Bittersweet. Laura Browning

be ridiculous,” he heard himself saying. “It will make things much easier if you can recheck the horse without worrying about a baby.”

      Anna glared at him, and he realized he’d said something wrong. As he tried to work out what had pissed her off, she surprised him.

      “All right. Thank you.” Her acceptance was reluctant, at best. She followed them to the house. Chris kept an eye on her in the rearview mirror.

      “She seems like an enchanting young woman.” His mother was studying him like she was cramming for a final, which made him nervous.

      “Huh?” Was she crazy? Anna Barlow might be some serious eye candy now he’d seen her in something other than figure-hiding coveralls, but she was irritating and cold. In fact, he considered it a miracle she’d gotten close enough to a man to conceive a child.

      “Dr. Barlow, Christopher. Keep your mind in the here and now, please. You’ve been distracted ever since we walked inside church.”

      He listened as his mother continued to talk about the veterinarian. She had learned an amazing amount of information just walking along the church aisle. Barlow must have felt as though she was in the middle of the Inquisition, and somehow that made Chris grin with satisfaction. The grilling was no more than she deserved. Yes, she had always been a Catholic. No, she did not have a husband. At least his mother had the tact not to inquire if there had ever been a husband. Yes, Becca was her only child. No, she did not have family close by. Yes, they were settling into the area well.

      “I don’t see how such a tiny girl deals with a large animal practice,” his mother added as she finished relating her tale.

      This was something Chris felt he could comment on.

      “She did well with Bart last night, Mom.” The admission was grudging, but he had to be fair. She had done a great job with the often obstreperous stallion.

      When they arrived at his parents’ house, Chris helped his mother from the car. He had already called ahead to warn the housekeeper they would have a guest for breakfast. His mother waited on the front steps of the large white antebellum-style home while she sent a reluctant Chris to help Dr. Barlow.

      As he approached, she was leaned across the backseat of the truck to unsnap the carseat, leaving him a wonderful view of her backside, from the dress pulled across her buttocks to the length of thigh visible to him. Down boy. The last thing he needed was to go lusting after the irritating doctor, nor did he want to come off as if he was a teenager who had no control over his body’s responses, but he was having one hell of a time doing that. He adjusted his half-hard cock before she straightened.

      “May I carry the baby for you?” he inquired.

      She spun on him with a fierce look. “No!” With obvious effort, she tried to soften her harsh response. “I can get everything. I…uh.” She hesitated before she rushed on. “I nurse her around this time. Is there someplace I can do that?”

      Chris took in her stiff expression and defensive stance. Damn! All he’d done was try to help. Trying to remember the manners his mother had drilled into him, he smiled, his lips tight. “Follow me.”

      She needed to nurse. Great! Just what his aching dick needed, something to draw his attention to her bustline. For a small woman, she was generously endowed, and he’d done his best to ignore that part of her since the glimpse last night of one creamy globe. He spun away, afraid she might notice the response he had a hard time quelling, and led the way along the wide front porch to a shady area around the corner. With no windows and rich with honeysuckle vines, the porch offered almost complete privacy. Two rocking chairs stood with a small table between them.

      “This is beautiful,” Anna said, as if it had been pulled from her. The surprise in her deep blue eyes was evident.

      “It’s one of my mother’s favorite spots.”

      She set the carseat on the table and lifted Becca. The baby kicked her legs and made smacking noises with her mouth. Did the kid know what was coming? He smiled at the errant vision that entered his head, making him wonder if the same technique would work for him. God, Stevenson, that was wrong on so many levels.

      He looked at Anna’s dress, swallowed and focused on the baby before he asked, “Do you need anything? A blanket or a towel?”

      A faint blush stained her cheeks. “No, we’re fine.”

      He nodded. “Come in the door behind you when you’re ready.”

      Anna glanced at it, and once again her chin jutted. “Thank you, Mr. Stevenson.” Her grudging admission made him wonder what he’d done to get on her bad side. They had met only last night.

      After telling his mother where their guest was, Chris drove to his own house to change clothes, which was an excuse, and he knew it. What he wanted to do was put some distance between himself and the good doctor. Her dark hair and deep blue eyes were playing havoc with him. And there was that sense of familiarity. He couldn’t shake the feeling he knew her from somewhere. But he had sense enough to know he needed to stay away from her.

      Militant career woman, single mother. He didn’t want to touch the scenario with a ten foot pole. If and when he settled down, he’d prefer to start his family the traditional way, with some careful planning as to when any children would enter the picture.

      With relief, he stripped off the coat and tie and exchanged his dress slacks and loafers for jeans and paddock boots to save time later. He wanted to get to the barn without delay to begin working the green jumper prospects he planned to bring along this winter. Twenty minutes later, he returned to his parents’ home.

      Thinking their guest had already joined his mother in the sitting room, he strode around the corner of the porch and skidded to a halt. She was curled in the rocker, asleep. Becca was nestled in the woman’s arms as she continued to suckle, her tiny hand kneading the rounded globe of her mother’s breast. The sight blew his hard-won detachment to hell. Chris took the picture in at a glance, also noting the faint shadows beneath the sooty lashes veiling Dr. Anna Barlow’s eyes. Her mouth had softened in sleep, and her curly head rested against the back of the rocker.

      He recognized the stab of lust tearing through him, but there was another feeling. One he didn’t want to put a name to. This was not the irritating, militant “I am woman” vet he had met last night. This woman was vulnerable in a way he hadn’t imagined and didn’t want to see.

      His first instinct was to beat a hasty retreat, but that was impossible. She would already be embarrassed for having fallen asleep, so he couldn’t leave her here.

      “Dr. Barlow?” he murmured, averting his eyes from the nursing baby.

      “Hmm. Chris?”

      Chris? She used his name as if she knew him. Her eyes widened in what appeared to be genuine shock.

      He turned away and muttered, “I didn’t realize you were still here. I’m sorry.”

      He heard rustling movements as she put her clothing in place.

      “It’s okay. I’m sorry I fell asleep. I had a colic call in the middle of the night. I guess I’m more tired than I thought.”

      His smile was strained as he turned to her again. “Not a problem. I understand having horses and losing sleep. It must be even harder for a veterinarian.” He bent to retrieve the baby’s carrier seat. “Let me give you a hand gettin’ this stuff inside. This is worse than packing for the show circuit. You almost need a trailer to lug it around.” Jesus. Shut the fuck up, Stevenson.

      He was relieved when she smiled and handed him the bulging diaper bag. After helping her carry everything inside, he showed her where to change the baby’s diaper before he retreated to the sitting room. His mother was seated in her favorite chair near the fireplace, reading the local paper. He had watched the familiar scene often over the years. Usually his dad was there too, and his parents argued good-naturedly over who got which section first. He smiled.

      “Dr.