His Woman, His Child (6 page)

Hank opened two cans of cat food and dumped them into the small ceramic bowls decorated with roses and inscribed with the names Lucy and Ethel. Susan's felines watched and waited, neither coming near their bowls until Hank moved away to lift the sack of dog food from the pantry shelf. Fred and Ricky lay on the large braided rug by the table, intently staring at the stainless steel dishes engraved with their names.

When he'd put Susan to bed earlier that day, she'd asked him to feed her animals around six o'clock, if she wasn't able to get up and do it herself. It was after six and Susan was still sleeping. She'd slept nearly all day, thanks to the shot the doctor had given her.

Hank washed his hands, then poured himself a cup of freshly brewed coffee—regular that he'd retrieved from his apartment. Returning to the den, he relaxed in the large, brown leather recliner and turned the sound up on the television enough to hear the local news and weather report.

He had spent the afternoon watching a football game on TV and periodically checking on Susan. Twice, he'd found her without any cover. Apparently she still had a little fever and was kicking back the sheet and quilt when she got hot. Each time he'd been unable to keep from inspecting her. Slender curves. Small, delicate bone structure. Small round breasts that seemed to enlarge more and more each week. Just looking at her, no one would suspect she was pregnant.

As Hank leaned back in the recliner, his stomach growled. He'd fixed himself a sandwich for lunch, but that had been hours ago. What he'd like was a thick steak and a big baked potato. He could call Steak Express in Marshallton, but he wasn't sure they delivered all the way to Crooked Oak.

"Hank?"

He jumped at the sound of her voice. His heartbeat accelerated. He got up and hurried down the hall. After easing open the door a fraction, he poked his head into her bedroom. She was sitting up in bed, the pillows propped behind her back. Color had returned to her face and she was smiling.

"Feeling better?" he asked.

"Much better, thank you."

"You're looking a lot better." He pushed the door open all the way, but didn't enter the room. Instead, he leaned his hip against the doorjamb and crossed his arms over his chest. "So, what do you need?"

"Have you been here all day?"

"Yep."

"You didn't have to stay."

"I wanted to stay," he admitted, as much to himself as to her. "Just in case you needed me. After all, that's one of the reasons I'm in Crooked Oak, isn't it—to look after you?"

"What have you been doing to pass the time?"

"Watching football." Why the hell did she have to look so damn good? Most women, after a severe bout with a stomach virus, would look terrible. But not Susan. With her long, brown hair a ratty mess and her face void of any makeup, she looked sweet and sexy. That was it—that was why he found her so attractive. That contradictory combination of sweet, innocent wholesomeness and hot, tempting sexuality. She probably had no idea how sexy she was. Or how much he wanted her.

"Oh, yeah, I fed the zoo," he said. "They're out in the kitchen lapping it up right now."

"The zoo?" Susan giggled. "You call two cats and two dogs a zoo? If you really want to see a zoo, stop by the shelter sometime."

"Working around all those animals isn't a problem, is it?" he asked. "I mean, being exposed to them and you pregnant. I've heard they can carry diseases, especially cats."

"That's true. Cats can carry something called toxoplasmosis, which is dangerous to the fetus. But Scooter oversees most of the hands-on work at the shelter, now that I'm pregnant. And I always wear disposable gloves here at home when I change the litter boxes, and at work when I come in contact with the animals."

"Sorry, I didn't mean for my questions to sound like I'm trying to interfere with—"

"I appreciate your concern," she said. "It's sweet of you to care."

"Of course, I care. You're Lowell's wife and one of Tallie's best friends." That's it, Bishop, he told himself. Let her know that you don't have any personal feelings for her.

"Yes, I'm Lowell's widow," she said quietly. "I'm sorry, Hank, that my pregnancy has complicated your life. That Lowell's death brought you home to temporarily take over his responsibilities."

Hank uncrossed his arms. "That's not your fault. None of us knew, when I agreed to … to do Lowell a favor, that he was going to get killed a month later." Damn, but this conversation was making him uncomfortable. "Even if you hadn't been pregnant, I probably would have agreed to come back and finish out Lowell's term as sheriff. I want to see his killer caught and punished."

"But my being pregnant and the child being …" She lowered her gaze as she stroked the patchwork quilt that covered her from the waist down. "Your being my baby's biological father no doubt makes you feel more responsible than you would have if Lowell had been the father."

What could he say? How did he respond to her statement? Of course, knowing the child she carried was his doubled—no, tripled—his feelings of responsibility.

"Do you regret agreeing to the artificial insemination?" she asked. "I mean, now that Lowell—"

"I never wanted to be a father that's for sure." Damn, he hadn't meant to speak so sharply. He walked into the room and toward the bed, but he stopped several feet away from her. "Look, Susan, I have no intentions of marrying and producing any kids of my own. When I agreed to donate my sperm so that you and Lowell could have a baby, I never for one minute thought I'd wind up having to step in and try to be a father to the child. I'm not sure I can. I'll do my best to look after you for the next seven months and I'll always be available if you need me. But I can't be more than a godfather to your baby."

"I understand," she said.

"I'll take an interest, of course. Birthday presents and Christmas presents. And when he's older, he can come visit me. And—"

"I said I understand," she repeated, her voice an octave higher.

"Okay. Fine. I'm glad you do." He shoved his hands into his pockets and rocked back and forth on his heels. "So, is there anything you want or need right now?"

"I'm hungry."

"Hungry?"

"Do you suppose you could fix me some creamed potatoes? Whenever I was sick as a child, Aunt Alice would always fix me creamed potatoes."

"Creamed potatoes, huh? I'm not much of a cook, but if that's what you want, I'll give it a try."

"Thank you."

He wished she wouldn't look at him so appreciatively with those big blue eyes of hers. He didn't want to feed her—he wanted to make love to her.

"It'll take me a while," he said. "Anything else you need before I tackle the potatoes."

"No, thanks. I think I can make it to the bathroom by myself."

She threw back the covers, slid her legs to the side of the bed and, using her hands braced on the bed's edge as leverage, lifted herself to her feet. Her gown, which had been hiked up to midthigh, dropped to her ankles, covering the smooth satin of her naked flesh. Hank's sex grew hard and heavy. He turned quickly and left the room.

"I'll be back with your potatoes as soon as I can," he shouted from the hallway.

Susan shook her head as sadness and humor combined within her. Hank Bishop was afraid of her! The realization surprised her. He was as scared of her as she had always been of him. But why? What sort of threat could she possibly be to him?

He doesn't want to be a father,
an inner voice reminded her.
And you
are
carrying his baby.

"He doesn't want to love this child." She patted her tummy as she walked to the bathroom. "He's afraid of caring about me and our baby."

Just as Susan finished using the bathroom, she heard Hank's Jeep. Where was he going? He hadn't said a word about leaving. Maybe he was going out to try to find some creamed potatoes. Surely not. The nearest restaurant open on a Sunday night was over in Marshallton.

She glanced at herself in the mirror and cringed. I need a bath! But she felt as weak as a wet dishrag. What if she fell in the shower?

After a quick sponge bath at the sink, Susan brushed her teeth, combed her hair and changed her gown. By the time she sat down in the wingback chair beside the window in her bedroom, she heard the Jeep pull into the driveway. Fred and Ricky barked a couple of times, and Hank scolded them. Susan smiled. His voice sounded rough and mean, but she knew, from personal experience, that like Ricky and Fred, Hank's bark was worse than his bite.

She sat in the big chair, trying to relax, trying not to think about anything beyond today. Hank might not want his baby and he might not want her. Not now. Not yet. But right this minute, he was in her kitchen, fixing her something to eat. He was soothing her. Petting her. Taking care of her. She doubted that he'd ever tried to pacify another woman the way he was trying so hard to pacify her.

Susan smiled. A contented smile. Rome wasn't built in a day, she reminded herself. Conquering her own fears and Hank's might take some time, but for the sake of the baby growing inside her, she had to find a way. In seven months, she and Hank were going to become parents—whether or not either of them was ready for the awesome responsibility.

He rapped softly on the bedroom door.

"Yes?"

"Your creamed potatoes are ready," he said.

"Great. I'm starved. Come on in."

She glanced up when he approached the chair and for one split second was taken back by the sight of Hank Bishop carrying a shiny stainless steel stew pot in his hand. A long wooden spoon stuck straight up in the middle of the pot. Hank handed her a dish towel and then offered her the pot. She couldn't suppress a grin.

"They're instant potatoes," he admitted. "I ran down to the grocery store and picked up a box. I followed the instructions, but they look a bit lumpy to me."

"I'm sure they're delicious," she told him, accepting the offering and managing not to giggle.

She lifted the spoon. The concoction stuck to the utensil's surface. She eyed the potatoes.

"Is there something wrong with them?" he asked.

"Oh, no. They're fine." Susan put the spoon to her mouth and licked off a bite of the thick, white glob. Despite the uneven texture of the potatoes, they didn't taste half bad. Of course, she
was
starving to death.

Hank stood and watched her as she ate several bites, then he relaxed. She noted the way his tense shoulders eased and the frown on his face was replaced by a self-satisfied smile.

Men! Susan thought. Especially hard-edged, macho types like Hank. He would never admit that her approval was important to him. That he wanted very much to please her. Perhaps he wasn't even aware of it himself.

She ate about a fifth of the instant potatoes, then handed the pot to Hank. "They were delicious, but that's all my stomach will hold right now. Thank you, Hank, for being so good to me."

Was that a blush she saw coloring his cheeks? Susan wondered. It was! She'd embarrassed him. She smiled, barely suppressing the laughter bubbling up inside her.

When he took the pot from her, she deliberately allowed their hands to touch. Sizzling, shivering contact. He looked into her eyes and for one brief moment she thought he was going to kiss her. He grabbed the pot out of her hand and stepped backward, moving quickly away from her.

"I'll clean up in the kitchen and then I'll head on—"

"Hank?"

"Yeah?" He halted in his hasty retreat.

"I know it would be an imposition, but … well, would it be asking too much for you to stay here tonight? I have four bedrooms upstairs. You could take your pick."

"Do you really need me to stay? I'll be right next door. You could call if—"

"Forget I asked. I guess I'm just feeling nervous after the scare about the baby."

"I can stick around for a while, if it would make you feel better. Until bedtime."

"All right. Thank you. And I really am sorry about asking you to stay here. I'd promised myself that I wouldn't be a burden to you. That I wouldn't take up too much of your time or interfere in your life. And here I am, only two months pregnant, and already making unreasonable demands."

"Asking me to stay overnight wasn't an unreasonable demand," he said, his back to her. "If it'll make you feel better, I'll stay."

"You don't have to do that. Really you don't."

"I'm staying." He left the room.

End of discussion. Final decision. That's it. Susan smiled as she wrapped her arms around her waist.

"Your daddy's going to spend the night with us, little one."

Five

The best way to get one woman off your mind is with another woman, Hank had told himself. He was allowing Susan to get too close to him. Thoughts of her occupied too much of his time and that was a dangerous thing. He could hardly make advances to his best friend's widow—especially not this soon. Lowell had been dead only two months. But if he didn't put some space between himself and Susan, he wasn't sure what might happen.

And that was why he'd let his deputy, Richard Holman, fix him up on a blind date.

Hank chuckled. God, he must be desperate! He'd never gone on a blind date, not even in high school. But a man did what a man had to do.

Lucky for him, Kendra Camp turned out to be a damn good-looking woman. Tall and leggy. Not too old, but not too young. About thirty, he guessed. A divorcee with no kids.

He'd taken her to Marshallton for dinner and dancing. And she'd been the one to suggest they go back to his place. It wasn't that he was opposed to sex on a first date; he'd even had a couple of one-night stands in the past. But this wasn't Washington, D.C., or Alexandria. This was Crooked Oak, Tennessee, and he was the sheriff. If Kendra stayed overnight, tongues would wag. So, she wouldn't stay overnight, he told himself as he escorted her up the stairs to his front door. He reached around her and undid the lock. She turned, smiled at him and kissed him. He pulled her into his arms and deepened the kiss.

She pulled back from him. "Maybe we'd better go inside."

"Yeah, maybe we should."

He flipped on the light, shoved his keys into his pocket and then helped Kendra out of her coat. While he removed his coat and laid his and hers on a nearby chair, she kicked off her heels and curled up on his sofa.

"You want something to drink?" he asked. "Beer or whiskey?"

"Beer would be fine." She glanced around his apartment. "Don't you feel kind of cramped in this little place?"

He opened the refrigerator, retrieved two beers and opened the caps. "Want a glass for your beer?" She shook her head and mouthed the word no. "It's about half the size of my place in Alexandria, but it's convenient living next door to Susan. I can check on her every day and I'm close in case she needs me."

"Susan is Lowell Redman's widow, isn't she? I hear she's pregnant. Must be really rough on her losing her husband like that." Kendra accepted the beer Hank offered her.

He sat beside her, lifted the bottle to his mouth and downed a hefty swig. Why the hell had he mentioned Susan? The purpose of this date with Kendra was to get his mind off the tempting Mrs. Redman.

"She has a lot of friends," Hank said. "A lot of people who care about her. She and the baby will be all right."

"She's certainly lucky to have you." Kendra placed her beer on the coffee table, slid closer to Hank, draped her arm around his shoulders and smiled seductively. "And from what I hear, so is Marshall County. Not many men would take a leave of absence from a big important FBI job to come back to live in a hick town, just to look after their best friend's widow."

"Lowell and I were best friends since we were kids. He even saved my life once, when we were teenagers. There wasn't anything I wouldn't have done for him."

Kendra snuggled closer, pressing her body against his, tilting her head so that her lips almost touched his. "Well, I for one am glad you're back in Tennessee. I think I'm going to enjoy having you around."

Hank put his beer bottle down beside hers. More than ready to accept what she was offering, he pulled her into his arms. As he claimed her lips, he eased her backward, down into the plush sofa cushions. Then he heard a light rapping at the door and a soft feminine voice calling his name, but before he could untangle himself from Kendra or wipe her mauve lipstick off his face, Susan opened the door and walked into the room.

"I noticed your car was back so I thought I'd come over and see if you wanted—" Susan stopped dead-still after she'd taken only a few steps. Her cheeks flushed scarlet. She began backing toward the door. "Oh, I'm so sorry. I didn't know you … I had no idea. Please forgive me for intruding."

Susan turned and fled. Hank practically tossed Kendra onto the floor when he jumped up and ran after Susan. Kendra let out a loud yelp as she grabbed the sofa arm to steady herself. By the time Hank made it halfway down the stairs, Susan was long gone. The sound of her back door slamming reverberated in his ears.

Damn! He stood there for a few minutes, trying to figure out the wisest course of action. He had two women on his hands—both of whom were probably mad as hell at him, and he didn't blame either of them. He should have told Susan he had a date tonight. And he should have locked the damn front door! He'd have to apologize to Kendra for leaving her so abruptly. He'd acted on pure instinct when he'd run after Susan.

When Hank walked back upstairs to his apartment, he found Kendra slipping into her coat. Hell, he'd blown it big time! Putting on his best apologetic face, he looked at her and felt a modicum of relief when she smiled at him.

"I'm sorry." He took a couple of tentative steps in her direction. "You don't have to leave."

"Oh, yes, I do." Reaching out, Kendra caressed his cheek. "I like you, Hank. But I make it a policy not to date guys who are already involved with someone else."

"Whoa, there," he said. "Wait just a minute. I'm not involved with—"

Kendra placed her index finger over his lips, silencing him. "Oh, yes, you are. Maybe you don't even realize it. But from where I'm standing, I can see it plainly. Susan Redman was more than embarrassed to find us making out on your couch. She was angry and jealous. Believe me, a woman senses these things in another woman."

"You're wrong. Susan doesn't—"

Kendra laughed. "Yes, she does. And so do you. You wouldn't have tossed me aside and run after her, if you didn't."

"I was worried about her being upset," Hank explained lamely. "She's pregnant and—"

Kendra gave him a quick kiss. "Come on. Take me home. By the time you get back, she'll have cooled off and you can go talk to her."

"I don't owe Susan an explanation for my actions." Hank put on his coat. "My life is my own." He followed Kendra outside, locked the door and walked down the stairs behind her. "I'm free to do whatever I want, with whomever I want." He assisted Kendra into the Lexus, rounded the hood and got in on the driver's side. "She had no business barging in the way she did."

"Yeah. Sure," was all Kendra said when he started the engine and backed the Lexus out of the driveway.

Thirty minutes later, after depositing Kendra safely at her front door, he came home, parked his car and sat behind the wheel as he stared at the back of Susan's house.

Why should he care what she thought? It was none of her business if he chose to fool around with half the women in Marshall County. And she was the one who had barged in on him—uninvited and unannounced!

She had run away because she'd been embarrassed and that was all there was to it. Kendra was dead wrong if she thought Susan had been angry and jealous. The very idea was ridiculous.

Or was it?

If he wanted Susan, then why was it out of the question that she wanted him, too? Because she's Lowell's wife, dammit! His widow, he corrected himself immediately. But she still loves Lowell. I'm sure of it.

So what if she still loves Lowell?
his inner voice argued.
That doesn't mean she doesn't have needs, that she doesn't want you every bit as much as you want her.

Don't go there, Bishop, he warned himself. This is Susan Williams Redman we're talking about here. This is no temporary kind of woman. You take her to bed and she's going to expect a commitment. And Hank Bishop doesn't make commitments.

He got out of the Lexus and headed toward the garage apartment, then stopped suddenly when he heard Susan's back door open and footsteps on the porch. Don't turn around, he told himself. Just keep walking. Pretend you didn't hear anything.

"Hank."

Damn! "Yeah?" He kept his back to her.

"I'm sorry about what happened. I had no idea you had a date."

"I should have mentioned it to you," he said.

"I hope you explained to your date who I was and what our relationship is. I wouldn't want her getting the wrong idea about why I came barging into your apartment that way."

He turned slowly and faced her. She had left the porch light off, and only the light coming through the open kitchen door illuminated her body. She stood there on the edge of the porch, wrapped snugly in an ankle-length terry-cloth robe, her hair hanging freely across her shoulders. His body tensed at the sight of her. How the hell had he gotten himself into this situation? he asked himself for the hundredth time. He wasn't going to be able to walk away and leave her, which would have been the sensible thing to do.

"Sorry I didn't get a chance to introduce you two," he said. "Her name's Kendra Camp. She's a nurse at County General. She works with Richard Holman's wife and they set up the date for us."

"That was nice of them." Hugging herself, Susan rubbed her hands up and down her arms.

"Yeah, it was." He took a hesitant step toward her. "Are you cold? Maybe you should go back inside before you—"

"Why didn't you tell me this morning that you had a date tonight?"

"Guess it just slipped my mind."
Liar! You deliberately didn't tell her.
But why? Hell, he didn't know why! He wasn't used to having to dissect the reason for his actions or to justify them to anyone.

"If I'd known, I wouldn't have … I'd never have barged in on you the way I did." Her body shivered ever so slightly.

He closed the distance between them, wrapped his arm around her shoulders and turned her toward the back door. "Come on, let's go inside, honey. You're freezing to death out here."

She felt like such a total fool! She had intruded on his privacy as if she had a right to do it. And she had interrupted him and his date, who were going at it hot and heavy on the sofa. Just the memory of Hank kissing and fondling the woman renewed the blazing anger and raging jealousy she had experienced.

She had no claims on Hank. He wasn't her husband or her lover. She had no right to be angry or jealous when she caught him practically making love to another woman.

Susan allowed Hank to lead her inside and seat her at the kitchen table. He swept back a strand of errant hair that had fallen across her left eye. She sucked in her breath. He withdrew his hand. She looked up at him, but before she could read the expression in his dark eyes, he turned from her.

"How about some hot chocolate?" he asked.

"I'll fix us some," she said.

"You stay put, little mother. I know where everything is."

She wished Hank hadn't picked up on Dr. Farr's generic nickname for all his pregnant patients.
Little mother.
On Hank's lips the words sounded like an endearment. She preferred the casual
honey
instead.

While Hank busied himself preparing the hot chocolate, Susan removed her heavy terry-cloth robe and draped it over the chair. The gown underneath was a sensible, long-sleeved flannel. Sensible and warm. Certainly not sexy or alluring.

She didn't want to be sexy and alluring for Hank anyway.
Liar,
her conscience mocked her.
No matter how much the thought of gaining Hank Bishop's full attention still scares the hell out of you, you can't deny the fact that you want him
—
now more than ever.

And he was still just as dangerous to her as he ever was. The way she felt about him—the way she always felt about him—was the same way she imagined her mother had felt about her father. Wild, uncontrollable passion. Aunt Alice had warned her about where those kinds of feelings would lead her. Down the same path her mother had taken—straight to an unwed pregnancy and desertion.

"If she had waited for a proper young man, someone safe and sensible, she could have saved herself a great deal of heartache and you from growing up without a father," Aunt Alice had said. "Passions that intense always come to no good. You remember that, child. That kind of love burns itself out and then you have nothing left."

At the time, Susan hadn't realized that Aunt Alice had been talking about herself as well as Susan's mother. Years later, when she was sick and dying, she'd confessed to Susan that she'd been in love once, long ago, with a very unsuitable young man.

"When he touched me, I trembled," Alice had said. "I adored him. Worshiped him. Thought of him night and day. And he told me that he felt the same way about me. But his passion burned out very quickly, after we became lovers. He left me. Moved on to other women."

Did she have the courage to risk losing her heart and her pride to find out what it would be like to belong to Hank? Could she now, as a grown woman, ignore her aunt's warnings and accept the way she felt, pursue what she had always wanted and allow passion to overrule her common sense?

"Here you go. One hot chocolate," Hank said, placing the mug of cocoa in front of her on the table.

"What?" His voice brought her abruptly out of the foggy haze of her thoughts. "Oh, yes. Thank you, Hank." Forcing a smile to her lips, she lifted the warm mug in her hands.