The Nine-Month Marriage Read online

  Dear Reader,

  Happy New Year! We look forward to bringing you another year of captivating, deeply satisfying romances that will surely melt your heart!

  January’s THAT SPECIAL WOMAN! title revisits the Window Rock community for the next installment of Cheryl Reavis’s FAMILY BLESSINGS miniseries. Tenderly is about a vulnerable young woman’s quest to uncover her heritage—and the once-in-a-lifetime love she discovers with a brave Navajo police officer. Don’t miss this warm, wonderful story!

  It’s a case of unrequited love—or is it?—in The Nine-Month Marriage, the first story in Christine Rimmer’s delightful new series, CONVENIENTLY YOURS. This starry-eyed heroine can’t believe her ears when the man she worships proposes a marriage—even if it’s just for their baby’s sake. And the red-hot passion continues when a life-threatening crisis brings a tempestuous couple together in Little Boy Blue by Suzannah Davis—book three in the SWITCHED AT BIRTH miniseries.

  Also this month, fate reunites a family in A Daddy for Devin by Jennifer Mikels. And an unlikely duo find solace in each other’s arms when they are snowbound together, but a secret threatens to drive them apart in Her Child’s Father by Christine Flynn. We finish off the month with a poignant story about a heroine who falls in love with her ex-groom’s brother, but her child’s paternity could jeopardize their happiness in Brother of the Groom by Judith Yates.

  I hope this New Year brings you much health and happiness! Enjoy this book and all our books to come!

  Sincerely,

  Tara Gavin

  Senior Editor and Editorial Coordinator

  CHRISTINE RIMMER

  THE NINE-MONTH MARRIAGE

  For Phylis Warady.

  Thanks, Phyl, for the tea and the company,

  the funny stories, the kind words and

  the thoughtful advice—

  not to mention watering my houseplants

  and taking care of Jesse’s lizard.

  You are a treasure.

  Books by Christine Rimmer

  Silhouette Special Edition

  Double Dare #646

  Slow Larkin’s Revenge #698

  Earth Angel #719

  *Wagered Woman #794

  Born Innnocent #833

  *Man of the Mountain #886

  *Sweetbriar Summit #896

  *A Home for the Hunter #908

  For the Baby’s Sake #925

  *Sunshine and the Shadowmaster #979

  *The Man, The Moon and The Marriage Vow #1010

  *No Less Than a Lifetime #1040

  *Honeymoon Hotline #1063

  †The Nine-Month Marriage #1148

  Silhouette Desire

  No Turning Back #418

  Call It Fate #458

  Temporary Temptress #602

  Hard Luck Lady #640

  Midsummer Madness #729

  Counterfeit Bride #812

  Cat’s Cradle #940

  The Midnight Rider Takes a Bride #1101

  Silhouette Books

  Fortune’s Children

  Wife Wanted

  CHRISTINE RIMMER

  came to her profession the long way around. Before settling down to write about the magic of romance, she’d been an actress, a sales clerk, a janitor, a model, a phone sales representative, a teacher, a waitress, a playwright and an office manager. Now that she’s finally found work that suits her perfectly, she insists she never had a problem keeping a job—she was merely gaining “life experience” for her future as a novelist. Those who know her best withhold comment when she makes such claims; they are grateful that she’s at last found steady work. Christine is grateful, too—not only for the joy she finds in writing, but for what waits when the day’s work is through: a man she loves who loves her right back, and the privilege of watching their children grow and change day to day. She lives with her family in Oklahoma.

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Epilogue

  Chapter One

  Abby Heller heard a buzzing sound. She rolled to her back and opened one eye. It was light in the room: definitely morning. Not that Abby cared. She’d been up until three.

  The buzzer sounded again. Abby put it together; there was someone at the door.

  “Go away,” she whispered at the faint watermark on the ceiling. Then she pulled the covers over her head.

  Again, the buzzer sounded, like some irritating electronic sheep: “Baaaaaaa!”

  And then it happened: everything in Abby’s stomach started to rise.

  She stuck out a hand, groping for the saltines on the cluttered table by the bed. At the same time she sucked in air slowly, and then slowly let it out.

  A pocket calculator and an empty Dr Pepper bottle clattered to the carpet before her fingers closed on the waxed-paper wrapper. She pushed the covers off her face and dragged herself to a sitting position. Still breathing with great care, she fumbled with the roll of crackers.

  “Baaaaaa!”

  Her stomach roiled. She shot a look of absolute loathing at the scarred wooden door of her furnished studio apartment. And then, with grim determination, she stuck a cracker in her mouth. Slowly she chewed, taking long, careful breaths at the same time. She swallowed with caution, stuck in another cracker and chewed some more. The feeling that she would lose the contents of her stomach began to subside.

  She got the second cracker down—and dared to hope it would be okay, that she wouldn’t spend the next fifteen minutes hugging the bathroom fixtures after all.

  “Baaaaaa!” the buzzer bleated again. And then a fist hit the door—three sharp raps.

  She shot a glance at the clock by the bed. When she saw the time, she let out a sound so low and ominous it could only be called a snarl. Whoever had come pounding on her door at 7 a.m. was going to regret it.

  Muttering an oath that would have made her mother furious, Abby tossed the crackers on the nightstand, threw back the covers and stalked across the room to the door. She looked through the peephole.

  And saw Cash Bravo on the other side.

  “Oh, God,” she breathed in horror. Her stomach lurched. She pressed her hand to her mouth.

  Miraculously, she didn’t throw up.

  His fist hit the door again. The buzzer buzzed, “Baaa—baaa—baaaa!” And Cash called out, “Abby! I know you’re in there. Come on. Open up.”

  For a moment, she considered grabbing her car keys and heading for the service porch off of her minuscule kitchenette. She could be down the back stairs before he realized she’d gone. The big T-shirt she’d slept in might not be appropriate for day wear, but it was decent enough for a drive in the car.

  But then she shook her head. Running would get her nowhere. If Cash Bravo wanted to find her, he would.

  No. Better to face him down and get it over with.

  “Abby! Now!”

  The hard command in his voice told her more than she wanted to know. If she didn’t do something, he would beat the door down.

  “Just a minute!”

  She flew to the bathroom door and snatched her robe from the nail there. She shoved her arms in it, then knotted the belt. Then, turning, she caught a glimpse of herself in the streaked mirror over the bureau next to her bed.

  A miserable groan escaped her. She looked awful, he
r skin pasty, her hair all tangled and lank. Ugly dark splotches marred the skin under her eyes. Oh, she didn’t want him to see her like this! Partly because of stupid pride. And partly because he might guess—

  She did not allow her mind to complete the thought. He was not going to guess. No one would know until she was ready—especially not Cash. And if he started in about how bad she looked, she would tell him she was just tired, from working so late.

  “Abby!” He buzzed for the umpteenth time—and then he did a little more pounding for good measure.

  “Coming…” The room was a mess, her clothes and books and shoes scattered everywhere. She’d always been that way: someone with places to go and things to do and no time for keeping house. For once, though, she wished she had a moment to—

  “Abby!”

  “All right!”

  She marched to the door, yanked it open—and utterly despised herself for the hard fist of longing that closed around her heart as her eyes met his.

  He stared for a moment, then muttered accusingly, “You look like hell.”

  She decided the best way to handle that remark was not to dignify it with an answer. Besides, he didn’t look so great himself. His bronze skin had a gray cast to it. She would bet he’d kept some bartender real busy last night.

  “Are you going to let me in?” Without waiting for an answer, he moved toward her. She stepped back, clearing the doorway—and gaining a little distance from him. She didn’t want to be too near him, to feel the warmth he radiated or to smell the scent of his skin.

  His sky blue eyes surveyed her poor little room. She tried not to grit her teeth as she watched him. She knew his every expression. Right then, his jaw looked like granite and his mouth made a flat line; he was dismissing everything that he saw.

  When he was through looking around, he turned to her. “What’s going on?”

  She backed up a few more steps—until she bumped into the end of the bed. “What do you mean?”

  “You know damn well what I mean. Spring semester ended weeks ago. And you’re here in Denver instead of home where you belong. Why?”

  “Cash, look—”

  “We’ve called. Both your mother and me. Left message after message. But you never call back.”

  “Cash—”

  “Why?”

  She stared at him, aching with the sudden foolish need to launch herself at him, to feel his strong arms go around her. And to tell him everything, all of it—including how scared she was, and how tired. But of course she couldn’t do that, couldn’t go running to Cash this time, as she’d done all of her life until now. Now Cash himself was the problem—or at least a major part of it.

  She folded her arms over her stomach, hunched her shoulders and tried to speak calmly. “I just…I wanted a change.” It came out sounding almost as pitiful and lost as she felt.

  His eyes seemed to bore right down into the center of her. “You never wanted a change before.”

  “Well, now I do.” Her robe had fallen open a little in front. She straightened it, avoiding those eyes.

  She heard him sigh. He was turning away when she looked up, alligator boots striding across the worn gray carpet, moving toward the arch that framed her kitchenette.

  In front of the arch stood a Formica-topped table, on which Abby had set up her computer. Cash dropped into one of the table’s three chairs, leaned back and scrubbed both hands down his face. “It’s all my fault, isn’t it?”

  “No. Of course not.”

  He lowered his hands. Their gazes locked. “Abby, you never were a very good liar. Just lay it out like it is, all right? You don’t want to come home because of me, because of what happened.”

  He looked so utterly miserable. Longing squeezed her heart again, hard and painfully sweet—to go to him, to pull him close, to run her fingers through his silky dark-gold hair.

  But she stayed where she was. And she spoke in careful, reasonable tones. “It’s not your fault. Or at least, it’s no more your fault than mine.”

  “But it is the reason you won’t come home.”

  She dropped to the end of the bed. “Cash, I need some time. Please understand. I need to think things through.”

  He shoved a stack of accounting books aside, making room to rest an elbow on the table’s edge. “I don’t want this for you.” He gestured broadly. “Living in a place like this. Working in some cheap bar.”

  She sat up straighter. “How do you know where I work?”

  He just looked at her.

  She thought of Nate. Nate Bravo was Cash’s cousin, but they were more like brothers, really. Nate was a private investigator. “Nate?” she demanded, anger sparking. “You put Nate on me?”

  He shook his head. “Uh-uh. I followed you myself. Last night. Then I went back to my hotel and got blasted. And then this morning, well…here I am.”

  It all seemed so pitiful. “Oh, Cash….”

  “You’re just a kid. And I know you looked up to me. Trusted me…”

  She hated the self-loathing in his voice. She wanted to yell at him, to demand that he stop blaming himself. But at least one of them had to remain reasonable. “Cash, I’m twenty-one years old. Not as ancient as you are, maybe. But old enough to take responsibility for my own actions. I don’t blame you, honestly.”

  He leaned toward her, hope kindling in his eyes. “Then come home to Medicine Creek where you belong. Work for me through the summer, the way you always have. That is what we agreed.”

  “Cash—”

  “No. Listen. Remember.” He spoke with such urgency, as if he really believed that she needed reminding of the things they had said, as if reminding her would make her abide by them. “You told me you’d go back to Boulder, finish out your semester. And then you were supposed to come home. We said that we were going to put what happened behind us. And we can do that. I know it. We can make things the way they used to be.”

  She gazed at his beloved face, thinking that maybe he could go back, but she couldn’t. Not ever.

  Until that night two months before, Cash had been her best friend. He had been like a big brother, yes—someone who looked out for her, someone who wanted to help make all her dreams come true. But there had been even more than that. They’d shared something so special. They had been true comrades, in spite of the difference in their ages.

  But now, everything had changed. Now, if she let herself be near him, she’d end up just like every other woman he knew, looking at him with hungry eyes, mooning after him all day long. She didn’t think she could bear that. She had better things to do with herself than moon after a man—even if that man was Cash.

  “Come home,” he said again.

  She drew back her shoulders and spoke with finality. “No, Cash. I’m sorry, but I can’t go home now.”

  He scowled at her. She didn’t waver. And then his eyes narrowed. “Is there something you should tell me about?”

  Though her pulse shot into overdrive and sweat broke out under her arms, she neither blinked nor shuddered. “Like what?”

  “Abby, we weren’t…” His cheeks puffed as he blew out a breath. “Careful. And it was your first time.”

  She looked away, toward the door, praying he would just let it go.

  Her prayer got her nowhere. He forged on.

  “You weren’t using anything—you couldn’t have been. And me, well, I acted like a damn fool all the way around.”

  She continued looking toward the door.

  “Just tell me. Are you pregnant?”

  It was the moment. The moment to say it. But she simply could not deal with having him know. Not right then. Not yet….

  So she turned her head, looked him right in the eye and told a whopper of a lie. “No.”

  His big body visibly relaxed. “Well. At least we don’t have to face a disaster like that.”

  “Yes.” Her voice sounded funny, pinched and tight. She coughed to loosen her throat. “At least not that.”

  There
was a pencil on the table, next to the stack of accounting books. He grabbed it, began idly tapping it on the tabletop, his watchful eyes studying her at the same time. Then all at once, he tossed the pencil down and stood. “You’re too skinny. Get dressed. We’ll get some breakfast into you.”

  Breakfast was the last thing she wanted to deal with right then. “No, Cash. Really, I—”

  “Don’t argue. I plan to stick around this town for a few days. I want to make sure you’re going to be all right.”

  She dragged herself to a standing position and, with considerable effort, kept her voice reasonable. “Cash. I’ll be fine. Believe me. But you have to let it go. You have to let me go.”

  The tension was back, in his shoulders and around his eyes. “Damn it, Abby. You’re as good as family to me. We had plans.”

  “Plans change.”

  “What does that mean? Are you talking forever? Are you saying you’ll never come home?”

  She wanted to drop back to the bed, burrow beneath the rumpled covers—and never come out. “Look, Cash. I don’t know. Just, please, let me be for now.”

  But he refused to hear her. “Put on some clothes. We’ll go eat.”

  She regarded him, shaking her head, absolutely certain that she could not face a plate of eggs at any time in the near future.

  Still, if it was the only way to get rid of him…

  “Breakfast,” she bargained. “That’s all. You’ll say whatever else you think you have to say to me. And then you’ll go home.”

  “I said I’m staying awhile.”

  She gave him her hardest look. “And I said you’re not. Breakfast. And then you go.”

  He glared at her, but couldn’t keep it up for long. He hung his head. “You hate me.” He looked absolutely desolate.

  Though he was fifteen years her senior, right at that moment, she felt a thousand years older than he would ever be. “No. I do not hate you. I could never hate you. But I need to be away from you, and…everything I grew up with, for a while. Until I figure things out. Nothing’s…the way it used to be. And I’m having some trouble dealing with that.”