The M.D. She Had To Marry

She gritted her teeth and granted him the tiniest of shrugs.

“Is that a ‘yes’?”

Lacey exerted superhuman effort and did not roll her eyes. “Yes, Doctor. That is a ‘yes’.”

He made a low, exasperated sound. “Then what are you doing behind the wheel of a car?”

“I treasure my independence.”

The words may have sounded flippant, but Lacey did mean them. Doc Pruitt, who ran the clinic in the small nearby town of Medicine Creek, had been nagging her to avoid driving. And Tess, her cousin’s wife, who lived in the main ranch house not a half a mile away, would have been glad to take Lacey wherever she needed to go. But to Lacey, a car—and the possession of the keys to it—meant self-determination. Never would she willingly give that up.

Except, perhaps, for the love of this man.

But not to worry. Her independence was safe. Logan’s heart was otherwise engaged.

“Lacey,” he said, in the thoroughly superior tone that had always made her want to throw something at him. “There are times in life when independence has to take a back seat to necessity. It’s not good for you, or the baby, for you to—”

“Logan, can we at least get inside before you start telling me everything I’m doing wrong?”

He blinked. Maybe it actually occurred to him that he’d started criticizing her before he’d even bothered to say hello. Whatever. Without another word, he scooped her grocery bags into his big arms and turned toward the cabin. Lacey was left to shut the rear door and trudge along in his wake, across the bare dirt yard, past the dusty midnight-blue luxury car he had driven there and up the two rickety steps to the cabin’s front entrance. On the porch, he stood aside for her to open the door. Then she moved out of his way to let him go first.

They entered the main living area, which was small and dark and simply furnished. Lacey loved the cabin—had loved it on sight. Though the light was never good enough to paint by, the rough plank walls pleased her artist’s eye. And the layers of shadow were interesting, dark and intense in the corners, fading out to a pleasant dimness in the center of the room. Beyond the main room, there was a small sleeping nook in the northeast corner and a bathroom in a lean-to outside the back door.

Logan didn’t seem to share her admiration for her rustic surroundings. His dismissing glance flicked over the stained sink, the old iron daybed bolstered to double as a sofa, and the faded curtain that served as a door to the sleeping nook.

He dipped his head at the grocery bags. “Where do you want these?”

Lacey moved to clear a space on the old pine table, shifting a stack of books, a sketch pad, a box of pastels and some pencils to one of the four ladderback chairs. “Right here.” She pulled the chain on the bulb suspended over the table. The resulting wash of light was harsh, but functional.

Logan moved forward and slid the groceries onto the table, then stepped back. They regarded each other. She saw that there were circles under those fine dark eyes of his.

Was it only the severity of the light? No. Now that she stared directly at him, she could see more than irritated disapproval in the sculpted planes of his face. She saw weariness. Reproach and concern were there, too.

She cleared her throat and spoke gently. “Did you drive all the way from California?”

He shook his head. “I flew out of Reno. To Denver, where I transferred to a smaller plane, which got me to Sheridan. Then I rented a car for the rest of the trip.”

“You must be tired.”

His mouth tightened. She read the hidden meaning in his expression. He’d come to take care of her, whether she liked it or not. His own comfort was nothing. “I’m fine.”

“Well. I’m glad to hear it.”

The silence stretched out again. Maybe he was thirsty. “Do you want something to drink?”

He shrugged, then answered with a formality that tugged at her heart. “Yes. Thank you. Something cold would be good.”

“Ginger ale?”

“That’s fine.”

She went to the refrigerator, which was probably a collector’s item—it stood on legs and had a coil on top. She took out a can, then turned to the cabinet over the one tiny section of counter.

“Never mind a glass,” he said. “Just the can is fine.”

She handed it to him across the table, absurdly conscious of the possibility that their fingers might brush in passing. They didn’t.

She gestured at the chair in front of him. “Have a seat.”

He ignored that suggestion, popped the top on the can and took a long drink.

She stared at his Adam’s apple as it bobbed up and down on his strong, tanned throat and tried to ignore the yearning that flooded through her in a warm, tempting wave.

She wanted him.

Even big as a cow with the baby they had created together, she’d have happily sashayed right over to him and put her mouth against that brown throat. With delight, she would have teasingly scraped the skin with her teeth, stuck out her tongue and tasted—

Lacey cut off the dangerous erotic thought before it could get too good a hold on her very healthy imagination. As if she even could sashay, big as she’d grown in the last month or so.

Logan set the ginger ale can on the table. “How long have you been here?”

“Seven weeks.”

He waited, clearly expecting her to elaborate. When she didn’t, he asked, softly, “Why?”

She looked away, realized she’d done it, and made herself face him again. “Why not? This ranch has been in my family for five generations. My second cousin, Zach, runs the place now.”

“That doesn’t answer my question. What made you choose to come here?”

“Jenna suggested it.” As Lacey said her sister’s name, it became clear to her that she’d been avoiding saying it. For her own sake or for Logan’s, she couldn’t be sure. But the name was out now. And the world hadn’t stopped. “She and Mack stayed here for a few weeks last year.”

There. She had said both of the dangerous names. Jenna and Mack. The woman Logan loved. And the man who had taken her from him.

Lacey watched for his reaction. If he had one, he wasn’t sharing it. His face remained composed. He didn’t even blink.

“Jenna knows—about you and me?” His voice was cautious, but resigned.

“Yes.”

“She knows that the baby is mine?”

Lacey nodded. “I told her about you and me not too long after it happened—and about the baby a few months ago. She wanted me to go and stay with her and Mack in Florida for the birth.”

“Why didn’t you?”

Lacey stared at him. Did he really want to hear the answer to that one? Apparently he did, or he would not have been so foolish as to ask.

She shrugged. “I didn’t want to intrude on their happiness.” Jenna and Mack were like newlyweds, having recently reunited after years apart. “And Jenna is pregnant, too. Her baby is due in September.”