Runaway Lone Star Bride

“What happened?”

“She was frustrated because I didn’t know what I wanted to do when I got out of the service—except not come back here to live. And I didn’t want to set our wedding date until I knew what I was going to be doing, where we were going to live.” Frustration glimmered in his dark brown eyes. “So she called it off. Said I was too restless to ever settle down in one place, and that was all she’d ever wanted.”

Finding his steady regard a little unnerving, Maggie set the skillet in the sink, squirted dishwashing liquid into the center of it and got to work. “Did you have any qualms about leaving the military?”

Hart shook his head. “No. When I’m ready to move on, I move on. I don’t spend a lot of time looking back. And although I enjoyed my time in the armed forces and felt good about serving my country, I was ready to try something else.”

Maggie understood that, too. It was why she had gone from business analyst to wedding planner. Because—even though this wasn’t something she planned to do permanently—she had needed a change.

Another silence fell. Henry having finished his dinner, Hart brought him over to the sink and Maggie helped him wash the child’s face and hands. Then Hart set him down on the floor, in front of the bay window in the breakfast nook. Henry stood, his hands pressed against the glass, looking outside.

Hart stood next to his son, tenderly standing guard. Watching them together, Maggie could already feel the love flowing from father to son.

She shook her head. “I don’t understand why Alicia wouldn’t have told you about the baby.”

“I don’t understand it, either. Unless it was because she wanted to keep Henry all to herself.” He paused. “She had to have known that I wouldn’t have just walked away. I would have insisted on shared custody.”

Maggie moved closer. “I’m sorry she didn’t tell you. It was wrong of her to keep him from you.”

Hart reached out and squeezed Maggie’s hand. “Thanks for saying that.”

It wasn’t just a platitude. It bothered her that he thought it might be. “I mean it, Hart. You were dealt a raw hand. You didn’t deserve it.”

Another moment passed. They exchanged fragile smiles while Maggie considered the irony that Hart had helped her out in the midst of the worst crisis of her life, to date. Now, she was helping him out, in the midst of his.

“In the meantime,” Hart drew a deep breath, considering. “I’ve got to figure out where Henry’s going to sleep tonight.”

He was watching her curiously, as if trying to read her mind while she worked to keep her emotions out of it. “Do you have a crib?”

Hart scrubbed a palm across the day’s growth of beard on his chin. “Not sure.” He frowned again. “There used to be one—mine, actually—in the attic. Would you mind looking after Henry while I go check it out?”

“Not at all.” In her view, the sooner they got the little one down for the night, the better. And to that end...maybe she should speed things along, too.

“So what do you think, little fella?” Maggie asked, lifting Henry into her arms after Hart disappeared. The boy smiled and cuddled against her while Maggie ran her fingers through his cracker-and-juice-encrusted hair. Knowing his dad’s chore was going to take a while, given the jumbled state of the contents of the attic, she asked, “You up for a bath tonight? Because to be honest, sport, you really need one.”

Henry flashed a toothy grin.

“I’ll take that for a yes,” Maggie said. She retrieved the diaper bag, Henry still snuggled safely in her arms, and went up the stairs.

* * *

HART HEARD THE wild giggles the moment he hit the second floor. He followed the sound to the guest-room bath. Henry was in the tub, splashing happily. Maggie was kneeling in front of it, one hand tucked securely around Henry’s tummy while Henry dropped a set of toy keys into the bubbles. Chortling happily, he picked them up and promptly dropped them again.

She certainly had the touch with kids, Hart thought. And she was still damned beautiful, too—even in disarray. In deference to the potentially messy task of bathing his son, she’d swept her thick espresso curls up into a loose knot on the back of her head. Her legs and feet were bare, her skirt pulled tight across her delectable derriere and hiked partway up her even more sensational thighs. The front of her blouse was damp and covered with bubbles. She looked as happy and relaxed as the toddler in front of her.

Was this the same child he had picked up at foster care that morning? Hart could hardly believe it.

Catching sight of him in the mirror, Maggie shifted slightly to look at him. As she moved, the neckline of her blouse gaped, showing a hint of lace and soft womanly curves. There was a light in her eyes that made his pulse race all the more.

“How did it go?” Her silky voice caressed his skin.

He kept his eyes on hers and Hart answered her smile with one of his own. “I found the crib. Unfortunately, it was covered with layers of dust.”

“Did you bring it down?”

Hart edged nearer and caught a whiff of her perfume. Hyacinth. He repressed a sigh of pure lust. It had been a long time since he’d been with a woman. Too long. “I took it outside and hosed it off,” he replied, trying in vain to get his libido under control and his mind back on track. “I was hoping that a simple rinse would do it, but it looks like it’s going to need soap, too.”

“I think there’s some wood-oil soap under the kitchen sink.”

Was it his imagination, or was it getting hot in here? “Thanks. I’ll look.” She seemed very much in her element with his child, amazingly so. “Are you okay here with Henry—if I go off to finish the job?”

Maggie nodded. “None of us will get any shut-eye tonight unless Henry has a place to sleep. So go for it.”

“Thanks. I owe you.”

She laughed and waggled her brows facetiously. “I’ll remember that.”

Hart took another last, lingering look at the two of them, then went off to finish the chore. By the time he returned, Maggie was in the living-room rocking chair, Henry on her lap. The baby had a bottle of milk clutched in his hands, and he was drinking it drowsily. The two looked like mother and son, and Hart couldn’t help but smile at them. Maggie smiled back, then stiffened abruptly. Her contentment fading, she seemed more than ready to relinquish his son to him. “All set?” she asked.

Hiding his regret to see her so eager to leave, Hart nodded. “Bed’s made and everything.”

Maggie rose, Henry still in her arms. “Where’d you put it?”

“My old room.”

“Ah, yes.” Her blue eyes sparkled with mischief. “The one with all the trophies and awards.”

A little embarrassed his parents insisted on keeping the room like a museum of his accomplishments, Hart dipped his head in droll acknowledgment. “That would be the one.”

“You know, it might be a good idea to take the rocking chair up there.”

Hart had been thinking the same thing. Wordlessly, he handed Henry back to Maggie. Then picked up the rocker and headed up the stairs. Maggie and Henry followed along behind him.

When they reached his old bedroom, Maggie looked approvingly at the crib set up right next to the extra-long twin bed of his youth. A bedside lamp was glowing. Once again, she relinquished command of her young charge. “Ten more minutes of rocking and he ought to be out like a light.”

Hart nodded his understanding. Trying not to think how quickly he had come to rely on her, he sat down with Henry in his arms and got to it.

* * *

HALF AN HOUR LATER, Maggie was in the kitchen making tortilla soup and a salad for her own dinner when Hart walked in. He had changed into a pair of nice-fitting jeans and a denim shirt, and for the first time since he had arrived, he looked completely relaxed and at ease.

She couldn’t help but light up at the sight of him.

He was just so damned sexy.

And she could not afford to be noticing!

Maggie tabled the loneliness that made her so susceptible and brought her thoughts back to the situation at hand. “Henry asleep?”