Pregnancy Plan (30 page)

No way, I’m his real
estate agent, not his date for the evening. And it’s only been four
months since...

“
Elkhorn’s main street
isn’t large, but the Little League baseball field and the
restaurants should attract people to the area.” Hagan’s dark
brown…no, hazel, his eyes were hazel she realized abruptly when his
gaze met hers. He cocked a brow and a sexy smile teased the corner
of his lips.
Oh, darn
, the man had nailed
her ogling his backside.

Heat burned her cheeks and the air sizzled
between them. Goose bumps popped out on her arms, and her internal
timer ticked off each day she’d gone without sex—well over a
year.

His smile grew wider and visions of his
mouth melting onto hers slammed home the impossibility of the
situation.

Give it up, girl. It’s not
happening.

She swallowed and searched the room for a
distraction, some way to gain control of her raging hormones and
maintain the professional image she’d strived so hard to develop
the last five years. “I agree. It is in a great location.”

The chipped plaster hanging haphazardly
above their heads offered a reprieve. “But the house still needs a
lot of work. And you did say you had a limited budget for
remodeling.” She strolled into the hallway and gulped in some much
needed air. Just because she found Hagan attractive didn’t mean the
feeling was mutual.

A Realtor had to understand a client’s needs
and learn their likes and dislikes. The relationship that developed
could appear almost personal, but rarely lasted. Luckily, though,
in this empty house, she didn’t have the enticement of staring at
Hagan across a king-size bed or a comfy couch.

The soft thud of his rubber-soled shoes
followed in her wake as she led the way to the staircase. Jen
cupped her hand around the oak railing and rubbed her moist palms
against the polished wood. The man called to something inside her,
a deep yearning to break away from the norm. A preposterous
dream.

Her gaze ran along the gentle curve of the
banister until the golden wood flowed into the second floor. She
tightened her grip
.
Bedrooms.
The
word conjured alluring images and warmth flooded through her veins.
Maybe, she should call an end to the showing and drive him back to
his office. “From what I’ve seen so far, you’d be better off with a
different house. But if you like, we can check upstairs?”

“Lead the way, beautiful.” Hagan brushed his
hand lightly across her back.

Hot tingles danced along her spine. Jen
rushed forward
.
Whoa.
As a new
widow, she shouldn’t find the man attractive. Even if he was
hot.

Drawing on her professional reserve, she
stifled the urge to race up the stairs and slowed her pace.
“I...uh...believe there are four rooms on the second level.”

The wood floor groaned under Hagan’s weight
and his footsteps echoed through the empty house. “Any other houses
in the area for sale?”

Reaching the landing, she sailed across and
stopped by the first bedroom door. A brief glimpse revealed the
same disappointing result as the space downstairs. “No, but there
are a number of small towns nearby that might have what you’re
looking for.”

An enticing male scent floated through the
air, a second before a hand gripped the doorframe by her
shoulder.

Every female gene sprang to attention at his
close proximity.

Desire poured through her, drenching her
with emotions she hadn’t felt in months, hell, maybe even years.
Her knees wobbled and she staggered into the doorframe, but
remained standing.

Hagan peered over her shoulder and blocked
her retreat. “Not bad, if I want to have another office suite up
here. I can tear out this wall and make a larger lobby, or close
off the doorway and create another entrance into the room.” He
wandered to the next bedroom.

She gulped in a quick breath and air
screamed back into her lungs. The residual scent of his citrusy
cologne flowed in too and prompted her out-of-control hormones to
form images of him: lying in bed, on top of her, his chest nestled
against hers, his lips a breath away from…

Oh, my, a year without sex
and I’m losing it.

Craig, why didn’t you
divorce me before you died?

Jen gathered her strength and followed Hagan
through the house. The easy flow of his long limbs showed
incredible grace for a big man. So tempting, yet, she couldn’t
pursue him. Not now, not with everyone watching her, they expected
her to act like a grieving widow. If she didn’t, they’d forever
brand her as an unloving wife.

She hated the farce, but she had no choice.
No one knew her marriage had turned into a sham long before Craig
died.

A few minutes later, she walked outside and
breathed a sigh of relief. Finally, with the showing done, she
could return Hagan to his office. She locked the front door and
stored the key in the lockbox. Spinning on her heels, she faced
Hagan.

At the end of the porch, one foot already
positioned on the first step with a hand out to assist her, he
waited. “So, Jen, since we’re done for today, why don’t we meet
tomorrow night for dinner?”

Jen edged backward and her butt hit the
closed door. The urge to run away from his undeniable magnetism,
and the problems he’d cause, sent her mind into a tail spin.

What in the hell should I
do now?

“You have one saved message. To listen...”
The computer-recorded voice echoed through the phone’s receiver as
Jen stared at an empty spot on the corner of her desk in her mind
she saw her husband’s picture. Forcing her hand to move, she
pressed the required number.

“Hey, honey, we just arrived.” The
comforting sound of Craig’s voice rang in her ear. Memories
flashed: The dimple beside her husband’s mouth when he smiled, the
soft touch of his lips, the teasing taste of his kisses. The wall
she’d managed to build around her emotions in the last four months
shattered. Hot tears fell, raining relentlessly onto her
cheeks.

“And the weather here in Seattle sucks.
It’ll probably take us forever to get to our meeting which should
have started an hour ago.” After a slight pause as if someone had
caught his attention, he continued, “Sorry, gotta go. Jack needs
help with the rental car agent, and Bob and Eric are retrieving our
luggage. I’ll try to call you later. Love ya, bye.”

“The call that never came,” Jen whispered
and wearily dropped her head onto her hands. Again, the monotone
voice offered her options for the message. She hit the button to
stop the irritating sound.

Not even a second passed before a different
noise broke the silence. At the base of her phone, a red light
flashed in rhythm with the squawking ring.

Gathering her emotions back into a tight
knot, she punched the appropriate line. “Moorehead Real Estate.
Jennifer Larson speaking. How may I help you?”

“Hey, Jen, are you still coming tonight?”
Brie Sullivan’s southern accent reopened Jen’s thoughts to the pain
of the last few months.

A million excuses sped through her mind. She
didn’t want to continue meeting with the executive wives of the
company where her husband had worked, nor did she like dealing with
their grief. “I shouldn’t. I have offers pending on several
homes.”

“Come on, Jen, you’ve worked late every
night this week. Surely, you can take a night off to visit
friends.” Brie forced compliance with a stab to the heart. “The
kids are expecting you, and I’ve already picked up George from your
house. He’s dog tired.” Her friend giggled at the pun.

George, her lovable fifty-pound blond Lab,
loved to play and must miss his evening runs with Craig. Their
lives had changed so much, yet in the boring way of existing,
remained the same. The papers scattered across her desktop, teased
her with the idea of staying late and finishing a few more tiresome
tasks.

She weighed her options: spend the evening
grieving for her dead husband, or dig through paperwork?

The heavy scent of Old Spice blew into her
office and a stout figure disappeared around the curve in the
corridor. Did she really want to deal with her boss and his
constant demands for her to list more properties, sell more
homes?

Brie’s plea interrupted. “Please, Jen. I
can’t face Marianne and Sylvia without you.”

Jen retrieved her pen and tightened her
fingers around it. “All right, but we need a change of the topics
for our meeting. I’m tired of remembering the past.”

“Great. Then maybe y’all can help me figure
out what I should do about my parents.” Brie barely finished when a
loud crash sounded through the receiver.

“Oh, shit, I’ve got to go. I’ll see you at
seven.” Brie rushed through her goodbyes and hung up before Jen
could ask about the problem.

“
They’re probably
pressuring Brie to move to Florida again.” Jen spoke to the empty
office and then glanced at the clock. Six thirty-two.

If she had any hope of changing into her
favorite pair of jeans, she’d better leave. Opening the bottom desk
drawer to retrieve her purse, she caught a fingernail on a torn
piece of rough cardboard and glanced at an upside down picture
frame.

Her mind froze. How long ago had she placed
Craig’s picture in the drawer? If she wanted to move on, shouldn’t
she take the photograph home and pack it away with everything
else?

She shoved her bag out of the way and lifted
the wooden frame. Craig’s smiling face swam before her eyes.

Her best friend and college
sweetheart...
Craig, where did our love go wrong
? Good and
bad memories changed sorrow into anger.

How could she ever find happiness if she
continued to live in the past?

“It’s about damn time I found out.”

She tightened her grip on the picture then
threw it across the room where the frame broke with a satisfying
crash of broken glass and splintering wood. She grabbed her purse
and marched for the door. One, two, three enraged steps later, she
hit an emotional wall and her gaze fell to Craig’s picture lying on
the carpeted floor.

His warm smile shot an arrow through her
heart. Tears blurred her vision and she scrambled by the broken
glass to retrieve the scarred photograph.

After carefully tucking it into her purse,
she stomped to the door.

She had to get on with her life, but she
couldn’t forget where she’d been.

“So what’s the issue with your parents?” Jen
followed Brie into her living room. Like most parents, they didn’t
know when to back off. They had complained about every move Brie
made since Eric’s death, criticizing Marianne’s suggestion for a
financial advisor for his life insurance money, and Sylvia’s sudden
need for all of them to join a gym.

“The usual. They want me to move back to
Florida so I can be near them.” Brie collapsed into one of the tan
recliners, sitting on the edge of carpet leading from the living
room into the breakfast area. She shoved her bangs out of her
baby-blue eyes.

Jen sank to the floral sofa, her mind racing
with how to help Brie. Without Eric acting as a buffer, her parents
constantly badgered their daughter with unreasonable demands.

Back off people
, tickled Jen’s vocal
cords and she bit her lip to keep the words at bay. Didn’t her
mother advise her numerous times to keep her opinion to herself?
But Brie didn’t need this, not on top of the grief she suffered at
losing Eric. Hell, between worrying about the kids and adjusting to
handling everything alone, she barely made it through a day without
calling Jen in tears.

How could Brie’s parents be so clueless
about their daughter’s struggles?

Jen laid a hand on George’s head and stroked
his soft, blond coat. The soothing caress helped ease some of her
anxiety about Brie’s problem and the evening ahead. Luckily, he
understood her pensive mood and had stayed close since the moment
she’d arrived.

“It might not be...”

“Georrrrrgeee,” Allison’s young voice echoed
from upstairs.

George lifted his head from Jen’s lap. Tail
wagging, he stood ready to adhere to her command. His deep brown
eyes begged for permission to race to the young girl’s side.

“I swear that girl has the two-second bath
down pat.” Brie slid to the edge of her seat. Long blond hair
framed her face, and her exhausted expression showed the trials of
dealing with two active children.

The doorbell ringing drove Brie to her
feet.

Tiny footsteps pattered on the stairs.

“Woof,” George barked and danced around the
corner of the couch, adding to the mayhem of the moment.

Happy to have an excuse to delay her meeting
with the other members of the executive wives club, Jen shove to
her feet. “Why don’t you get the door, and I’ll herd the kids back
to their rooms?”

An element of relief washed across Brie’s
face before she smiled. “Thanks, but don’t worry about putting them
to bed. They just need to play quietly for awhile.”

“All right.” Jen approached the staircase,
smiling at the homey picture the siblings made standing on the
landing. Allison, with her gray eyes wide and her wet brown hair
dripping on her faded cotton gown, had her hand on her younger
brother’s arm as if holding him back from bolting down the stairs.
Ethan, also in his pajamas, appeared wide-eyed and eager for a
chance to join his mother at the front door.

George, as if he understood her words to
Brie, bounded for the stairs and leaped over the first few
steps.

Jen followed. “Okay, kids, your mom says
it’s back to...”

George greeted Ethan with exuberance,
covering the boy’s face with slobbery kisses. Ethan wrapped his
plump little arms around the dog’s neck, dropped to his knees, and
ducked his blond head to avoid the tickling abuse. A joyous giggle
echoed in the stairwell.