Harlequin Heartwarming May 2016 Box Set: Through the StormHome for KeepsThe Firefighter's RefrainTo Catch a Wife

by Rula Sinara

  She had blindsided Jack with her pregnancy news. His suggestion of marriage had not only been a knee-jerk reaction; it was something they would quickly come to regret if she said yes. Besides, he was going back to Chicago tomorrow. That was where he lived and worked, but it was not the right place for her. He worked long hours every day, which meant she would be on her own with the baby. And right now, the only thing she knew for sure about raising a child was she couldn’t do it alone. She needed her family.

  Emily didn’t know Jack well, but she knew he was used to getting what he wanted. The problem was he didn’t so much want her—he hardly knew her, so how could he?—as much as he wanted to do the right thing. She liked that his gut reaction had taken him in that direction, but rushing into marriage with a virtual stranger was wrong on every level.

  She rinsed away the tropical-scented foam from her body, stepped out of the shower, toweled herself dry and quickly slipped into her dressing gown.

  So in spite of her turning down his offer of marriage, they were going out. A get-to-know-you dinner with the promise of a good-night kiss.

  The memory of his mouth on hers turned her insides to molten lava, the thought of his hands...

  No. No hands, not tonight. Throwing caution to the wind had landed them in this situation. Continuing to be impulsive would only complicate things further. They needed to be cautious, take this one step at a time. They were going to be parents, and nothing could change that. Now they needed to figure out if they could be parents together. That would take some time.

  Enough with the ruminations. Emily swiped at the steamy, full-length mirror on the inside of the bathroom door. She had been obsessing over these thoughts and questions all day. It was time to get ready and face the music, and she still needed to figure out what to wear.

  Under normal circumstances, she would call her sisters with a fashion 911, but not today. They would pepper her with questions she wasn’t ready to answer. She would see how things went with Jack this evening, then tomorrow she would sit down for a heart-to-heart with Annie and CJ. Tonight, she and her wardrobe were on their own.

  She flung open her closet. Over the years, she had learned to disguise her lack of fashion sense by adopting what she liked to think of as a classic wardrobe—slacks and pencil skirts in grays, browns and blacks that could be mixed and matched with shirts and sweaters in white, cream and tan. She also owned several pairs of jeans like the pair she’d squeezed herself into this morning, the new gold-colored top she’d worn with them, and one soft pink cashmere sweater she had purchased on a whim and from which she had yet to remove the tags.

  She pulled open a dresser drawer. Even her underwear was boring. Plain white bras designed to get the job done. White cotton panties that covered everything that was supposed to be covered and didn’t argue with the clothes she wore over top. Granny panties, CJ called them. Her little sister, by comparison, wouldn’t dream of wearing anything so serviceable. CJ was tall and willowy with the muscle tone of a young woman who led an active life. Her underwear drawer displayed a rainbow of thongs, bikinis and boy-cut briefs, as well as matching bras designed to make a woman’s natural endowments into something just a little bit more.

  Emily withdrew a bag she’d tucked into the back of the drawer, held her breath, opened it. She stared at the luscious, lacy, cotton-candy-colored lingerie she had shopped for—again, on impulse—not long after that night with Jack. Back when she had believed there would be other nights. Carefully, she removed the garments from the bag, enjoying the memory of how vibrant and attractive she had felt when she’d tried them on in the fitting room at Victoria’s Secret in St. Paul.

  Emily’s secret, she’d thought at the time, as she had fantasized about the next time she and Jack would be together. Maybe he would have driven in from Chicago on Friday and surprised her. Or maybe he would have called and invited her to come to the city for the weekend. Either way, she would have been ready.

  Of course, neither had happened. Her secret had stayed in the vault, and her new undergarments hidden in the back of a dresser drawer.

  She fingered the soft lace. Should she wear them tonight? Her self-esteem could use a boost, and it wasn’t as though Jack was going to see them. She ran a hand over her belly. And it wouldn’t be long before they didn’t fit... No way. She stuffed them into the bag and returned them to the back of her drawer. She would wear the pink sweater, though, and a pair of black pants with her new black pumps. Maybe the extra height would elevate her self-confidence.

  After she was dressed, she swiped mascara onto her lashes, applied a layer of shimmery lip gloss and studied her reflection as she picked up her hairbrush. Her hair was a boring shade of brown, and her bra size was still the same as it had been when she was a high school freshman. When Annie was expecting Isaac, she’d gone up two cup sizes. Emily turned sideways, studied her profile, and tried to picture how her body would look a few months from now, or in seven months before the baby was born.

  “Oh, my.” Her hands trembled, and then the tremors rolled through her like a wave, leaving her breathless and a little light-headed. Oh, my. Oh, my-oh-my-oh-my. She had another human being growing inside of her, a tiny little person whose father was a virtual stranger. She managed to slow her ragged breathing a mere moment before she heard the knock on her door.

  CHAPTER NINE

  JACK ANGLED INTO a parking space in front of the newspaper office, checked his reflection in the rearview mirror, ran his knuckles along his stubbled jaw. He hoped Emily could live with a little scruff. The session with Rose Daniels had taken a lot longer than anticipated, but he had managed to wrap things up at the police station just before the time he had arranged to pick up Emily. He couldn’t afford to be late. He already had plenty to atone for without having her add another no-show to her growing list of his faults.

  This had been a day like no other. His spur-of-the-moment trip to Riverton had delivered a lot of unexpected results. A baby, a job offer, a cooperative witness. A baby. With an uncooperative mother.

  Over dinner, he would share the epiphany he’d had during his interview with Rose. That poor kid, born to a drug addict who had managed to stay clean during her pregnancy but had relapsed by the time the child was a toddler. Rose’s father had taken off as soon as he’d found out she was on the way. Somehow, in spite of the drugs and a series of failed relationships with unsuitable men, Scarlett Daniels had managed to keep her life and the baby’s life together for nearly a year and a half before Rose had been taken into foster care. Who did these things when they were responsible for a defenseless child? To a baby too small to do anything for herself, too vulnerable to know how to ask for help?

  A lot of people, he reminded himself. During his years with the Chicago PD, he’d seen more than his share of neglected, abused and discarded children. He’d wanted to believe that once those kids were in the hands of the authorities, social services would take care of them. Any kind of foster home had to be better than where they’d come from. For many, he supposed that was true, but not for Rose Daniels. Not for a lot of kids.

  He needed Emily to know that when it came to this baby...their baby...he was in. One hundred percent all in. His instincts told him she was going to be an amazing parent, just like her sister and her father. He thought about his own family—growing up with both parents, the comfortable home, every opportunity possible, never wanting for anything. He had his own perfect role model for being a great dad, and a big pair of shoes to fill.

  Growing up in Riverton, Jack hadn’t encountered many families that weren’t like his and his friends. But after he’d moved to the city, he’d seen the difference almost immediately. At the first domestic dispute he’d attended as a rookie, he’d been sickened by the sight of two runny-nosed kids in disheveled clothes and dirty diapers cowering in the back of a bedroom closet. Riverton was an ideal place to raise a family. That thou
ght set off a quiet voice in the back of his head reminding him of Gord Fenwick’s job offer, but as he’d pointed out to the chief, he wasn’t cut out for that kind of work. Besides, plenty of people raised healthy, well-adjusted kids in Chicago.

  Jack stepped out of his Jeep and reached into the back seat for a small package. He’d figured that flowers would seem as though he was trying too hard, so he’d made a quick stop at the hardware store after leaving the barbershop that afternoon. Before second-guessing the appropriateness of the gift, or whether any gift was appropriate at this stage of their relationship, he tucked the box under his arm and knocked on Emily’s door. He heard footsteps on the stairs, and then there she was on the other side of the glass. She unlatched the door and pushed it open for him.

  “Hi,” she said.

  “Hi.”

  “You’re right on time.”

  “I didn’t want to give you a reason to cancel our dinner plans.”

  “I wouldn’t have done that.”

  “Good to know.”

  “Do you want to come up? I need to get my purse and a jacket.”

  “Sure.” He followed her up the stairs, eye level with some enticingly feminine curves. He shook his head. Tonight was about building trust. However, that wouldn’t stop him from looking. He stepped into the living room behind her and immediately his attention was drawn to the cage on the bookshelf and the squeak, squeak, squeak of the wire wheel where a small rodent doggedly ran a race to nowhere.

  Emily faced him with a smile that was both tentative and guarded.

  “I have something for you,” he said, offering the package. It was personal, but not too personal, and he hoped she’d see the humor in it.

  “Oh. You didn’t need to get me anything.”

  “Well, I did.”

  He shoved his hands into his pockets, held his breath while she quickly tore off the gift wrap, then felt himself relax when she laughed. “A new hamster wheel. Thanks.”

  “No problem. I remembered this one squeaks.”

  “It does, as you can hear, so thank you. From me and Tadpole.” She picked up a gray jacket draped over the back of her desk chair.

  “Let me help with that.” He held the jacket so she could slip her arms into the sleeves, settled the garment onto her shoulders and resisted the urge to touch the soft earlobe she exposed by tucking her hair behind it.

  “Did you say Tadpole?” he asked.

  “Yes, that’s my hamster’s name.”

  “Interesting.”

  “My nephew came up with it. My sister let him get one for a pet, and about two weeks later his new pet gave birth to five pups. He named them after his favorite things—Firefly, Caterpillar, Ladybug, Tadpole and—” She paused as she tried to remember the fifth name. “And Pumpkin. They were born right before Halloween.”

  Jack laughed. “Sounds like he has a good imagination.”

  Emily’s sudden smile was filled with fondness. “He does. Dinosaurs are his new favorite thing, so if she’d been born more recently, her name might have ended up being Gigantosaurus. Not exactly hamsterish.”

  “Not exactly,” he said, glancing at the tiny honey-colored creature on the squeaky wheel. Neither was Tadpole, but it was oddly fitting at the same time.

  Emily picked up her keys and a small black handbag off her desk. “I’m ready.”

  She didn’t sound ready.

  “After you.” He followed her down the stairs, waited while she locked the street-level door, and held open the passenger door of his Jeep. The gift had served as a momentary icebreaker, but now that they had covered her nephew’s pet-naming conventions, neither of them seemed to know what to say. Emily was keeping her head down and eyes averted.

  He slid behind the wheel, keyed the ignition, started the engine. He couldn’t think of the last time a situation had made him feel this awkward, and now he felt he needed a knife to slice through the tension. Whether she liked it or not, he was in her life now, and if she needed time to get used to the idea, he was fine with that. He was a patient man and willing to give her time. Within reason.

  “I thought we’d drive across the river to the Minnesota side, have dinner in Wabasha. Is that okay with you?”

  “Oh, yes.” Her relief was audible. “I hoped you’d suggest something like that. It would be weird to have dinner here in town.”

  He would have said uncomfortable, but weird? The conversation they were about to have would be awkward in a public place where everyone knew them, but he decided it best not to remind her they’d had dinner at the Riverton Bar & Grill not that long ago, and there’d been no weirdness. Now the only awkwardness stemmed from the silence filling the Jeep.

  “Do you mind if I turn on the radio?” she asked.

  “Not at all.”

  “What would you like to listen to?” She pushed the start button, and the voice that poured from the speakers made her turn to him. Saturday evening. Garrison Keillor. A Prairie Home Companion. “You listen to NPR?”

  “Most of the time, yes.”

  She leaned back in her seat, and he could tell she was watching him. “Me, too.”

  “You sound surprised.”

  “No. Well, maybe. I thought...”

  But she didn’t say what she thought, and he found himself very much wanting to know. Still, they both relaxed a little and the tension eased as they crossed the Mississippi to the Minnesota side and drove onto a main street that resembled Riverton’s in a lot of ways, with one exception. Few people here would know them, no one would be surprised to see them together and no one would be nosily straining to overhear their conversation.

  He steered into a lot next to a pizzeria on the outskirts of town. He and Emily hadn’t had time to talk about the kind of meal they were in the mood for, but based on experience, Italian was a safe bet. Emily climbed out of the Jeep before he made it around to her side. He understood why a woman would want to be independent, but this was a date. He was supposed to open doors and hold chairs and help with coats. If Emily thought he was old-fashioned, then fine. Guilty as charged.

  * * *

  EMILY CAREFULLY STUDIED the menu, hoping the time she spent reading each item’s description, including the veal parmesan, which she had no intention of ordering, didn’t seem to be the obvious pretense it was. She couldn’t remember ever feeling this uncomfortable, and that included coming face-to-face with Jack in the barbershop that afternoon. She was on a first date with her baby’s father, which felt even more ridiculous than it sounded. She’d been intimate with this man, and now she couldn’t make eye contact. Dinner had been a bad idea. They should have started with coffee.

  A young man in a white shirt and black pants with a white waiter’s apron set two glasses of ice water on the table and the wine list in front of Jack. “Can I get you something else?” he asked. “A bottle of wine? A cocktail?”

  “I’ll have coffee,” Emily said without looking up. “Decaf, please.”

  “Coffee for me, too,” Jack said, setting the drink menu aside. “Not decaf.”

  She finally braved an upward glance. “Just because I’m not having anything stronger doesn’t mean you can’t.”

  “I’m driving.”

  “Right.” She turned her attention back to the menu. She was ravenously hungry, and the scents of simmering tomato sauce and melting cheese wafting from the kitchen were making her light-headed. Those and Jack’s commanding presence across the table. His proximity had her heart racing.

  The waiter returned, set down two cups of coffee and a small pitcher of cream, tucked the tray under his arm and flicked a lighter to the candle in the center of the table.

  “Are you ready to order?” the young man asked.

  Emily nodded. “A garden salad to start. I’d like the spaghetti with marinara sauce, and a cou
ple of meatballs on the side. Does that come with garlic bread?”

  “I’ll bring a bread basket for you. And for you, sir?”

  “I’ll have the same.” Jack was smiling, she could tell. It was the same meal they’d had two months ago.

  The waiter took their menus and returned a moment later, as promised, with a bread basket and a small plate of olive oil and balsamic vinegar. Emily pounced on a slice of warm focaccia, swirled it through the oil and savored the crunch of rosemary and coarsely ground salt as she bit into it.

  “I’m so hungry, I could eat a house,” she said.

  Jack laughed. “I thought the saying was, ‘I’m so hungry, I could eat a horse.’”

  “My sister CJ always flipped out when anyone said that, so my dad changed it to house. I know it doesn’t make sense. Eating a whole house is just silly, but we were all little, and we never really gave it much thought.”

  “When you think about it, it’s not a lot sillier than eating a horse.”

  “That’s true.”

  “So,” Jack said, helping himself to a slice of bread. “Blue. Martin. April seventh.”

  Bewildered, Emily set her bread on her side plate and stared at him. “Excuse me?”

  “In the spirit of getting to know one another...my favorite color, my middle name, my birthday.”

  His directness startled a laugh out of her. “Hmm. I didn’t expect getting to know one another to work like a game show. And blue is every guy’s favorite color.”

  “I guess that makes me predictable.”

  “Oh, I doubt it.” But she decided to play along. “So it’s Jack Martin Evans. Is that a family name?”

  “Jack is short for Jackson, but don’t even think about calling me that. Unless you want to sound like my mother after I’ve done something to annoy her.”