Harlequin American Romance May 2014 Bundle: One Night in TexasThe Cowboy's DestinyA Baby for the DoctorThe Bull Rider's Family

by Linda Warren

  “He didn’t cut a twelve-year-old any slack?”

  “Kids can’t deal with life if parents pave every step of their path,” the anesthesiologist responded, sauntering back from the truck.

  “I don’t imagine her parents are making her life easy,” Anya said.

  “A reasonable point.” He stepped aside for Lucky and Zora to file by. “However, there’s a difference between berating a child, as they do, and teaching her that concentration and strategy pay off.”

  Hoping his uncle would move on so he could have Anya to himself again, Jack narrowed his eyes. “Yes, Monopoly is an excellent metaphor for life.”

  “Also, I like to win.” With a grin, Rod departed.

  “You didn’t run into the parents, did you?” Anya’s cheeks had regained some of their healthy pink color. “Considering the legal issues, that would have been awkward.”

  “We aren’t suicidal,” Jack assured her. “Helen asked Portia to phone when she landed, so we knew when to clear out.”

  “Then how do you know what happened when they got there?”

  “Helen called.” Rod had said the older woman had been near tears on the phone.

  “Was it bad?”

  “Vince stormed into the house and called Tiff a spoiled brat.” Although Jack had never met the man in person, he’d seen pictures. Vince came across as large and intimidating, even in a headshot.

  “He sounds awful.” Anya’s dark eyes smoldered. “What a bully.”

  “Tiff’s not easily cowed.” Jack was proud of his niece. “She had to work hard at appearing contrite, according to Helen. Then she took your advice and cried to her mom about how much she’d missed her grandmother. That it was cruel to deprive an old lady of her grandchildren. Also, she mentioned something about spiderwebs and dust.”

  “Did it work?”

  “Helen thinks her daughter was swayed, but there’s no telling what Vince will decide.” Jack’s aunt had always struck him as a strong person—maybe a little too strong, in view of the way she’d treated Rod—but she seemed unwilling or unable to stand up to her second husband. “Even if he agrees, they might choose to fly Helen to San Diego rather than letting Tiff and Amber come here.”

  “Let’s hope not.” It was Rod, toting a small reading lamp. “The girls need a break before those people crush their spirits.”

  “Tiffany doesn’t strike me as crushable,” Anya said. “But if she runs away again, she might end up who knows where.”

  Jack had no intention of allowing that to happen. “I made it very clear that if she can’t reach Rod or Helen, I’d meet her anywhere, anytime.”

  Her hand fluttered to his arm. “You really care about her. That’s so sweet.”

  He fought down the instinct to gather her close. “Of course.”

  Rod cleared his throat, but apparently reconsidered whatever he’d been about to say and vanished toward the parking lot. For once, he’d picked up on the vibes around him and showed a trace of sensitivity. And I’m sure I’ll hear about it later.

  Anya lifted her hand. “Sorry.”

  “Nothing to be sorry about,” Jack told her.

  “Listen.” In the dappled sunlight, she raised her face to his. The soft light emphasized the velvet texture of her skin and the fullness of her lips. “We should meet for coffee. Or tea. Or juice.”

  Finally, she was ready to move past this tough patch in their relationship. “Any beverage will do.” Encouraged that she’d taken this step of her own volition, Jack cupped her hands in his. “Now that you’re moving to Karen’s house, we won’t be running into each other outside of work. I’d like to remedy that. I miss you.”

  She swayed closer, then slid her hands free and scooted back. If he’d been paying attention to their surroundings, he’d have heard the footsteps, too. Jack would gladly have kicked Lucky and Zora, except that might have made them drop the TV they were carrying.

  Agonizing seconds passed. When they were alone again, he asked, “What day is good for you?”

  “For what?”

  “Drinks.”

  “Oh, that.” Anya studied him as if seeking the answer to an unasked question. “Just suppose...what if Tiffany and her sister had to move away somewhere that you and Rod would never see them? I mean, if it was best for them. Like, witness protection.”

  What a bizarre idea. “There are no circumstances under which my nieces would not need their father,” Jack responded vehemently.

  “Oh.”

  She seemed to shrink away.

  What was that about? Surely she knew his anger wasn’t directed at her. “I could meet you tomorrow afternoon when you get off.” Jack worked an overnight shift on Sundays in labor and delivery, so he had Mondays free. Well, free aside from sleeping.

  Rod bustled past on the walkway, whistling and keeping his gaze trained ahead. He didn’t have to be so obvious about ignoring them, but it was better than if he’d stopped to gab.

  “No, the whole thing is a bad idea.” Anya stood up. “We work together. Let’s keep it professional.”

  “Wait a minute.” She was the one who’d proposed to meet for a drink. “Is this a game?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  Jack brushed off his slacks as he stood. “I realize you weren’t feeling well...”

  “Probably low blood pressure,” she said.

  “Regardless, that’s no excuse for jerking me around.” He’d interrupted his breakfast plans and overtaxed his muscles, which would now probably hurt like hell during the long night ahead. That was all fine—she hadn’t requested his assistance, and he didn’t begrudge a few aches and pains—but it was unfair to suggest they meet for coffee and then behave as if he had pressured her. “If you’d rather I kept my distance, fine. But don’t issue invitations you don’t mean.”

  “I didn’t...it wasn’t like that.” A familiar pucker appeared between her eyes.

  Jack nearly softened. She had an astonishing ability to stir his protective instincts. But no one had appointed him her guardian. She had plenty of friends, and if she’d rather drink coffee or simply hang out with the other nurses, male or female, that was her business.

  “I’m glad you’re feeling better,” he told her. “If it’s low blood pressure, you should eat something.”

  “Crackers.” She swallowed. “I think we packed them. But that’s okay. Karen and Melissa promised to fix sandwiches.”

  Lucky strode by. “The first of many meals. I don’t suppose you’ve seen the updated kitchen? It’s impressive.”

  “No.” Jack was sure he had a much better idea of how to make the most of a kitchen than Lucky did.

  “And all that space!” the man crowed. “Once we settle in, it will be a fantastic party house.”

  “Knock yourself out.” Jack had endured enough veiled taunts for one day. Also, he realized, the apartment must be nearly empty by now. “I’ll let you folks finish on your own. Enjoy your sandwiches.”

  “Thanks for the help,” said Anya.

  “Don’t mention it.”

  He’d reached the parking lot before he remembered that the van still blocked their cars. Then he spotted Rod’s distinctive fedora. His uncle was facing a statuesque lady in formfitting green slacks and a halter top. Golden-brown hair floated around a determined face as she waved.

  “Hi,” Jack called. What was the Realtor’s name? Della? Danielle? It always reminded him of old-fashioned countertops. Formica. No, that wasn’t right.

  “Danica was just mentioning she had a couple of very lonely apple pies,” Rod informed him.

  “There’s more than I can eat,” Danica confirmed. “It’s my mother’s closely guarded recipe. Homemade crusts, too.”

  “With whipped cream, they’ll be better than waffles,” Rod said. “There is whipped cream, isn’t there?”

  He noticed a mischievous glint in her eye, hinting that the whipped cream might be put to all sorts of creative uses. “Absolutely. And espresso.”

 
He’d struck out with Anya, so why not? “Sounds wonderful,” Jack said. “Very kind of you.”

  “My pleasure.”

  The real estate agent linked one arm through Rod’s and the other through his as if laying claim to them both. That didn’t last long, though, since it was impossible to climb the exterior steps in that formation. As they were separating, he caught Anya’s expression from behind the truck.

  She looked...hurt. Or was he kidding himself?

  Much as Jack enjoyed her company, he was done behaving like a teenager with a crush. If she chose to retreat from what they’d shared and return to acting strictly professionally he respected that.

  Besides, he was starving.

  Chapter Five

  Empty of furnishings, the apartment had a pathetic air, Anya thought as she took a last look around. Matted patches of carpet revealed the shapes of their sofa and chairs. But after the management had the place professionally cleaned, those marks would vanish, leaving no sign of the two women who had spent a year within these walls.

  When she’d agreed to pair up with Zora, Anya had been happy to bid farewell to the motel suite she’d been living in since her arrival from Colorado. Anya had found a sympathetic soul in her roommate, who’d been licking the wounds of her husband’s betrayal. The women had formed a team as they popped corn, shared movie nights and, playing on their names, joked about being experts on everything from A to Z.

  Now that transitional period of their lives was ending. Maybe that explained Anya’s rush of nostalgia. Also, she would no longer enjoy the awareness that just around the corner of the next building dwelled a guy with a devilish grin and the most skillful hands she’d ever encountered, in or out of an operating room.

  She hadn’t meant to drive him to that rapacious woman who flaunted her surgically enhanced breasts at every opportunity. Right now, they must be sitting at that woman’s table with their legs bumping underneath. Anya hoped Rod was bumping his legs in there, too.

  And she still had to break the news of her pregnancy to Jack. That comment about his nieces needing their father, no matter what the circumstances, didn’t bode well for gaining his consent to adoption. Yet surely he wouldn’t raise a baby by himself. And he couldn’t force Anya to take on a role for which she was completely unprepared.

  Their child deserved better. Surely he’d see that eventually, but she dreaded the confrontation. His attitude only reinforced her belief that she should entrust the task of informing him to someone else.

  After checking her bedroom for overlooked objects, Anya peeked into the bathroom. The medicine cabinet was empty, no leftover shampoo in the tub...oh, wait. There on the windowsill sat the remarkably robust African violet. Far from withering away, it was thriving. Perhaps, as she’d read on the internet, it really did prefer humidity and filtered light.

  She’d intended to toss it in the trash, but it would be cruel to kill a blossoming plant. Lowering it, Anya admired the dark fuzzy leaves and tiny purple flowers. “You deserve another chance, no matter who gave you to me,” she murmured as she exited the bathroom. “It isn’t your fault Jack knocked me up.”

  A gasp from the kitchen was followed within milliseconds by a crash. Dismayed to realize she’d been overheard, Anya stared at a shocked Zora as she rushed into the kitchen.

  Freckles stood out against her roommate’s face. “He what? You’re what?”

  “Forget you heard that,” Anya commanded, despite the futility of such a request.

  “See what you made me do!” Zora transferred her distress to the shattered millefiori vase, its delicate colors and swirling, kaleidoscope-like neck reduced to shards on the kitchen floor.

  “I thought you gave that away.” The beautiful vase had been an anniversary gift from the treacherous Andrew, who’d bought it on a business trip to Italy.

  “Like you said, there’s no sense blaming an object just because a jerk gave it to you.” Zora scraped up the broken pieces with paper towels.

  “You have to get over him,” Anya told her.

  “He’s still my husband,” her friend retorted. A few months ago, Zora had gone so far as to throw a divorce party in the hospital cafeteria, proclaiming how happy she was to be free. But clearly she was neither happy nor, technically, free.

  Anya refused to act as an enabler. “Andrew hasn’t signed the final papers only because you haven’t forced him to. He enjoys keeping you dangling. It’s a power trip.”

  “Maybe he hasn’t signed them because he still has feelings for me.” Zora dumped the shards into a plastic trash bag.

  Lucky stomped through the front door, which they’d propped open. “Did I hear what I think I heard? You’re hanging on to that cheater? You’re an idiot.”

  Zora shot him an unladylike gesture. Anya wished Lucky would quit meddling in their business. Just because he’d overheard their conversation didn’t mean he had the right to pass judgment. Besides, whereas Anya’s criticisms were prompted by concern for her friend’s well-being, his motive was less charitable.

  Most of the hospital staff had forgiven Zora for her husband-stealing once nurse Stacy Layne had happily remarried. But Lucky had taken the situation to heart because Stacy had married his beloved boss; therefore, he resented any and all harm that had ever been done to her.

  “Let’s lock up, okay?” Anya said. “Melissa and Karen must be wondering if we had an accident on the drive over.”

  “Just double-checking the premises.” Finding nothing further to remove, Lucky marched out. Their arrangement was for him to drive the rented van while the women transported personal and fragile items in their cars.

  “I’ll return the keys to the manager,” Anya offered brightly, eager to escape.

  Zora blocked the doorway. “We haven’t discussed your pregnancy.”

  “We’ll talk about it later.”

  “When did this happen? How did this happen?”

  “New Year’s Eve, and in the usual way.” There—she’d answered the questions. Quickly, Anya added, “Not a word to anyone.”

  “You can’t expect to hide it for long.”

  “That’s not your problem. And I’m hungry. You shouldn’t make a pregnant woman go without food.”

  Scowling, Zora went out. Still holding the African violet, Anya locked up and took both sets of keys to the manager.

  I should have held my tongue. Well, Zora would have found out sooner or later. So would everybody else, Anya conceded. At least about her pregnancy. Not necessarily about the father.

  As for Jack, she’d figure out a way to handle this promptly and efficiently. Unlike Zora, she didn’t plan to drag out the paper-signing until the bitter end.

  Carefully, Anya wedged the plant into a cup holder in her front seat. Stroking its furry leaves quelled the nausea rising again in her stomach, just as Jack’s scent had soothed her earlier. Something about male pheromones and lime had a therapeutic effect on her morning sickness.

  Wondering where she’d find the right spot for the little plant, she headed for her new home.

  * * *

  “IT WAS THE jasmine,” Zora said. “Or maybe the honeysuckle.”

  “No, we had stuffy noses,” Anya corrected her as they stood in front of Karen’s house.

  The two-story stucco home, freshly painted white with blue trim, glowed in the afternoon sunlight. Most of the other structures on Pelican Lane had been removed over the years, reportedly bought up and razed by supporters of the adjacent marsh. Isolation only added to the place’s dignified beauty.

  Trellised roses and bougainvillea, along with other flowering plants, tumbled across the yard that wrapped from the front lawn to the back of the house. What a luxurious spot—if only it didn’t smell like rotten eggs. Maybe the perfumed flora or the lingering paint smell had disguised the stink a few weeks ago when they’d first considered Karen’s offer, but Anya would put her money on their head colds.

  Beyond the house and off to their right, toward the Pacific, stretched a
green and brown expanse where saltwater and freshwater met. In the estuary, birds nested, nature lovers in sturdy shoes hiked the dirt paths and coyotes prowled, while plants and mollusks decomposed. And reeked.

  The African violet quivered in the breeze, as if in sympathy with the dying vegetation. Anya had decided to carry it inside immediately because harsh light through her windshield might damage it.

  “Paula doesn’t like it here,” she told Zora.

  “Who?”

  Anya indicated the plant. “African violet’s proper name is Saintpaulia, after the German baron who took credit for discovering them in Tanzania.” She’d checked out the subject online.

  “I’ll bet the natives didn’t think he discovered them,” Zora muttered.

  “I’m sure you’re right.”

  “Anyway, why did you name your plant?” her friend asked.

  “Because it has personality.”

  “No, it just has memories of Jack. Speaking of which, does he know about this?”

  “Oh, look. Here comes Lucky.” Anya wasn’t making that up. He’d parked the van in the gravel driveway, blocking the unpaved turnaround where they’d left their car. He had to take it back to the rental place tonight, so it would be gone before anyone needed to leave.

  “We can unload your stuff later,” he called on approach. “Let’s eat.”

  “Okay.” Anya fell into step alongside Zora, ignoring a skeptical expression from her friend that warned this conversation was only on hold.

  Despite the foul smell, Anya hadn’t lost her appetite. Quite the contrary. Pregnancy had carried her to new realms of hunger.

  As the wide front porch creaked beneath their feet, Karen opened the front door. Wearing a long woven skirt and top, she had a relaxed air. “The gang’s all here! Come on in.”

  Anya wiped her shoes on the doormat before entering. Even so, she was glad they didn’t traipse through the living room, with its striped sofa and polished curio cabinet, or into the formal dining room. She’d hate to mess up the newly vacuumed carpets.