Authors: Christine Rimmer
Tags: #Adult, #Chick-Lit, #Contemporary, #Love Stories, #Man-Woman Relationships, #Romance, #Women's Fiction
Not Quite Married
She just stood there, staring up at Dalton as he took that last step that brought him up close and personal, and then put his warm, long-fingered hand over hers.
It felt good, his hand on hers. It felt really, really good.
“Um … here.” Clara’s voice kind of broke on the word. And then she slid her hand out from under his and clasped it, moving it to where she felt the kick. “Yeah.” She smiled in spite of herself. “That’s it.”
“I feel it,” he agreed as the baby poked at his palm, then poked again. He was watching their hands, all his attention on the movement beneath them. And then he lifted his gaze and met her eyes. His were the clearest, most beautiful blue right then. “Clara …” His voice was rougher now, even lower than usual.
She just stared up at him, still annoyed with him, and at the same time swept up in the moment, in the intimacy of it—their baby kicking, her hand over his. She should have glanced away.
But she didn’t.
The Bravos Of Justice Creek:
Where bold hearts collide under Western skies
Not Quite Married
Christine Rimmer
CHRISTINE RIMMER
came to her profession the long way around. She tried everything from acting to teaching to telephone sales. Now she’s finally found work that suits her perfectly. She insists she never had a problem keeping a job—she was merely gaining “life experience” for her future as a novelist. Christine lives with her family in Oregon. Visit her at
www.christinerimmer.com
.
For Gail Chasan, because you are the very best!
Contents
A
t five fifteen on a sunny April afternoon, Dalton Ames sat on a bench in a park near his Denver corporate offices and told himself he was making a big mistake.
He should have gotten some answers before he agreed to meet with her. He should have made her tell him why, exactly, she had contacted him out of the blue and just
had
to speak with him in person. Because, honestly. What good could possibly come of seeing her now?
None. He knew that.
And yet here he was, briefcase at his feet, stomach in knots. Waiting. Irresponsibly, illogically, ridiculously eager just for the sight of her.
It could go nowhere. He knew that. And yet...
His racing thoughts trailed away to nothing as he spotted her approaching: Clara Bravo, more adorable than ever in a long white dress and a short jean jacket. Clara, with her shining sable hair, her tempting mouth so quick to smile. But she wasn’t smiling now. Her expression was somber, her head tipped down.
Clara.
So beautiful.
And so very, very pregnant.
Seeing her so huge shocked him, though it shouldn’t have. The detective he’d hired to find her back in early December, months after their summer romance, had reported that she was pregnant and engaged to marry the baby’s father.
She glanced up and spotted him, those big eyes locking on him. Her soft mouth dropped open—and then snapped resolutely shut. She hesitated on the path, but then stiffened her spine and kept on coming.
He stood.
“Hello, Dalton.” Her wonderful, slightly husky voice broke on his name.
He nodded. “Clara.” His voice sounded calm. Reserved. It gave nothing away, which was as he’d intended. He took care not to glance down, not to ogle that big, round belly of hers. “It’s good to see you,” he lied.
It wasn’t good. It hurt to see her. Even big as a house with some other guy’s baby, she was much too appealing. He still wanted her. It turned a brutal knife inside him to have to look at her and know that she belonged to another man.
She lifted her left hand and nervously tucked a shining strand of dark brown hair behind her ear. No wedding ring. Odd.
And come on, it was too ridiculous, to pretend he didn’t notice that giant belly. Stiffly, he said, “I see congratulations are in order...”
She kept her head up, those brown eyes unwavering. “Let’s sit down, shall we?” Turning, she lowered herself to the bench, bracing an arm on the back of it to ease her way down.
He sank to the space beside her.
And then she drew in a big breath and started talking. Fast. “Please believe me. I don’t want anything from you. I only think it’s right that you know.”
“Know?” He stared at her and wondered what in the world she could be babbling about.
She bobbed her head in a frantic little nod. “Yes. You have a right to know.”
“Know what?” It came out as a threatening growl. He really needed to dial it back, but she...roused things in him. She made him feel things he didn’t want to feel. Gruffness was his natural defense against such dangerous emotions.
And then she said, “I...got pregnant on the island, when we were together last year. This is your baby, Dalton.”
His brain flickered, then reeled. “What did you just say?” He didn’t mean to bark at her. But he must have.
Because she gasped and slid to the edge of the bench, as far from him as she could get without actually jumping up and racing away. He had to actively resist the imperative to grab her and drag her back closer to him. She repeated slowly, with care. “I said, it’s your baby.”
“By God. Yes, you did.”
She pressed her lips together, sucked in a slow breath and aimed her chin high. “And, well, as you can see...” She put a hand on the hard, high swell of her belly. “I intend to keep this child, which is also
your
child.”
It hit him again, like a boot to the solar plexus. She was saying it was
his
baby.
And she wasn’t finished, either. “But of course I don’t expect you just to take my word for it. Should you want proof, I’ll be happy to cooperate with a paternity test as soon as the baby is born next month.” A pause. He continued rudely gaping at her as she stumbled on. “And then, um, again, if you want nothing to do with this child, I’m fine with that, I...” Her voice wavered. But then she cleared her throat and forged on, “You don’t have to worry about the baby’s welfare. I have a supportive family and a large network of friends. Financially, I’m doing very well. So, after today, I won’t bother you again. If you find you want to be involved, however much or little, well, that’s something I’m open to, as we go along.”
“As we...?” The ability to form a complete sentence seemed to have deserted him.
She rushed into the breach. “Um. Go along, yes. As we go along. I...look. I hate to do this to you.” The big eyes filled. She gritted her teeth, blinked the moisture away. “I know you made it very clear, when we said goodbye on the island, that it was over, that we had an agreement and you wanted to stick to it, that you didn’t want to see me anymore.”
His eyeballs were suddenly dry as a pair of sunbaked stones. He blinked. “What? Wait a minute. That’s not what I said. I said it wouldn’t work between us, that I would only—”
She whipped up a hand, palm out. “Look. Whatever. All I’m saying is I know this has to be a huge shock for you and I’m so sorry, for everything. For getting pregnant in the first place, although God knows, we
were
careful.” Her hand found her belly again. She lowered her head, shook it slowly back and forth. “I don’t know how it happened, honestly. But it did. And I know I should have told you sooner, so I’m sorry for not doing that, too. I’m sorry for...” Her head shot up. She threw up both hands and cried, “Well, for everything. I’m sorry if this messes up your life. I’m
sorry
, all right? Just...I don’t know. I’m not sure what else there is to say.”
There was a whole hell of a lot to say as far as he was concerned. “I thought you married the baby’s father in December.”
Those big eyes got even bigger. “How could you know that?”
Smooth, Ames. Real smooth
. He was a banker, born, bred and raised, president and CEO of Ames Bank and Trust, which had been serving the people of Colorado for almost a century. They said he was distant and a little bit cold. But always fair and calm and in command. He didn’t feel in command right at the moment. Clearly, he
wasn’t
in command and could blurt out any damn thing if he didn’t get a grip.
He cast about for a good lie to tell her, but there really wasn’t one that had a chance of flying. So he loosened his tie and settled for the truth. “I hired a detective to find you.”
She gasped. “A detective?”
“That’s what I said, yes. The detective told me that you live in Justice Creek, that you were getting married a few days before Christmas—and that several different sources had informed him that you were pregnant by your groom, Ryan McKellan. I remembered Ryan, of course, remembered what you’d told me about him.” She made a soft, strangled sound, but then only gaped at him. He demanded, “You don’t remember?”
“Remember...what?”
“That you told me about your friend Ryan on the island. You mentioned him more than once.” Her best friend, she’d called the guy, twice. Both times she’d caught herself and blushed sweetly and said she was sorry for breaking their agreement to live in the moment and leave their “real” lives out of the time they were sharing. He’d shrugged and said she had nothing to apologize for, though really, he hadn’t enjoyed the way her expression softened with fondness when she said that other guy’s name. “That was kind of a shocker, to get the detective’s report and find out that you and your good buddy Ryan were a whole lot more than friends.”
“But we weren’t!” she insisted on a rising inflection. And then she pressed her hands to her soft cheeks, as if to cool their sudden heat. “I don’t get it. I... Oh, Dalton.” Now she looked hurt. She whispered on a torn sigh, “You put a
detective
on me?”
He felt like a complete jerk and muttered defensively, “I wanted to find you. It seemed the simplest way.”
Her soft lips trembled. “Wanted to find me, why?”
“I...couldn’t seem to make myself forget you.”
Her expression softened—but then, almost instantly, she stiffened again. “You’re serious? You couldn’t forget me?”
“No. I couldn’t.”
“But then what about your—?”
“Wait a minute.” He’d just realized he’d been feeling like a douche-bag when, come to think of it, he wasn’t any worse than she was. “How did
you
find
me
?”
“Well, I looked you up online and...” Her shoulders sagged. “All right. I see your point. You found me and I found you. What does it matter how? What does any of the rest of it matter?”
She had it right. It didn’t matter, not to him, anyway. The baby mattered.
His
baby.
The baby changed everything. He demanded, “So, what about your husband, Ryan? Does he know that the baby isn’t his?”
“He’s, um, not my husband.”
Could he have heard that right? “Not your—?”
“Not my husband. No. We decided not to go through with the wedding, after all.”
“You’re telling me you’re
not
married.” He tried to take in the enormity of that. All these months without a word from her, even though she was having his baby. Having his baby while planning to marry that other guy—and then
not
marrying that other guy, after all.
“Uh-uh. Being married just...isn’t who we are together, Ryan and me.”
