The M.D. She Had To Marry

His frustration with her got the better of him. “Sit down,” he commanded.

It was the wrong thing to say, and he knew it. But something about Lacey Bravo tended to bring out the tyrant in him.

Why was that? He had no idea. He considered himself a reasonable, gentle man, as a rule. He was a reasonable, gentle man as a rule. Ask just about anyone who knew him.

Lacey ignored his command. She reached the stove and put the crackers and cocoa mix on the open shelf above it. Then she turned for the table again and shuffled his way, her abdomen heavy and low in front of her—low enough, in fact, to make him suspect that the baby inside her had already dropped toward the birth canal.

It could be less than a week before she brought his child into the world.

They needed to get married.

She reached into the bag again. He stood. “Lace. Stop. You know we have to talk about this.”

She took her hand out of the bag and raked that thick gold hair of hers back from her forehead. “Not about marriage, we don’t.”

“I disagree. I think marriage is exactly what we do need to talk about. I think that—”

She put up both hands, palms out. “Wait. Listen. You’re the baby’s father. And of course, you’ll want to see him or her, to be a part of his life. I understand that and I can accept that. But it really isn’t necessary for you to—”

“It damn well is necessary. You’re having my baby and a baby needs a mother and a father.”

“I told you. The baby will have a mother and a father. They just won’t be married to each other, that’s all.”

“A two-parent home is important to a child.”

“Sometimes a two-parent home isn’t possible.”

“In our case, it’s entirely possible. I want to marry you. We’re both single. I make a good living and I do care for you. I believe that, deep in your heart, you also care for me. I know I’m rough on you sometimes, rougher than I have a right to be. But I’ll work on that, I promise you.”

She said nothing, only looked at him, shaking her head.

He thought of more arguments in his favor. “We have…history together. I feel I really know you, that you really know me. We could build a good life together, I’m sure of it.”

Still, she didn’t speak.

A grotesque thought occurred to him. “Is there another man? Is that it?”

She closed her eyes and sucked in a breath.

He realized that, if there was another man, he didn’t want to know. Which was irrational. Of course, if there was someone else, he needed to know.

He asked again. “Lace? Is there another man?”

“No,” she said in a tiny, soft voice. “No one. There hasn’t been anyone. Since you. Since quite a while before you, if you want to know the truth.”

Relief shimmered through him. “Good. Then there’s nothing to stop you from marrying me.”

She backed up and let herself down into the chair again. “How can you say that?”

“Lace—”

“No, Logan. I am not going to marry you.” She looked up at him, blue eyes glittering in defiance, mulishly determined to do exactly the wrong thing.

Impatience rose in him again. “Why not?”

She glared at him. “You keep asking that. Do you really want an answer? Do you really want me to say it right out?”

He didn’t.

But he wasn’t about to tell her that. She’d only look at him as if he’d just proved her point.

“Let me put it this way,” she said with heavy irony. “If I ever do get married, it won’t be to a man who’s in love with my big sister.”

He tried not to flinch as the words came at him.

And he did realize the opportunity they presented. Now was his chance to tell her firmly that he was not in love with Jenna. But somehow, he couldn’t quite get the denial out of his mouth.

Lacey smiled sadly, shook her head some more, and murmured his name in a knowing way that made him want to grab her and flip her over his knee and paddle her behind until she admitted he was right and accepted his proposal. Until she confessed how glad she was that he had come at last, that he was ready, willing and able to make everything right.

Lacey wasn’t confessing anything. She said, “I have my own plans. I’m staying here in Wyoming until the baby’s born and I’m back on my feet. Then I’ll return to L.A.”

Absurd, he thought. Impossible. And harebrained, as well. “You can’t be serious. There is no way you can support both yourself and a child on what you make working odd jobs and selling a painting every now and then.”

“We’ll get by. Jenna and I sold our mother’s house. I have money put aside from that, and a new car, so the baby and I will be able to get around. In fact, I have everything I need.” Her full, soft mouth stretched into a smile—a rather forced one this time. “And besides, I know you’ll help out.”

He reminded himself that he would not lose his patience again. She had always been like this. Impetuous and wild. Running away whenever things didn’t go her way. A virtual delinquent as a teenager, hanging out with all the troublemakers at Meadow Valley High. And then, at twenty, taking off for Los Angeles to study under some famous painter, sure she would “make it” as an artist. Six years had gone by since then. She hadn’t made it yet.

Now she proposed to drag his baby to Southern California to scrape and starve right along with her.

It wasn’t going to happen. “I’ll help out, all right,” he said. “We’ll get married. You’ll live with me. You can paint your paintings in Meadow Valley just as well as in L.A.”

“I said no, Logan. And I meant it.”

He folded his arms across his chest—mostly to keep himself from reaching out and strangling her. “This isn’t last September. You can’t just explain to me how I don’t love you and I’m only on the rebound from your sister and it’s time we both moved on.”

“You happened to agree with me last September, in case you’ve forgotten.”

Had he agreed with her? Maybe. He’d been confused as hell last September. Hard to remember now what he had felt then.

Jenna had left with Mack McGarrity.

And then, out of nowhere, her little sister, who had always irritated the hell out of him, showed up on his doorstep, real concern for him in her gorgeous blue eyes and a big chocolate cake in her hands.

“You need chocolate, Dr. Do-Right,” she had said. “Lots of chocolate. And you need it now.”

Dr. Do-Right. He hated it when she called him that. He had opened his mouth to tell her so—and also to tell her to please go away.

But she just pushed past him and kept walking, straight to his kitchen. She put the cake on the counter and began rifling the drawers. It didn’t take her long to find the one with the silverware in it.