Rock-A-Bye Bride. Tracy Madison

hadn’t yet become more than a hazy image in his mind. Try as he might, he couldn’t envision what life would become, how having a child would change him or his heart or how fatherhood would affect the day-to-day way of things. Oh, he had no question that he’d never be the same.

      It was the specific details of those changes that escaped him.

      “Looking good,” Gavin said, entering the room. He lightly punched Logan on the shoulder, his affable nature not quite enough to hide the worry lines around his eyes. “Now, I know I have little right to offer advice, seeing how we’re still relative newcomers to each other’s lives, but I feel compelled to ask one last time. You’re solid in this decision to marry Anna, correct? Because you can do right by your kid without a wedding.”

      “Yup, I’m aware. Doesn’t hold any water in my book, but I’m aware,” Logan said, taken aback as he was every time he laid eyes on his half brother. The resemblance between Gavin and the Denny whom Logan had seen in those photographs was strong. Eerily so.

      Whereas Logan and Gavin shared only one like feature: their eyes. The shade and the shape of his were identical to his half brother’s. In every other way, the two men looked nothing alike. Gavin was several inches taller than Logan’s height of six foot two and had lighter hair and the build of a quarterback. Or a lumberjack.

      Logan’s skin was slightly darker from the Cordero side of his heritage, and while fit—you couldn’t work a ranch for most of your life and be anything but—no one on God’s green earth would compare him to a quarterback. Or, for that matter, a lumberjack.

      That being said, they shared other similarities. They analyzed problems in the same manner, and their belief systems were almost identical. Hell, when Logan had told Gavin the truth behind this wedding, his half brother had admitted he would’ve done exactly the same.

      “Alrighty then,” Gavin said. “I just wanted to be sure.”

      “Thank you. If we were standing in each other’s shoes, I’d want to know, too.”

      “And my answer would match yours.”

      Gavin moved forward as if going in for a hug, had second thoughts and nodded. He ran his hand over his trimmed beard. “We’re getting there, aren’t we? Becoming family?”

      “I am.” Logan shrugged. “Can’t speak for you.”

      “Think I just spoke for myself.” Without hesitating a second time, Gavin gave him a fast hug, which he followed up with another punch to the shoulder. Stepping backward, he said, “I’ve never had a brother before. Takes some getting used to, but Logan, I’m glad you’re here. I’m glad to know you, and I’m honored to stand for you today.”

      And Logan no longer worried that his mother’s absence was a bad omen. He had family here. In his head and in his heart, the “half” distinction disappeared. He had his brother.

      “I’m glad, too,” he said, wishing he had other words, better words to express how much this moment meant. “It’s...ah...been good, getting to know you. And thank you for hosting the ceremony and agreeing to be my best man. Makes all of this easier.”

      “Welcome.” Turning toward the door, Gavin said, “We’re about ready downstairs, and from what Lola says, Anna is, too. Might want to come down soon.”

      “Got it.” Alone again, Logan inhaled a deep, fortifying breath, took one final look at himself in the mirror and followed Gavin’s footsteps. Husband and father. Two titles he’d never really believed would be his. He’d carry one forever, and for a time, he’d carry both.

      Yup. Surreal was the word, all right.

      * * *

      Mrs. Logan Daugherty. Anna Daugherty. Anna Rockwood-Daugherty. Any way she sliced it, she was now Logan’s wife, and the reality of that, along with the current state of her overactive hormones, had whipped her emotions to a crescendo.

      Delusional, to believe that she’d find peace tonight, with the wedding behind her and the rest of what was to come looming uncertainly in the future.

      Oh, she woke this morning with the same surety she’d carried since accepting Logan’s proposal. Everything about the wedding itself had fallen into perfect order, and since her stomach was barely rounded at the four-and-a-half-month mark, she’d made a presentable enough bride in the simple Empire-style, knee-length dress she’d worn.

      But then, out of nowhere, a flurry of doubts had flown into being. She’d left the bedroom that Gavin and Haley had settled her and her aunt in to dress and prepare for the ceremony. She’d gone downstairs, still feeling secure in her decision. It wasn’t until she’d stepped onto the house’s enclosed back porch—the rainy weather had derailed their plan of being wed in the tree-filled backyard—and she’d seen Logan standing there, austere and handsome and sexy in his dark suit and tie, that something deep inside had started to crumble.

      Her aunt’s words had sounded off in her head. This was a mistake.

      She had come so close—this close—to running away, then and there. How had she believed, even for a moment, that this was a good, smart idea? How had that even happened?

      As if sensing her distress, her near bolt for the exit, Logan’s eyes found hers, and he smiled. He held his hands out toward her, and that simply, she regained her balance and her surety. Confidence returned, she walked the few remaining feet toward him and put her hands into his, and with very little fanfare, they exchanged their vows.

      Celebration and food followed, and through the festivities, she held on to her belief that marrying this man, the father of her unborn child, was a sound decision.

      Her confidence might have continued to hold steady if not for the posing of the photographs. Logan’s wish for their child to believe they were once in love had led them to the decision that there should be a wedding album, with as many of the traditional shots as possible.

      So, Logan had wrapped his arms around her. He’d whispered nonsense into her ear to make her smile and laugh. He’d ruffled her hair and kissed her cheek. And in these staged moments, she somehow bought into the charade. Darn if she hadn’t felt loved by him. Cherished and protected and a part of something grander than she’d ever known.

      She’d enjoyed those feelings. More so than she would’ve believed. Unfortunately, every one of them vanished the instant they finished with the photographs. Logan reverted to his normal self. He was as kind as ever. Considerate and accommodating and...sweet.

      But now that Anna had a flicker of an idea of what being loved by Logan might feel like, she recognized a distance existed, as well. Between them, in every word spoken, every look and, yes, every action. And she hated it. The distance felt...awful. Strategic, in a way. As if he had to force himself to be kind and considerate and accommodating and sweet.

      Because she was his responsibility. A burden he had to deal with, so he would.

      Unfair, she knew, to draw these conclusions without even broaching her thoughts to Logan. Unfair, as well, because even if she was right, her emotional reaction was not Logan’s fault. He was only following the terms of their agreement. Platonic. Friendly. Partners.

      Which was precisely what she wanted from him.

      Yet, hours later, she still hadn’t bounced back. The second they’d arrived at Logan’s—no, their—house, she’d done what any crazy and hormonal and hurt-when-she-had-zero-right-to-be-hurt shotgun bride would have: she’d told him she wanted to change clothes, escaped to her bedroom and locked the door. And, pitifully enough, had spent thirty minutes crying her eyes out in as silent a fashion as possible, all the while trying to pull herself out of the muck.

      Sitting up on her bed, Anna wiped her eyes and took in a breath. Yes. She was behaving unreasonably. It was time to stop. She had to believe that her hormones were the cause of this ridiculous show of emotion. Of the deep, almost desperate yearning that now ached in her heart.

      Well, maybe she couldn’t