His Woman, His Child (4 page)

She sat in the quiet stillness of the den as twilight approached and evening shadows fell across the room. Lucy and Ethel perched on the back of the sofa. Curled on the rug in front of the fireplace, Ricky snored softly. And Fred cuddled close to Susan's side.

She needed to put her life back on track, to find a way to go on without Lowell. For her child's sake and for the sake of her own sanity. She needed to get back to work. With only Scooter Bellamy, her assistant, as a full-time employee, the animal shelter was sorely understaffed. Being with the animals, caring for them and trying to find homes for them could fill the hours as nothing else could. The less she thought about herself and her situation, the better off she'd be.

Hank Bishop was going to be a part of her life for the next year. She might as well accept that fact and make the best of it. Whether she liked it or not, she did need Hank. She wasn't the kind of woman who wanted to go through eight more months of pregnancy alone, so who better to stand by her than the father of her child.

She supposed she should feel guilty for thinking of the child as Hank's instead of Lowell's. But the truth be known, she had always thought of the baby as Hank's. God forgive her.

And God forgive her for not having the courage to face her feelings for Hank before she'd married Lowell. If she'd been a different kind of woman, she would have pursued Hank, done everything in her power to ensnare him, to make him fall in love with her. But the passionate feelings that Hank had always aroused in her frightened her far more than the prospect of living her life alone. Lowell had been a compromise—love, marriage and a family with a safe man, a man whose gentle love protected her from Hank Bishop.

But Lowell was gone now and nothing stood between her and her feelings for Hank. Nothing except her own fear.

Overcome that fear, she told herself. Take an uncertain, perhaps dangerous step. You're still madly in love with Hank Bishop—and the thought of giving in to those wild, uncontrollable feelings scares you to death. Even if you get hurt, even if he leaves you, wouldn't it be better to have known what it was like to belong to Hank, if only for a short period of time, than to die not knowing?

She reached over and picked up the telephone. Fred grunted, readjusted his fat little body and buried his nose against Susan's leg. After taking a deep breath, she dialed the number.

"Hello?" Sheila Bishop said.

"Sheila, this is Susan. Is Hank there?"

"Yes, he is. We just finished dinner a few minutes ago. Do you want to talk to him?"

"Yes, please."

"Is everything all right?" Sheila asked. "You sound kind of funny."

"Everything's fine. I just need to talk to Hank."

"Okay."

Susan waited, her heart thundering, her palms damp with perspiration, her mouth dry. What if she was making a mistake? What if she lived to regret taking such a bold step?

Stop second guessing yourself. For once in your meek little life, go for the gold.

After all, what did she have to lose in the long run? Oh, nothing but her self-respect and her heart.

"Hello?" Hank said.

"Hank, it's Susan. I found you a place to live."

"You have?"

"Yes."

"Where?"

"In the apartment over my garage." She held her breath, waiting for his reaction.

"I thought someone was living there already."

"No. It's empty. The young woman who lived there got married last month and moved out. I just haven't had a chance to do anything about renting it again."

"Are you sure about this?" He chuckled softly. "You don't think the neighbors would talk, do you?"

She laughed. "The entire population of Crooked Oak is praising you for coming home to tie up the loose ends of Lowell's life. I don't think anyone will be surprised if you move close by so you can look after your best friend's pregnant widow. That
is
what you said you wanted to do, isn't it?"

"Yes, Susan, I want to look after you … for Lowell."

"Then you'll take the apartment?"

"Sure. Why not? It will make things convenient. I'd be right there, just next door, whenever you need me. How soon do you want me to move in?"

"How about tomorrow? The place is furnished, so just bring your suitcase and whatever else you brought from your Virginia apartment."

"We can discuss rent and—"

"The rent's free," she said.

"I can't accept the place rent-free."

"Then you can earn it by doing husbandly things around the place for me." She realized too late just what she'd said. A warm flush spread up her neck and heated her face.

"I suppose you mean things like mowing the lawn and cleaning the storm windows and—"

"Yes, of course that's what I mean."

"I'll see you tomorrow evening." He paused momentarily and then said, "How about going out to dinner tomorrow night? We could drive over to Marshallton."

"How about my cooking dinner for us here?"

"I'll stop by for dinner first and then you can show me the apartment. Will six o'clock be okay?"

"Yes. Six will be fine."

Susan made her way up the wooden stairs that led to the rooms above the garage. One by one, she closed the windows she had opened early this morning to air out the place, and quickly turned on the wall heaters. She breathed in deeply and smiled. The place smelled fresh and clean. She had swept, mopped, vacuumed and dusted this morning before she'd driven to Marshallton for her first doctor's appointment.

Carrying the bed linen, she entered the bedroom, then dropped the quilts and spread on top of the dresser and tossed the bottom sheet onto the bed. When she finished making the bed, she stood back and inspected her handiwork. This was going to be Hank's bedroom for the next year, only a stone's throw away from her. He was going to sleep in that bed every night—so close and yet so far away.

She could picture Hank in this room, in this bed. Did he sleep in his underwear? In pajamas? In the nude? The thought of Hank lying naked across the bed sent shivers through Susan's body. He was tall and muscular, a big man, yet lean in his hips and belly. She could remember how he'd looked as a teenager wearing nothing but a pair of cutoff jeans when he'd washed his old car or mowed the lawn. Even then his body had been breathtakingly gorgeous. How many times had she stared at him so long and hard that Sheila and Tallie had dragged her away? As she grew older, she'd hidden her obsession with Hank more easily, until by the time he got out of college, she'd been able to see him and talk to him without showing the least sign of interest.

Aunt Alice had warned her that men like Hank Bishop weren't the marrying kind. That smart, good-looking, ambitious boys like Hank were the love-'em-and-leave-'em type. And Aunt Alice had known from personal experience. She'd given her heart to such a man and he'd given it back to her in broken pieces.

"Don't trust passion, Susan," Alice Williams had said. "When a man makes you want him so badly that you'd sell your soul to be with him, stay away from him. He's dangerous. He'll wind up breaking your heart and tossing you aside like yesterday's trash."

She had fought her feelings for Hank Bishop for as long as she could remember. She'd shied away from him, knowing her aunt had been right. Even if she could've made Hank notice her, even want her, he never could have offered her the life she wanted—marriage, children and happily-ever-after contentment. With Hank, she might have known passion, might have soared to the heavens in his arms, but at what price? She hadn't been willing to risk everything for an affair with Hank. Marrying Lowell had been the right thing to do—or so she'd thought.

Marrying Lowell, loving Lowell, hadn't made her forget Hank. Hadn't made her stop wanting him. Every time Lowell had made love to her, she'd wanted him to be Hank. She had cheated the dearest, kindest man in the world out of his rightful place in her heart. And she'd felt guilty the entire two years they were married. But guilt was a useless emotion. She couldn't change anything—not then and not now.

The funny thing was, Lowell would want her to be happy. And if Hank Bishop was what made her happy, then Lowell would bless their union.

What union? She wasn't married to Hank and she wasn't likely to ever be. That's the shy, meek Susan talking, she told herself. She knew she shouldn't listen to her. She was tired of listening to her. After all, she
was
carrying Hank's baby. Hank, the man she loved. The man she'd always loved. Wasn't it about time she grew a backbone and took a chance? Maybe she wasn't the most beautiful, exciting woman he'd ever known. Maybe he truly believed he didn't want to get married and have children. But she could change his mind. She could make him love her. She could …

As tears trickled down her cheeks, she wiped them away with her fingertips. She sat on the edge of the bed, laid both hands over her belly and focused on the unborn child inside her.

"If I don't have the courage to do it for myself, then I'm going to have to find the courage to do it for you, sweet baby. You deserve a father. Lowell Redman would have been a wonderful father to you. He would have been the best father in the world. But we don't have Lowell anymore. Who we have is Hank Bishop. And with my luck, you're probably a boy and you'll look just like him and everybody's going to know he's your father."

Susan jumped up off the bed, hurriedly put out clean towels, washcloths and a roll of toilet tissue in the bathroom, then ran a critical eye over the living room and small kitchenette hidden behind a folding screen. Nothing fancy. But it was neat and clean and homey. And Hank would probably hate it.

Checking her watch, she sighed with relief. She had plenty of time to bake cornbread sticks, set the table and still take a nice, long bubble bath. Tonight would be Phase One in her scheme to capture Hank Bishop's heart.

Usually when Hank was invited to a lady's home for dinner, he took wine. But Susan was pregnant, so that ruled out liquor. Besides, if he remembered correctly, Susan had always been a teetotaler. After checking his appearance in the car mirror, he adjusted his striped tie and brushed back a lock of hair that had fallen onto his forehead.

Why the hell was he so nervous? He was acting like a teenager on a first date. This isn't a date, he reminded himself. This was only dinner with a friend.

A friend who happens to be pregnant with your child.

No matter how he tried to get away from that fact, he couldn't. Susan Redman
was
pregnant. He wished he could hold someone responsible for this mess, but he couldn't. No one was to blame for his current predicament. Not himself. Not Susan. And not even Lowell. None of them could have foreseen the future.

Hank reached across the seat, picked up the bouquet of flowers he'd bought at Crooked Oak's only florist, and opened the driver's door. The porch light shone brightly, like a welcoming beacon. The crisp autumn wind whipped around him as he stepped up to the front door.

If he could get through this dinner with Susan without giving in to his baser instincts, then there was hope that he could get through the next twelve months without ravaging his best friend's widow. He had to keep reminding himself that Susan wanted his friendship and needed his strength to lean on during her pregnancy. He owed it to Lowell to take care of Susan. And he owed it to the child—the baby his sperm and Susan's egg had created in some sterile doctor's office nearly six weeks ago.

Hank rang the doorbell. His gut instinct told him to run. Run like hell.

Susan opened the door, her two mutts flanking her. "Come on in. It's getting cold out there, isn't it? We're supposed to get another frost tonight."

He stood there staring at her, his jaw tense, his eyes wide. She was lovely. Absolutely lovely. Glowing and soft and feminine in her tailored pink corduroy skirt and matching cotton sweater. Her long mane of sun-kissed brown hair flowed down her back and across one shoulder.

"Is something wrong?" she asked.

"No. No, nothing's wrong." He stepped inside the foyer, closed the door behind him and held up the bouquet.

"For me?"

"I think Lowell once told me that your favorite flowers are lilies." Hank cleared his throat. "I remember that's what you carried at your wedding. You and your bridesmaids."

Susan clasped the bouquet of white and pink lilies to her breast. "They're beautiful. Thank you. I'm surprised you noticed what kind of flowers I carried at my wedding."

"I'm a very observant man. I've been trained to notice details."
Details like you're nervously adjusting your weight from foot to foot. Details like you answered the door immediately when I rang the bell, so that means you were eagerly waiting for me.

"Please, come on back to the kitchen. I didn't see any reason for us to eat in the dining room." She motioned for him to follow her as she moved out of the foyer. "After all, it's not like this is a date. It's just a couple of friends having dinner together."

Who are you trying to convince, honey, you or me?

"Mmm-mmm, something sure smells good," he said as he entered the kitchen.

The room had been completely remodeled into a modern kitchen. But the antique table, chairs and china cabinet added a touch of yesteryear. He watched as Susan tied a pink gingham apron around her waist and lifted the lid off a Crock-Pot. She looked right at home in the kitchen. A busy little housewife. Lowell must have loved being married to Susan. He'd been the kind of guy who'd always wanted a wife and kids and a simple, uncomplicated life in his hometown.

"Chicken stew," she said as she dipped the concoction into two huge bowls. "I made cornbread sticks to eat with it, but if you prefer crackers—"

"Cornbread sticks?" Hank licked his lips. "I remember your aunt Alice's cornbread sticks."

"I use her recipe. A pinch of this and a dab of that."

Susan placed the bowls on the floral place mats, poured their coffee and set the plate of cornbread sticks on the table. Then she arranged the lilies in a vase and set them in the center of the table. Hank pulled out her chair and seated her. She smiled at him and it was all he could do not to take her face in his hands and kiss her until she was breathless.

Did she have no idea how irresistible her sweet vulnerability was to him? How tempted he was to erase that almost virginal innocence from her eyes? And just how was it possible that a woman married for two years still projected an aura of inexperience?

"Do you remember Aunt Alice's Apple Dapple cake?" Susan asked.

"Do I? You've got to be kidding. Alice Williams's Apple Dapple cake was famous throughout Marshall County." He glanced across the table at Susan's intoxicating smile. "You don't mean you've baked me a cake."

"I thought you could take half of it up to the apartment with you and have it with coffee for breakfast in the morning."

"I'm not much of a breakfast eater, but I'll make an exception in this case."

The meal Susan had prepared was delicious and he ate until he was stuffed. He couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten so much. But then, he couldn't remember the last time a woman had prepared a home-cooked meal for him. Most of the ladies he dated had careers that left them little time for domestic chores. He'd never been attracted to the domestic type, had in fact steered clear of women who wanted to show him what good wife material they were.

His and Susan's conversation throughout the meal had been nothing more than idle chitchat. The weather. Aunt Alice's cooking. Susan's friendship with Tallie. How good the old house looked. Hank felt certain that Susan was trying as hard as he was to keep things light between them.

The minute Susan began clearing the table, Hank jumped up and took the dishes out of her hands. "Here, let me help."

"Just stack them in the sink," she said. "I'll put them in the dishwasher later. I imagine you'd like to see the apartment. Did you bring your things over tonight?"

He set the dishes down in the sink, wiped his hands off on a towel lying on the counter, then faced the woman who watched him with hungry eyes.
Don't look at me that way, honey,
he wanted to tell her. But he wasn't sure she realized how easily he could misinterpret her heated stare.

"Yeah, I'd like to see the place. And, yes, I brought my things. I didn't bring much with me from Alexandria."

"Come on, then, and I'll show you your new home."

When her two feisty dogs followed them to the back door, Susan turned and pointed her index finger at them. "No. Fred, you and Ricky aren't going with us. You two are staying here."

"Fred and Ricky?" Hank chuckled as he inspected the animals. "Good grief. I actually see a resemblance."

"Of course. Fred is round and fat and looks bald. I thought of Fred Mertz the first time I saw him. And of course, Ricky has those big black shoe-button eyes just like Ricky Ricardo."

"What about the cats? Don't tell me—"

"Lucy and Ethel."

Susan and Hank laughed together all the way out into the backyard and up the stairs to the garage apartment. She unlocked the door, walked inside and flipped the light switch.

Hank inspected the entire room in one glance. Neat. Clean. And small. His Alexandria apartment was three times the size. He'd probably feel a bit cramped at first, but he'd get used to the limited space. After all, living this close to Susan would be the easiest way to keep an eye on her.

"It's nice."

"I know it's small. The kitchenette is behind that screen over there. But it has a separate bedroom and nice little bathroom with a shower."

"How much room will I need anyway? This place seems to have all the essentials."

"The entrance is fairly private," she told him. "You can see the stairway and door from the back of my house, but the garage blocks a view of the entrance from the neighbors."

"Is there some reason you think I'd want the entrance to be that private?"

"Well, no, not really." Her cheeks flushed slightly. "It's just that if you decide you want to entertain someone—"

"A lady friend, you mean?"

"Yes, a lady friend. You're going to be living in Crooked Oak for a whole year, so I assume you'll be dating on and off."

"On and off," he repeated, then crossed his arms over his chest and looked directly at Susan. "Would you mind— as my landlady, that is—if I brought female friends up here to the apartment?"

His question apparently took her off guard. She opened her mouth to speak, but only a long, sighing
oh
came out. She cleared her throat. "It's none of my business if you choose to bring your dates back here."

"To spend the night?" He knew he should be ashamed of himself for taking such delight in flustering Susan this way. She seemed genuinely embarrassed discussing his love life.

"Hank, I—I …"

"I'll be very discreet."

"Thank you. I'd appreciate that."

"If you'd like, I can bring my date by your house and let you check her over. If you approve of her, she'll stay the night. If you give her a thumbs-down, then I'll take her home."

Susan stared at him, seemingly speechless, for several minutes before she burst into laughter. "Hank Bishop, I should skin you alive. You've been kidding me!" Giggling like a schoolgirl, she headed straight for him. She swatted him on each arm in a playfully scolding manner. Laughing heartily, he slipped his arms around her. Then suddenly the laughter died and Hank became fully aware of how intimately he was holding her and how still she'd become.

He looked down into her eyes at the exact moment she lifted her face and stared up at him. All he could see was the yearning in those beautiful blue eyes and the temptation of those soft, pink lips.

She wanted him to kiss her, didn't she? If she didn't, why was she looking at him that way?

It would be the easiest thing in the world to pick her up in his arms and carry her to the bedroom. But a man didn't take a woman like Susan to bed unless he intended to make a commitment to her. A lifetime commitment

He brushed a light kiss on her forehead, released his hold on her, then pushed her away. "Guess I'd better get my suitcase and garment bag. And I've got a couple of boxes with odds and ends in them."

"Do you need any help?"

"I don't want you lifting anything," he said. "You might not be showing yet, but you're still pregnant."

"Dr. Farr says that I'm as healthy as a horse."

"Who's Dr. Farr?"

"My obstetrician in Marshallton," she said. "The clinic in Nashville recommended that I choose a local OB-GYN to oversee my pregnancy."

"When do you see this Dr. Farr?"

"Today was the first time. I have another appointment in a month. And somewhere around five months, they'll do a sonogram and I can find out if the baby's a girl or boy then."

"So this Dr. Farr said you're okay. You and the baby."

"Perfectly fine."

"What do you want, a boy or a girl?" Hank asked.

"I don't really care. Lowell and I … We were just so happy that I was pregnant."

Silence hung heavily between them for several minutes, then Susan smiled at Hank and said, "Any time you'd like to go with me to one of my doctor's appointments, you're welcome to come. Maybe when I have the sonogram done, you'd like to be there."

Go with her to the OB-GYN's office when she had the sonogram done? Did he want to do that? Was that something a doting uncle or a godfather would do?

"Yeah, maybe. We'll see."

"Well, I'll let you get moved in. I've had a long day and I'm tired, so I'll see you tomorrow?"

"I'll walk you back—"

"No need. I do know the way."

He stood at the top of the stairs and watched her until she disappeared through the back door. What the hell had he gotten himself into? He had put his life on hold to come back home as a final payment on the debt he owed his best friend. He had known it wasn't going to be easy filling Lowell's shoes, even temporarily, but he had obligations and responsibilities he couldn't ignore. He was prepared to hunt down the man who had murdered Lowell and bring him to justice. He was prepared to keep an eye on Susan and make sure she and the baby were all right before he resumed his career. But he hadn't been prepared for the way Susan made him feel—for the way he wanted her.

One of the first things he needed to do, after he got settled in to the new job and the new apartment, was find himself a willing woman. The only way he was going to be able to keep his hands off Lowell's widow was by taking the edge off his desire—with someone else.