The Pregnant Bride Wore White. Susan Crosby

      “I know you do high-level security work. I know you carry a gun. But I don’t know why you would go undercover for five months.”

      When he didn’t answer, she said, “Am I not allowed to ask questions? You intimated I had a hand in it somehow, because of the kidnapping. Don’t I have the right to know what that means?”

      He finally turned around. Keri rested her hands on her belly, her fingers splayed, protective.

      “Let me settle in. I need to get it all clear in my mind first. A lot happened. I do apologize for leaving you alone earlier. Honestly, I didn’t have another word in me.”

      “That’s understandable.” She shifted her hands, deciding to shift the conversation, too. “The baby’s moving.”

      His gaze dropped.

      “Space is tight now,” she said, “so it’s pretty confined. I can’t feel the movements as easily as a month ago. I love lying in the bathtub watching the baby move. It’s slow motion, but it always amazes me. Would you like to feel it?”

      He hesitated. “Not right now,” he said finally.

      She didn’t push. There was nothing else to say except, “I’m glad you’re home.”

      It was as if someone had turned off a switch inside him. “This isn’t home,” he said.

      “It isn’t? You have another house somewhere?”

      “No. This is the only house I own, but it’s just a house. It’s a tax deduction, and privacy when I need to be in town. If it weren’t for my family, I would never have bought the place, any place. I travel light.”

      “I do, too, as a matter of practicality, not choice. You and my parents would get along really well.”

      There was a long pause. “I imagine I’ll find that out for myself sometime in the future.”

      She pictured him meeting her parents. The only thing they had in common with Jake was traveling light. He was serious and controlled. Her parents were…neither. They were good people, though, kind and selfless.

      Keri looked around her, patting the chair arms several times, wondering where to take the conversation next. “This feels like a home to me. You have mementos. Pictures. It’s furnished and decorated.”

      “My sister Cher insisted. She always was bossy. Comes from being the firstborn, I think.”

      Keri was glad to see him finally smile. “I like all your sisters.”

      “Me, too.” He pushed away from the railing. “Minestrone, you said?”

      “And chicken. Salad. Sourdough bread.” She extended her arms. “Would you give me a hand up, please?”

      He hadn’t allowed enough space between them, so her belly bumped him. He took a quick step back.

      “I know it’s a shock,” she said hesitantly.

      “I should’ve known something was up, given Donovan’s conversation during the drive here. You know he’s a journalist, right? I’m used to him asking questions. He always had an insatiable curiosity, that stereotypical “why? why? why?” kid. But he was pushing for more information about the kidnapping today, instead of the job I’ve been doing that took me out of touch.”

      “You mean you hadn’t told him about us being kidnapped?” She remembered back to the time when she first met Donovan in the diner, and the cold, hard look he’d given her when he found out who she was. She figured Jake had clued him in.

      “I did, but I didn’t tell him your name.”

      “He came to his own conclusions, then. I’ve only seen him once since Christmas. He came home for a wedding. Noah Falcon?”

      Jake looked surprised. “Noah got married? That’s great. I was here for his brother David’s wedding in November.”

      “Their other brother, Gideon, got married, too. He and his wife are expecting. So are David and his wife.”

      Jake followed her into the house. “So the Falcon brothers are off the market. That was a long time coming.”

      “Not as long as for the McCoy brothers,” she said, keeping her tone light, glancing behind her.

      He shrugged. “I suppose it’s a record that’ll hold for a while longer. Unless Joe comes to his senses about Dixie.”

      The fact that he didn’t even consider he might get married himself cut into Keri like a knife. She didn’t know what she’d expected, but she’d thought it would at least be something he’d think about. As she had.

      That’s what she got for having expectations. They almost always turned out different from reality.

      And if Jake wondered why she hardly said a word to him the rest of the evening, he didn’t ask.

      Chapter Three

      Jake watched Keri keep herself busy all evening. When he wouldn’t let her heat up his soup, she disappeared into his office and began going through the stacks of baby items, coming out with tiny clothes and blankets to put in the washer, apparently a requirement before letting a baby’s skin come in contact with them. Then she sat at the dining room table to write thank-you notes. They hadn’t spoken, unless out of necessity, since he’d come indoors.

      He’d probably said something that bothered her, but he didn’t know what—and she wasn’t talking.

      Anyway, he was ready to be alone, and it didn’t look like she was headed to bed anytime soon.

      He’d channel surfed the television stations as much as he could stand it, sometimes paying attention for a while, sometimes zoning out, the volume not up loud enough to intrude into his thoughts if he didn’t want it to. Sometimes he watched Keri as she made her way to and from the laundry room, her belly a constant reminder of the time they’d shared, and the unknowns of the future.

      Donovan would probably insist they get a DNA test, as Keri had offered, to make sure the baby was Jake’s, but he didn’t doubt her. She may have defied him—with what she considered good reason—but she hadn’t ever lied, even when it made her look bad.

      “You can have the bedroom,” he said when he saw her finally yawn and stretch. It was almost eleven o’clock.

      “Of course I won’t do that. You need good rest. I’ll be fine on the couch.” She stacked her thank-you notes neatly, set her pen precisely beside them and came into the living room space.

      “You’ll take the bedroom,” he repeated, an order this time. He needed to be able to move around, not feel hemmed in. To be able to go outdoors if he wanted.

      She sat on the coffee table, facing him, their knees almost touching. “Do you need to be alone?”

      “Yes.”

      “All you have to do is tell me, Jake—whatever it is you need. I can’t anticipate it. Please just be direct. It’ll save us both a lot of grief and confusion.”

      “All right.” Would she do the same?

      She headed out of the room but turned around when she reached the hall. “I usually have to get up a couple of times during the night,” she said, gesturing toward the only bathroom in the house.

      He wasn’t sure why she was telling him that. “Do you need a light kept on?”

      “No. I just didn’t want to startle you.”

      “I appreciate the warning. I’ll keep my boxers on so I don’t startle you.”

      She laughed, the pitch almost hurting his ears. He realized he hadn’t heard her laugh before. It was a good sound, a healthy one. After months of hearing only men’s voices, men who spoke only Spanish, her laugh seemed musical.