Rock-a-Bye Bride

by Tracy Madison

  “What do you think it means?”

  Anna forced a laugh, her head—or maybe it was her heart—spinning. Smarter, though, to not share her hope, which could be in vain, with Logan’s mother. “Oh, just that he’s a worrywart. I think he’s always expecting I’m going to faint to the ground or something.”

  “Hmm. Perhaps,” Carla said, sounding an awful lot like her son. “Except you realize, don’t you, that you do the same with him? Are you also a worrywart, expecting he’ll pass out?”

  “No... I wouldn’t say that. I...” Oh, screw it. Some things were too obvious to deny. “Your son is a striking man, Carla. I like to look at him. And I feel better when he’s close by.”

  “That’s interesting, too, then. Isn’t it? For a loveless marriage?”

  “Loveless isn’t the same as careless.” Ready to cut this topic of conversation off at its knees, Anna said, “I’ve been meaning to ask you about Logan’s baby pictures. If possible and if it isn’t any trouble, do you think you could show me some?”

  “Of course that’s possible, and it isn’t any trouble whatsoever.” Tucking a curly strand of her shoulder-length, almost black hair behind one ear, Carla said, “We can do that tomorrow. I’m not sure if Logan explained, but Christmas Eve is the big family event. Other than a few friends who might stop by, tomorrow will be quiet.”

  “He didn’t mention that, no.” Dang it. She was really going to have to do something about Logan’s inability to share information. “And thank you. Other than the little he’s said about his father...” Anna trailed off and swallowed her words. “I’m sorry. I just meant that Logan hasn’t said a whole lot about his childhood.”

  Too late. Shadows had appeared in Carla’s eyes. “Denny died when Logan was two and a half, in a motorcycle accident. I... It’s difficult for me to talk about him.”

  “My mother passed when I was in grade school, and I don’t really share much about her with anyone, so I understand. And again, I’m sorry. Please forgive me.”

  Oh. All of a sudden, Anna realized she wasn’t that much better than Logan at communicating. Did he even know her mother had died? No, she didn’t think he did, because she had not told him. So really, who was she to throw stones? That road traveled in two directions.

  “I’m sure he’ll explain more about the situation,” Carla said. “If you ask.”

  “Maybe I will, but he... Oh!” She gasped as her daughter gave her a solid round-kick and then another. “Carla, give me your hand.”

  “My... I’m sorry, what?”

  “The baby’s kicking. Do you want to feel her?”

  Light and joy entered Carla’s gaze, overtaking the shadows. She nodded, and Anna guided her hand to the area just below the belly button, hoping her daughter would continue to demonstrate her expert kickboxing techniques. And yes, she did.

  She was a wiggling, karate-kicking, take-no-hostages phenom.

  “My goodness, this is delightful!” Laughing, Carla pressed her palm tighter against Anna’s stomach. “She’s quite fierce, isn’t she? I didn’t expect to have this opportunity.”

  “Why not? This baby is a blessing for all of us, and you’re a part of that.”

  “I wasn’t sure how you’d feel about... That’s neither here nor there now,” Carla said, her voice emotional. She glanced up to meet Anna’s gaze. “Do you mind if I get my mother? So she can feel her great-granddaughter? I know it would mean the world to her.”

  “Get whomever you want,” Anna said, laughing, as well. “But hurry. I can’t promise how long my stubborn daughter will put on her show. Even Logan hasn’t felt her move yet.”

  “Then I’ll get him, too.”

  In a feat of remarkable speed, Carla made the rounds of the room, telling everyone—yes, everyone—to line up in front of Anna’s stomach. If it hadn’t been so...well, awesomely fantastic how excited the whole darn Cordero clan got, Anna would’ve been, without a doubt, embarrassed and self-conscious. But when faced with such sheer enthusiasm, the solitary emotion whipping through her blood was happiness. Of the unfettered sort.

  Carla tried to push Logan to the front of the line, but he refused to go before his grandmother, which Anna found endearing and sweet. She pointed out, in a loud and clear voice, that her stomach was quite large enough to manage two hands at a time, so Logan ushered Rosalie to the sofa and helped her sit next to Anna. Together they placed their hands on her belly, and Anna prayed hard and fervently that her daughter wouldn’t tire out and stop.

  She didn’t. It was as if she somehow knew that this was her moment, that she was the undisputed star of the room, and she slipped on her dancing shoes—three-inch spiked heels, if Anna were to guess—and danced her tiny heart out. Well, she flipped and twisted, as well, and she might have even head-butted Anna a time or two, but she didn’t slow down.

  Logan sucked in a breath, lifted his eyes to Anna’s and gave her that smile she so adored—the one that lit up the room with its warmth—and in his gaze, she saw awe and pride and...love. Deep, abiding love. For their baby, of course, but wow...what a look.

  That look alone could keep her going through just about anything. A frigid cold winter without any heat to speak of, an earthquake breaking apart the ground beneath her feet, fire-breathing dragons and scary closet monsters and...even the horrible heartbreak she’d suffered as a child. Whatever evils, real or imagined, struck Anna’s life, she could survive.

  If Logan was there with her, looking at her just as he was now.

  * * *

  “We’re in trouble, Logan,” Anna said as they walked hand in hand down the sidewalk, toward Foster’s Pub and Grill, where they’d decided to grab dinner. They had just finished their first birthing class, which Logan thought had gone quite well. “And we’re idiots. I know what my problem is—pregnancy brain!—but what’s yours? Because we are not ready for this baby.”

  Before responding, Logan opened the door to the restaurant and ushered Anna inside, where they quickly found a table in the rustic, wood-floored dining area. Trouble, huh? Idiots, as well? “Now, sweetheart,” he said once they were seated, “do you think you’re overdramatizing just a small amount? After all, this was only our first class, and it’s called a class for a reason. If we already knew everything, we wouldn’t have signed up to begin with.”

  “I don’t mean the class. But didn’t you hear the couples around us, talking about what they were naming their babies and how they’d decorated their nurseries and...and...?” Emotion and worry crumpled her face, brought the sheen of unshed tears to her eyes. “I’m seven months pregnant, Logan. Seven! And other than a few useless toys and a solitary sleeper, we have nothing. Nothing! Our poor nameless daughter, getting stuck with dolts for parents.”

  “There’s plenty of time left,” he said. “We have two months before she’ll require a name, a place to sleep or anything material. Right now, she has every last thing she needs.”

  Logan’s goal here was twofold: one, he wanted his pregnant wife to calm down. Two, Haley and Lola were throwing her a surprise baby shower in two weeks, and while that was going on, Gavin and a few of the Foster men would be at the house, helping Logan put the nursery together. He figured since Anna slept in his bed every night anyway, they might as well give the second bedroom to the baby. But he did not want her to catch on to any of these plans.

  “So you think! But she isn’t waiting two more full months. I give it no more than six weeks before this baby insists on being born. And we are not ready.”

  “Honey, even six weeks is plenty of time.” Logan nodded as the waitress dropped off their menus. “Six weeks equals forty-two days. My estimate is we’ll need no more than three days, tops, to have everything situated and ready to go. Please try to stop worrying.”

  And this woman he might be falling in love with sneered. It was, he had to admit, not her mos
t attractive look, but he found it charming just the same. “Really, Logan? Three days? So, I take it you haven’t noticed how slow I walk or that I can hardly bend over anymore? How I’m always exhausted and spend half my day in the bathroom, or how my brain has turned to...to...?”

  “Mush?” he filled in.

  “See?” she wailed. “I can’t even think of the correct word to describe the mushy state of my brain, and you believe we can go out and buy everything we need, launder all of her clothes, set up an area in that squashed house for her to sleep in and for all the stuff she’ll require, in three—three!—days? Oh, and don’t forget those weeks you’re at the ranch.”

  “Two weeks in the next two months, remember?” he said, scanning the menu. “Everyone there is picking up the slack so I can be here. With you. And what sort of stuff are you thinking she’ll need that will take up so much room? She’ll be awfully little, Anna.”

  “Right. I know that. Because of my impractically narrow hips! I...I can’t even grow a proper-size baby, so yes, she’ll be puny. And...and that means she’ll get cold easier, so she needs more than one fuzzy pink sleeper to keep her warm.”

  Whoa there. This was the first time she’d mentioned overhearing his granddad’s words during their visit last month. “I’m sorry you heard that, and Granddad did not mean to hurt your feelings, and I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but your hips? They’re not quite so narr—”

  Uh-oh. Logan clamped his jaw shut and waited, half expecting Anna to leap over the table and clobber him with a good one. But she didn’t. She stared at him, her lips trembling, oh Lord, he guessed ten seconds, maybe, before she burst into tears. As in lots of tears.

  “You’re a beautiful woman,” he said rapidly, hoping to settle her down before the waterworks came on full blast. When Anna cried, unless her tears were due to a sentimental commercial or the like, Logan’s shields shattered into smithereens. “And I did not mean to imply that your hips are large. Because they aren’t. In any way at all. It would simply be inaccurate, at this stage of your pregnancy, to describe them as impractically narrow.”

  Should he say more? Probably not. He figured he had more of a chance of digging the hole he currently stood in deeper than he did of leveraging himself to clear, even ground.

  She blinked rapidly as if trying to dislodge a tiny speck of something from her eyes, and her mouth trembled all the more, and he was doubly sure that none of his words had helped...when she all but exploded into breathless gulps of laughter. She laughed so hard, her eyes watered—but no actual tears appeared—and her shoulders shook.

  And hell if he knew why. “Um. Anna? Mind telling me what’s so funny?”

  She held up one finger while she attempted to get herself under control. Thirty-odd seconds later, she did. “The look on your face when you realized what you nearly said—it was part horror and part... I don’t know, shock, maybe. But that look was hysterical.”

  And Logan wondered if he’d ever make sense of this woman. Just a few minutes ago, her fears that six weeks wouldn’t give them enough time to prepare had put her into panic mode. Yet this had her squealing with laughter?

  “I’m glad that my...ah...brush with rudeness caused such delight.”

  “It did, Logan, oh did it ever.” She opened her menu. “Mainly because you’re always very precise in the words you use, as if you’ve thought them out well ahead of speaking them. But this was a natural flub, and I know you don’t think my hips are huge. So yeah, it was funny.”

  Hmm. Her description made him sound like a stuffed shirt. “I’m careful in what I say because words matter. I just like to be sure that my meaning is clear.”

  “And that’s important, but what about when you don’t say anything at all?”

  “I’m...not sure I know what you mean. Explain?”

  “Well, think back to those weeks you were grumpy. I almost begged you to let me in on what was happening, so we could talk and work it out.” She looked up from her menu, her tone serious. “You came awfully close to ignoring my request then and you haven’t broached the topic since.”

  A fair assessment, but, “Neither have you.”

  “You’re right. I haven’t. The truth is,” she said, “neither of us communicates all that well about what we’re thinking or feeling, let alone basic facts about our lives. I think that’s something we have to get a lot better at. And soon.”

  Another fair assessment. He hadn’t even known her birthday.

  “Perhaps so,” he said, “but it isn’t as if we don’t know each other, either. I know the commercials that make you cry, and I know how you look when you sleep.” Put him blindfolded in a room with one thousand women and he’d be able to find Anna. By her scent, by the sound of her breathing and by the awareness, that intrinsic jolt, that erupted into being whenever they were close. “I know you dance and sing when you cook, and... I know your heart.”

  Her eyelashes fluttered and rosy pink circles shaded her cheeks. “Those were some real nice words, Logan, and they didn’t sound preplanned.”

  “Because they weren’t.”

  “Um.” Anna flicked the corner of the menu with her nail. “Well, of course there are specific areas of knowledge we’ve acquired, because we live together. When you call me from the ranch, I can tell just by the way you say ‘Hi, Anna’ if you’ve had a rough or a good day. And when you’re worried or stressed or overworked, you have the tendency of closing off and backing away. And yes,” she said softly, “I believe I know your heart, as well. Or I hope I do.”

  “There you go,” he said, somewhat taken aback by her words. “We’re not strangers.”

  “Not anymore, no.” She let out a long and slow breath as if composing herself. “But aren’t you interested in learning more about my life before we met? My childhood, my years in Texas, my family? What I think and hope and dream? Because—” she dipped her gaze away from his “—I’m interested in you, Logan. In all of those facets that make you you.”

  “I... Of course I’m interested in you, Anna. But if you wanted to share any of these facets with me, why haven’t you? I’m open. Right here, ready to listen.”

  “Then why haven’t you shown any curiosity?”

  “Because I’ve assumed if there are details you want me to know, you’ll tell me without any prying on my part.”

  “Oh. Okay. I see. Does that mean you don’t want me to know details about you or your past or your dreams?” she fired back. “Since you haven’t opened up on your own? And that if I ask, I’m prying?”

  Well, hell. Gavin was right. Women were formidable beings. Scraping his hand over his jaw, trying to figure a way out of this mess, Logan said, “Ah. Well, I guess I’m accustomed to keeping my thoughts to myself. And I don’t have any dreams, per se.”

  Mostly true. But this conversation caused Logan a load of frustration. At himself, for finding it so damn difficult to honor Anna’s request. At Anna herself, for putting him on the spot.

  Her brown eyes widened. “You don’t have dreams? Of any sort?”

  The waitress paused by their table, but he waved her off. They weren’t ready to order. “No. I mean... I don’t know. I guess I spend so much time focusing on today, on whatever’s on my plate, that, no, I don’t focus a whole lot of my energy on useless dreaming.”

  “Useless?” she asked, her voice faint. Faraway. Ah, hell. “Dreaming is the solitary escape measure that got me through life when I was a kid.”

  How had they gone from panicked stress over baby names and paraphernalia to this? He backtracked, tried to discern where and when the road had changed course.

  “Listen to me, please,” he said. “I despise seeing you in pain, and when my careless words are the instigator, I can barely stand being in the same room with myself. To me, dreaming is useless. It’s never done me a drop of good. But sweetheart, if lifti
ng your eyes to the clouds and dreaming somehow got you through a tough period, then I’m glad for that.”

  Real glad. He didn’t have to understand her methods in order to be happy—relieved, even—that she’d had an escape. Naturally, he wondered about the whys, about what had caused her such pain as a child that she needed a getaway. Yet he didn’t require the knowledge to hate the pain itself. Or, for that matter, the source from which the pain stemmed.

  Mostly, in that moment, Logan just wanted her to be okay and return to obsessing over pink baby sleepers and names for their little princess-to-be.

  So really, what else was left but to try to do as she’d asked?

  “When I was a boy,” he said, starting off slowly, “I used to worry real hard that the reason my parents hadn’t married was because there was something wrong with me. That I was damaged in some cryptic way that only my father had the ability to recognize.” Lord, he’d never uttered these words aloud. “And as a kid, a thought like that, it...well, it brands you, I guess.”

  Just as surely, as permanently, as the Bur Oak Ranch branded their cattle.

  Truth was, he was still trying to rid himself of those childhood beliefs. Did not matter what he knew to be fact or logic. The dregs remained. As of late, these thoughts were growing in strength again, yet... Logan could not put his finger on the reasons why.

  He waited for Anna to respond. Maybe she’d express sympathy for the battle he’d fought as a boy, or perhaps she’d look at him in pity. Or, he supposed, she might speak kind but pat words of comfort, which would prove she hadn’t really understood any of what he’d shared.

  Instead, she reached over the table and entwined her fingers with his, sighed and lifted her chin a few inches so they were staring into each other’s eyes.

  “My mother died when I was in grade school, Logan, from one of those arbitrary, makes-no-sense types of accidents. She walked outside to get the mail, it was winter, and she slipped on the ice.” Anna’s voice held clarity and crispness, but he heard the shadows slithering in and out of each syllable. “She fell. Hit her head on these concrete steps that led to our front door, and...she lay there for hours and hours before anyone saw her. Before help came.”