was on Susan's right, was sweeping her porch. Small towns were full of curious people and busy bodies who couldn't keep their noses out of other people's business. No doubt both Mrs. Brown and Mrs. Dobson would take note of his presence and report to their friends and neighbors. Personally, he didn't give a damn what people thought or what they said, but he knew Susan probably cared. After all, she had to live and work in Crooked Oak and would be raising her child here.

"Let's go inside." She eased backward and opened the front door.

Hank followed her, but before he stepped inside the foyer, he turned and waved at Mrs. Dobson across the street. She waved back and smiled.

Then he called out, "How are you, Mrs. Brown?"

The gray-haired woman blushed, but smiled warmly. "Just fine, Hank. Good to see you're looking after our Susan."

Hank waved. "You'll be seeing a lot of me around here."

"Glad to hear it," Mrs. Brown said.

Hank entered the foyer where Susan waited, hands in front of her, head bowed and eyes glancing up shyly. "They've been hovering over me like mother hens ever since Lowell died. They're nosy, but their hearts are in the right place."

"Yeah, I know. I grew up in this town, remember?"

"Close the door, please."

He did as she asked. "You wanted to talk to me about something?"

She rubbed her hands together repeatedly. "While you're here in Crooked Oak, finishing up Lowell's term as sheriff, you're going to need a place to stay."

"That's right." What was she getting at? What was she trying to say. "I'm going to contact a Realtor tomorrow. Sheila's told me that I'm welcome to stay with them as long as I'd like, but I really need a place of my own."

She looked at him uncertainly. "Hank, I—I …"

She turned from him. Her small shoulders trembled. With his heartbeat pounding in his ears, he closed the distance between them and wrapped his arms around her. Shivering uncontrollably, she breathed in a gasping sob.

"You're not alone, Susan," he whispered as he lowered his lips to her ear. "I know how difficult it's going to be for you without Lowell, but I promise I'm going to be here for you during your pregnancy. I want to help make things as easy for you as possible."

She nodded. "I know."

He held her with gentle firmness and willed his body not to respond to the small, slender woman in his embrace. "We both loved Lowell and we're both going to miss him. I intend to do all I can to set things right for him. And that includes making sure his wife doesn't want for anything."

"I need you to promise me that you won't tell anyone about your being … about Lowell not being … People wouldn't understand."

"I thought I'd made it perfectly clear that I'm not going to tell anybody anything."

He kissed the side of her forehead, then rubbed his cheek against hers. Her hair smelled like sunshine and flowers. His body tightened. Loosening his hold around her, he stepped back. The last thing Susan needed was to feel his arousal pressing against her. He grasped her shoulders and slowly turned her to face him.

"I want to help you, to make things easier for you, not more difficult. There's no need for anyone to know about our personal business."

She breathed deeply. The trembling in her body subsided and she smiled at Hank. "We have to remember that your stay in Crooked Oak is only temporary. You have a job and a life somewhere else and I have a life here. Our only connection is my child." She reached up and laid her hands on his chest, against the smooth, cool fabric of his overcoat. "I know that with Lowell dead, you feel a responsibility for my baby, but I realize that I shouldn't expect you to be a father to this child. Lowell told me that you didn't want children of your own and you didn't intend to ever marry."

"I don't intend to marry and I don't want children." Hank ran his hands up and down her arms, caressing her tenderly. "But you're right. I do feel a great deal of responsibility for your baby." He released her abruptly. "I never considered this possibility when Lowell asked me to donate my sperm so you and he could have a child."

"I'm sorry, Hank." She touched his arm.

Don't touch me,
he wanted to shout.
And don't look at me with those big blue eyes that ask for so much.
"Yeah, I'm sorry, too. Fate has played a pretty nasty trick on us and we're going to have to deal with it."

"I'd like to be able to tell you that I don't need you, but that would be a lie. I do need you. I need you for the next few months. If you could … if you would—"

"You name it and you've got it. I'll do whatever you need for me to do."

"Be my friend. Be an uncle—a godfather—to my baby."

"Sure. All right. Anything else?"

"Find Lowell's murderer and bring him to justice."

"That's my number one priority as sheriff."

"Be careful, Hank." She squeezed his arm. "I don't think I could bear it if anything happened to you, too."

Her words hit him like a sledgehammer blow to his mid-section. He'd have to be a blind fool not to realize that Susan cared about him. But was that caring anything more than concern for Lowell's best friend? Concern for the biological father of her baby?