His Texas Christmas Bride

Well, it is what it is.

She just needed to make sure her baby didn’t grow up feeling like a mistake.

“I’m going to have a baby,” she said. “Tomorrow, Nick is coming over, and we’re going to figure it out.”

* * *

Nick steered his motorcycle into a parking space at the Lake Celebration Landing Condominiums, a neatly landscaped, compact grouping of townhomes on the east side of Celebration.

His gaze picked out unit four. Becca’s place. Glossy ceramic planters with yellow and rust-colored flowers flanked the red front door, which sported a wreath of wheat stalks and small pumpkins—or were those gourds? It was hard to tell. Whatever they were, they screamed fall and hinted that Becca took a lot of pride in her home.

The amber porch light glowed in the dusk. She was waiting for him. Or she was home, at least. Of course she was; she was expecting him, even if last night as he’d signed her discharge papers she hadn’t seemed overly eager to see him. He swung his leg over the bike’s seat and stood, hesitating a moment.

Was a person ever really ready for a conversation like this? Yesterday morning when he’d opened his eyes, he’d had no idea how his life was about to change.

But they had a lot to talk about. He’d made a list. Because he knew if he didn’t write down the important things he might get distracted. Becca Flannigan made him stupid like that.

Nick hated acting stupid. Stupid equaled out of control, and out of control usually ended in disaster.

He reached in the storage console on his bike and pulled out a paper grocery bag. It contained chicken noodle soup and a small box of saltines. Becca was probably sick of bland food by now. But at least it was something. He wasn’t showing up empty-handed, he thought as he knocked on the door above the wreath.

He heard a dog bark and then a soft murmuring he imagined was her way of gently quieting the animal.

Funny, he knew so little about this woman. As he stood on her front porch, it almost felt like a blind date. However, when she answered his knock, and he saw her there, looking much more like herself, or at least more like the woman who had swept him away when they’d met, he felt that attraction, that visceral pull that had hit him hard that first night.

She wore blue jeans and a simple blue blouse that brought out the color of her eyes. She’d pulled her golden-brown hair away from her face with a black headband. She didn’t wear much makeup. The color had returned to her cheeks, and her skin looked so smooth he had to fight the urge to reach out and touch her.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi, Nick.” The dog, a red-and-white, low-to-the-ground model, barked a greeting and jumped up on his leg.

“Hey, there, buddy,” Nick said.

“Priscilla, get down. I’m sorry about that. Just tell her no, and she’ll stand down.”

“It’s okay.” He dropped to one knee, setting the bag down so he could use both hands to scratch the dog behind her ears. The animal showed her appreciation by jumping up again and licking Nick’s nose.

“Priscilla. Stop it,” Becca said. “Mind your manners.”

“She’s a corgi?” Nick asked as he got to his feet.

“Yes. A very spoiled corgi who needs to learn how to listen.”

Nick smiled. “We had a corgi when I was growing up. They’re great dogs.”

“Yes, they are. Come in.”

She stepped back to allow him room to pass. As he stepped into the foyer, he could smell the faint scent of her perfume—something floral—which brought him back to that night. As it had before, it tempted him to lean in closer and breathe in the essence of her. His mind flashed back to how she’d looked as he’d made love to her—soft and sweet and incredibly sexy in an understated way that had driven him mad.

He blinked away the thought and held out the bag.

“What’s this?” she asked.

“It’s for you. Although you probably don’t need it now. You look like you’re feeling better.”

He’d been at the hospital from 7:00 p.m. to 7:00 a.m. And then he’d gone home to get some sleep. When he’d called her this afternoon to confirm she was up for meeting this evening, she’d said she was fine. She’d taken the day off from work to rest. Since they were meeting tonight, it hadn’t made sense to drop it by earlier. Besides, it might’ve given her the wrong idea. That he wanted more than he was prepared to give.

It was all true and valid.

So, why did he feel like a jerk?

“Thanks.” She accepted the grocery bag and peered into it. “Ah, soup and crackers. Thank you. I’m almost completely back to normal, except for being a little tired. But that’s par for the course lately.”

She shrugged and ducked her head as she turned away to shut the door. Her body language made her seem a little vulnerable in the wake of her admission.

Nick had taken a few steps out of the small foyer and into the nicely decorated living room before she caught up with him. The room, which featured shades of greens and blues, had a traditional feel, but it certainly wasn’t old stodgy traditional. It looked as if she’d put a lot of thought into the decor. Still, it wasn’t so decorated that he couldn’t imagine kicking back and watching the Cowboys or the Mavericks on a flat-screen on a lazy Sunday afternoon.

His mind tried to lead him to other things they could do on a lazy afternoon, but he reminded himself why he was here tonight, and the thought was instantly sobering.

“Sit down.” She gestured toward a couple of chairs arranged across from the couch that were upholstered in a blue-and-green geometric pattern. The couch—a big, overstuffed number—looked a hell of a lot more comfortable, but tonight wasn’t about comfort. It was about figuring things out.

He took a seat on the closest chair.

The dog had trotted into the room with a rawhide in her mouth and plopped down next to his feet, ready to do some damage to her chew toy.

“May I get you something to drink?” she asked.

He wondered if she meant wine or beer or something tamer like water or coffee. The only thing they’d had the night they met was coffee. He didn’t even know if she drank.

His gaze drifted over her stomach for a quick moment. Of course she wouldn’t imbibe alcohol now.

“I’m good,” he said. “But thanks.”

She sat on the couch across from him.

“You worked today?” she asked.

So, they were going to make small talk before they got to the heart of the matter. Okay, for a few minutes. His ex-wife had told him he wasn’t good at chitchat. According to her, he wasn’t good at communicating. Period.

It was true; he usually didn’t have the patience for meaningless conversation. What was the point? That’s why he didn’t care for cocktail and dinner parties, and it was a big part of the reason he was divorced now.

That and his tendency to be a workaholic. Delilah had complained a lot about him never being home. He’d told her that was life with an ER doctor. Eventually, she’d left him for his best friend, who also happened to own the lawn service that did their yard.

He wasn’t sure which was sadder...the fact that their breakup had been such a cliché—the only thing that could’ve been worse was if she’d left him for the pool boy—or the overwhelming sense of relief he’d felt after he’d signed the divorce papers.

After that, he’d buried himself in work. Emergency medicine suited him so well. It was fast-paced and involved a revolving door of patients. He could keep it all about work and not get too personal. He’d make sure they were stable and hand them off to their primary care doctor.

It was clean and simple. No need for small talk or building relationships beyond the situation that had brought them into his emergency room.