Fifty Ways To Say I'm Pregnant. Christine Rimmer

followed her around to the hatch in back, noticing the little spiral-top notebook and the pen she had stuck in a back pocket, but more interested in the way her womanly hips swayed as she walked, in that gleaming waterfall of shining raven hair.

      Today was stacking up to be pretty nigh on perfect. Daniel Hart had called him the son he’d never had.

      And Starr Bravo was right there in front of him, close enough to reach out and touch.

      Beau led Starr into the house and signaled the way back to the kitchen. He fell in step behind her, where he could admire the sway of her hips a little more. Coming or going, Starr Bravo was a pleasure to look at.

      They found Althea in the kitchen. She was brewing decaf for Daniel. The nurse and Starr greeted each other. Althea sighed over the scent of Tess’s pies and groused in a good-natured way over her patient’s orneriness.

      “‘Real coffee, damn it,’ he growls at me. ‘Real coffee, strong and black.’ Well, I didn’t even bother to inform him that decaf is the closest he’s getting to real coffee while he’s in my care….”

      Starr laughed, the sound making the dim old kitchen seem sunny and bright, as if someone had knocked out a wall and the warm daylight outside had come streaming in to push back every shadow, to fill every corner with golden light. “Althea, we know you can handle him.”

      Althea grunted. “You got that right. I give my patients the best care there is, no matter how hard some of them try to keep me from doing it.”

      Starr asked, “I wonder if could step in and say hello.”

      Althea poured the coffee. “Don’t see why not.”

      Daniel was propped up on his pillows, looking grouchy, when they entered. He’d let Whirlyboy in to lie on a rag rug in the corner. At the sight of Starr, the dog thumped his tail. The old man’s scowl lightened to a grin. “Well, if it isn’t Starr Bravo. How you been, girl?”

      “I’ve been just fine.” She went over and gave Whirlyboy a scratch behind the ear. “Home for my last summer and enjoying every minute of it. But what about you, Mr. Hart?”

      Daniel made a low noise in his throat and his scowl returned—directed at Althea, who was easing the bed tray across his lap. “Better than some people would have you believe.” The nurse got the coffee from where she’d set it on the bed stand and handed it over. He sniffed it suspiciously. “Not strong enough. I can tell by the smell of it, by the watery way it sloshes in the mug.”

      “It’s all you’re getting,” Althea informed him with exaggerated sweetness. “I suggest you enjoy it.”

      Daniel slurped and grumbled some more. “It’s not bad enough I’m a prisoner in my own bed. I can’t even get a decent cup of coffee anymore.” He set the cup down and winked at Beau. Beau gave him a nod in return and Daniel smiled at Starr. “But even if the coffee’s bad, a pretty girl is always welcome. Brightens my day and that is a certainty.”

      Starr gave him a modest smile and told him her family had sent pies and some other things.

      “I thank you,” Daniel replied with a regal nod of his big, nearly bald head. “I always did appreciate Edna’s slow-cooked beans. And there are no words to describe those pies of Tess’s. Pass my thanks to both of them, will you please?”

      “I’ll do that. And the word is you’ll be on your feet again real soon.”

      “That’s right.” He sent Althea another look. “Real soon.”

      They spoke for a few minutes more—of the weather, which was mild, of the alfalfa crop, which looked like a good one this year. And, as always, about beef prices, which had been better, but could be worse.

      As Beau led her from the room, Daniel urged her to come back and visit anytime. Starr paused in the doorway to promise she’d be around to check on him again soon. Beau felt his ears prick up when she said that. With a little luck, he might be there at the house the next time she came by.

      “You’d better do what Althea tells you,” she warned in a teasing way.

      Daniel snorted. “Can’t see as how I have any choice.”

      She turned to Beau and he led her through the hall and around through the front room, on the way to the door. She spoke before they reached the entry hall. “Beau?” He stopped and turned, pleasure running in a warm current all through him, that she was here in the place where he lived, saying his name in a friendly, hopeful tone. “I went off without the cooler. I’m a little thirsty. A cold drink would be so nice….”

      Damn. He’d never even thought to offer her something. “I’m sorry.”

      She was looking right at him. And that warm current inside him was going molten hot. “Nothing to be sorry about. Iced tea, maybe?”

      He led her back to the kitchen and poured her the cold tea.

      “Thanks. Maybe you’ll sit out on the porch with me while I drink this?”

      “Be glad to.”

      As soon as they got out there, before they even had a chance to sit down, she was pointing to the stand of cottonwoods and willows fifty yards or so away on the north side of the house. “Is that a creek over there?”

      He had his hat, collected from the rack by the door on the way out. He beat it lightly against his thigh and slid it onto his head. “More like a big ditch. Feeds into the pond in the back pasture.”

      She sipped from the tall, already sweat-frosted glass. “Umm. This is just what I needed. Thank you.”

      “Welcome.” He looked at her soft red mouth. He could still recall, like it was yesterday, the tender, hungry feel of that mouth under his. She had the longest, blackest eyelashes of any woman he’d ever seen. He watched as they swept down and then up again.

      “It’s a nice day,” she remarked. “A little hot.” Oh, yeah, he thought. Hot. That’s the right word. “We could just stroll on over there—to that ditch, I mean. I’ll bet it’s cool under the trees.”

      “Sure.”

      She wore Wranglers and good, serviceable boots and a plain white shirt with short sleeves, tucked in. No slice of bare belly to tempt him today. Once, in one of their brief stolen times together, she’d confessed she had one of those navel rings—and a tattoo in a place where only the right man was ever going to see it.

      The other night, he hadn’t noticed any navel ring. Maybe she didn’t wear it anymore.

      Then again, he hadn’t caught a glimpse of her navel, now had he? That red, one-shoulder shirt had stayed low enough to safely shield it from his hungry eyes.

      She was halfway down the steps. He needed no encouragement to follow.

      In the trees, it was cool, just as she’d predicted. They sat on the grassy slope that led down to the cheerfully bubbling stream and she sipped her tea. “Nice,” she said with happy sigh.

      He leaned back on an elbow, picked a small blue flower that grew in the grass, and twirled it by the stem for a second or two before tossing it out into the rushing water. It bobbed away, a spot of blue, until the current sucked it under.

      She said, “Oh, I almost forgot…” The ice cubes clinked in her half-empty glass as she found a level place to set it. She reached into her back pocket and came out with that notebook and pen he’d seen earlier. “I was hoping to get a few quotes from you about how Mr. Hart’s recovery is progressing.”

      “For the Clarion?”

      “Uh-huh.” She flipped open the notebook, held her pen poised.

      He grinned. “Quotes from the foreman?”

      She was close enough to reach out and give his arm a tap with that pen. “Well, you are Mr. Hart’s top hand, aren’t you?”

      “Considering