Rock-A-Bye Bride. Tracy Madison

wasn’t wishing for more from Logan or their relationship. She wasn’t going crazy, either. She was simply reacting to the realization, the remembrance, of what she’d once wanted on the day she became someone’s wife, and coming to terms with the true reality of today.

      When she added in the hormone-induced warfare raging in her body, her strong emotional response to the photo session made perfect sense. As did the yearning to be loved and cherished by her someday husband. Not by her husband in name only.

      The oh-so-logical explanation sifted in and found stability, and relief quickly followed. Good. Now that she understood why she was so upset, she should be able to pull herself together. Her mother used to say that a good cry solved more than it hurt, and Anna had cried long and hard, so really, she should be good to go. She should be ready to face Logan.

      Why, she’d just open the bedroom door, walk into the living room, and—

      Damn it! Another full-body blast of emotion hit her head-on—likely caused by the bittersweet recollection of her mother—and her tears, which had finally tapered down to mere watery eyes, started anew. They drenched her cheeks and dripped into her mouth. Her throat tightened and her chest heaved. Lovely. Just freaking lovely.

      At this rate, she’d be lucky to have herself under control by her due date.

      * * *

      Logan paced the living room, every now and then glancing toward Anna’s closed door, his gut telling him that something was wrong. She’d been in there for too long, and he didn’t believe she was tired enough to turn in for the night when it was barely seven thirty.

      She could be ill. Or upset, in some form or another.

      He stopped pacing and ran his fingers through his hair, trying to think. She hadn’t mentioned feeling sick, and their agreement was that she’d keep him informed of her physical well-being. Upset seemed the likeliest possibility, but for the life of him, he couldn’t think of anything that might have caused her distress. The day had gone beautifully, precisely as planned, down to the last detail. Well, except for his mother not being there.

      Anna couldn’t be upset by that, could she? No. Made absolutely zero sense, as he’d told her about his grandfather’s illness and she’d reacted with sympathy.

      What should he do? Leave her to her own devices or knock on her door and...what? He seriously did not have a clue, but leaving her alone, potentially upset, was not a proactive solution. If they were to make this work—and he had every intention of doing just that—then they had to start off in the proper manner, right from the beginning.

      But he couldn’t exactly order her to come out here, now could he? Well, no. Doing so wouldn’t instill trust in him or their partnership. He had to try something, though.

      Without having any sort of a feasible plan in mind, Logan went to Anna’s door and raised his fist to knock when he heard... Dear God, was she crying? He pressed his ear against the door to confirm that the sounds emanating from the room were those of a woman sobbing.

      And yes, damn it, yes, they were. Logan backed away, fast, and considered his next move. Crying was not a positive sign. Hiding from him while she cried seemed even worse. They were supposed to be in this together. She was supposed to feel safe leaning on him.

      Yet she hadn’t uttered a solitary syllable to let him in on her distress.

      Raking his fingers through his hair again, he stared at the door as if he could see clean through the wood. Other than the stray emotional moment with his female relatives over the years, Logan did not have that much experience with crying women. He had a sum total of zero experience with crying women who were also pregnant.

      And this woman was his wife.

      Inhaling a breath, Logan pushed himself forward and rapped on her door. A startled sob-yelp hit his ears, and he cringed. “Anna? Can I come in for a few minutes?”

      Silence. The deafening type, and it lasted for close to thirty seconds. When she finally spoke, it was in a louder, higher-pitched voice than typical. “Now r-really isn’t the best time, Logan. Sorry. But, see, I’m—I’m in the m-middle of something.”

      Hmm. “Oh, yeah? What’s that? I’m rather handy, you know, so maybe I can help.”

      “No! I... That is, you can’t h-help with this,” she said, her tone wobbly and strained. “I—I’ll come out soon and we—we can talk then. Or—or maybe in the morning. Because I seem to be having a br-breakdown of sorts, and I’m not sure how l-long it will last.”

      “Anna, please let me in.”

      “I’m fine! I—I just need to settle down.”

      Logan rested his forehead against her door, grabbed the knob and twisted. Nope. Locked tight. “Now see, this isn’t going to work for me,” he said, keeping his voice relaxed and, hopefully, calming. “Being stuck out here, as I am, while you’re in there, having some type of a breakdown that involves crying. I need you to talk to me, tell me what has you so upset.”

      “No, thank you,” she said. “Go away, p-please.”

      She was still crying—he could tell that much—but her voice sounded steadier. Good. A step in the right direction. “Not happening, so you may as well let me in.”

      “That’s also not h-happening!”

      “Guess we’re at an impasse.” Logan sat down in the hallway, right next to Anna’s door. “So what I think I’m going to do is just sit here for a while, until you’re past this little breakdown of yours, and I can see that you’re okay. How’s that sound?”

      Again, she didn’t answer right off, but he heard her moving around, and he could almost feel her staring at the door. “You’re just going to sit there and do n-nothing?” she asked, her voice closer than before. “Why would you do that?”

      “Because I’m worried about you. Because we’re in this together. Because if you’re upset, that just doesn’t sit well with me. And,” Logan said, speaking the words as they came to him, “how you are and what happens to you matters, Anna. It matters a great deal.”

      “Geez, you’re good,” she said after a moment’s pause. “And I kn-know you mean what you just said, but you can stop worrying. This has nothing to do with the baby.”

      “Nothing at all?”

      “Being p-pregnant supercharges my emotions, but I’m not upset about the baby.” She unlocked and opened the door, looked at him sitting on the floor and shook her head. “You’re a little crazy, too, you know. Sitting out here like—like a sentry or something, over a few t-tears.”

      Rising to a stand, he took in her swollen, damp eyes and splotchy pink cheeks, her mussed hair and the way her arms trembled, just a little, as she crossed them over her chest. More than a few tears, he wagered, and he felt horrible for whatever she’d gone through, for whatever had put her in such a state. “Hey there,” he said. “It’s good to see you.”

      She blinked once, twice. Breathed in a large gulp of air and blinked again. Those beautiful brown eyes of hers filled with a fresh onslaught of emotion, and she cursed, loudly and eloquently, and started to slam the door shut. Ah. Nope. Not happening.

      Acting on impulse, he stuck his foot into the opening—because no way was he going to let her suffer on her own, not when he was there to provide some company—and said, “You don’t have to hide. We’re partners, remember? Lean on me, why don’t you?”

      “I don’t want you to see me like this,” she whispered. “I’ll be better tomorrow.”

      “I already see you, and why don’t we try to reach that goal tonight?” He had to fight, hard, the sudden need to pull her into his arms. To hold her for however long it took for her body to stop trembling, her tears to stop coming. “You don’t even have to tell me what’s wrong. Let’s just be a boring old married