by Anna Adams
“Are you telling me to sleep in the guest room?”
“I’m asking you to be quiet when you decide to come to our room.”
“I’ll be extremely quiet.”
“Thank you.” And he hung up again. As if he had a right to. The man spent too much time on his own. She’d known he was too young to retire at sixty-four. Good Lord, was it fourteen years ago? She’d tried to suggest as much to him, but he wouldn’t listen. He never listened to her good sense.
She wiped at the moisture in her eyes. She’d been staring at her files so long her eyes were watering.
IAN WOKE ON HIS FEET, blinking to clear sleep-filled eyes, reaching for a gun in the holster he wasn’t wearing. Someone was trying to batter down the front door. He veered, his feet sticking to the bare wooden floor. He’d dreamed he was on an assignment gone bad, but reality came back with wakefulness.
He pulled on jeans and a sweater he’d left on the back of a chair and threw open his bedroom door. Across the hall, Sophie’s door stood open. He could see her bed already made.
“Sophie?” Sleep made his voice sound odd even to himself. Where was she? The clock beside his bed read barely after six. The narrow road that wound between here and the resort took some time to maneuver, but not three hours.
Had she and her grandmother entered into a competition for who could reach her office first? Sophie liked to prove herself, but did she honestly feel she had to show Greta she was woman enough to take over the job?
Fists bounced off the door downstairs again. He glanced at the phone. He’d like to call his wife, but what if his impatient visitor had something to do with Sophie? What if she’d gotten hurt driving in the near dark?
He bounded down the stairs, his heart beating in panic. He opened the door violently, and Ethan Calvert stepped back.
“Sophie,” Ian said.
“What about her?” Ethan rebalanced a long piece of polished wood on his shoulder. “You sleeping in today, boy?”
Ian relaxed against the door frame. Sophie wasn’t hurt. Her father would have known. “I guess I’m getting soft.” He reached for the board. “Let me help you.”
“I’m fine.”
“So that’s where Sophie learned it.”
Ethan paused, but the board kept moving, just a few inches, and he grabbed it back. “Learned what?”
“She won’t ask for help, either. Why is that?”
Ethan ignored the question. “I made her a couple of bookshelves. She said to set one up in the dining room and one in the living room. She didn’t tell you?”
This family apparently thrived on competition. Ethan liked being more in the know than his daughter’s husband.
“She must have forgotten. Can I help carry in the pieces?”
“There are two stacks in the back of my van. Take your pick.”
He chose the stack still completely covered by a canvas tarp. The cold ground and sharp rocks bit into his bare feet, but he didn’t stop to put on shoes. Ethan had started to put up his shelf in the dining room.
Ian set his share of the parts in the living room. Ethan had decorated the shelf fronts with figures, primitive cuts of bears and trees and running water that suited this cabin and the ridge around them. Love for Sophie gleamed in the care her father had given the furniture.
Ian couldn’t help stroking the smooth wood. How did a man build something like this? And Ethan had worked fast. After Ian finished carrying in all the pieces he’d found beneath the tarp, he joined his new father-in-law.
“I’ll put the other one together.”
“If you’re awake now. Need some tools?” Ethan asked.
“I have some of my own.”
Ian was slower—less familiar with the project, possibly more reverent with the wood. Ethan strode in before he’d half finished.
“Do you really always get up this early?”
Ethan laughed. “No. I just wanted you to know I think you’re a soft city boy. Need some help?”
Ian heard an offer of friendship in the other man’s honesty. And he didn’t have to be a Calvert do-it-yourself-or-die kind of guy. “Thanks.”
“We should install a new doorbell. The one you have hardly makes more than a click.”
Ian glanced up, meeting Calvert green eyes that measured him. “Sounds like a good idea.”
Nodding, Ethan knelt beside him in jeans almost faded to white and leather work boots, shiny with time and use. “You don’t have to treat this like glass. I built it so you two could take it with you when you find your own place.” Ethan got busy with his cordless drill, but stopped between screws. “And I expect the kid’ll be chewing on it in a year or so.”
That image was enough to make sweat pop out all over Ian’s body. He didn’t always manage to connect the growing bulge in Sophie’s belly with a flesh-and-blood child who’d depend on him. He set down his drill and gripped his knees to hide trembling hands.
“You’re going to do that, right?” Ethan ignored Ian’s hands so emphatically Ian knew he was caught. “Find a place of your own?”
“You’re asking about my intentions?” He let go of his knees and picked up his drill again.
“I have to believe good intentions made you marry my daughter and then chase her down here after you lost her in D.C. If I doubted you wanted to do the right thing, you’d probably be wearing this by now.” He waved the drill that was more like an extension of his own hands. “I’m asking about your plans.”
“We haven’t planned further than the baby’s birth.” Ian looked his father-in-law square in the eye. “And I’m really not comfortable discussing plans with you before Sophie and I talk.”
“See, now that’s where this whole situation goes haywire for me. Put down that tool, son.” Ethan sat back and waited for Ian to do the same. “My daughter makes lists for laundry day. Getting pregnant, marrying you—that wasn’t part of any list my Sophie ever made.”
Ian considered putting the drill through his own head. He wasn’t about to discuss unforeseen, uncontrollable physical need with Sophie’s father. “I can’t explain. I never made so many mistakes with one person, either.” Her dad looked as if Ian had insulted his daughter. “I’m talking about myself, not Sophie. She’s not the mistake. I regret we didn’t approach our marriage and the baby the conventional way, sir, because I didn’t want to hurt Sophie or your family or mine, but I wouldn’t change anything now.”
Self-disgust dried Ian’s mouth. He sounded more like an accountant than a man who loved his wife, but what did Ethan Calvert hope to gain from this conversation?
“I’m starting to see why my daughter dumped your ass at the altar.” The other man picked up his drill again. “Let’s try it this way. Is this a halfway house for you, or are you two planning to buy something here? How do you intend to support my child and yours?”
“I don’t have an assignment right now, but I’ve saved enough money for time off so Sophie and I could settle in.”
“Did Zach’s father-in-law fire you?”
He couldn’t blame the guy for assuming he was irresponsible. “I quit because I want to be with my wife, but I will work again.” Ethan Calvert must not know his own daughter if he thought she’d give up her job and live off what Ian could provide. “I’ll take care of Sophie and our baby.” He couldn’t help emphasizing the “our.”
Ian had no idea if he’d passed the quiz, but he resented having to take it. He fastened the last shelf into place, taking cover in the drill’s racket. Ethan held his spot on the floor until Ian sat back on his haunches and tested the bookshelf for sturdiness.
“How about coffee?” Ethan asked in a less aggressive tone. “You got any of that yet?”
“Yeah.”
“Not instant.”
An offer to share coffee didn’t rate high as an apology, but face it—Sophie’s father wasn’t doing anything Ian wouldn’t have done for his own daughter. Might have to do someday, if he and Sophie had a girl and some guy like him stagg
ered into her life.
He felt a taste of Sophie’s morning sickness. “I could use a cup of the real stuff myself.”
CHAPTER SIX
THAT NIGHT Sophie parked behind Ian’s car, but she couldn’t force her fingers to move from the steering wheel to the door handle. She was so tired she couldn’t tell if her whirling stomach came from morning sickness that was supposed to have ended weeks ago—but hadn’t—or exhaustion.
She pressed the back of her head against the seat rest, trying to stretch her neck muscles. Closing her eyes, she hoped her grandmother, who’d dragged almost as much as Sophie, had gone home, instead of preparing work for tomorrow. She was tempted to call her grandpa, but when she opened her eyes to reach for the phone, she noticed Ian fiddling with something on the front porch.
Sophie couldn’t manage to turn on her phone, so she glanced at its digital face. The battery was dead as a doornail. And she might match it for energy.
Scooping up her jacket, briefcase, purse and the dead phone, she climbed out of the car. “What are you doing?”
“Installing a doorbell.” He turned. “But don’t touch it yet. It might shock you into the next county… What happened to you?”
“Not looking my ravishing self, huh?” She lumbered up the stairs, and when Ian set down his drill and reached for her armload, she gratefully handed it over. “I don’t mean to challenge your skills, but are you good at wiring?”
“You’re scaring me. What’s wrong?” He nudged her toward the door. “Come inside and put your feet up. I’ll get you some tea. I picked up some of that herbal stuff you like when I went in to town today.”
“But did you talk to an electrician?” She let him tug her through the door and ease her into the puffy chintz love seat that had been her first comfort-furniture buy after med school. She grabbed his sleeve as he turned away. “Hey, stop ignoring me. Are we talking fire hazard?”
He looked down. “Sorry. I was wondering what I’m going to do if something happens to you out here in the middle of nowhere and you need medical care.”
“The office is only fifteen minutes away, and town isn’t more than twenty-five.”
“Which is fine when you’re healthy. If something happens, we’re in trouble.” With tenderness that made her heart leap, he eased his sleeve out of her grip. “I can wire a house, so set your mind at ease. I can also set a broken ankle or stitch up a knife wound or dig out a bullet. But I’ve never delivered a baby.”
Sophie tried to avoid his eyes. She tended to forget how to think when she noticed how intensely he looked at her—as if she was the only woman he’d ever truly wanted. “If the worst happens, you can hike through the woods for Gran. That’ll cut the trip by nearly ten minutes.”
“During work hours, you’d be with her anyway.” He took her teasing as she meant it, with a smile. “But I’ll keep my compass handy.”
“Wait. Why do you keep running away?” She reached for him again, but he was farther than the tips of her fingers. She pulled her hand back and smoothed her skirt over her aching thighs. “You eased my mind about the fire hazard. I’ll tell you I’m extremely good at my job. I could talk you through it if we had to. I’m not worried at all.”
Something changed in his eyes, a shifting of color or emotion she couldn’t decipher. “I’m not relieved.”
His voice shook a little on the “relieved.” Sophie bit her lip, trying not to laugh. “Good thing nothing’s going to happen, huh? About that tea?”
With a brief nod that emphasized his strong, blunt chin, he turned toward the kitchen, muttering something about house fires and counting contractions. Just inside the kitchen, he leaned back into the room. “Don’t touch that doorbell till I tell you.”
She sank deeper into her beloved chair, smiling as she held in a huge bubble of laughter. “I’m probably a bad person, but I love watching you wrestle with doubts.”
“Not a bad person, but a touch vindictive.” His smile softened the blow. “Have me set up security for a meeting between two heads of state. Ask me to protect your grandmother from an enemy she doesn’t even know about. I’ll be fine. Don’t ask me to deliver a baby.”
“And the wiring?”
He laughed, and she liked the husky, rumbling sound of that even better than his worried tone. “I just haven’t checked that yet. It’ll work perfectly.”
“I suspect it will.” Sophie closed her eyes. “I could use a nap more than a cup of tea.”
The phone at her side interrupted.
“Leave it,” Ian said. “I’ll tell whoever it is you’re still out.”
“It might be Gran. She couldn’t seem to fit in everything she wanted me to know today.” She picked up the portable and tapped its on button, but then she covered the receiver. “She didn’t let me see one patient.”
“Didn’t let you?” He sounded as if he hadn’t heard correctly. “How did she stop you?”
“They’re her patients. She’s having a problem letting go.” She moved her hand off the speaker and said hello.
“Sophie?”
Nita always said her daughter’s name as if not entirely certain she remembered it. Sophie braced herself. It wasn’t that she didn’t love her mother, but she’d always hoped her mom would come to love her more like a daughter than a confidante. After Sophie’d walked in on her and “the other man,” Nita had never seemed to realize there were grown-up secrets she should keep from her child.
Sophie had spent most of her childhood either wishing her mom would come home alone or hoping she wouldn’t detail the “exciting” adventures of a single, twentieth-century woman.
“Mom.”
“I heard about the wedding.”
“Did you?” Nita’s low-pitched, slightly accusing voice warned Sophie to apologize and prepare for a small spate of wounded maternal love, but for the first time in her life, she was too tired to make the proper move in the mother-daughter Olympics. “Who told you?”
“Aren’t you sorry you didn’t?” Nita sounded as if she’d suffered a deep wound. “That’s what I wonder.”
“Ian and I wanted to keep it private.” She hoped that was apology enough.
“Surprisingly, Beth Calvert let me know.”
“Aunt Beth?” Zach’s mother.
“Apparently she and Eliza were sampling the local ’shine and got to thinking I had a right to know.”
“What?” A drinking party that extreme didn’t sound like Molly’s mom, either.
“Well, maybe they’re putting together a reception for you and they invited me.”
“Mom.” The picture became crystal clear. “Did either of them mention the word surprise in connection with this reception?”
“Oh.” Nita sounded faintly amused and only a tinge repentant. “Maybe Beth did.” She charged back in. “But you kept a big secret from me. I might as well blow one for you.”
Sophie’s exhaustion swept back, full force. She curled into a ball, facing the back of the chair. “That’s not the way it’s supposed to work.”
“I love you, dear.”
Sophie felt as if she were trying to choke down the Rock of Gibraltar. At least her mom had prepared her for talking to a child who declared his love the second he got caught with his hand in the cookie jar.
“I love you, too, Mom, but you should stop and think before you…” Never mind. Replaying the broken record about thinking before she acted never helped. “You remember Ian, don’t you?”
“Yes, but you said nothing about marriage. Do you love the man?”
Sophie sensed him, too close in the other room. For all she knew, he’d bugged every phone in the house to exercise his wiring skills, and he’d listened in on the whole conversation. She wrapped her palm around the receiver’s rounded edges. “I married him,” she said. “What does that tell you?”
“That you’re probably pregnant.”
“Mom!” How could she be the only person who’d guessed? But then, everyone else had always believed s
he was conscientious.
“So you are. Don’t sound so shocked. Remember, I’ve heard all your antimarriage speeches. You’ll never need another human being to make you whole. You don’t believe two people can be totally necessary to each other. Well, something had to make you change your mind. And I’ve been pregnant. Pregnancy changes a woman’s priorities.”
Sophie was shocked. Her mother did understand her fears. Gripping the phone more tightly in sweaty palms, she tried to be friendly for the sake of her husband and child. “I am going to have a baby. Are you coming to the reception?”
“Of course. I called to ask what you need in the way of a gift. I mean the two of you have lived alone so long you probably have everything you need, or you know exactly what you want.”
A hollow metallic crash in the kitchen supplied the answer to her mother’s question with a touch of drama Nita would have loved. The old silver teakettle they’d found at the back of a kitchen cupboard flew past the door, followed by a dish towel and a blue stream of curses in Ian’s sexy voice.
“A teakettle,” Sophie said, “with an insulated handle.” She looked away from Ian, still swearing as he aimed a hiking boot at the kettle and scooped up the towel. “I like the ones that whistle,” Sophie added.
“That was easy. I have one other thing in mind for you, too.”
Her extra thought refocused Sophie on their conversation. “You don’t have to and, Mom, don’t mention to Aunt Beth or Aunt Eliza that you’ve told me about the party.”
“I’m not completely insensitive. I wouldn’t dream of telling them. But trust me on this other gift. You’ll love it.”
A cold chill quivered down Sophie’s spine at light speed. Terrifying images of lingerie for pregnant women lodged in her head, but she didn’t dare mention she’d hate opening such a thing at a reception in front of every Calvert on the mountain. Her mother wouldn’t be able to resist the idea.
