The Bachelor's Baby (Bachelor Auction Book 3) (12 page)

“I realize my place needs work. I wasn’t going to hire anyone because working on it gives me something to do and I don’t care about living in a mess, but I’ll get a crew in.” He began to warm to the idea of seeing the house finished and filled with more than one isolated man. It meant his mornings would be noisy, his days meaningful, his nights—Whoa. Hell, yes. The
nights
.

She was definitely moving in.

She met his gaze with a widening of her own, like she was reading his thoughts. Pale fingers closed the lapels of her sweater so she snugged it up tight around her throat.

“Blake married Crystal because she was pregnant. It was a disaster. You and I barely know each other either. I didn’t come back here and tell you because I’m looking for—” She licked her lips, gaze falling. “A relationship.” Her voice was thin. “I just thought you should know.”

“We have a relationship, Meg,” he pressed. “Having a baby together is a major tie.”

“It’s going to be complicated enough without…complicating it,” she muttered.

“Meg, I’m going to take care of you—” He took another step toward her in emphasis.

“The baby,” she interjected, not retreating, but she had the woolen lapels of her thick sweater up around her ears and looked ridiculously vulnerable and uncertain as she asserted, “I mean, we’ll share that, but I can take care of myself.”

“I’m going to take care of both of you,” he informed her in a tone he’d perfected when it came to finalizing a debate. The sense that he was finally living life under his own rule was evaporating fast, but it was being replaced by a fresh sense of purpose. Keeping himself fed and dry was survival. Back when he’d had his mother to worry about, he’d at least felt his hard days served an end goal that meant something. Making sure Meg and their child were taken care of… His urge to make that happen was immediate and primal. He wouldn’t be denied on this one.

“When are you due?” he asked, starting to think in deadlines and priorities.

She told him, and it was so close to his mother’s birthday, he had a delusional thought that Mom was somehow making this happen. She’d always wanted him to marry and have kids.

It struck him that he’d have his first real Christmas in a long time, with a tree in his own home, with a wife and a baby…

“We’re getting married, Meg. Let’s go tell your family.”

*

Meg didn’t move,
only chuckled with amazement at how his tune had changed. The worst of her hurt was easing, making her heart light enough
to
laugh. And she was weirdly relieved. His about-face meant a lot. She couldn’t pretend it didn’t affect her when he said things like,
I’m going to take care of you
. She wasn’t a damsel. She had more than her share of feminist independence, but there was a tattered little heart in her that responded to his intention. It mattered a lot to her that he
wanted
to take care of her and looked like he meant it.

Trying to hang onto sanity and not let weak emotions carry her along with his decisive let’s-get-going attitude, she said, “I was serious about what a nightmare it was to live with Blake and Crystal as they tried to make their shotgun marriage work.” Of course they’d been children, barely out of high school. The things that had set them up for failure were legion, but still. “We don’t know each other, Linc,” she reminded him, finding it hard to meet his piercing stare when he was so obviously willing her to do as he said. “Marriage, or even living together, was never on my agenda.”

Not really.

Okay, furthering her relationship with him had crossed her mind as she had come to terms with her pregnancy, but only so she could make herself face what a ridiculous notion it was. They were strangers. For her, getting married and settling down had always been something she would do when she met her soul mate—the one she vaguely imagined was both intellectual and cultured, down to earth and, of course, blessed with a great sense of humor. He looked like Jared Leto and liked to shop for housewares on the weekend.

“
Put
marriage on your agenda, Meg,” he ordered calmly and without mercy. “Because this afternoon you were throwing in my face that you hadn’t totally dismissed me. So don’t.”

“I just meant that you deserved to know,” she grumbled, scowling at her slippers.

“But I don’t deserve to wake up with my kid in my house? Doesn’t the baby deserve to live with both its parents?”

“That is not—Linc, you don’t even…” She thought of his last, brief email that had never been followed up by either of them. She already felt more emotionally invested than he was. Secretly she was very needy. She knew that. That’s why her relationships never lasted. Men never really gave her enough because she was a bottomless pit of hunger for love, never fulfilled.

Linc was self-sufficient. A loner. She couldn’t live with that, waking up every day feeling extraneous, facing a rebuff each morning because he wasn’t the kind of man to form deep emotional connections.

“You don’t want a wife,” she reminded him. “Or… Like, what exactly are you suggesting? I mean, would I just live at your place or—?”

His brows went up and his chin went down. His voice was firm, but husked with passionate memories. “We damned near set the bed on fire, Meg. It would be a real marriage.”

She blushed. Hard. An all over blush like she hadn’t suffered in a very long while.

Into the thick atmosphere of their recollected carnality, light fast footsteps approached and a rapid knock tattooed the door.

Meg shot a look at it, desperate for an interruption. “Yes?”

Petra pushed in with a springing step. “Ethan is the only one who doesn’t know. We’ve been keeping Mom’s secret for weeks and I’m
dying
. If you don’t want to come in and tell him, can I? Pleeeeeze?” She wrung her hands with teenaged melodrama.

“I’ll come in,” Meg said and glanced at Linc’s dismayed scowl. “Come have a bowl of stew,” she urged, thinking they both needed to decompress. “Blake will want to see that we’re not killing each other.”

“We already set places for both of you. I’ll tell them you’re on your way.” Petra ran back to the house.

Linc grabbed his jacket and stepped outside to put on his boots, not bothering to tie them. Before they left the porch, he caught her arm. “Think about it,” he said.

Meg was pretty sure she wouldn’t be able to
stop
thinking about it.

‡

M
eg was combing
out her hair after her shower when she heard voices outside. She was only wearing a towel, but squinted against the sparkle of morning sun off the fresh snow and saw Linc handing something to Blake.

Blake said, “If she’s not there, she’s in the house,” and pointed at the spa.

Yikes! Meg scrambled into underwear and was trying to jiggle herself into her skinny jeans, thinking,
Weight gain already?
When there was a knock on the door.

“Just a sec!” She managed to get a bra snapped on—she really needed a new one. Her breasts were way too sensitive to put up with this. Finally a waffle weave long-sleeved shirt in pale pink went over her head and she hustled barefoot to the door.

“Hi,” she said, breathless and a little apprehensive. They’d had a civilized meal last night. Liz and the kids had carried most of the conversation. Ethan hadn’t been able to stop grinning, sending more than one, “
Really?
” at his Auntie Meg.

That and Linc’s genuine appreciation for the help with the roof had dissipated the worst of the undercurrents. Linc hadn’t lingered, saying he still had a lot to do at home. He’d promised to call her, his expression steadfast and significant as he left, as if silently reminding her to
think about it
.

Meg had gone to bed with fantasies of romance and lovemaking and heartfelt declarations sneaking stealthily into her dreams. So silly. She had to be more grounded and realistic about this, not mentally practicing her Mrs. Lincoln Brady signature.

“Hey.” The corner of his mouth pulled into a half-smile as she opened the door, like he was caught off guard, but was pleased by the sight of her. His grin made her heart skip. “I found a tool that wasn’t mine,” he said, thumbing to where he’d spoken to Blake near the barn. “I brought it back and now I’m heading into town for some breakfast. Care to join me?”

“I can make you breakfast—” she started to offer.

“I need groceries and have a few errands. And I have to be back by noon. Hay’s coming, but I owe you a date, so…”

For some reason, that made her snort. “Kind of late for that, isn’t it?”

“You’re the one who told me I should. Date,” he clarified. A glint in his eyes sent her right back to lying beside him in his bed, skin to skin, her guard all the way down because she’d already known how their relationship would end.

Except it hadn’t. Wouldn’t.

His remark yesterday about their already being in a relationship had yanked through her consciousness again and again last night, as she’d tried to envision what her new life in Marietta would look like. It would be indelibly connected to Linc’s. Forever. She swallowed.

“I haven’t made any decisions,” she said weakly, even though she suspected, deep down, that she wanted to try. Try to be friends. Try to be more.

Take a risk?

“I’m not here to pressure you,” he said, voice gentling. “But we should get to know each other better, don’t you think?”

“Beyond the biblical sense, you mean?” she asked, trying to sound rueful and flippant, but winding up blushing and feeling raw.

He hesitated and she could have sworn she heard his thought:
Open to both
. But he only said, “Come for a drive?”

With a jerky nod, she nervously agreed, telling herself it was for the baby’s sake and had nothing to do with her own inner yearnings. “Can you wait while I dry my hair?”

Fifteen minutes later, they were on the road and she felt ridiculously optimistic. Like a sixteen-year-old on her first ride in a car with a boy. It was the glorious weather, she reasoned. No one could be gloomy on a day like today, when last night’s snow was being swept away by a mild wind and the blue of the sky was so sharp it hurt your eyeballs. The warmth of the sunlight through the window made her tingle, promising spring.

“How are you, Meg?” he asked, glancing across as he drove. “That thing you said yesterday about morning sickness. I looked it up last night and it sounds like it can be pretty bad.”

“Ever been hung over?” she said dryly.

“Today,” he said with a significant look, qualifying with a tilt of his head, “Just a little. I was too tired to get roaring drunk last night, but I felt like I needed a few strong ones after everything that happened yesterday.”

That made her smirk. “Well, I don’t have the luxury of that coping strategy and I’ll still probably lose whatever you buy me at the diner. I wouldn’t bother eating at all, but I’m starving all the time and I’m given to understand at least some of it makes it to the baby, so….”

“Baby,” he said under his breath. “It seems surreal.” His profile twinged, unreadable. “Anything else I should know?”

She debated, then figured she might as well be honest. “I’m a total crybaby. I was genuinely upset yesterday, but the least little thing makes me tear up. I did two broadcasts before I left and practically sobbed my way through both of them. Look.” She pointed at her wet eyes, growing teary as she remembered the emotional toll the stories had taken on her. To distract herself, she admitted, “And I’m coming to town to look for a bra. All of mine are too tight.”

He cut another quick glance toward her, this one trying to penetrate the puffy down of her vest. “Nice,” he mused, as though manifesting a picture in his mind.

She rolled her eyes, struck with a wave of humor and impatience, pride and something weirdly poignant because it was something a boyfriend would say. Or a husband. And even though her breasts were so tender she could barely stand the pressure of a T-shirt, she had a sudden impulse to bare herself and show him. Bask in his admiration.

The thought of which kind of turned her on, so she desperately tried to think of anything except the way he’d licked and sucked her nipples that night.