by Raina Lynn
Jill hunched down in the seat, out of the line of fire.
“What did you expect me to do, Mason? Break my word? If you weren’t so pigheaded—”
“Where’s my wife?” Wilson’s bellow split the crowd in half. It hadn’t been all that long since some of the younger police officers had been students dragged into Principal Haynes’s office for one infraction or another. Reflexively, one of them let him through. A moment later, he pulled Vicki into his arms.
“Fine time for you to show up,” she snapped. “I’ve spent all day locked in an oversized closet with a bunch of hysterical white people who—”
Wilson kissed her into silence. Slowly, her arms crept around him, and she drooped into his embrace.
“It’s okay, baby,” he murmured into her hair, caressing her back and rocking her gently. “I’ve got you now.”
Vicki buried her face in his neck and sobbed.
Jill watched the devoted couple a moment, loneliness clouding her dark eyes. Then she glanced at Mason. She tucked her feet inside the car and shut the door. But the cop trying to get her statement pulled it back open and began writing on his clipboard.
Mason listened as she described her ordeal. Her voice cracked and shook. Several times the cop had to repeat the questions, but her responses were clear and concise. Not many people would come through a threat on their life as well as she had. He admired her strength. Always had.
What he didn’t admire—much less understand—was why she’d kept the pregnancy from him. The Jill he thought he knew would be more inclined to storm into his office, and announce, “Bradshaw, the rabbit died and you killed it.” Then she’d cross her arms and wait to see what he intended to do about it.
That’s not what happened, though. Didn’t she know him well enough to realize that he’d want to know? They had created a life together! Did she believe that since it was her body, he had no right to even common courtesy?
Vicki had apparently known all along. He glanced at his secretary and her husband, still holding her and talking softly. She caught him watching her and gave him a questioning look.
“Why don’t you take a day or two off?” he suggested. “Pamper yourself a little.”
“Are you sure?” she asked, her gaze darting from him to Jill.
“Positive.” Then Mason swallowed some of his indignation over Vicki’s subterfuge. “Regarding Jill. I’m sorry I yelled at you just now. You were in an impossible situation and took the only course you could.”
Still clinging to her husband, Vicki shuddered. “All I want is a bubble bath.”
“How does a rubdown sound?” Wilson murmured.
“We’ll even leave the kids at your sister’s for a while.” As they left, he told her how much he loved her, how he wouldn’t have been able to go on without her. Mason was conviced she’d be living life on a satin pillow until they got through the worst of the shock.
Mason turned back to Jill. She’d suffered more than any of the other hostages, yet she seemed to be in the best shape.
“Is that it?” she asked the cop.
“For now,” he assured her. “The District Attorney’s office will be contacting you soon. Are you going to be all right?”
“Yeah,” she sighed, sounding drained. “Just give me a couple of days.” Stepping from the patrol car, she eyed Mason standing a few feet away. Her chin came up, but her lips quivered, spoiling the defiant gesture.
He took her arm, and she wilted. “Did you want to go back inside and get your purse and coat?”
Her head snapped around to the building, and she shook her head convulsively. “I don’t think I can go back in there today.”
Understandable, he thought. She handed the blanket to the paramedic. Mason draped his suit coat over her shoulders, and she huddled into its warmth. The symbolism struck deep, and he clenched his jaws to keep from saying anything possessive that he’d have to apologize for later.
“My car is three rows over.”
She nodded but wouldn’t look at him. They walked in silence, Mason very aware of the generous bulge that peeked from the open lapels of his coat.
In monotones, she gave him directions to her apartment, and he helped her into the car. Neither spoke until he’d pulled onto the freeway.
“How mad are you?” she asked into the silence.
He swallowed back most of it. “More so than you need to hear right now.”
She leaned back in the seat and closed her eyes. The temptation to reach over and touch their child nearly overwhelmed him. They were having a baby, and she’d deliberately kept it from him! Taking a deep breath, he forced his attention back on the road. The rush-hour traffic kept his mind occupied and off the rage that boiled up with annoying persistence.
Once at her apartment, Jill climbed out of his Buick and laid his coat neatly on the seat. “Thanks for the ride. Maybe you can come over tomorrow and we’ll talk.” She had sensed his fury the entire trip, and knew he had bided his time until he’d gotten her home. Without answering, he killed the engine and got out.
“Really, Mason, I don’t want to talk about it now.”
“You haven’t wanted to talk about it for the last seven months, so that’s not surprising. Tonight, you actually have a legitimate reason.” His face could have been carved from concrete for all the warmth she saw there. Holding that much anger in check took tremendous willpower, and she doubted he owned an inexhaustible supply.
Wrapping her arms around herself against the spring chill, she said, “Go home, Bradshaw. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
He ignored her and stepped around the car. “Do you lock your apartment?”
The question confused her. “Of course, I do. Why?”
“Unless that maternity dress has a pocket in it—”
“My keys!”
He nodded. “Get back in my car where it’s warm, and I’ll see if I can find the manager.”
She wanted to take issue with his high-handed attitude, but she just didn’t have the strength. The process of getting her apartment unlocked dragged out getting him to leave. Once she stepped inside, she turned around to make one more attempt.
Mason’s glower darkened to lethal proportions. “May I come in?” The far-too-polite request sounded more like an ultimatum.
The baby moved within her, and she nearly wept. Keeping her life her own was a thing of the past. Resigned, she stepped back and let him barge into her home.
Then, wrapping protective arms around her belly, Jill took a deep breath for courage. “Would you like something to drink?” If she had to go down, it would be fighting and with her dignity intact. “I have fruit juice, ice water and milk. Soda gives me heartburn, and anything with more kick to it has been banned for the duration.”
His flint-like hazel gaze swept the cramped living room as he turned full circle. His eyes then focused on her face. Her knees trembled under the force of the burning fury he held barely in check. Mason reminded her of a hawk the moment before it folded its wings for an attack dive. Suddenly, she felt very much like a field mouse caught out in the open.
“Why?” he demanded in a low voice. No more, no less.
For a panicked second; she nearly pretended to misunderstand and comment on her diet. Then she saw the devastation beneath his fury, and she sank into an overstuffed chair. Two victims—not one—had been created the night they’d conceived a new life.
“Jill, what reason could you possibly have for keeping this from me?” His breathing came labored, uneven. “Don’t you think I have a right to know?” His voice fractured under the strain of holding back that much raw emotion.
Tears dripped onto her cheeks. Crying in front of people always made her angry, and she swiped at her face with the heel of her hands. Between being pregnant and nearly being shot, she found holding the tears back impossible. “I really hate this.”
He looked stricken and started to reach for her, but stepped back, visibly hardening himself. “Well?” he repeated, his own m
isery barely tempering his anger. “I’ve got to know that much. Then I promise I’ll leave.”
Her stomach churned, and the tears picked up speed. He towered over her, hands low on his hips.
“Mason,” she began, her voice a thready whisper, “I don’t know what to say.”
“What’s wrong with the truth?” The agitation shifted the pain lines on his face. “For God’s sake, Jill, that’s my baby, too.”
“I know,” she said gently, trying to find a way to make him understand. “Mason, what do you want your involvement to be?”
His eyes widened as if the question constituted a mortal insult. Then the emotion cleared from his eyes, and he went into the kitchen.
“Bradshaw, what are you doing?”
He didn’t answer.
“Bradshaw, I don’t need this right now.”
He came back into the living room with a glass of milk. “Here. You probably haven’t had anything to drink since this morning, right?”
Nodding, she took the glass. The first sip tasted better than the finest wine, and she downed it with uncharacteristic speed.
“Thought so,” he grumped. Then he wandered into the alcove that passed for the hallway between living room, bedroom and bathroom. He rummaged through the cupboards until he’d found two large, fluffy bath towels and a wash cloth.
“Please leave me alone. I’m not up to this.”
When he didn’t answer, what little remained of her sense of control over her life drained away. He moved into the bathroom, rolled up his shirtsleeves and turned on the tub faucet. “How hot do you want the water?”
“I don’t want a bath.”
“Wilson’s getting Vicki a bubble bath.” His bland tone allowed for no argument. “Sounds like a wise move to me. Do you want bubbles or plain?”
“Plain,” she murmured.
He stuck his head out of the bathroom. “What did you say?”
“I said you’re a pain, Bradshaw.”
Apparently he didn’t feel the remark warranted answering, because he returned to the bathroom and banged through the vanity drawers.
The robbery and Mason’s presence had bled her reserves dry. She huddled on the couch, too weak to do more than sit there. She didn’t know how many minutes passed, but before long, Mason once again stood over her. This time the implacable lines had eased a tiny bit. Had drawing her bath blunted the knife edge of his anger?
“Come on. I’ll help you undress,” he whispered. The tenderness in his voice didn’t match the glitter in his eyes, but he had his temper under wraps.
“I don’t think so, Bradshaw. My body isn’t for public viewing.”
He just stared at her, hand outstretched, waiting.
“Did you hear me? Go home!” Something snapped inside. Tears came from nowhere, shocking in their speed and intensity. She groped for a mental anchor to keep from being swept away by the flood, but found nothing. Great racking sobs overcame her, and she wrapped her arms around her body and rocked back and forth, feeling as if she were drowning in the deluge.
Then Mason pulled her across his lap, strong arms holding her close. She didn’t know when he’d sat down, but she found her anchor and clung to it.
“It’s all right,” he murmured, rubbing circulation back into her arms and hands, and kneading the knotted muscles in her neck. “This is a delayed reaction. Hours ago, your mind decided it couldn’t afford to let go. Now everything is over, and the bill came due. Let it out.”
“This is so stupid,” she gasped between unstoppable tremors.
Without a word, he shifted his hold and let her finish crying it out. She didn’t know how long she cried, much less what time the storm finished, but she knew she should get off his lap. As drugged as she felt, though, she couldn’t move.
“Your bath is probably cold,” he said, lifting her off his legs and setting her down. “I’ll warm it up.”
“No, really. All I want is sleep. Please, go home—”
His instant glower strangled off the rest of her protest.
“You need to eat, and you’re in no condition to fix anything.” He turned on his heel and strode into the bathroom.
. “But....” She cut herself off, seeing no point in continusing. Even if he could hear, he wouldn’t listen. Then, of course, he might be right. What an ugly thought.
“It’s ready,” he pronounced, once again reaching for her hand.
Self-protection made her want to sink into the couch cushions and turn invisible. “I don’t want you to see me naked.”
“Neither one of us has anything the other hasn’t already seen.”
“Not pregnant, you haven’t,” she protested.
He shrugged, his hand steady. It didn’t go anywhere, and she finally took it. Her head had cleared some, and the sensation of his warm palm against hers filled some of the emptiness.
With crisp efficiency, he helped her out of her dress and the maternity support panty hose she wore to keep from getting leg cramps. The garments were not pretty, but they worked. Right now, they made her feel even more self-conscious. “I look like a deformed cow.”
His gaze scanned her body as if he were unable to help himself. “I’ve never seen anything so beautiful in my life.” She heard anger, true, but the undercurrent of awe riveted her attention. He meant it.
“In you go.”
He’d filled the tub, leaving just enough room for the mountain of vanilla-scented bubbles. Holding his arm for support, she stepped in. As the warm water enveloped her skin, a groan rolled from the depth of her soul. It felt better than the milk had tasted. She sank down into the decadent luxury and closed her eyes. She almost forgot that she had an audience.
“I saw a boneless chicken filet in the refrigerator. Do you want me to cook that for you?”
She heard the words, but answering required too much energy, and she moaned instead.
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
Before she could pry her eyes back open, he disappeared. Within an hour, he had her dried, fed and tucked in bed.
“Get some sleep,” he whispered as she drifted off. She didn’t know for certain, but she thought he added that he’d be back tomorrow.
Mason returned to the furniture store, where the police were still collecting evidence. They made him wait around for another hour, but they finally allowed him to retrieve Jill’s coat and purse. While he waited, he stewed.
Jill had gotten pregnant and hadn’t seen any reason to tell him. Every time he thought about it, he wanted to explode. Part of him couldn’t accept it. Part of him really wanted to believe he was having a nightmare. But then he’d seen her naked body, her belly swollen with his child, and he’d melted. As much willpower as it had taken for him not to rage at her, not turning into a doddering fool had taken more.
His child! All the years he’d wanted a family—and now it had caught him unaware. He’d have to pull out a calendar to figure out exactly how much longer he’d have to wait, but the little person had to be close to making his or her appearance in the world. Waves of love and tenderness swelled through him.
Then the complications set in. What on earth was he going to do about Jill? His divorce still felt as if it had happened yesterday. The idea of dating again sounded obscene. How could he face anything more serious—like a second marriage? That night, he lay in bed and stared at the ceiling until nearly dawn. From the moment Jill’s pregnancy registered in his brain, there seemed to be no alternative courses of action. But how could he make the rest of his body go along with it?
Throughout his divorce, Jill had told him to survive it one day at a time. It was good advice then, and it was the best advice now.
Chapter 6
“It’s eight o’clock in the morning, Bradshaw,” she sputtered. “What are you doing here?”
From the iron set to his shoulders, Mason was a man with a mission, and it would take all her powers of persuasion to slow him down until she could think of a way to stop him altogether. He h
eld out a white paper bag with a fast-food logo emblazoned across the front. “Breakfast. May I come in?”
“If I say no?” The really bad part was she didn’t want to send him away. She wanted his arms around her. She wanted him to be her other half.
Mason drew in a long considering breath. “Then I guess I become a permanent feature on your porch.”
“You wouldn’t,” she gasped.
“Try me.” Then he held out her purse and coat. “I picked up these for you last night as soon as the police would let me into the building.”
Jill groaned. “You make it very hard to be rude, Bradshaw.”
“I hope so.” His eyes glittered. “May I come in now?”
Their gazes locked in a contest of wills. The battle she’d feared most had begun, and she doubted there’d be any winners.
Logic told her to thank him for her coat and purse, then firmly close the door. It really shouldn’t be hard. Her hand rested on the knob. So how come she couldn’t make her arm move? With a sigh, she stepped back. “Welcome to your own funeral, Bradshaw.”
His eyebrows lowered in a dark glower, but he stepped inside with the definitive air of a man who’d won. Without comment, he strode to her dinette table against the far wall and set down the bag. “Let’s eat.”
Jill didn’t move, afraid if she closed the door, it would make this new wrinkle to the mess more final. As long as the door stayed open, she could pretend she had an avenue of escape.
“You’re letting in all the cold air,” he observed, pulling out paper-wrapped, ham-and-cheese muffins. “Do you like hash browns?”
She closed the door. “Would it matter?”
He looked at her then, the invincible set of his shoulders never wavered. “You matter a great deal to me, Jill. We have plans to make.”
“In other words, we can do it easy, or we can do it hard. My choice?” She’d put her best Hollywood rogue cop drawl on it, and it earned her another heated glare.
“We’re getting married. Now sit down and eat. That baby needs food. So do you.”
Inside, Jill died a little more, but at least the worst had been laid out, the words spoken. “As proposals go that wasn’t the most romantic I’ve heard of, Bradshaw.”
