THE M.D. SHE HAD TO MARRY

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  Contents:

  1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18

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  Chapter 1

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  On a sunny afternoon at the end of June, Lacey Bravo returned to the old homesteader's cabin behind the horse pasture at the Rising Sun Ranch to find Dr. Logan Severance waiting for her.

  She had known he would come. Still, the sight of him, there in the shade of the rough-shingled overhang that served as the cabin's front porch, sent her pulse racing. Her palms on the steering wheel went clammy with sweat. She felt pulled in two directions at once. Her foolish heart urged her to rush into his arms. And something else, some contrary creature inside her, wanted only to spin her new SUV around and speed away, leaving nothing but a high trail of Wyoming dust in her wake.

  Neither action was really an option. Throwing herself into his arms would only embarrass them both. And as for running, well, Lacey had done plenty of that before she was even out of her teens. Eventually, she'd given it up. It never solved anything.

  With a weary sigh, Lacey pushed the door open and maneuvered herself out from behind the wheel and down to the ground. She shut the door. Then, with as much dignity as she could muster, given that lately she tended to waddle like a duck, she plodded to the rear of the vehicle to get the two bags of groceries she had picked up in town.

  She barely got the back door up before Logan was at her side. "I'll take those for you."

  Her initial reaction was to object, to lift her chin high and announce haughtily, "I can carry my own groceries, thank you."

  But she stifled the impulse. There would be dissension enough between them. There always had been. And now, with the baby coming, the opportunities for argument would no doubt be endless. Better to keep her mouth shut whenever possible.

  His dark gaze swept over her. She wore a tent-like denim jumper, a pink T-shirt and blue canvas ballerina flats.

  Ballerina. Hah. An image from an old Disney movie, of a hippo in ballet shoes and a tutu, flitted through her mind.

  No, she was not at her best. And he looked great. Terrific. Fit and tanned, in khaki pants and a cream-colored polo shirt. He looked like a model on the cover of a Brooks Brothers catalog—and she looked like someone who'd eaten a beach ball for lunch. She knew she shouldn't let that bother her. But it did.

  "Hasn't your doctor told you that at this point in your pregnancy, you shouldn't be driving?"

  She gritted her teeth and granted him the tiniest of shrugs.

  "Is that a 'yes'?"

  Lacey exerted superhuman effort and did not roll her eyes. "Yes, Doctor. That is a 'yes'."

  He made a low, exasperated sound. "Then what are you doing behind the wheel of a car?"

  "I treasure my independence."

  The words may have sounded flippant, but Lacey did mean them. Doc Pruitt, who ran the clinic in the small nearby town of Medicine Creek, had been nagging her to avoid driving. And Tess, her cousin's wife, who lived in the main ranch house not a half a mile away, would have been glad to take Lacey wherever she needed to go. But to Lacey, a car—and the possession of the keys to it—meant self-determination. Never would she willingly give that up.

  Except, perhaps, for the love of this man.

  But not to worry. Her independence was safe. Logan's heart was otherwise engaged.

  "Lacey," he said, in the thoroughly superior tone that had always made her want to throw something at him. "There are times in life when independence has to take a back seat to necessity. It's not good for you, or the baby, for you to—"

  "Logan, can we at least get inside before you start telling me everything I'm doing wrong?"

  He blinked. Maybe it actually occurred to him that he'd started criticizing her before he'd even bothered to say hello. Whatever. Without another word, he scooped her grocery bags into his big arms and turned toward the cabin. Lacey was left to shut the rear door and trudge along in his wake, across the bare dirt yard, past the dusty midnight-blue luxury car he had driven there and up the two rickety steps to the cabin's front entrance. On the porch, he stood aside for her to open the door. Then she moved out of his way to let him go first.

  They entered the main living area, which was small and dark and simply furnished. Lacey loved the cabin—had loved it on sight. Though the light was never good enough to paint by, the rough plank walls pleased her artist's eye. And the layers of shadow were interesting, dark and intense in the corners, fading out to a pleasant dimness in the center of the room. Beyond the main room, there was a small sleeping nook in the northeast corner and a bathroom in a lean-to outside the back door.

  Logan didn't seem to share her admiration for her rustic surroundings. His dismissing glance flicked over the stained sink, the old iron daybed bolstered to double as a sofa, and the faded curtain that served as a door to the sleeping nook.

  He dipped his head at the grocery bags. "Where do you want these?"

  Lacey moved to clear a space on the old pine table, shifting a stack of books, a sketch pad, a box of pastels and some pencils to one of the four ladderback chairs. "Right here." She pulled the chain on the bulb suspended over the table. The resulting wash of light was harsh, but functional.

  Logan moved forward and slid the groceries onto the table, then stepped back. They regarded each other. She saw that there were circles under those fine dark eyes of his.

  Was it only the severity of the light? No. Now that she stared directly at him, she could see more than irritated disapproval in the sculpted planes of his face. She saw weariness. Reproach and concern were there, too.

  She cleared her throat and spoke gently. "Did you drive all the way from California?"

  He shook his head. "I flew out of Reno. To Denver, where I transferred to a smaller plane, which got me to Sheridan. Then I rented a car for the rest of the trip."

  "You must be tired."

  His mouth tightened. She read the hidden meaning in his expression. He'd come to take care of her, whether she liked it or not. His own comfort was nothing. "I'm fine."

  "Well. I'm glad to hear it."

  The silence stretched out again. Maybe he was thirsty. "Do you want something to drink?"

  He shrugged, then answered with a formality that tugged at her heart. "Yes. Thank you. Something cold would be good."

  "Ginger ale?"

  "That's fine."

  She went to the refrigerator, which was probably a collector's item—it stood on legs and had a coil on top. She took out a can, then turned to the cabinet over the one tiny section of counter.

  "Never mind a glass," he said. "Just the can is fine."

  She handed it to him across the table, absurdly conscious of the possibility that their fingers might brush in passing. They didn't.

  She gestured at the chair in front of him. "Have a seat."

  He ignored that suggestion, popped the top on the can and took a long drink.

  She stared at his Adam's apple as it bobbed up and down on his strong, tanned throat and tried to ignore the yearning that flooded through her in a warm, tempting wave.

  She wanted him.

  Even big as a cow with the baby they had created together, she'd have happily sashayed right over to him and put her mouth against that brown throat. With delight, she would have teasingly scraped the skin with her teeth, stuck out her tongue and tasted—

  Lacey cut off the dangerous erotic thought before it could get too good a hold on her very healthy imagination. As if she even could sashay, big as she'd grown in the last month or so.

  Logan set the ginger ale can on the table. "How long have you been here?"

  "Seven weeks."

  He waited, clearly expec
ting her to elaborate. When she didn't, he asked, softly, "Why?"

  She looked away, realized she'd done it, and made herself face him again. "Why not? This ranch has been in my family for five generations. My second cousin, Zach, runs the place now."

  "That doesn't answer my question. What made you choose to come here?"

  "Jenna suggested it." As Lacey said her sister's name, it became clear to her that she'd been avoiding saying it. For her own sake or for Logan's, she couldn't be sure. But the name was out now. And the world hadn't stopped. "She and Mack stayed here for a few weeks last year."

  There. She had said both of the dangerous names. Jenna and Mack. The woman Logan loved. And the man who had taken her from him.

  Lacey watched for his reaction. If he had one, he wasn't sharing it. His face remained composed. He didn't even blink.

  "Jenna knows—about you and me?" His voice was cautious, but resigned.

  "Yes."

  "She knows that the baby is mine?"

  Lacey nodded. "I told her about you and me not too long after it happened—and about the baby a few months ago. She wanted me to go and stay with her and Mack in Florida for the birth."

  "Why didn't you?"

  Lacey stared at him. Did he really want to hear the answer to that one? Apparently he did, or he would not have been so foolish as to ask.

  She shrugged. "I didn't want to intrude on their happiness." Jenna and Mack were like newlyweds, having recently reunited after years apart. "And Jenna is pregnant, too. Her baby is due in September."

  Logan glanced down at the table between them. He might have been looking at the bags of groceries, or the empty soda can—or simply not looking at her. "Well," he said, "Jenna always did want lots of kids."

  "Yes. She did."

  Logan raised that dark gaze once more. "So you came here."

  Lacey nodded. "It's peaceful and it's beautiful. And I have family around, ready to help if I need it. It was the perfect place to come and have my baby."

  He let a moment of charged silence elapse before announcing, "You should have come to me."

  Well, she thought. We're into it now, aren't we? She knew where he was headed, of course. She'd known from the moment she saw him on the front step. And even before that. She'd known what Logan Severance would do from the first day she admitted to herself that she was pregnant—because she knew him.

  And she had her refusal, complete with excellent reasons for it, all ready to give to him.

  But the thought of hashing through it all made her feel about as tired as he looked. And her back was aching.

  If he wanted to stand up for this, fine. He could stand. She'd rather take it sitting down.

  Lacey pulled out a chair and lowered herself into it.

  Logan waited to speak again until she was settled—and until it became clear that she wasn't going to respond to his last remark. "The baby's due in a week or so, right?"

  "Yes." Her shoulders kept wanting to droop. She pulled them back and met his eyes. "Everything's fine. Normal. I got an appointment with the doctor here as soon as I arrived. He's been taking good care of me."

  Logan looked irritatingly skeptical. "You've been watching your diet, taking it easy?"

  Oh, why did he so often manage to make her feel like some incompetent, irresponsible child? Apparently, old behavior patterns did die hard. In spite of the dramatic shift in their relationship last fall, right that moment the years seemed to peel away. She was the bratty kid with a chip on her shoulder and he was the annoyingly straight-arrow boyfriend of her big sister.

  "Lacey. Answer me. Have you been taking care of yourself?"

  "Honestly, everything is fine."

  That gained her a disbelieving glare. "Why didn't you contact me earlier?"

  "I contacted you as soon as I could bear to. And if we're into 'why didn't you,' then why didn't you call the number I gave you and let me know that you were on your way here?"

  "And have you tell me not to come? I don't think so."

  Her mouth felt so dry all of a sudden. It was one of the many bothersome things about pregnancy. Cravings came on out of nowhere. She wanted water. She could already taste its silky coldness on her tongue. She started to push herself to her feet again.

  Logan frowned. "What is it?"

  "Nothing. I just want a drink of water, that's all."

  "I'll get it."

  "No, don't bother. I can—"

  But he was already striding to the sink. He took a glass from the corner of the counter, rinsed it, and filled it from the tap. Then he carried it to her and held it out.

  She looked at the glass and then up, into his eyes. His kindness and concern did touch her. He was a good man, always had been. Much too good for the likes of her. She felt a smile flirting with the corners of her mouth. "You know, until a few years ago, there was no running water or electricity here in the cabin. It cost a bundle, apparently, to run electrical lines and water pipes out here. But my cousin Zach had it done last summer. Pretty convenient, huh? 0therwise, you'd have had to head for the well out back to fill that glass for me."

  "Just drink." His voice was gruff.

  This time, as he passed her the glass, his fingers did brush hers. His fingers were warm. She wondered if hers felt cold to him.

  "Thank you." She drank. It was just what she'd wanted, clear and cool and satisfying as it slid down her throat.

  "More?"

  She shook her head, set down the glass.

  Logan pulled out the chair nearest hers and dropped into it. He braced his elbows on his knees and leaned toward her. The light caught and gleamed in his dark hair.

  His eyes were softer now. "I didn't call when I got your letter because I knew you would only try to talk me into staying away."

  Her smile started to quiver. She bit the corner of her lip to make it stop. "That's true. I would have."

  "It wouldn't have worked."

  "I know. You'll do what you think is right. You always have." Except during those five days last September, a voice in her mind whispered tauntingly. Then you did things you didn't approve of. And you did them with me.

  He looked down at the rough boards between his feet, then back up at her. "This baby changes everything, Lace."

  She wanted to touch him. The slight brushing of their fingers a moment before had whetted her appetite for the feel of him. Oh, to simply reach out and run her fingers through that shining dark hair, to trace his brows, to learn again the shape of his mouth.

  Tenderness welled in her. He had traveled such a long way and he wasn't going to get what he came for—what he would say he wanted, what he would call the right thing.

  He said it then, as if he had plucked the words right out of her mind. "We have to do the right thing now."

  She sat back in her chair and clasped her hands beneath the hard swell of her belly. "Your idea of the right thing and mine are not the same, Logan."

  He answered her with measured care. "The right thing is the right thing, period."

  "Fine. Whatever. The point is, I'm not going to marry you."

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  Chapter 2

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  Logan had pretty much expected this. He straightened in the chair and kept his voice level and reasonable. "Before you turn me down flat, let's discuss this a little. You're in no position to raise a child on your own, and I'm willing to—"

  "Logan, I told you. No. It's a two-letter word meaning negative, out of the question. Uh-uh. Forgetaboutit." She pushed herself to her feet. "We are not getting married."

  "Why not?"

  She stared at him for a moment, then made a show of hitting her forehead with the heel of her hand. "What? You can't figure that one out for yourself?"

  "Spare me the theatrics. Just answer the question. Why not?"

  Muttering under her breath, she turned to her groceries, grabbed a box of Wheat Thins in one hand and a can of cocoa mix in the other and started toward the ancient wood-burning stove that crou
ched against the wall by the front door.

  His frustration with her got the better of him. "Sit down," he commanded.

  It was the wrong thing to say, and he knew it. But something about Lacey Bravo tended to bring out the tyrant in him.

  Why was that? He had no idea. He considered himself a reasonable, gentle man, as a rule. He was a reasonable, gentle man as a rule. Ask just about anyone who knew him.

  Lacey ignored his command. She reached the stove and put the crackers and cocoa mix on the open shelf above it. Then she turned for the table again and shuffled his way, her abdomen heavy and low in front of her—low enough, in fact, to make him suspect that the baby inside her had already dropped toward the birth canal.

  It could be less than a week before she brought his child into the world.

  They needed to get married.

  She reached into the bag again. He stood. "Lace. Stop. You know we have to talk about this."

  She took her hand out of the bag and raked that thick gold hair of hers back from her forehead. "Not about marriage, we don't."

  "I disagree. I think marriage is exactly what we do need to talk about. I think that—"

  She put up both hands, palms out. "Wait. Listen. You're the baby's father. And of course, you'll want to see him or her, to be a part of his life. I understand that and I can accept that. But it really isn't necessary for you to—"

  "It damn well is necessary. You're having my baby and a baby needs a mother and a father."

  "I told you. The baby will have a mother and a father. They just won't be married to each other, that's all."

  "A two-parent home is important to a child."

  "Sometimes a two-parent home isn't possible."

  "In our case, it's entirely possible. I want to marry you. We're both single. I make a good living and I do care for you. I believe that, deep in your heart, you also care for me. I know I'm rough on you sometimes, rougher than I have a right to be. But I'll work on that, I promise you."

  She said nothing, only looked at him, shaking her head.

  He thought of more arguments in his favor. "We have … history together. I feel I really know you, that you really know me. We could build a good life together, I'm sure of it."