Kate felt an elbow in her ribs and glanced at Emerson, who was also observing the sheriff’s interaction with her little boy.
“If you had to get knocked up, at least you picked a stand-up guy,” Emerson noted in a whisper.
“You’re making this assessment after overhearing two minutes of a one-sided conversation with an infant?”
“A conversation in which he demonstrated honesty, vulnerability, self-awareness and determination,” Emerson noted. “All that, and those fabulous shoulders, too.”
Of course, her friend was right. And the more time Kate spent with Reid, the more irresistible he seemed, which made her question why she was continuing to resist.
She pushed aside those tempting thoughts.
“Come on. Pizza’s getting cold.”
* * *
Keegan sat in his mother’s lap, gnawing contentedly on a piece of crust while the adults chatted and ate. When everyone had their fill and Kate got up to wrap the leftovers, Emerson said, “Oh, my goodness—is it almost eight o’clock already? I need to get this little guy changed into his pj’s and home to bed.”
Then she hurried into the bedroom, where Kate had laid a protective sheet on top of her comforter as a makeshift change table for the baby. Kate, of course, followed.
“What are you talking about?” she demanded. “I thought we were going to hang out tonight.”
“Except that I forgot the seventeen loads of dirty laundry waiting at home,” her friend said as she stripped away Keegan’s overalls and T-shirt.
Kate’s eyes narrowed. “Oh, no, you don’t.”
“But I do,” Emerson insisted, pulling a sleeper out of the diaper bag. “Soon enough you’ll understand how many onesies and burp cloths a baby goes through in a week.”
“I’m sure you do have laundry to wash,” she acknowledged. “That’s not what I’m referring to.”
“What are you referring to?” Her friend expertly slid a clean diaper under Keegan’s bottom before unfastening and whisking away the wet one.
Kate folded her arms over her chest. “You’re taking off because you think that will push me and Reid to spend more time together.”
“If you need to be pushed, you’re not nearly as smart as I always thought you were,” Emerson chided.
But apparently it wasn’t enough to push Kate, because Emerson returned to the living room and said to Reid, “Have you got a ring yet? Because The Goldmine has a sale on diamond jewelry this weekend.”
Kate sighed. “Emerson’s been my best friend since kindergarten,” she told him. “But she’s never been subtle.”
“I’ve never understood why anyone would tiptoe around an issue when the direct approach gets you to the same place so much faster,” Emerson said.
He nodded in acknowledgment of the point before responding to her question. “I might be new in town, but I’ve been here long enough to know that buying a diamond at The Goldmine would be as discreet as putting an engagement announcement in the Haven Record.”
“Sexy and smart,” Emerson noted. “Okay, putting aside the question of a ring for the moment—what are your intentions with respect to my best friend?”
“You should be more concerned about my intentions,” Kate interrupted. “Because right now, killing you seems to be the only way to shut you up.”
Her friend just grinned, unrepentant. “You shouldn’t issue death threats in front of the sheriff.”
But Reid didn’t seem to have any qualms about answering Emerson’s original question, because he said, “My intention is to marry Katelyn so we can raise our child together.”
“And I still maintain that we don’t need to be married to raise our child together,” she chimed in.
“Blah blah blah,” Emerson said, clearly having heard it all before and not at all concerned about upsetting her friend.
“It’s true,” Kate insisted.
Emerson directed her next comment to Reid again. “All the time Katie spends in divorce court has made her wary of putting her heart on the line.”
“Reid doesn’t want my heart,” she interjected. “He just wants his ring on my finger to legitimize his claim to our child.”
He was stunned by her matter-of-fact tone as much as the words. “Is that what you really think?”
Katelyn shrugged, as if it didn’t matter. “We both know you never would have proposed if I wasn’t pregnant.”
“I can’t deny that’s true, but I don’t just want our baby to carry my name,” he said. “I want him or her to have the love and support of both parents, not one or the other depending on where he or she’s sleeping on any particular night.”
“That’s a pretty compelling argument,” Emerson noted, as she buckled the sleepy baby into his car seat.
“I thought you were in a hurry to get home,” Katelyn said to her.
Emerson hugged her friend. “I’m going,” she promised.
Then she hugged Reid, too. “Don’t give up on her—she’ll come around.”
“I’m keeping my fingers crossed.”
“You might have more luck if you put a diamond on hers instead.”
Kate shook her head as she closed the door behind her friend. “I’m sorry about that.”
“I’m not,” he said. “I like her straightforwardness.”
“That’s one word for it,” she agreed.
“And I’m hoping the direct approach will work for me, too,” he said, reaching a hand into his pocket.
Her heart started to beat faster when she recognized what was clearly a jeweler’s box, and she took an instinctive step back. “What are you doing?”
“I’m proposing, Katelyn.”
“Why?”
“Because while I’ve frequently mentioned that I want us to be married, I’ve never actually asked you to be my wife.”
“You really bought a ring?”
He flipped open the lid to reveal a stunning princess-cut diamond.
As she stared at the glittering stone, Kate wondered why the prospect of marrying a man she’d known only a few months was somehow less terrifying than the idea of having a baby on her own. That he wanted to marry her and be a father to their child told her a lot about the type of man he was, but even if he was willing to vow to “love, honor and cherish” her, she knew he didn’t love her.
And she didn’t love him.
The five words hadn’t fully come together to form a sentence when her heart bumped against her ribs, as if to contradict her claim.
No, her head insisted. It wasn’t possible that she’d fallen in love with Reid.
Was it?
She took a minute to review the evidence. Every time she was going to see him, she felt flutters of anticipation in her belly that she knew—only ten weeks into her pregnancy—couldn’t be explained away as movements of the baby inside her. She enjoyed talking to him and even arguing with him, because he challenged her to consider different ideas and opinions. And there was no doubt she was attracted to him. Those little flutters were nothing compared to the way her pulse jolted whenever he gave her one of those lingering looks that said he was remembering her naked. Or the way her pulse would race when he touched her—even just a casual brush of a finger down her arm. And when he kissed her—
Ohmygod.
She was in love with him.
But her feelings were only one side of the equation. If and when she ever walked down the aisle, she wanted it to be with butterflies in her tummy and hope in her heart—and looking toward a groom whose eyes were filled with love as he looked back at her.
Reid was looking at her now, but all she could see in his eyes was a steely determination to do the right thing.
“Katelyn Gilmore, will you—”
“Stop!”
“You didn’t let me finish the question,” he said m
ildly.
“Because if you don’t actually ask, then I don’t have to say no and we can pretend this never happened.”
He rose to his feet again but continued to hold the box open, the brilliant diamond flashing light. “There is another option, you know—you could say yes.”
She shook her head regretfully, her throat tight. “I can’t.”
Then, because she didn’t trust herself to hold back the tears that filled her eyes or the newly acknowledged feelings overflowing from her heart, she turned and walked briskly to her bedroom, closing the door firmly behind her.
Chapter Thirteen
She hadn’t actually said no, but Reid knew that if he’d pressed the issue, she would have. Maybe they weren’t head over heels in love, but he sincerely liked and respected Katelyn. And then there was the sizzling sexual chemistry between them...chemistry that she’d been determinedly ignoring, causing him to suffer through a lot of cold showers in recent weeks.
If she’d said yes to his proposal, one of the perks would be warm showers with his bride-to-be, sliding soapy hands over the sexy curves of her body. Unfortunately, his erotic fantasies seemed destined to remain just that.
If she was adamantly opposed to marrying him—and rushing away in tears didn’t suggest that she was on the fence—he had to respect her choice. Even if he wasn’t happy about it.
He didn’t want to share custody of their child, with scheduled weekend trade-offs and formal discussions about homework or afterschool activities, but he was determined to be there for his son or daughter as much as possible. To be the full-time father he’d never had as a kid.
Still, he was frustrated with the whole situation, so when he stepped outside Saturday morning and saw Norm Clayton pressing one hand to his back while the other struggled with the cord of the lawn mower, he offered to take over. The old man protested at first—after all, the sheriff was paying rent, he shouldn’t have to do chores—but Reid assured him that he didn’t mind. So Norm retreated inside to his heating pad and Reid welcomed the roar of the mower drowning out thoughts of his aborted proposal.
The backyard required some maneuvering around the climbing structure and sandbox that Norm and Bev had installed for their grandchildren to enjoy when they visited, which got Reid thinking he was going to need a backyard for his son or daughter to run around in. Because he didn’t plan on living in the Claytons’ downstairs apartment forever and a child needed space.
And toys to scatter around the yard.
And maybe a dog.
He’d finished the cutting and was pushing the mower back toward the garage when he saw Katelyn on the sidewalk.
She smiled, a little tentatively, as she moved closer. “Moonlighting in yard work, Sheriff?”
“Norm’s back was bothering him this morning, so I offered to help.”
“Did you sell tickets?”
“What?”
“You have an audience,” Katelyn noted, sliding a glance toward the neighbor’s porch where Beverly Clayton and Frieda Zimmerman were sipping glasses of lemonade.
“They’re not watching me,” he denied.
“You don’t think so?” She lifted a hand in greeting and both women immediately waved back.
“It’s a real scorcher today, isn’t it?” Beverly called out.
“It sure is,” Reid agreed, wiping the sweat from his brow with his forearm.
“Eighty-seven degrees already,” Frieda said. “And supposed to get hotter.”
“There’s an extra glass here,” Beverly told him. “If you want some lemonade to help you cool off.”
“Or you could just take off your shirt,” Frieda suggested as an alternative.
“Frieda!” Beverly admonished.
“We’re not out here to watch the clouds move across the sky,” her friend and neighbor said bluntly. “We want to see the sheriff’s muscles.”
Katelyn bit down on her lip, obviously trying not to laugh.
“Maybe next time, Mrs. Zimmerman,” Reid said with a smile.
She let out an exaggerated sigh. “Promises, promises.”
He put the mower in the garage, then returned to Katelyn. “Were you just in the neighborhood?” he wondered.
“In the neighborhood...hoping to see you.”
Suddenly his day was looking brighter. “Do you want to go inside where we can talk without an audience?”
She hesitated, and he knew she was thinking about Mrs. Clayton and Mrs. Zimmerman and worried what they might think if she was seen going into Reid’s apartment.
“It’s not even eleven—too early for them to suspect we’re going inside for a nooner.”
His teasing remark earned a small smile, though she didn’t look entirely convinced. Her decision was made easier when Frieda grumbled about preferring to be inside with the air conditioning if there was nothing to see outside and the two old women abandoned their posts.
* * *
As Kate followed Reid into his apartment, she could see the perspiration glistening on his skin. She’d never thought she would find a sweaty man appealing, but she couldn’t deny that the sight of Reid, his T-shirt stretched over those broad shoulders, a dark V dampening both the front and the back of the fabric, made everything inside her quiver.
“Why do you wear jeans to cut the grass in this heat?” she wondered.
“Because the mower might kick up stones or other debris.”
Which made sense but was still disappointing, because his legs could rival his shoulders for Beverly’s and Frieda’s attention—and even her own.
And then, as if he could hear her thoughts, he lifted the hem of his T-shirt and pulled it over his head, then rubbed the fabric across his chest. Her gaze followed his movements, admiring those incredible shoulders, the sculpted pecs, the rippling abs.
“What are you doing?” she croaked through dry lips.
“I thought you’d probably appreciate it if I took a shower.”
“Well, undress in the bathroom,” she suggested.
His brows lifted. “I only took off my shirt. And you have seen me naked before.”
Yeah, but she couldn’t let herself think about “before”—when she’d been naked with him—because she was now dealing with an overload of pregnancy hormones that made her want to do all kinds of wickedly wonderful things to him. And let him do anything he wanted to her in return.
“Of course, it’s been a while, hasn’t it, Katelyn?” he prompted.
Twenty-two days.
Not that she was counting—not really.
But she was staring—she couldn’t seem to help herself.
And the amusement that danced in the depths of those hazel eyes left absolutely no doubt that he was aware of the effect he had on her.
“Do you want to join me in the shower?” he asked. “You’re looking a little...flushed.”
She swallowed. “I’m fine.”
He shrugged, and the casual rise and fall of those amazing shoulders nearly made her whimper.
“Why don’t you go relax in the living room then?” he suggested as an alternative.
“I’m fine,” she said again, unwilling to go anywhere near the flowered sofa where she’d been naked with him twenty-two days ago.
His quick grin confirmed that he knew what she was thinking. “There are cold drinks in the fridge and ice-cream bars in the freezer. Help yourself to whatever you want.”
What she wanted was standing in front of her, but succumbing to that desire—again—would complicate her life exponentially. Instead, she waited to hear the bathroom door close, then went to the freezer to see what kind of ice cream he had.
A few minutes later, Kate heard the water running—a sound that elicited mental images of Reid’s naked body. She could picture droplets of water sliding over those perfectly sculpted muscles, car
essing his taut skin.
Only when she felt ice cream dripping onto her hand did she shove the images aside and the ice cream into her mouth.
He came out of the bathroom a short while later, wearing a clean T-shirt and a pair of cargo shorts. His hair was still wet from the shower and his jaw was unshaven, and all her girlie parts sighed anew with a combination of pleasure and longing.
He opened the fridge and pulled out a can of cola. “Do you want anything?” he asked her.
Nothing I can have.
But, of course, she just shook her head. “No, thanks.”
He popped the tab on the can and lifted it to his mouth to drink. She turned away, wandering toward the living area.
“I thought you were going to get some new furniture.”
He shrugged. “It’s not a priority right now.”
“The last time I was here, you claimed to be allergic to the flowers painted on everything.”
He smiled, apparently thinking about the last time she’d been there. “The last time you were here is the reason I’ve grown quite fond of that sofa—flowers and all.”
She felt her cheeks burn.
“Why are you here, Katelyn? Since it’s apparently—unfortunately—not for an encore performance.”
“I’m here because...I wanted to apologize...for last night.”
“Turning down my proposal?”
“Walking away in the middle of our conversation,” she clarified. “Apparently pregnancy hormones can cause a woman to become...emotional...and I didn’t want to have a breakdown in front of you.”
“I can handle a few tears,” he assured her. “And I want to be there for you—in any way that I can.”
“That’s the other reason I’m here. I got a call from my doctor’s office this morning. Everything’s fine,” she hastened to assure him. “They were just calling to schedule my first ultrasound.”
“Isn’t it too soon for an ultrasound? Don’t they usually happen between eighteen and twenty weeks?”
“Somebody’s been reading up on pregnancy,” she mused. “But this is an early scan, to calculate the baby’s due date.”
“You can’t just count the number of weeks from the day the condom broke?”
The Sheriff's Nine-Month Surprise Page 13
