Her Baby Wish

His friend smiled slowly. “Hey, it’s a start.”

“Trace?”

At the sound of Kira’s voice, he turned to find her standing in the barn entrance, holding a bag of groceries.

“Kira.” He walked toward her and took the sack from her. “Is there a problem?” Great, is that all he could come up with?

She glanced away shyly. “I had an easy afternoon at school and decided to cook supper.” She looked at Cal and smiled. “Hello, Jonah.”

“Kira, it’s nice to see you.”

“It’s nice to see you, too. I hope you’re ready for about thirty teenagers coming out.”

“Are we ever ready?”

Kira laughed. “I guess not, but it’s fun.”

Trace found he was jealous of their easy banter. “Is there a reason you came to see me?”

Kira looked at him. “I wanted to ask if you’d come to supper.” She turned back to Cal. “You’re welcome, too, Jonah.”

The foreman blushed. “Thank you for the invitation, Kira, but it’s my bowling night.” He tipped his hat. “I should finish up my chores.” He leaned toward his friend and whispered, “Slow and easy.” Cal turned and walked out.

“What did he say?” Kira asked.

He shrugged. “Just something I need to remember.”

An hour later when Trace stepped inside the house, the scent of apples and cinnamon teased his nose. Ordinarily he didn’t take time to look around; he’d grown up in this house, but today he was mindful of it all.

A wide staircase led to a second floor where there were four large bedrooms. The living room was painted gray-green to offset the dark woodwork and floors. An overstuffed green sofa faced the used-brick fireplace.

That was when he noticed them, Kira’s touches. An easy chair she’d bought for him right after they were married, saying he needed a place to relax. The large coffee table where the photo album of his childhood rested. More family pictures hung on the brightly painted walls. His family, not hers. He remembered her saying she lost her parents’ pictures while moving around in foster care. He’d never thought much about her being alone in her life. She’d always seemed so outgoing and everyone liked her.

Trace moved quickly down the hall through the dining room, which was a sunny-gold color trimmed in oak wainscoting. The scent of lemon oil rose from the long, drop-leaf oak table and eight high-back chairs that had also belonged to his parents. He entered the kitchen, the one room that he and Kira had changed. And it had needed it. Everything had been out-of-date, from the appliances to the cupboards. Just a few months after their small wedding, the room had been gutted and everything was replaced.

A bowl of red apples sat on the round maple table. Everything looked the same, but it wasn’t. He wanted desperately to push time back to when everything was perfect in his marriage.

He found Kira at the counter, taking pieces of chicken from the skillet. She glanced over her shoulder and smiled. “Hi.”

He had trouble finding the words. “Hi. Am I too early?”

“No. Just in time.”

His gaze combed over her. He was starved for her. Denying himself the pleasure she could give him had been punishing. Today she had on one of her prim schoolteacher blouses, his favorite, a rose-pink one that brought out the color of her skin.

He swallowed back the dryness in his throat. “How did school go today?”

“Fine,” she said. “Everyone is complaining about finals.”

He leaned against the counter. He’d missed talking with her. “I remember that age, it seemed to take an eternity to get to the end of school.”

She smiled and started setting out the food. “The seniors are anxious to graduate, and get me out of their hair.”

He knew that wasn’t true. They all loved her. The girls considered her a friend, and the boys were half in love with her. She was young, barely thirty-one, and attractive. They all gravitated to her. “And a lot are going to be heartbroken at saying goodbye to you.”

“What does that mean?”

“You’ve always given your students a lot of attention.”

“And that’s a bad thing?”

“No, it just means you’re dedicated, and very good at what you do. Not to mention pretty.”

Kira couldn’t believe she was blushing at her husband’s compliment. Trace had told her she was attractive before, but not for a long time. He hadn’t talked to her at all.

“Thank you,” she said.

He shrugged. “I’m not saying anything that isn’t true.”

“It’s still nice to hear,” she said. They looked at each other for a long time. Kira tried not to react, but it was impossible. Trace McKane was a handsome man. She’d thought that the first time she’d seen him. She’d been in town less than twenty-four hours before falling hopelessly in love. Something she’d never thought would happen, but the quiet rancher somehow convinced her to trust again. His slow hands and eager mouth coaxed her into giving herself to him, and they married within two months. From that first night of loving to now, she’d never regretted that decision.

She turned and opened the refrigerator to get the milk. The cool air felt good against her heated face. She couldn’t believe how nervous she was acting. He was her husband, for God’s sake. No, Trace hadn’t been her husband for weeks. And sadly that wasn’t going to change.

CHAPTER THREE

AN HOUR later, Kira sat at the kitchen table and watched as Trace finished the last of his meal.

He leaned back in the chair. “That was delicious, Kira.”

She let out a breath, not realizing she’d been holding it. “I’m glad you liked it.”

He gave a half smile. “Can’t deny I’ve always loved your fried chicken.”

And she loved his praise. “I shouldn’t fix it. It isn’t exactly healthy, especially the gravy.”

“Once in a while won’t hurt me.”

It definitely hadn’t hurt his waistline, she thought, visualizing the six-pack abs hidden under his shirt. She nodded and started to get up. “Coffee?”

He touched her hand to stop her and she felt a sudden jolt. “I’ll get it,” he said.

Kira relented, but her hungry gaze followed Trace to the coffeemaker. He stood nearly six-feet-two-inches tall, and since she was nearly five-nine, she loved his height. Her attention moved over a Western shirt that outlined his broad shoulders and narrow waist. She loved that long, lean look, especially when he wore Wrangler jeans.

And nothing else.

Heat suddenly swarmed her body just as Trace turned around. He gave her a curious look, but remained silent as he walked back to the table. He set down the mugs and she noticed his hands. Memories flooded her head, as she recalled his firm, but gentle touches, how he stroked her, bringing her pleasure.

He took a seat across from her. “I’m glad to see you’ve taken my advice and are on the decaf.”