What a Woman Wants. Tori Carrington

under her fingertips was silky and inviting. John’s eyes held a resolution that touched her to her toes.

      He wants to marry me.

      Despite her initial shock at his bumbled proposal, Darby found that his words warmed her, touched her in a way she was helpless to explore just then. He was so earnest, so determined that she couldn’t help but be drawn to him, long to kiss him, if not for the panic swirling through her bloodstream, along with a thousand other jumbled emotions. Panic caused not by the thought of marrying him, of becoming Mrs. John Sparks, but fear that he was serious. That he intended to take this ridiculous idea of his and run with it.

      “John…I think you and I need some time to adjust before either of us says anything we don’t mean.”

      His jaw flexed, making her itch to inch her palm along the strong length of it. To press her mouth there, against his freshly shaved skin and drink in the tangy taste of him at her leisure. “I don’t need time, Darby. I know how I feel. I know what I need to do. And nothing you can say is going to change that.”

      Something tickled her chest from the inside. “We’re not teenagers, John. When something like this happens, you don’t have to get married. There are alternatives now.”

      His eyes narrowed.

      “No, no, I didn’t mean that alternative. I’m going to go through with this.”

      The relief on his face was so complete even she felt it rush through her body and warm her all over.

      “Time,” he said pensively. “If it’s time you want, Darby, then it’s time I’m going to give you. But I promise you, no matter how long it takes, you are going to marry me.”

      “No!”

      Darby stared at him as if he had made the vehement announcement. Because if there was one thing she was sure of, she hadn’t said the word. Her heart was too busy doing a silly little dance for her to have responded in any manner.

      Reality sank in and every one of her muscles went on alert. If the word hadn’t come from her or John, who had said it? She wasn’t sure she wanted to find out.

      She pried her gaze from John’s sincere face to find Erin standing in the kitchen doorway. Her tiny frame was tense and battle-ready, her angelic face drawn and tight. Both hands were curled into fists at her sides and she shook as she repeated the word, as if the entire farm outside hadn’t heard her the first time. The passion behind her exclamation made the hair on Darby’s arm stand on end, made her stomach squeeze ominously. Extricating her hands from John’s, she somehow managed to stumble to her feet, and then wondered why the floor suddenly seemed to be swaying. Then she realized that the floor wasn’t, she was.

      Not a good sign.

      “Erin!” she said, her tone one of reprimand. Her gaze darted from her daughter’s flushed face to John, who stared at the tablecloth as if afraid it had come alive and was about to smother him.

      The six-year-old’s entire stance seemed to crackle with electricity as she pointed a stiff finger in John’s direction. “You are not going to marry him. You’re not!”

      Of course that had been Darby’s own response only minutes ago. But hearing it come from her daughter’s young mouth was completely different. Erin’s aberrant behavior all day left her drained and confused and just a tad angry.

      “Why not?”

      As John asked the question, Darby stared at him as if he’d grown another head. He’d lifted his gaze from the table and now stood next to her, looking at Erin with infinite patience.

      “Because my daddy’s coming back, that’s why.”

      A strangled sound erupted from Darby’s throat as every moment of the past year swept through her mind. From that terrible phone call in the middle of the night telling her Erick was dead, to the funeral where she’d clutched the twins to her so tightly she’d been afraid she’d break them, to the here and now and everything that had happened in between. She wouldn’t exactly classify the past year as easy. It had been everything but. But she never, ever, would have thought that either one of her daughters would have a doubt about the permanent absence of their father.

      “He is coming back. He is,” Erin whispered again, moisture sparkling in her wide brown eyes, her crushed expression making Darby feel as if she’d just run over the family dog with her truck. “And that means you can’t marry anyone.”

      Looking much like a rag doll in need of cuddling, Erin turned on her heel and trudged from the room and all the way back up the stairs. Movement nearby drew Darby’s attention. She watched as an eerily silent Lindy stepped from the shadows of the living room, her gaze confused and vulnerable as she turned and followed her sister up the stairs.

      Darby’s stomach roiled ominously. Unlike when she was pregnant with the twins, the first three months of this pregnancy had been so far uneventful.

      She had the awful sensation that was about to change.

      “Excuse me,” she said softly. “I think I’m going to be sick….”

       Chapter Five

       S aturday. Usually Darby’s favorite day of the week. But as she stood staring out the kitchen window at the rain washing out what had started as a perfectly beautiful spring day, she wondered if the world at large was out to get her.

      For some reason, she’d thought time would make losing Erick easier. And it had in some respects. She no longer woke up in the middle of the night, her pillow soaked with tears, her throat sore from sobbing. She’d even finally packed up the last of his clothes and other things and stored them in the attic a couple of months earlier, and placed the silver-framed picture of him that had once sat on her nightstand in the girls’ room.

      But she would never in a million years have guessed that Erin thought her father was coming back.

      She crossed her arms to quell a shiver, remembering the expression on John’s face when she’d come out of the downstairs bathroom last night, her teeth freshly brushed, feeling like she’d been hit by a tractor. He had been standing in the same spot she’d left him, looking as shell-shocked as she felt. All in all, she figured yesterday had been a banner day for everyone.

      She looked down to find her fingertips rubbing against the inside of her palm. John had been so sweet, so endearing—and so incredibly sexy when he’d dropped to one knee and proposed to her even after she’d already told him no. Not many men would have continued after the first rejection. But he had. She caught herself smiling. With everything happening, she couldn’t even begin to classify what she felt for John. Whenever he was within touching distance, she wanted to run her hands all over him. Press her mouth against his if only to stop the ever-present flow of words coming out of it. Feel his hungry, almost reverent touch on her heated skin.

      But last night she’d had little choice but to ask him to leave after Erin’s heart-stopping display. He’d asked if she needed help, if she’d like him to talk to the six-year-old, but she’d refused the offer, no matter how tempting. It seemed so very long since anyone but her had been responsible for the twins. Still, she watched with her heart in her throat as he gathered his hat and left.

      She glanced down at her ring finger and the one item from her time with Erick that she hadn’t been able to part with yet. Her simple platinum wedding band. She absently twisted it around and around on her finger, her gaze drawn to the silverware drawer. Hands suddenly shaking, she slid it open. There, under the extra packets of ketchup and mustard she always hoarded when she gave in to the twins’ demand for fast food was the small box John had left behind.

      Darby’s heart dipped low in her chest as she picked up the box and snapped open the lid. She’d been so surprised when he’d sprung it on her last night that she hadn’t given the ring more than a cursory glance. There, nestled in the dark-blue velvet, sat the ring he usually wore on his left pinky finger. No sparkling diamond solitaire. No ornate piece of antique jewelry passed down through generations