LITMIR.BIZ

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suit. However, this morning, dressed in jeans and an old gray sweatshirt, he looked more like the Dillon she was accustomed to seeing—that is, if you overlooked the apron around his waist. That bit of ruffled material might have made some men look effeminate, but not Dillon. If anything, by stark contrast, it emphasized his compelling maleness.

      The sleeves of his sweatshirt were pushed up to his elbows, and Emily’s gaze zeroed in on his muscled forearms and broad wrists, sprinkled with short black hair. His big, workman’s hands wielded the spatula with amazing grace and dexterity that spoke of long practice.

      As always, just being in the same room with Dillon made Emily uneasy. His great size and that staggering masculinity alone were intimidating. Added to that, he was too intense, too remote and brooding.

      It was funny how siblings could be so different, she mused, sipping her coffee. In looks, Dillon was a rough-cut version of Keith, bigger, brawnier, more intense, but with the same black hair and clear blue eyes, the same strong facial bone structure. In Keith’s case the combination had added up to debonair and handsome, whereas in Dillon’s the same features had produced a rugged, harshly masculine face.

      In personality, however, Dillon was nothing at all like either his vivacious older sister or his glib, charming younger brother.

      He had never been anything but polite to her, yet she’d always sensed that he didn’t want her as a sister-in-law.

      “There. All done.” He came around the end of the island carrying a platter piled high with pancakes and sausage and put it on the table. “C’mon, let’s dig in while it’s hot.”

      “I’m really not much of a breakfast person,” Emily began, but he silenced her with a look, and when he held out a chair for her she sighed and slid off the barstool. She just didn’t have the energy or the will to fight him.

      Dillon settled into the chair across from hers. He picked up the platter and filled first her plate, then his own.

      “Oh, no, please. I couldn’t possibly eat all this.”

      “Eat,” he commanded, giving her a stern look. “You need to keep your strength up. These past three days you’ve barely touched your food. That’s not good for you or the baby.”

      She wanted to argue, but of course he was correct. Trust Dillon to hit upon just the right argument. With a sigh, Emily poured syrup over the pancakes and picked up her fork.

      Though the food was delicious, she had no appetite, and she had to force herself to take small, nibbling bites. It was as though the grief and depression weighing her down had numbed all her senses. She seemed to be functioning in a haze, oddly disconnected from the world around her—even from her own body. Except for her heart. It was an aching knot in her chest.

      They ate in silence for several minutes. Concentrating on finishing her meal and getting out of there, Emily jumped when Dillon spoke.

      “Would you answer a question for me?”

      Her head came up and she shot him a sharp look. “That depends on the question.”

      “I know that for years you’ve been wanting to start a family, and that you were overjoyed to finally get pregnant, but how do you feel about the baby now?”

      “What do you mean?”

      “Do you still want it?”

      Emily’s fork clattered to the plate. She stared at him, stunned. Reflexively, her hand splayed over her flat tummy. “Of course I do. How could I not? I don’t know how you can even ask such a—” The look on his face stopped her. “Oh. I see. You mean, now that I know Keith’s true colors, do I want his baby?”

      “Something like that,” Dillon admitted, watching her in that intent way he had.

      “Just because Keith fathered this child, that doesn’t necessarily mean he or she will inherit his character flaws. This will be my child, too.”

      “If that’s how you feel, then why didn’t you tell anyone you were pregnant?”

      Emily looked down and fixed her gaze on her fingers, plucking at the napkin in her lap. “I don’t know, exactly,” she mumbled. “I just didn’t want to.”

      Lord, she didn’t want to talk about this. She didn’t want to talk, period. Or be around anyone. All she wanted was to be left alone. Then she could crawl back into bed and curl up under the covers and give in to the terrible pain and lethargy that threatened to smother her.

      “Why not?” Dillon persisted.

      “For one thing, I didn’t want to give the wagging tongues anything else to gossip about.” She kept her gaze lowered, avoiding his, and plucked at the napkin.

      “You could’ve told the family. The news may have mitigated Mother’s grief a bit and maybe even gotten her off your back.”

      Emily shook her head. “Actually, if I had a choice, I’d never tell Adele. You know how she was about Keith. I’m afraid she’ll see this baby as a substitute for him and try to take over. Once I tell her, I’m sure I’ll have a battle on my hands. I’m just not up to that right now.”

      Emily raked her spread fingers through her hair. It was almost dry now, and curling around her face and shoulders. “Anyway…I…I wanted to hold on to this one thing, the one bright point in this whole mess. My little secret.” She looked at him pleadingly. “Can you understand that?”

      “Yeah, I think so. Actually, you’re probably doing the smart thing keeping the news from Mother for as long as you can.”

      “So…you won’t tell her?”

      One corner of his mouth quirked. “We don’t communicate all that often. Trust me, she won’t hear it from me.”

      Emily’s shoulders drooped with relief. Despite his less-than-perfect relationship with his mother, she had half expected him to take Adele’s side.

      “You do realize that you’re going to have to tell her eventually, don’t you?” he prodded gently. “Pregnancy isn’t something you can hide forever.”

      “I know. But I’d like to put it off for as long as I can.” Secretly, she harbored the fantasy that she’d never have to tell her mother-in-law.

      Adele had never cared for her. It wasn’t personal—at least, Emily didn’t think so. Keith’s mother simply had not believed any woman was good enough for her precious younger son. Emily didn’t expect to hear much from Adele in the future, if she heard from her at all, which suited her just fine.

      Listlessly, Emily picked up the fork again. Nibbling a bite of pancake, she let her mind drift. She didn’t want to think about that right now. She didn’t want to think about anything.

      Covertly, Dillon watched the way she picked at her food. She was so withdrawn she was barely conscious of him or anything else. Surely that depth of depression couldn’t be endured for long, he thought.

      He was trying to think of a way to distract her when the telephone rang, shattering the quiet of the kitchen.

      Emily jumped. “Oh, Lord, who can that be? I…I don’t want to talk to anyone.”

      “Take it easy. You don’t have to. I’ll get it,” Dillon said, rising.

      Snatching up the receiver of the wall telephone, he growled, “Maguire residence.”

      “Dillon. I was hoping I’d find you there,” his sister said. “I tried calling your place but I got no answer.”

      “I’m helping Emily with the legal red tape.”

      “Oh. Well, that’s good. I suppose someone from the family should, but to tell you the truth, it just never occurred to me. I guess I was too focused on getting Mother home before she made another scene.”

      “Yeah, I appreciate that. So, why’d you call, Charlotte?”

      “Well,

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