The Widow's Little Secret. Judith Stacy

want it but you sure as hell need it,” Jared told her. He looked her up and down. “You’re sick as a dog. You’re pale. You’ve lost weight. You can’t keep anything down.”

      For a lawman, he certainly knew a lot about having babies. Or he was just observant.

      “Yes,” Mattie admitted. “I’ve been sick. But that will pass.”

      “And you’re dead tired, aren’t you? You can’t make it through the day without lying down.”

      “If I have time I lie down, but I’m usually too busy at the restaurant.”

      “And what effect do you think that’s having on the baby?” he challenged.

      Mattie turned away from those fierce blue eyes of his, uncomfortable under his gaze. She tried to think of a reasonable response, but couldn’t.

      Finally she said, “Just because I’m sick and I need to take a nap is no reason for us to get married, of all things.”

      “Yes, it is,” Jared told her. “It’s the best reason. The only reason. I’m marrying you so I can take care of you, and make sure our baby comes into this world healthy.”

      “But—”

      “It’s the right thing to do.” Jared gave her a brisk nod. “And you know it.”

      She’d worried about all those things. Dr. Whittaker, Mrs. Nance at the restaurant—along with most every other woman in town—had cautioned her over and over again to take it easy.

      She did feel terrible. She was worn out by midafternoon. Was she being thoughtless? Was she being a bad mother? Was she jeopardizing her unborn child?

      More than anything, she wanted her baby to be healthy. Nothing was more important.

      Jared seemed to read those feelings in her expression. He pulled on his hat and opened the back door. “Let’s go.”

      Mattie hesitated a moment. “But—”

      “This isn’t about you and me,” Jared told her. “It’s about the baby.”

      What could she say to that? Mattie walked out ahead of him.

      Just beyond the gate in the white picket fence that surrounded her house, Mattie slowed, gazing toward Main Street. Jared was a few paces ahead of her. He stopped and turned back.

      “What about the Cottonwood?” Mattie asked. “What about my restaurant?”

      “Close it.”

      “Close it?” Mattie shook her head, stunned by the thought. “How am I supposed to support myself? What am I supposed to do for money?”

      “I’ll take care of you.”

      Her gaze roamed once more to the Cottonwood Café. Close it? Walk away? It had belonged to her parents. She’d worked there with them, side by side, with so many wonderful memories. She’d turned the place around and built it into the most popular eatery in Stanford.

      But that was before.

      Images of Del Ingram floated in Mattie’s mind. He’d drained every cent from her bank account without her knowing it. Had left her penniless. He’d also run up some sizable debts around town, debts she was saddled with.

      With no money, she’d been unable to buy meat and poultry to serve to her diners. It hadn’t taken long before her soups and vegetable platters lost favor with her customers. With no sausage or bacon on the menu, the businessmen who’d made the Cottonwood their spot for breakfast stopped coming.

      She’d had to let her serving girls and dishwasher go, and take on those chores herself. She held on to Mrs. Nance by a thread, paying her salary with what little money she took in; if the Silver Bell Restaurant on the other end of town hired her away, Mattie would be lost for sure.

      Her business had spiraled downward for months, since Del’s death. For a moment, Mattie considered doing as Jared said, closing it. Free herself from the work, the worry. Could she do that?

      Mattie shook her head. “I can’t close the Cottonwood. I just can’t.”

      Jared’s brows drew together; obviously he was unhappy with her decision. “Then let Mrs. Nance run it. Or open it only part of the day. Hire more help. You can keep it open, but you’re not going to be over there all the time.”

      Mattie’s back stiffened. “I made the restaurant what it is. I can’t just turn it over to hired help.”

      A little frown creased Jared’s forehead. “Anybody can run that restaurant, Mattie, but only you can have this baby.”

      She wished he’d stop making so much sense. Jared clasped her elbow and they walked to the church.

      As they crossed the yard beneath the trees, Mattie’s steps slowed again until he was nearly pulling her along. At the bottom of the stairs, she stopped completely, with Jared on the step above her, glaring down. The door stood open and Reverend Harris’s voice drifted out. He was rehearsing his sermon, it seemed.

      “We don’t even know each other,” Mattie said.

      Jared raised an eyebrow at her. “We know each other well enough.”

      Mattie’s cheeks flushed, remembering the extent of their intimacy. She’d spent many a night thinking about U.S. Marshal Jared McQuaid in the weeks after he’d left Stanford, left her bed. Their one night together had been like no other.

      Then she’d found out she was pregnant.

      Mattie lifted her chin. “Don’t think that just because we’re married that you and I are going to…well, you know.”

      “What?” He looked a little confused, but Mattie saw the grin pulling at his lips.

      “You know what I mean,” she informed him, crossing her arms in front of her.

      “Oh.” Jared nodded broadly. “You mean make love.”

      Mattie flushed bright red. “Shh. Keep your voice down. We’re at the church, for heaven’s sake.”

      “It won’t hurt the baby, you know,” Jared said. His grin turned into a full smile. “And after that one night we were together, I figured you’d be anxious to—”

      “Just hush!” Mattie pushed past him and stomped into the church.

      Her bravado disappeared when she stepped inside. Where she was and what was about to happen smacked her in the face. Mattie backed up and bumped into the solid wall of Jared McQuaid standing behind her.

      “Jared, I—I don’t know—”

      “Reverend Harris!” Jared’s voice boomed over her head, carrying through the church and startling Reverend Harris, who was standing at the altar.

      The reverend adjusted his spectacles and squinted at them, then smiled.

      “Ah, yes, good afternoon,” he called, closing his Bible and stepping into the aisle.

      Jared’s big, strong body pressed against Mattie’s back, easing her between the rows of pews toward the front of the church.

      “Jared, I’m not sure—”

      “We want you to marry us,” Jared called out.

      Reverend Harris looked as stunned as Mattie felt, hearing the words spoken aloud. Jared splayed his hand over her back, urging her down the aisle. Mattie dug in.

      Jared moved to her side and looked down at her. “This is for the baby, Mattie. Not you. Not me. The baby.”

      He’d said it softly so only she could hear.

      “It’s the only sensible thing to do,” Jared said.

      Sensible. Yes, it was that. And Mattie had been sensible her whole life. Well, most of it, anyway.

      “Let’s