The Pregnant Ms. Potter. Millie Criswell

in a green-and-white Sweetheart High School football jersey and thick woolen socks that Pete had provided for her the night before, and which were undoubtedly his, judging by the reluctant expression on his face when he’d handed them to her, Maddy made her way across the cold bedroom floor toward the bathroom.

      The fire in the hearth had gone out hours before, and the ice smothering the windowpanes promised another day of snow and below-freezing temperatures.

      How long was she going to have to remain stranded here? Maddy wondered. Not that she wasn’t grateful for Pete Taggart’s hospitality, because she was, but she needed to get to her sister’s, needed to fix the mess she’d made of her life. If she could. And that was a very big if.

      Pushing open the bathroom door, she let loose a scream. Pete Taggart was standing half-naked on the other side of it, looking like a Greek Adonis come to life. Her hand went to her throat, and her eyes widened. “Wha—what are you doing here?”

      “Ouch! Dammit!” he cursed, razor in hand, turning away from the mirror over the sink to look at her startled expression. “What’s it look like I’m doing? I’m shaving, that’s what I’m doing.” He looked quite annoyed as he blotted the bloody nick on his face with a tissue. “You might try knocking next time, instead of just barging in.”

      Her jaw dropped as she took in his thickly muscled chest lightly sprinkled with hair, corded biceps, and the towel that hung precariously low on his hips, which barely covered his—

      “Deck the halls with boughs of holly…”

      She didn’t want to think about what it barely covered. Not this early in the morning.

      “I—I thought this was my bathroom.”

      “Guess I should have made myself clearer. It’s our bathroom. It adjoins the two bedrooms. But you’re welcome to use it. When I’m not in it.”

      She tried to avert her gaze, but that meant she had to look into his mesmerizing blue eyes. “You might have told me that we’d be sharing this bathroom. That would have been the gentlemanly, civilized thing to do.”

      The sexy grin flashing across his face told her more than words that there wasn’t a civilized bone in Pete Taggart’s muscular, oh-so-very-fine body. “Never been accused of being civilized, Miz Potter, ma’am.”

      “You infuriate me, Mr. Taggart,” she admitted, reaching up to secure the scrunchie that had come loose during the night, and hearing him suck in his breath.

      Pete’s gaze zeroed in on her long, shapely legs, and his eyes filled with heat. “I wouldn’t be raising your arms up like that, if I were you, ma’am, or you might be revealing more than you were intending.” Not that he minded the view. It had been a long time since he’d entertained a pretty woman in his bedroom, or bathroom, for that matter.

      Maddy slammed the door shut in his face, but she could still hear Pete’s laughter coming through, and it filled her with outrage. Sucking in huge gulps of air, she ran to the brass cheval mirror standing in the corner and lifted her arms, observing the effect. Then she gasped.

      “Good Lord!” The jersey barely covered her thighs! Why hadn’t she noticed that before?

      Oh no! What the man must be thinking!

      WHAT THE MAN WAS THINKING was something Maddy was better off not knowing. His thoughts were X-rated, to say the least. Pete had already cursed himself many times over for finding the woman attractive. Attractive, headstrong and intelligent, despite what he’d told her. A deadly combination.

      He’d sworn off women four years ago, and he didn’t need this temptation, this complication in his life right now. His self-imposed celibacy—the butt of many a joke by his two younger brothers—was taking its toll. And having a half-naked woman flaunting herself at him was not helping matters in the least. Just because she hadn’t intended to flaunt didn’t matter. Flaunting was flaunting, no matter how you looked at it. And he sure as heck liked looking at it—her—which resulted in some pretty predictable results.

      Just thinking about how she’d looked all warm and tousled from bed and dressed in his old football jersey was enough to weaken his resolve and harden his member. “Damn!” Pete fiddled with the gauges on the generator as he tried to figure out why it didn’t work and cursed again.

      “Why?” he asked himself. Why now when he was just getting his head back together? His heart would never mend, but he figured he could live with that.

      Four years. Four years since Bethany’s death, since the death of their unborn child, and the pain still festered, as if it had only been yesterday.

      “I’m sorry, Pete,” Dr. Reynolds had told him when he’d entered the ER that rainy afternoon four years ago. “Bethany didn’t survive the crash.”

      “And the baby?”

      The old man had shaken his head, and there was pity in his eyes. “Both dead. I’m sorry, son.”

      Pete blamed himself for their deaths. If he hadn’t been arguing with Bethany over her new job at the radio station, if she hadn’t run off half-cocked during the middle of a severe thunderstorm…

      If, if, if. Too many ifs and not enough answers. None that would suffice anyway. His wife and child were gone.

      Though he took his fair share of responsibility for what had happened, he blamed Bethany more. She’d always been headstrong, bent on having her own way about working after they were married. She hadn’t been content to be “just a rancher’s wife” and had told him as much after they were married. She wanted to contribute, to make her mark in the world, to have it all.

      The futility of what had happened angered Pete. Waste always sickened him. And Bethany’s death had been a waste, and so totally unnecessary. He didn’t want to think about the loss his unborn child’s death had created.

      His son. His child who would never see his first sunrise, kiss a girl, play baseball, go fishing with his old man.

      His throat clogged, his chest ached, and he shook the painful thoughts away, though he knew they would return. They always did.

      “Give it up, Taggart. It’s over. Learn to live with it.”

      But it would never be over. Not for him.

      PETE WAS NOWHERE to be found when Maddy finally mustered the courage to descend from her upstairs hideaway to the kitchen. After her humiliating encounter with him, she wanted to hide forever. But she was starving. She wasn’t sure if Pete had had anything to eat, either, and so decided to take matters into her own hands and cook breakfast.

      She found eggs, cheese and bacon in the cooler on the back porch, as well as a carton of orange juice. “We’re saved, Rufus,” she told the shaggy dog asleep on the rug. He cocked an eye open at the sound of his name, then promptly resumed his snoring.

      Well, what could she expect? The dog had been living with Taggart and had no doubt picked up all his worst habits and lack of social skills.

      There was hot coffee in the pot on the stove, and she poured herself a cup before scrambling the eggs. Tossing a few slices of bacon into the cast-iron skillet she found in the drawer beneath the oven, she proceeded to make culinary magic.

      Maddy might not be good at reading a map or driving a car in a snowstorm, but she was an excellent cook. And she intended to prove that to the snotty, opinionated, woman-hating rancher.

      “Something sure smells good,” Pete said upon entering the kitchen fifteen minutes later, taking in the apron that had once belonged to his mother wrapped around Maddy Potter’s waist and smiling inwardly. It wasn’t quite as charming as the football jersey, but it was pretty darn cute. She’d changed back into her suit, minus the heels, and plus the woolen socks he’d loaned her.

      “I wasn’t sure if you’d eaten, so I decided to make us some breakfast,” she explained. “I hope you don’t mind.”

      “Don’t