His Woman, His Child (10 page)

Susan had gone into work early to catch up on things she'd let slide while Hank had been in the hospital. It seemed she'd let her whole life
slide
for the past several months. But her life hadn't been easy, either. First Lowell's murder. Then Hank Bishop's return to Crooked Oak. And most recently, Hank's gunfight with Carl Bates.

She glanced over the information from last year's springtime fund-raiser. Now that the mid-December Christmas Open House was behind her, it was past time she put the plans for the coming year's events into motion. April would be here soon enough.

And then May. And June. Her baby was due in June. Early June. She had planned to ask Hank to be her Lamaze coach. She hoped he'd want to be present when their baby was born.

But he's not going to claim the baby. He wants everyone to believe he's just the godfather.

Hadn't last night changed things for them—for him?

The minute she heard the knock at the door, her heart leaped up in her throat. She knew instinctively that it was Hank.

"Yes, please, come in," she said.

He opened the door a fraction, peered inside and waited. "I, uh … we need to talk. Have you got a few minutes?"

"Certainly." She shoved back her chair and rose to meet him. "Please, come on inside."

He entered her office, closed the door behind him and stood in front of her. For a couple of minutes, he stared down at the floor, then lifted his gaze and looked at her.

"I'm going out to stay with Caleb and Sheila until my new apartment is available."

"Oh."

"After what happened last night, I think … well, it would be better if we put a little distance between us."

This wasn't what she wanted, but it was what she had expected. "If you're sure it's for the best, then—"

"Last night was my fault. And I'm …"

Please, dear Lord, don't let him say that he's sorry.

"I'm feeling guilty for taking advantage of you the way I did. I wanted you," he said. "I still want you—" when she swayed toward him, he stepped back "—and that's the problem. It wouldn't be fair to you if we had an affair. When Lowell's term as sheriff is up, I'm going back to my job with the Bureau. You need to wait for a guy who wants to get married and be a father to … to your baby."

"Let me get this straight. You're doing all this for my own good? You're running off out to Caleb and Sheila's so you won't be tempted to make love to me again because you've decided that we shouldn't have an affair?"

"Yeah. That's about it."

"Don't I have a say in this?" she asked.

"What do you mean?"

"What if I don't want you to move? What if I want you to make love to me again? What if I'd like for us to have an affair?"

"You don't mean that. What would people say? You don't want people talking about you as if you were some, er, some—"

"Some wanton woman who doesn't give a tinker's damn what anyone thinks about her."

"Susan, honey, you're not yourself. You're not the kind of girl who has affairs. You're the kind who gets married."

She backed him up against the closed door, draped her arms around his neck and said, "First of all, Hank Bishop, I'm not a girl. I haven't been a girl in years. I'm a woman. And what I want—what I've always wanted—is you."

Hank pulled her arms from around his neck, but not before she kissed him. He sucked in a deep breath, reached behind him and opened the door.

"Lady, you're dangerous."

She watched him practically run out of her office. She didn't know whether to laugh or cry. The man she loved had just told her that he still wanted her—wanted her so badly that he didn't trust himself to continue living in close proximity to her.

Hank thought he didn't want to be a husband and a father, thought he'd be lousy at both. But somewhere deep down inside him, a man like Hank—honest, trustworthy, loyal, dependable—probably wanted those very things. And she knew, in her heart, that if Hank ever committed himself, he would be a faithful, loving husband and the best father in the world.

If she could overcome her fear of him—of the uncontrollable passion she'd always felt for him—then surely he could overcome his fear of commitment. Just because his father had been a lousy husband and father, didn't mean that he would be. Why couldn't he see that?

Hank tried to avoid her, but she took every chance possible to be around him. To remind him of the way he felt about her. To let him think about what he was missing. He didn't stop by the house to check on her, but he did call her daily. Short, succinct phone calls, without the least bit of familiarity in his side of the conversation. But she always made at least one personal comment that was sure to arouse him. She was actually getting very good at playing a telephone seductress.

The whole Bishop clan, short of the always missing Jake, shared Christmas at the farm. And they included her. Tallie had said, "You've always been like a member of the family and now that you're carrying my little niece or nephew, that makes it official." Hank had gone out of his way not to get close to her during the holidays, despite the fact they were together for hours at a time. But she caught him staring at her, his gaze telling her that he still wanted her just as much as ever.

She was playing a waiting game, hoping and praying that in the end she would be the victor. But Hank was as stubborn as a mule. He had decided long ago—when he'd been a boy—that he was never going to get married and have kids.

The January wind whistled as it blew around the corner of Sophie's, the one Italian restaurant in Crooked Oak and by far the best in Marshall County. Susan and Donna hurried inside, stomping their feet on the giant rubber mat in the foyer. Dirty slush dropped from their shoes and fresh snow fell from their coats as they removed them and hung them on the long wall rack to their left.

"Table for two," Donna said, then glanced meaningfully at her protruding belly and then at Susan's slightly rounded tummy. "Definitely non-smoking."

The hostess showed them to a nice, cozy booth in the back of the restaurant. After sliding into the booth, they looked over the menus and when their waitress arrived, Donna ordered Veal Parmesan and Susan ordered the Spiced Chicken Salad.

"I'm glad we went to the movies tonight," Donna said. "I really needed to get out of the house and away from all my well-meaning friends who keep sticking their noses into my personal business. Even President Harper today asked me if there was no hope of a reconciliation between me and the baby's father."

"So, you think most people have bought your story about a whirlwind courtship and wedding and then an even quicker divorce?" Susan asked.

"I don't know," Donna admitted. "I think some people bought it and the ones who didn't are sympathetic enough not to question the validity of my very brief marriage."

"At least I had a husband," Susan said, then lowered her voice. "And no one would ever suspect that Lowell isn't my child's father."

"What if your child looks just like Hank Bishop?" Donna shook her head sadly. "We're a fine pair, aren't we? Two pregnant women with no fathers for their babies."

"I'm hoping my baby will have a father." Susan hushed immediately when the waitress brought their drinks and hot bread sticks.

"I thought you told me that Hank is steering clear of you these days."

"He is. But I haven't given up hope. I think once Hank sees his child and holds him in his arms, he won't be able to walk away from us."

"Him? You said him? Do you think the baby's a boy?"

"That's what they told me when I had the sonogram done today, and I've got the pictures to prove it."

"I'm going to name my little girl, Louisa Christine, after my grandmothers." Donna glided her hand over her round tummy. "Think we should go ahead and arrange a marriage between your son and my daughter?"

Susan laughed. "I don't know how my son will feel about older women. After all, your Louisa will be a whole month older."

"You know what's really funny about all this—about my being pregnant? Ron and I were married for four years and for two of those years, we tried to have a baby. It never happened. Two whole years of making love and nothing! Then I spend a couple of nights with a big, macho cowboy I hardly know and wham bam, I'm pregnant!"

"Donna, uh, have you ever thought about trying to contact this guy and tell him he's going to be a father? Maybe you two could—"

"I have no idea what his name is or how to reach him."

"I'll bet you could find him if you wanted to. If other people in that bar knew his name was J.B., then maybe the bartender knew him and could—"

"He wasn't the kind of man I'd want to marry," Donna confessed. "He was rough and crude and I don't think he'd had much education, at least, he didn't talk like an educated man."

"Do you realize how terribly snobbish you sound, Ms. Fields? And sexist, too. This man was good enough to sleep with, but not good enough to marry?"

"Oh, I know how it sounds. How it makes me look. But I swear, Susan, I've never done anything like that before in my life. It was as if I'd lost all my senses. You can't imagine how it feels to be so totally swept away by passion that you're powerless to stop yourself from making a terrible mistake."

Susan grinned. "That's where you're wrong. I know exactly what it feels like to be swept away by passion."

"Are you saying that you and Hank … that y'all have … have—"

"Yes. Once. Before Christmas. That's why he moved out in such a hurry."

They quieted instantly when the waitress brought the main course. Just as Susan lifted her fork, she glanced across the room to where the hostess was seating a new arrival. He had his back to her, but she'd know those broad shoulders, those lean hips, those long legs anywhere.

Her heartbeat accelerated. Her stomach quivered. Hank Bishop was only a few feet away from her. All she had to do was walk across the room and say hello. But she wouldn't do that. She still had some pride left. A week ago she had invited him to go with her to see the doctor today, to be there when they did the sonogram. He had declined the invitation. Then this afternoon, after her doctor's appointment, she had phoned him at his office.

"I have the sonogram pictures," she'd told him. "The baby's perfect. If you'd like to see them or if you'd like to know whether the baby's a boy or a girl, you're welcome to stop by the house."

He had declined that offer, too, so she'd been glad when Donna had called and suggested they go to the movies tonight. Neither of them felt like being alone.

"What are you staring at so hard?" Donna turned and followed Susan's line of vision. "Aha. Did you know Hank would be here tonight?"

"No. I knew he ate most of his meals out, but I didn't know he'd be eating at Sophie's tonight."

"Want to ask him to join us?"

"I don't think so."

"He's looking this way," Donna said. "He's seen us. Smile and wave."

Susan and Donna smiled and waved. Hank did neither; he just nodded his head in recognition.

"He's eating alone," Donna said. "Wonder why he doesn't have a date?"

"He isn't dating," Susan replied. "Sheila told me that he hasn't had a date since that one date with Kendra Camp. And I understand that Kendra has called him several times, but he always finds an excuse not to see her."

"You're certainly keeping tabs on Sheriff Bishop, aren't you?"

Susan laid her hand over her small, round tummy. "I have a vested interest in Hank Bishop. My son and I."

Although it was delicious, Susan only nibbled at her dinner. Throughout the meal, she stole glances at Hank, who seemed to be having a difficult time concentrating on his food, too. And when the waitress flirted with him, he ignored her, but looked directly at Susan, as if checking to see if she would display some sign of jealousy. She didn't. She just smiled at him. Frowning, he glanced away and lifted his coffee cup.

After splitting the check, Susan and Donna rose to leave, but before they'd taken a step away from the booth, Hank Bishop approached them.

"Evening, ladies," he said in that deep, rich, Southern baritone that always created fluttering butterflies in Susan's stomach.

"Hello, Sheriff," Donna said. "Enjoy your meal?"

"Yeah, sure. It was great." Turning to Susan, he slipped his hand beneath her elbow and leaned slightly toward her. "Did you drive or did Donna?"

"Donna did. Why do you ask?"

"I was wondering … well, would you mind if I take you home? I'd kind of like to see those sonogram pictures and—"

"Oh, sure." Susan widened her eyes when she looked over at Donna. "Do you mind if Hank takes me home?"

"No, not at all. You two go right ahead," Donna said.

Conversation on the drive to Susan's house was limited. They briefly discussed the cold, snowy weather. Then he told her that Carl Bates's trial had been set to begin in early March. Finally the man who had killed Lowell was behind bars and would soon be judged by twelve of his peers. Hank had brought Lowell's killer to justice, just as he'd said he would. And once she delivered the baby and they were both well, Hank would have accomplished his mission here in Crooked Oak. He would have nothing to hold him here. Nothing except a woman who loved him—and a son.

"Would you like some coffee or—"

"Nothing to drink, thanks," he said.

Susan turned on the lights in the den, laid her handbag down on the sofa, then started to take off her coat. Suddenly, Hank was behind her, his hands on her shoulders. She tensed at his touch. He eased the coat off her and hung it in the hall closet. Susan sat down, opened her purse and removed the photographs of the sonogram. When Hank walked back into the den after hanging up their coats, she held the pictures up to him.

"Here are the first pictures of our son," she said.

Hank froze, staring at the pictures in Susan's outstretched hand. "Our son? The baby's a boy?"

"Take a look and see for yourself. The pictures are kind of grainy and you might not be able to make much out of them, but if you look closely, you can see his head and the shape of his body and the part that identifies him as male."

Hank took the pictures from her and sat down beside her on the sofa. He stared at the snapshots, one by one, then repeated the process.

Susan held her breath while he studied the sonogram pictures. What was he thinking? What was he feeling? Were these blurry little photographs affecting him as profoundly as the sight of their child had affected her during the sonogram procedure?

"I wish Lowell were here to see these," Hank said as he handed the pictures back to Susan. "He'd be tickled to death that the baby's a boy. Lowell would have made a great father. He'd have taken the boy hunting and fishing and coached his Little League team. And he'd have set a good example for him."

"Lowell would have been a really good father to my baby." Susan laid the snapshots on the coffee table. "He was a good husband to me, but … Lowell isn't my husband anymore and he'll never get the chance to be a father to this baby—" She reached out and grabbed Hank's hand, then laid it over her slightly protruding tummy, "But you could be a father to your son. You could be a—"

He snatched his hand off her belly, then grabbed her by the shoulders, his fierce gaze halting her midsentence. "I can't be the kind of father Lowell would have been. Don't you understand? This baby was never meant to be mine. He's supposed to be Lowell's kid, not mine. I never wanted children. I still don't—"

She was crying. Dammit, he'd made her cry. Why the hell had he invited himself over here tonight? Why hadn't he left well enough alone? He'd done a good job of avoiding her since the holidays, why had he let his curiosity about the sonogram, about the baby's sex, lure him into Susan's home?

Because you care, he thought to himself. You care about Susan and you care about the baby. Her baby.

His
baby.

He ran his hands down her arms, caressing her tenderly. "Don't cry, honey. Please, don't cry."

She looked at him with misty eyes, then took his hand in hers and brought it back to her stomach, back to rest over the small, ball-shaped mound of her belly.

"He's moving," she said. "Can you feel him?"

Her stomach fluttered, as if a tiny bird were trapped inside her. Suddenly Hank felt as if someone had knocked all the wind out of him. God in heaven, that was his child moving inside her. Alive, healthy and very real.

He blew out a long, deep breath. She placed her hand over his where it rested on her stomach. "It's an incredible feeling."

"Ah, Susan … This is wrong. I shouldn't be here." I shouldn't be enjoying this, his thoughts continued. I shouldn't be so damned interested. I don't want kids.
Are you sure?
an inner voice asked him.

"You can reject this child," Susan said. "But it doesn't change the fact that he's yours."

"Honey, I don't want—"

She covered his lips with her fingers. "I've missed you so much. I can't forget about the night we made love. It was the most wonderful night of my life." Scooting closer, she draped her arms around his neck and whispered against his lips, "But once wasn't enough for me. Was once enough for you?"

Run. Run like hell. She's weaving her silky, feminine web around you and if you don't leave now, you'll regret it.

She brushed her lips across his. He sucked in his breath. She lowered her hands and undid the top two buttons on his shirt, all the while smiling seductively at him. He didn't move. He sat there, ramrod straight, afraid to even breathe. She completely unbuttoned his shirt, spread it apart and laid her hands on his chest. Her small hands were hot. She flicked first one tiny nipple and then the other. Her short, oval nails repeated the process until he couldn't restrain the moan deep in his throat.

She kissed his neck, then made tantalizing little nips from his collarbone to his washboard-lean belly. She undid his belt, unbuttoned his slacks and lowered the zipper. When she reached inside to circle him through the thin barrier of his briefs, he grabbed her hand. The corners of her mouth curved upward into a confident smile.

She's got you, ole son, and she knows it. She's playing you like a fiddle. You've got two choices
—
stop her or join her.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" he asked.

"I've never been more sure of anything in my life," she said.

The minute he released his hold on her hand, she fondled him and was rewarded with a deep, growling moan. But before she could proceed any further, Hank grabbed her and kissed her, like a thirsty man drinking his fill of life-sustaining water. He ravaged her mouth as he lowered her onto the sofa. While he kissed her, he worked the zipper down on her loose-fitting velour shirt, then removed it and tossed it aside. Once he disposed of her bra, he concentrated on her breasts—round and full and larger than they'd been the last time he'd seen them. He braced himself above her, careful not to press his weight on her stomach, ever mindful that his child was nestled snugly inside.

They tore at each other's clothes until they were both naked. Their mouths continued to mate in a frenzy of need. Hank lifted her up and into his lap, then brought her down over his shaft. She cried out from pleasure as he filled her. He cupped her hips in his hands and worked her back and forth, letting the friction build and build, until they were both breathless. Then he slowed the pace, knowing if he didn't, he would be finished before she had a chance to fully enjoy the ride.

He felt her body clutching him, surrounding him, urging him into movement. He leaned her backward and took one tight nipple into his mouth. She moaned. He tormented her breasts until she begged him to end the sweet torture. He slipped his hand between their bodies and rubbed her intimately. She gasped. He lifted her higher onto his shaft and began again the rhythmic strokes that carried them deeper and deeper into pure sensation. As the pressure built, as they descended so deep that neither thought they'd ever return, they clung to each other. Sweat coated their hot, flushed bodies. The pace intensified. Harder. Faster. Harder. Faster. And suddenly their mutual climaxes shot through them like fire, burning them with white-hot pleasure.

The aftershocks of fulfillment rippled through their bodies as Hank eased Susan down onto the sofa and settled his big body alongside her slender frame. He held her, stroking her damp flesh, kissing her tenderly, whispering sweet nothings in her ear.

They lay there for several minutes, quiet and totally sated, and then the chill of the room hit them. Hank reached up, dragged the afghan off the back of the couch and covered them. They dozed off to sleep for over an hour.

Hank woke slowly, totally aware of the warm, naked body lying in his arms. Susan. His sex pulsed. He wanted her again!

He kissed her awake. She opened her eyes and smiled at him.

"I can go now or I can stay awhile longer," he said. "It's your decision, honey."

As she snuggled against him, she reached down and circled his shaft. "Stay."

And he did. He stayed for another two hours, upstairs in Aunt Alice's big antique bed. They made love slowly, tenderly, exploring the uniqueness of each other's bodies, learning the special places to touch.

The digital alarm clock on her nightstand read one-fifteen when Hank got up and went downstairs to retrieve his clothes. Susan slipped on a robe and followed him. She watched him dress, then walked over and put her arms around him.

"Do you have to leave?" she asked.

"You know I do. People will talk if they see my Lexus here in the morning."

"So, you're just going to come and go. We aren't going to get to spend any nights together?"

"Susan …" He grasped her face in his hands. "I keep doing this to you, don't I? I keep using you and then running away."

"Are you going to run away again?" she asked.

"Yeah, honey, I'm afraid I am. And this time, it has to be for good."

"But I thought … I had hoped that we—"

He kissed her. Quick. Hard. Then he released his hold on her. "I love making love to you. And if we weren't living in this one-horse town, with morals from the nineteenth century, and if you weren't pregnant, we might have us a wild and wooly affair. But folks around here wouldn't understand Lowell's widow and his best friend carrying on the way we've been doing. And how would you ever explain our affair to your son?"

"I suppose I could tell our son that I was in love with his father and I didn't feel any shame in having made love with him."

"Dammit, Susan, don't do this! Don't pretend that you and I and the baby have a future together."

"Can you really walk away from me—from us—without any regrets?"

"Oh, I've got regrets, honey. A ton of them. I wish I were the man you want me to be. I wish I could love you and love the baby and want to settle down here in Crooked Oak and be the kind of husband Lowell was and the kind of father he would have been. But it's not in me to be that kind of man. I'm sorry."

He retrieved his coat from the hall closet, gave her one final farewell glance and walked out the door.

Susan watched him leave, all the while the words she wanted to shout at him stuck in her throat.

But I don't want you to be the kind of husband Lowell was. He never made me feel the way you do. I never loved him half as much as I love you. And I don't expect you to be the kind of father Lowell was. I just want you to be the best father you know how to be. I need you. Your son needs you. Please, please, don't leave us.