The Pregnant Ms. Potter. Millie Criswell

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СКАЧАТЬ to his feet, grateful to have something to take his mind off the tightening in his groin. “I can do better than that.” He returned a few minutes later, carrying a large wooden tray containing a box of graham crackers, a few chocolate bars and a bag of marshmallows. “No hot chocolate, but I’ve got the fixings for s’mores.”

      “Ooh!” she said, clapping her hands. “I haven’t fixed those since I was a kid.”

      He removed the fireplace screen and handed her a long metal skewer. My mom loved doing this, so she had my dad make her some ‘marshmallow sticks,’ as she called them.” The memory brought a sad smile to his face. His mother had died three years ago from breast cancer. First Bethany, then his mom. All the women in his life were gone. It had been a hard burden to bear.

      They sat shoulder to shoulder in companionable silence, Rufus nestled right up against Maddy’s back. When Maddy bit into her first s’more she made a moan of satisfaction that went straight to Pete’s lap. “These are yummy! I think I’ve died and gone to heaven.”

      With her hair in a ponytail and an exuberant smile on her face, Maddy looked like a teenager, not a twenty-nine-year-old woman who was going to have a child. He cleared his throat. “Uh, have you been having any weird cravings lately?” he asked, trying to get his mind back on track.

      She shook her head. “Not really. I eat just about everything anyway, so there’s not much I crave.”

      “How do you feel about having this baby? Are you happy now that you’ve gotten used to the idea?”

      She looked at him as if he’d lost his mind. “Who says I’m used to the idea? My body’s still the same as it was. I’ll probably feel a whole lot different when my belly grows to the size of a watermelon and my breasts—” She caught herself just in time. What on earth was she doing discussing breasts with a virtual stranger?

      He grinned at her embarrassment. “You can say ‘breasts,’ Maddy. I’m quite familiar with those particular body parts. We ranchers have loads of experience.” And she certainly had a fine pair, he couldn’t help notice.

      “Well, I’m not used to discussing things like this with anyone. I was so busy working that I didn’t develop many close female friends. And most of the men I worked with on Madison Avenue didn’t discuss female body parts as a topic of dinner conversation.”

      Chocolate dribbled down her chin, and he reached over and scooped it up with his finger, then lifted it. “Stuffed shirts.”

      The erotic gesture made Maddy’s stomach tighten, though she tried her best to ignore it. “Have you been ranching long?”

      “All my life. I love it, though my two brothers don’t feel the same as me. John became a vet, and Mark, who’s a chef, owns a bed-and-breakfast in town called The Sweetheart Inn. The place I mentioned was full.”

      “A chef. Now there’s a handy man to have around.”

      “He’s divorced if you want to meet him.”

      Her eyes widened at the offer. “No thanks! I’ve pretty much sworn off men for the time being. Besides, I doubt many men would jump at the chance at meeting a pregnant woman.”

      “You’d be surprised. There aren’t that many eligible women in town, unless you count our librarian and resident spinster Ella Grady, but she’s sixty-four.”

      Maddy smiled before asking, “You said you’d been married. Are you divorced, too?”

      He paused a moment before answering, as if considering whether he would. “Widowed. Four years now.”

      At the pain she saw reflected in his eyes, she reached out to touch his hand. It was obvious he was still mourning the loss of his wife. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pried.”

      He shrugged. “Time heals all wounds. Isn’t that what they say?” Too bad it wasn’t true.

      She smiled ruefully. “Time’s not going to heal what ails me. It’s only going to ripen things, I fear.”

      “A pregnant woman’s a beautiful sight to behold,” he said, remembering. “And you’ve only got seven more months to go, then you’ll have a son or daughter.”

      “The thought terrifies me. I don’t know a thing about being a mother, raising a child. Or how I’m going to work to support it yet still be at home to care for my son or daughter. Single motherhood wasn’t something they taught in college.”

      “Not even at Vassar?” He couldn’t help his teasing smile.

      “They were more into teaching prevention. Guess I was out sick that day.”

      “Quit being so tough on yourself, Maddy. People make mistakes. That’s just part of life.”

      “True. But my mistake is going to be a living, breathing human being. And I’m the one who’s going to be responsible for every facet of its life. It’s an awesome responsibility, and one I’m not sure I can handle.”

      “You’ve got your sister. I’m sure she’ll help out. That’s what family’s for.” He wouldn’t have been able to cope after Bethany’s death, if it hadn’t been for his brothers. John and Mark had been there for him in all the ways that counted.

      “Mary Beth’s always wanted a child, but she and Lyle can’t conceive. I’m not sure how she’s going to react to the news that I’m pregnant. It could cause problems between us.”

      “Have you thought about giving up the baby and allowing your sister to raise it? That would solve both her problem and yours.”

      Her hand moved to her abdomen, and her eyes softened. “I have, but I don’t think I can give up my child, even to Mary Beth. Oh, I know she’d be a fabulous mother, and Lyle’s a wonderful man. The baby would have a good home. But—” She shook her head. “It’s my baby. I…I don’t expect you to understand.”

      “But I do. Bethany was six months pregnant when she died. I lost my wife and my son in one fell swoop, so don’t think I don’t know what loss is, because I do. I know very well.” He rose to his feet and walked out, leaving Maddy alone to sort through the mess of her life. And his.

      Chapter Three

      Leaning back against the goose-down pillows, Maddy shut the book she’d just finished reading and heaved a contented sigh. Pete’s mother had been fond of romance novels, and there was a wicker basket full of them next to the bed.

      Maddy had never considered herself the romance novel type—she’d always been fond of mysteries and science fiction. But once she’d started reading she hadn’t been able to stop and had already devoured two books in less than three hours.

      Too bad real life wasn’t as romantic as in the novels, she thought. In romance fiction the hero loved the heroine more than life itself and married her. Happily ever after was a fait accompli. He didn’t tell her to get lost and have an abortion. Of course, David Lassiter was not a hero in any way, shape or form.

      Now Pete Taggart, rescuer of stranded women, was another story altogether.

      Maddy smiled at the thought, СКАЧАТЬ