The Cowboy's Pregnant Bride. Crystal Green

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СКАЧАТЬ just might turn Jared away someday.

      When she was done with her chuckles, she waved him inside, where it smelled like gingerbread, too. And casserole. And mothballs. But it was a comforting combination of smells that had already grown on him as much as he would ever allow it to.

      “Take a seat,” she said, gesturing to a battered recliner that had seen better days.

      She settled on the worn doily-decorated sofa next to him, pouring sodas into waiting glasses, just as efficient as always.

      She’d already donned a flowery housedress, as if it was a gown she used for entertaining guests—or, conversely, as if she’d become so used to him that she didn’t mind what she wore when he came over. Her silver hair was in a low ponytail, and she was far too delicate to resemble a cowgirl who’d once helped to run a ranch with her husband before they sold it off years ago.

      He set the oilcloth-wrapped journal on the table, and she stopped pouring.

      “I thought I saw you bearing a gift, Jared, but I’m more of a roses or chocolates woman.” She touched the oilcloth. “Just what is this?”

      “I asked the same thing yesterday when a friend brought it to me.” He explained who it belonged to and why his friend had found it in her garden.

      It didn’t take Gran but a second to pounce on the item. Her creased forehead told him that she was worried about the contents.

      “Don’t fret,” he said. “I didn’t find out a whole lot about the man.”

      “I’m not fretting.” But she used her finger to help her speed through each line of each page anyway.

      While she did that, Jared drank his soda. He even grabbed the remote to turn on the old TV and flip through the channels.

      He wanted to ask Gran if she wouldn’t mind getting out all the old photo albums she’d shown him over the months. Pictures of her wedding to his grandfather, images of Grandpa as a dimple-cheeked blond child.

      Photos of Grandpa’s mom, Tessa Hadenfield, in particular, with her blond hair and dimpled, spritely smile.

      When Gran was done reading, she took the remote from him and turned off the tube. She was no longer frowning.

      “Find anything worrisome?” he asked.

      “Hardly. I kept a diary when I was younger, too, but I was a teenager. Tony must not have had many friends to talk to.”

      “Just the journal.”

      “He was terribly sweet on whoever this girl was, though. That’s clear.”

      And doesn’t that make you connect any dots? Jared thought. Isn’t there a possibility that Tony and this girl got together even outside of marriage and had a kid, and that kid had their own child, and then...that child had him?

      Even more to the point, because the P.I. who’d directed him to Gran had told him that she was his maternal grandmother, Jared suspected that Tony had perhaps fallen in love with his great-grandmother Tessa, who’d been the sheriff’s daughter.

      And the woman who’d gotten married to someone who wasn’t Tony.

      Was that what Tony meant whenever he mentioned terrible sins?

      But Jared knew it was fruitless to ask Gran about all this because, for whatever reason, she wouldn’t talk about Tony in anything but broad strokes.

      So Jared took the less obvious route.

      “Who do you think the woman was?” he asked.

      “Tony’s dreamboat? I have no idea.”

      Uh-huh. Jared knew lies from truths, and this was a prime example of the former. But he also knew his gran by this time, too, because he’d spent several months in her company at their weekly dinners.

      She wasn’t going to give up anything to him she didn’t want to.

      When she popped out of her seat to see to the meal, Jared took the journal in his hands again, opening it to another passage that he’d lingered over last night.

      She’s an angel, and when the sunlight catches her hair, it’s as if I can catch a glimpse of a found paradise....

      And, just like last night, Jared couldn’t help but picture a woman who resembled his own blond angel, even though he didn’t have a devil of a chance with her.

      Chapter Three

      Well, isn’t this the story of my life? Annette thought as Jared arrived moments before the baby furniture delivery guys wrapped up their business in her condo.

      Always with the bad timing.

      He was at her open door, stopping at the threshold after the delivery man from a store in New Town carried in a box to the second bedroom.

      Jared removed his hat, revealing black hair that was so thick and wavy it made her melt.

      “Am I interrupting something?” he asked.

      All she could do was shrug. “My delivery was late. I was hoping—”

      “That I wouldn’t be here to see this?”

      “Pretty much.”

      A second delivery man saved her when he came up to her with a slip to sign. When they left, she beckoned Jared all the way inside, took his coat and hat, and put them on her dining table.

      Capital A awkward, she thought. She’d scheduled the delivery when she knew the bulk of her neighbors, most of whom had jobs in the more modern New Town, would be at work. And, by now, she’d meant to have all the furniture in the baby’s room shut up tight so Jared wouldn’t see it. When the delivery had been delayed, she hadn’t had a phone number for him to put off his coming over.

      But her secret was popping out in the shape of her belly, anyway. She knew she’d been lucky it’d happened later rather than sooner in her pregnancy because she’d been dreading having to face the questions.

      Why not start with explaining her pregnancy story to Jared? He was the closest thing she had to a friend in town, which was sad. But it’d been her decision to stay private. She still talked to all her old friends—the ones who hadn’t slept with Brett—on the disposable cell phones she bought. She never told them where she’d gone or that she was pregnant, although she assured them she was happy and safe.

      Privacy, she thought. And discretion. She didn’t want to do anything to raise a red flag and encourage Brett to find her.

      “So,” she said, crossing her arms in front of her chest. She was wearing a baggy sweater, but she still felt as if every pregnant part of her—from her buxom boobs to her belly—was on display. She’d also read that most women started feeling unattractive once they hit their third trimester, but...well, she’d liked the bigger boobs. And she liked the roundness of her belly, too. “I guess the cat’s out of the bag.”

      He stuck his hands in his jeans pockets, and that’s СКАЧАТЬ