LITMIR.BIZ

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less, he said, “I like you, Anna Rockwood. I think we’re going to do just fine.”

      “I like you, too, Logan Daugherty. And I hope you’re right.” She yawned, and he could almost see her curled beneath a heap of blankets, her phone to her ear, her beautiful hair mussed around her head on the pillow. “I don’t want to mess up this kid of ours.”

      “A goal we share.” They talked for another minute, mostly about their schedules for the next day, and then he said, “Sleep tight, Anna. And I know we have lunch planned, but do you mind if I call tomorrow night? Just to check in and see how you’re doing.”

      “Oh. Please do. Night, Logan.”

      They hung up and Logan tossed his phone on the end table. He couldn’t quite decide what to do with himself, as he wasn’t tired enough for sleep and he didn’t much feel like trying to put in a couple of hours of work. Odd how empty and silent the house seemed.

      Too quiet. So he grabbed the remote and turned on the television, flipped through the channels and found nothing of interest. Nothing that would erase the yearning to call Anna back, stretch out in his chair and talk to her, or hell, do nothing but listen.

      Frankly, he would’ve happily stayed on the phone for the entire night just to hear her voice, or if she fell asleep, the even, comforting sounds of her breathing.

      Logan let that thought simmer for a few seconds before a rough laugh emerged. First, he’d been all but thrumming to learn as much as he could about her, and then he’d decided to call her out of the blue. And now...this? Breathing, for crying out loud? Really?

      Obviously, impending fatherhood had made him a good deal more sentimental than his normal, somewhat contained self. It wasn’t entirely irrational, though. Some sentiment and awe toward his baby’s mother was to be expected. Natural and normal.

      Therefore, it was likely that once the child was born, Logan’s sentiment and awe would redirect from Anna to the baby. Seemed a logical enough assumption.

      What he couldn’t do was confuse this natural enough sentiment with delusions of actually falling for Anna. Such a scenario had the potential of creating a boatload of problems down the road. And he wouldn’t forgive himself if that happened.

      Carla had believed that Denny loved her, that his intentions toward her were honorable and that, eventually, he’d tell his wife the truth. So they could marry and become a real family.

      While Logan did not agree with his mother’s decision to continue her relationship with Denny after discovering he had a wife and son, he understood the myriad complexities of the situation. The bottom line, in Logan’s view, was that Carla had allowed herself to remain in an untenable position due to promises that Denny had not lived up to.

      And his mother had never forgiven herself, nor had she completely excised the pain.

      So no, Logan would not confuse his complicated situation with misguided emotions, despite his inane longing to hear Anna breathe. Come hell or high water, he’d live up to his word, his promises to Anna, and be the type of man—the type of father—Denny had failed at.

      * * *

      Tomorrow. Her wedding was tomorrow.

      Anna tucked the multicolored crocheted afghan around her legs and watched her aunt, who sat across the room from her, seemingly lost in a book. They were at odds with one another, as they’d gone round and round on the topic of her wedding for the past two weeks.

      Oh, when she’d told Logan that her aunt was “pretty much on board,” she hadn’t outright lied. Lola had offered to buy Anna’s wedding dress—which she had now done—and she would support Anna, regardless of whether she agreed with her decision. But no, she did not agree.

      And Anna craved her aunt’s approval. In many ways, Lola had become her mother, and Anna hated to cause her even a second of undue stress. And that was partially why it was so important to get her point of view across. If Lola understood, she wouldn’t worry so much.

      For now, though, it might be smarter to wait for Lola to bring up the topic.

      So, while she waited, she’d drink her chamomile tea, unwind and watch some cotton-candy television. And do her best not to think about the fact that in twenty-four hours, she’d be in Logan’s house, in the bedroom he’d set up for her there—displacing his office furniture to the already cramped living room—and... Well, she didn’t know, precisely, what she would be doing.

      Sleeping, maybe.

      The past few weeks had swallowed every scrap of her energy, and truly, she would have liked nothing better than a solid eight hours of deep sleep. It had been very much like a race to the finish line getting to this point, with all the conversations, the details to be worked out and finalized, setting boundaries and expectations and, of course, planning for the wedding.

      Tonight, as tired as she was, she’d be lucky to sleep at all. Tomorrow, with the ceremony behind her and the move to Logan’s house complete, she should—please, God—be able to relax.

      She had the odd realization that she’d miss their evening phone calls, even though they would be living together. Ever since Logan’s first spontaneous call, they’d taken to having a conversation each night, and throughout the daytime hours, she looked forward to those quiet, private moments when it was just them. No matter what she was feeling or going through, the deep, rich tone of his voice served to temporarily soothe her troubles into extinction.

      One thing was for certain: she was still just as attracted to Logan as she’d been that night at Mick’s Place, without the help of even a drop of alcohol. She liked his eyes, his smile, those long, firm legs of his, and every time she saw him, she was reminded of how well he wore a pair of jeans. On Logan, plain old denim was anything but boring.

      Anna gnawed on her lip, remembering the flat, muscular tightness of his stomach and the sensation of being encircled in Logan’s arms. He was, without doubt, the epitome of male strength, yet nothing about his physical presence threatened her. Not even the day she’d finally forced herself to pull into his driveway to deliver the news of her pregnancy.

      The culprit of that withering mass of anxiety was simple: undiluted fear of what he would say, of what would come next, if he’d prove he was a stand-up guy or run for the hills.

      And Lord, had he proved the former.

      Tightening her hold on her tea, Anna let the comforting warmth sink deep into her skin. She understood her aunt’s concerns...of course she did, but why couldn’t Lola see all the amazing qualities in Logan that she herself saw?

      When she’d first told Lola the news, her aunt had said, “Sweetie, all those pregnancy hormones are frying your brain cells, making you believe that marrying this man is a good idea. But it flat-out isn’t. Neither of you has any shred of a clue as to what you’re really getting yourselves into. Stop and think before charging ahead.”

      Well, she’d stopped, and yeah, she’d thought long and hard, but Anna hadn’t changed her mind. True enough, she was a good deal more emotional as of late. Commercials could make her cry at the drop of a hat, and the other morning, she’d broken down into semihysterical sobs when she realized she could no longer zip her favorite jeans. In cases such as those, yes, she blamed her out-of-whack hormones. But marrying Logan was an entirely different matter.

      Whether it was instinct or women’s intuition or the voice of fate or all three, Anna didn’t know, but she was supposed to become his wife. And no, she wasn’t envisioning that they’d somehow beat the odds, fall in love and stay married. What she did believe, however, was that their marriage would create a lasting bond between them, so that as their child grew, they’d become better parents than they would’ve been otherwise.

      It was intrinsic, this knowledge, as real to her as anything else she’d ever known.

      Tomorrow, unless an act of God stopped her, she would become Logan’s wife. His partner and he, hers. Not forever, but for long enough.

      How

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