His Miracle Baby

by Karen Sandler

  He wanted her even now. He wanted to push up that T-shirt she slept in, discover whether she wore anything else in that warm bed. Touch her all over—her mouth, her breasts, the cleft of her thighs. Bring her over the edge, then push inside her and feel her constrict around him as she came again.

  If he married her, he could do that—touch her, make love to her, create more children with her after this one. Wake up every morning with her in his bed. Make a life with her.

  Could he make a better marriage with Shani? She and Arianna were different women. Would he do it right this time, make Shani happy as he’d never been able to with Arianna? Would he see when Shani was overtaken by sorrow as he hadn’t with Arianna? And would he know the right thing to say, the right thing to do?

  Or would he fumble through their marriage just as he had with Arianna? Would Shani end up as despondent as his late wife had been? Because of him, because he had no real competence as a husband?

  He’d wanted so desperately to love his wife, to give that love to her in a way that she would feel it, acknowledge it. But in all their years of marriage, he’d never learned the knack of love. Maybe it was buried deep inside him, sparked somewhere in his heart, but he never seemed to have the capacity to build the bridge between himself and Arianna.

  He might wish otherwise, but there was no logical reason to think it would be different with Shani. Their relationship, although less awkward than it had been at the outset, was still uneasy much of the time. He sensed that she respected him, at times even liked him. But love—that wasn’t any part of the equation. He only knew he couldn’t let her go.

  Shani stirred, squeezing her eyes more tightly shut, as if the light of the bedside lamp disturbed her sleep. Logan quickly snapped it off, then stood over her in the darkness. He couldn’t see her now, but he could hear her breathe, smell her unique fragrance. He wanted to stand there all night just to be near her.

  But he forced himself to go to his own room, ready himself for bed, crawl wearily under the covers. He shut off his mind with ruthless efficiency, all but ordered himself to sleep.

  The next morning, the nurse arrived at eight to administer Shani’s injections. While she and Shani shared a laughter-filled conversation over Shani’s relief that the injections would be finished in ten days, Logan made his call to Patrick Cade. They set up an appointment for later that day to meet. Then he had to leave a message with a locksmith Patrick recommended who worked on Sundays.

  While Shani finished her breakfast, Logan tried to relax on the living room sofa with the paper, but nothing he read made any sense. Again and again, he lifted his gaze to Shani, as she smiled at the comics, took a sip of her herbal tea, nibbled on the last of her bagel. He stared, obsessed with her, rapt at every detail of her face, her every movement.

  Then she turned toward him, her gaze meeting his. Her lips parted as if he’d surprised her, her breath seeming to catch in her throat. His chest ached as he watched her. And he realized that no matter how selfish it might be, he couldn’t let her go. One way or another, he would tie her to him.

  He dropped the newspaper, crushed it under his foot as he rose and started toward the dining room. She watched him warily as he approached, stood over her.

  “Don’t say no,” he said, his voice shaking.

  Now she looked even more alarmed. “What?”

  Still he plowed ahead. “Will you give some thought to what I have to say?”

  “I…” Her brow furrowed. “Yes.”

  He took a breath. “Marry me.”

  Chapter Eleven

  For several moments, Shani couldn’t muster a coherent thought to frame a reply. She’d heard the words marry me, but they made so little sense coming from Logan’s mouth that she assumed she’d misinterpreted him. She kept replaying the last few seconds, hoping she could somehow clarify what he’d said.

  She shook her head in incomprehension. “Why would I marry you?”

  Except, she knew the answer, had locked it up inside her. Despite her determination to keep the truth hidden, heat flagged her cheeks. She took another sip of tea to cover her inner turmoil.

  Thankfully, he couldn’t read her mind, didn’t catch the significance of the color in her face. He ticked off a list of rationalizations for matrimony as if describing employee benefits to a company new-hire.

  “No money worries, ever again. Stay home with the baby as long as you like, then a guarantee of an excellent job at Good Sport when you’re ready. You can work part-time or full-time. Or go back to school for your MBA.”

  “We barely know each other, Logan. Even still, even after…” Images from Thanksgiving night flashed through her mind.

  He pulled out a chair and sat close to her. “We both have an interest in what’s best for that child you’re carrying. You can’t tell me you don’t care about the baby.”

  “Of course I care.” She cared far too much, more than she should.

  “You know as well as I do, a child does best with two parents, something neither of us had ourselves. Wouldn’t you want to give this baby more than what we had?”

  Treacherous hope blossomed inside her and she shut it down ruthlessly. “This is your baby, Logan.”

  His hands cradled her face. “But it could be yours, too.”

  Say yes! her heart screamed. You love the baby already. You love—

  “No.” Shoving back her chair, she sprang to her feet, put the table between her and Logan. “You don’t—we don’t love each other.”

  He rose, turning away from her. “We’ll talk about this later.” He walked from the room, and a few moments later, she heard the slam of the front door.

  She rewound the last few minutes in her mind, dilemma resting heavily on her shoulders. How could she say yes? How could she possibly say no?

  Logan ran down the front porch steps, then took off along the path toward the cottage, his agitation increasing with each step. He moved faster as he passed the cottage, breaking into a jog, then a flat-out run up the leaf-strewn rise toward the back of his property. He didn’t stop until he reached the back fence, leaning against the six-foot stuccoed concrete barrier as he gasped for breath.

  Of course, he’d bungled it. Where he should have used finesse to bring Shani around to agreement about marriage, he’d stumbled in like a ham-handed idiot. When he should have been sensitive to how much she’d been through the past several days, not to mention the welcome-home last night, he’d presented their marriage to her as if it were some kind of prospective business deal.

  He struck the stout concrete wall with his fist, grazing his knuckles on the hard surface. Drawing blood got him nowhere, just further demonstrated his thickheadedness. Still, he pounded the wall again before he pushed off to walk along its perimeter.

  He should have anticipated the subject of love would come up, should have had an answer ready. Would it have been enough to tell her simply that he didn’t want her to leave him? That she’d become a part of his life? Or would that have meant nothing if he couldn’t tell her he loved her?

  As he strode along the perimeter of his property, the November cold cut through the long-sleeved Henley and khakis he’d pulled on that morning. The soles of his loafers skidded in the mud hidden beneath the leaf fall from the oaks. If he’d had a brain in his head, he would have grabbed a jacket before he’d run outside. But where Shani was concerned, he couldn’t seem to think clearly.

  When he tripped on a fallen limb hidden in the brush and nearly stumbled to his knees, he stopped his headlong rush. Easing himself onto the stump of a black oak that had been felled when he’d had the wall built, he forced himself to regain some self-control.

  He couldn’t lie to her, promise to offer her a love match when he couldn’t find those feeling inside him. He had to hope she could be satisfied with everything else he could give her—support, faithfulness, physical love when she was ready for it. She would never want for anything, and she would be the mother of his child.

  He would
have to convince her that that would be enough.

  Using the wall to push to his feet again, he glimpsed something out of the corner of his eye. He climbed on the stump to get a better look at the capped top of the wall. A torn swatch of fabric was stuck to the rough stucco, a dark stain that could have been blood near it. When he levered himself up over the top of the wall, he saw footprints in a patch of bare mud on the other side. Marks that could have been from a ladder bracketed the footprints.

  A chill coursed down his spine. Their intruder had accessed the estate here. The adjacent property was still undeveloped, with only a three-wire fence delineating its perimeter. Easy enough to access from the road.

  That explained how he’d been able to foil the exterior motion detector. In this part of the property, the previous owner had deactivated a segment of the circuit—too many deer and raccoons setting off the alarms. Logan had been lulled into a false sense of security when he’d had the six-foot wall built. He’d let the deficiency slip his mind. That would be the first thing he’d have Patrick rectify.

  A sudden urgency flooded Logan. He had to check on Shani, to assure himself she was safe. He cursed the fact that his meeting with Patrick wouldn’t be until this afternoon. Because he hadn’t wanted to leave Shani alone, he had to wait for Mrs. Singh’s return. He wouldn’t be able to get a man on-site to increase the estate’s protection until this evening at the earliest.

  Dodging through the trees, he trotted back down the hill toward the house. He’d only been gone twenty minutes or so; nothing could have happened to Shani in such a short period of time. Nevertheless, he had to be sure, had to see her with his own eyes.

  He shouted her name the moment he pushed open the front door. She didn’t answer. A quick perusal told him she wasn’t downstairs. He took the stairs two at a time, breathing heavily as he reached her room. He pounded on the door, his knuckles stinging where he’d scraped them.

  Pressing his ear to the door, he listened for footsteps. Nothing. He pounded again, harder, terror surging inside him. He tried to tell himself she might be sleeping or in the shower. Except he couldn’t hear the shower running and he doubted she’d be napping already after having woken only a few hours ago.

  “Shani!” he shouted, pounding a third time, his hand on the knob ready to open the door.

  Finally he heard her footsteps. He backed away, realizing he’d probably scare the wits out of her if he didn’t reel in his irrational fear.

  As it was, he had to use all his self-control to avoid grabbing her and pulling her into his arms the instant he saw her face. He made a focused effort to regulate his breathing as he swiped damp palms on his khakis.

  “You didn’t answer,” he blurted out.

  “I was going over next week’s reading.” Her wariness had returned.

  He considered pouring out everything that had been running through his mind in the past several minutes, every argument, every persuasion. If he just said exactly the right words in exactly the right way, surely she’d agree.

  He realized his frame of mind was too undisciplined, and if he let it all spill out, he would make a hash of his well-reasoned case for marriage. He had to give himself time to regroup before he brought up the discussion again.

  He dropped his gaze to his feet, casting about for something to justify interrupting her. “Since I haven’t heard back from the locksmith yet, I want to clear the rest of your things from the cottage. Did you want to come with me or should I take care of it myself?”

  She stared at him, considering, as the seconds ticked by. “I’ll help you.” She edged past him through the door.

  “Let me grab a few boxes from the garage,” he told her as they reached the foot of the stairs.

  “I’ll meet you over at the cottage, then.” She started for the door.

  “No, wait!” His tone earned him a sharp look from her. He didn’t want to tell her about his discovery of the intruder’s entry point until he had one of Patrick’s men in place. “Just stay here. I’ll be right back.”

  He quickly retrieved the boxes and was relieved to see Shani had waited.

  He set the boxes aside on the sofa. “Before we head over, I want to show you how the alarm system works for the main house and the exterior circuit.”

  He ran her through the activation procedure, explaining the different codes for interior and exterior security. After she’d activated and deactivated the system twice, he felt confident she could handle it on her own.

  He collected the cardboard boxes and they left the house for the cottage. “Even once I have one of Patrick’s men on-site, when you’re home alone, or when it’s just you and Mrs. Singh, I want the exterior system activated. I can deactivate it at the gate when I return.”

  He thought she might argue, but she just nodded. “I’m guessing there isn’t much the police will be able to do about the break-in.”

  “Since nothing was taken, it’s not high priority.”

  He stepped in front of her before she reached the cottage door, pushing it open. Blocking her from entering, he made a quick check of the interior.

  He moved aside and followed her into the bedroom. “Anything heavy, I’ll carry. You’re not to pick up anything until I check the weight first.”

  She rolled her eyes at him, then lowered herself to the floor with one of the boxes. Logan unhooked blouses, skirts and slacks from the closet rod and lay the pile of clothes on the bed. The closet empty, he opened the top dresser drawer.

  Shani jumped to her feet. “I’ll do that.”

  She took his arm and started to pull him away from the dresser, but not before he’d filled his hand with a collection of dainty panties that had been neatly folded inside. She tried to take them from him, but he found himself mesmerized by the silky texture, the bright colors of the scraps of satin and lace. Arianna had mostly worn conservative cotton underwear. Shani seemed to have a preference for silk.

  It was all he could do to keep from holding them up against his face, to feel their smooth texture against his skin. Thanksgiving night, he’d stripped her of a pair just like these, but he’d been so focused on baring her body, he’d swept her panties aside without looking at them.

  Now he wanted her to model every pair. Maybe starting with the midnight-blue with its small satin bow or the scarlet with lace edging. How would it feel to run his finger slowly along the elastic waist, to tug that silky nothing from her hips, down her long legs?

  “Please,” she said, squeezing his arm harder until he released her unmentionables.

  As she turned he spotted the color in her cheeks. Because he’d embarrassed her? Or maybe because some of the same thoughts had raced through her mind?

  He’d damn well better rein in his rampant imagination. “Should I clear out the other drawers?”

  “The bottom three are…safe.” She dumped a load of panties into an empty box. “T-shirts, sweaters, some sweatpants.”

  He’d thought her outerwear would be less provocative, but no matter what of Shani’s he touched, his mind wandered into dangerous territory. Because a T-shirt would make him think of the bra underneath. He could push that T-shirt up, expose a delicate lacy bra like the one Shani had just dropped into the box with the panties. Then he’d unhook the bra, slide the straps down her arms, pull it away from her small, perfect breasts.

  He slammed shut the last empty drawer. “Ready to take the first load over?”

  “Sure.” Her voice trembled, the soft sound stroking along his nerve endings.

  She reached for the nearest box, but he leaned in to pull it away. His arm brushed against hers and he could barely induce himself to break the contact.

  He lifted the box, assured himself that with its contents of lacy silk, it weighed only a pound or so. He slid it back over toward Shani, then hefted the heavy hanging clothes from the bed.

  They retraced their steps back toward the house, Shani clutching the box close to her chest. “Mrs. Singh will be back today?”

&
nbsp; “Around three. She’ll make us dinner.”

  In the guest room, he put away the hanging clothes, keeping his eyes off Shani as she loaded the intimates in the dresser. His gaze fell on the diary sitting on the nightstand.

  “Have you read any of it?” he asked.

  “What?” She turned, saw the direction of his gaze. “No. I thought I ought to get some work done before I take the time for the diary.” She set aside the empty box. “Did you want to see it?”

  He walked over toward the bed, ran his fingers over the fine leather of the diary’s cover. Arianna rarely wrote in the journal while in his presence. That was likely intentional. She was probably reluctant to share those inner thoughts.

  He shook his head. “I don’t think I should.”

  “She’s gone, Logan,” Shani said quietly. “It won’t matter to her anymore.”

  He looked up at Shani. “I’m not sure I want to know.”

  After their conversation about the diary, Shani found it difficult to think about anything else. She took one more trip to the cottage with Logan to bring over a small box of toiletries, then left the remainder of the toting to him. She planted herself at the desk in the guest room, her industrial organization book open in front of her, but between her anticipation of Logan returning with the last load and the tantalizing diary sitting on the nightstand, she comprehended little of what she read.

  Even still, she kept doggedly at her reading, switching to her principles of marketing text and slogging her way through until her stomach protested that it was lunchtime. When she headed downstairs, she was relieved to discover that Logan was holed up in his office, his voice carrying through the partially open door. She managed to slap together a sandwich in the kitchen and hurry upstairs again with her plate and glass of milk without being seen.

  After wolfing down her sandwich and gulping down her milk, she opened her marketing book again, but couldn’t resist the siren call of the diary. Rising from the desk, she nudged off her sneakers and padded over to the bed. With the key tucked into the spine of the diary where she’d left it, she climbed on the bed and sat cross-legged against the pillows.