The Bride Ran Away. Anna Adams

work ethic from her grandma.

      “I’m on my way to Dad’s.” She’d decided to tell him about the baby now. Lucky thing Ian was too far away for her father to set an armed posse on him. She’d be lucky if her dad didn’t turn the posse on her.

      Gran reached for a file from the top of her in-box. “Listen to him for a change. Ethan’s a smart man.”

      “You say that about all your sons.”

      Gran slid on her glasses and smiled over the half lenses. “Bring him up to dinner tonight. Grandpa will want to see you, too.”

      Sophie doubted food would be one of her dad’s priorities after she dropped her bomb. He’d be too busy trying not to let her see she’d disappointed him. “I’ll call if we’re coming.”

      “Fine.” Gran nodded at the door. “I’ll walk out with you. My next appointment should be waiting.”

      Gran darted around her as they exited her office. Sophie took her time, studying the spacious waiting room as if she’d never seen it before, the easy chairs squatting, fat and comfortable, in front of the far windows, the hefty ottomans just waiting to prop up a pregnant woman’s swollen feet.

      She could work here. She already felt her share of family pride in the place.

      Several patients glanced up from their magazines. Gran’s patrons were usually the only strangers in town and even they couldn’t maintain their anonymity forever. They obviously wanted to know who she was.

      The pressure mounted. This was for real. These women would be her patients, and she’d be leaving an office full of women in Washington—her first patients in her first practice.

      Sophie headed for the door. She’d often thought of how it would feel to work here, but she’d never imagined scurrying home to Bardill’s Ridge, pregnant and conveniently married. She flattened both hands on her stomach.

      She’d manage fine with the patients, but how would she survive her grandmother’s on-the-job mothering? It might be a good idea to end her marriage before Gran discovered it. Greta Calvert believed in family enough to think Sophie should give Ian a second chance.

      And the other citizens of Bardill’s Ridge? Sophie’s mother had left town with a man who wasn’t her husband. Sophie could see the heads nodding. Wild like her mother.

      Nita had never possessed the instincts that guided some moms. Marriage was a piece of paper she could simply burn, and when she had a date, her daughter was usually an inconvenience.

      Sophie understood that her mom just didn’t “get” motherhood. And while Sophie loved her, she didn’t want to be like her.

      In D.C., her soon-to-be unmarried state wouldn’t provoke a ripple of interest, even among her own patients. Bardill’s Ridge would consider such an attitude too progressive to abide within the city limits. Nevertheless, she wasn’t about to protect her reputation with a marriage that existed only on paper.

      With one hand covering her belly, Sophie pushed open the glass door. She’d be a good mom. Her dad, her cousin Zach, her grandfather and Molly’s dad, Uncle Patrick, would be strong father figures in her child’s life.

      “Sophie?”

      Her grandmother’s startled voice spun Sophie around on the threshold. Gran’s eyes were fastened on the hand covering Sophie’s stomach.

      Stricken with guilt and regret, Sophie dropped her hand to her side, allowing Gran to study the bulge of her stomach unimpeded.

      When Gran looked up, her gaze was a mixture of happiness and confusion and regret. After a moment she turned away.

      “Wait.” Sophie could barely speak over her own despair. She’d hurt one of the two people whose love and respect meant more to her than anyone else’s.

      “Tell your father,” Gran said curtly. “And then we’ll talk. I just don’t want you or a child to be hurt, Sophie.”

      Sophie stanched the urge to defend herself. She nodded and turned to descend the granite steps.

      The weather had changed. The Mom’s Place looked less rosy under a now cloudy sky, and a chill breeze mussed her hair. Even the girls had taken their books inside.

      Sophie glanced toward her car and froze. Ian had materialized, seemingly out of nowhere. Long and lean, feet crossed at the ankles, he was braced against her car. Her first thought was that he had to be cold in his light camel-colored windbreaker. Then she saw anger in his blue eyes. His mouth was a thin slash of pain.

      She walked toward him. “Why are you following me?” she asked. She couldn’t control the desire she felt at seeing him, but then stiffened against it. Her body was no longer running her relationship with Ian.

      “You’re my wife. You’re carrying my child. I want to be with you. Take your pick.”

      “You’ve prepared a series of stories?” She had to get Ian out of here before Gran saw him and called for family reinforcements. “Let’s start with the one where you want to be with me. You’re saying that because you think that’s what I want to hear. We can drop that whole ‘wife’ concept, because we’re getting divorced. That leaves you thinking you owe something to my baby.” She halted, prepared to shove him aside to reach her car door. “You owe the baby nothing. I’m the one who depended on a condom.” She was allergic to the Pill, but she’d never explained that to Ian. Who’d have thought she’d need to? “This is my child.”

      “Mine, too.” His dogged gaze devoured her. He might be looking for changes in her body, but his regard turned her heart into a battle drum.

      She longed to throw him off her mountain. Her sense of his betrayal was still so strong she wanted to call her cousin Zach, the local sheriff, to chat with Ian about stalking.

      “Even if you plan to be the baby’s father, you have no business near me until I deliver.” She fished her keys from her purse and held them up. “Will you move?”

      He straightened, his skin taut across his cheekbones. “I made a mistake.” Tired and anxious, his voice softened with a plea that unsettled her. Ian never begged.

      “It’s too late.” She lifted her keys again.

      He ignored them. “I’m sorry.” She could hear the ache in his tone. “I don’t know how to be a husband, but I’ll do my best if you give me a chance. How can I convince you?”

      “Make me forget you lied about wanting to be one.” A horrible truth dawned on her. She actually wished she could forget what he’d said at the church. “I trusted you.”

      “I didn’t lie.” He held himself still, his only movement the rubbing of his right thumb against his index finger. One night as they’d lain in a moonlight-painted bed, he’d told her that finger, unnaturally straight from middle knuckle to nail, tingled in cold weather.

      She’d never asked how he’d damaged it. Why hadn’t she? Why hadn’t he told her, anyway? None of that mattered now.

      “If I thought I couldn’t be with my child any other way,” she said, “I’d pretend I wanted you, too.”

      He opened his mouth, then closed it again without speaking. She suddenly found herself focusing on it. She remembered how it felt beneath hers, moist with passion, seductively destroying that common sense her grandmother had mentioned. She’d glimpsed a future in his kisses. She’d believed in him because she’d thought no one could make love as they had without sharing more than just physical need.

      “Sophie.” He curved his hand around her forearm. “When you look at me like that…”

      He dragged her closer, but it wasn’t hard. She forgot to resist. His breath whispered against her lips.

      He paused, his seemingly defenseless gaze almost asking permission. She could break away if only she could remember how to make her feet move. She might have