And Baby Makes Four. Mary J. Forbes

what caught him most was the heat in his groin when his name tumbled from her lips in a voice made for the night.

      Shame slashed through him. How could he think of another woman? Darby had been the love of his life for seventeen years. No one could replace her.

      Shoulders lifting on an extensive breath, he returned to the wicker chair. Slouching forward, he shoved his hands into his hair.

      He was so goddamned tired. Tired of the loneliness, of hurting and grieving, and wishing time was reversible. He needed to move on, really move on. For Danny and for himself. Living like a monk wasn’t the answer.

      And Johnny was right. Hiding on an island wasn’t the answer, either. Because no matter how hard Rogan tried, the memories dragged along like tattered old blankets. Well, right or wrong he’d made the choice, and next week he’d hang out his shingle. But first, he needed to cajole the lovely Lee into taking him tomorrow in that confined little seaplane.

      He looked toward the bed-and-breakfast. He had her business number from her Sky Dash Web site. He could call her, except two hours ago he’d seen her drive up in a red Jeep and go into the Victorian. Another surprise. Did she live here, rent a room?

      He could call the main desk and ask for her extension.

      Or he could wait until morning, talk to her face-to-face on the wharf, hand her a wad of bills she couldn’t refuse.

      For the first time in years, his heart pounded with anticipation.

      Chapter Two

      Lee’s sister, Kat, cut a wedge of dessert and lifted it onto her plate.

      “I can’t believe you’re refusing my apple crumble,” she groused. Dinner done, the dishes washed, they sat in the living room of Kat’s B and B, while her son finished a school assignment in his bedroom. “Are you sick or something?”

      Lee shrugged. “Lately I haven’t been very hungry.” In reality, she’d been a tad woozy now and again during the past month, which could be a symptom for a dozen ailments. A stomach bug, eating the wrong food….

      Except, she couldn’t remember the last time she had the flu. But she knew exactly when she’d last had a bout of evening wooziness.

      Five years ago, when she’d been pregnant with Stuart’s baby.

      Damn it, she was not pregnant. This was a bug she’d caught from one of her weekend passengers or Kat’s son, Blake. Hadn’t he missed a day or two of school last week due to a virus?

      Of course, it was the flu. She and Oliver had been careful.

      “Hey.” Kat’s brown eyes were serious. “You okay?”

      “I’m fine. Just thinking about Oliver.” And the possibility I could be pregnant. The thought churned through her stomach. God help her, but what would she do if she was…? No. She would not even consider it. How many years had she tried with Stuart and failed? This was simply her out-of-whack periods acting up.

      Kat put down her fork. “His death hurt you more than your divorce from Stuart.”

      “Yeah,” Lee admitted.

      “That’s because Oliver Duvall was your best friend since grade school, Lee. You two had a lot of history.”

      She did not want to discuss Oliver, or the fact she missed him more than she’d ever missed her ex-husband after their divorce.

      No, what she wanted was to discuss Rogan Matteo.

      “He makes my fingers tingle.” There—it was out in the open. Matteo’s effect on her.

      “Oliver made your fingers tingle?” Kat curled into the sofa’s corner with a cup of tea.

      “No…. Argh.” Lee rested her head on the back of the couch. “Rogan Matteo. Your guest. Tonight, he introduced himself while I was checking my plane. Apparently, he wants transportation back and forth to the mainland for a couple of weeks.”

      Kat laughed. “Ah…I see.”

      “It’s not funny,” Lee retorted.

      “Attractions usually aren’t.”

      “I am not attracted to him,” Lee said, vexed that her sister had jumped to conclusions.

      “Oh, I can see that,” Kat said. “Mr. Hunk walks up the pier, pins you with his sorrowful eyes while the wind plays in all that sexy black hair and then he opens his mouth and out comes an accent that would make Matthew McConaughey weep, and your fingers get an irritable little tingle. Yep, you’re definitely not attracted.”

      Lee closed her eyes. “This is the silliest discussion I’ve had since sixth grade.”

      “Back at you, sis. But it’s good you’re attracted, don’t you think? After your divorce from the rat B, and then hooking up with poor Oliver, it means—”

      “It means Rogan Matteo is a potential fare, Kat. That’s all.” Lee did not want to think about poor Oliver or she’d be crying into her pillow half the night. Nor did she want to think she was dishonoring him eight weeks after his death by eyeing up another man. Jeez, that alone made her nauseous. She was not her mother. Not.

      “Okay,” Kat conceded, “he’s a fare. So are you flying him?”

      “I haven’t decided. It’s a big responsibility getting someone to work every day.”

      “Oh, heck,” Kat scoffed. “Take the guy. If after a week he’s too much of a hassle, tell him to go with Lucien.”

      Lee sighed. Her sister had a point. She was making far too much of all this. And just because Matteo had kind eyes.

      Like Oliver’s.

      Oliver. Best friend turned lover weeks ago, while on a six-week furlough from Iraq. Before he returned to war. Before he was killed by sniper fire.

      For three years after her divorce, Lee had avoided relationships; tamped down the remotest inclination toward desire. Then Oliver Duvall had returned to Firewood Island, and she’d never been so glad to see her childhood friend. When she thought of his death…

      How could she look at Rogan Matteo with Oliver not barely gone two months? Rogan Matteo with his quiet eyes.

      Was it any wonder he appealed to her? The Southern accent molding his words, or the way he looked at his little boy had nothing to do with her…lust. It was those slate-gray eyes, reminders of a friend who was no more.

      “All right,” she said. “I’ll tell him my plans if he shows up on my dock again.”

      “Why not tell him now? Didn’t we just see him through the kitchen window, sitting on the cabin porch, looking at the stars? Go knock on his door.”

      Lee stared at her sister. “Are you crazy? It’s the middle of the night.”

      Kat raised a brow. “It’s ten after nine.”

      “You are crazy.”

      “Honey, I’m not blind. The guy is handsome…in a rough-edged sort of way. If he makes your fingers itch, go talk to him. You know you want to.” She grinned. “Look, what’s he going to do? Say hi?”

      “It’ll seem like I’m chasing him.”

      “Oh, for heaven’s sake. Do you want the damn fare or not?”

      “Fine.” Before she could change her mind, Lee set down her cup, got up and walked out the back door. The way her stomach roiled, a breath of cold air would do her good.

      Stepping onto the back deck, she realized she should’ve grabbed her coat; the night chill crept under her lightweight sweater, goose-bumping her skin. Above, stars cluttered the sky, magnifying its vastness and if she had a moment she’d seek out the Big and Little Dippers, as always. But Rogan had spotted her and was likely wondering