His Texas Christmas Bride. Nancy Robards Thompson

called it all those things, but she hadn’t called it love until she’d faced the very real possibility of losing her child.

      Here, under the harsh lights of the ER, something had cracked open inside her, and her previously muddied feelings had spilled away and everything important had crystallized.

      Despite the fact that she didn’t know how to find her child’s father. She hadn’t told her parents. Kate Thayer, her boss and best friend, was the only one who knew. The only reason Kate knew was because she’d been there with her in the ER when Becca had told the doctor.

      Now the only thing that mattered was that the child growing inside her was safe and healthy.

      This child was her everything.

      At twelve weeks, she wasn’t showing yet—although her body had started changing, a subtle transformation, adapting itself for the nine-month journey. She was thicker and her clothes fit snugly. People probably thought she’d gained weight. Just last week, her mother had made a snide comment about Becca spending too much time with Ben & Jerry’s. Little did she know.

      As Becca lay there with IV tubes in her arm and various machines beeping and humming, a restrained orchestration to accompany the chorus of emergency room sounds and voices on the other side of the cubicle curtain, she took back every negative or uncertain thought that had ever crossed her mind about this unplanned pregnancy.

      She was single and only twenty-five years old. A baby hadn’t been part of her plan at this juncture. They’d used protection that night. She wasn’t supposed to take away a living, growing souvenir.

      * * *

      But now, faced with the possibility of losing her child, everything was suddenly different. If she lost this baby, this new capacity to love would surely die right along with it. Becca closed her eyes against the thought.

      It wasn’t going to happen. She wouldn’t let it happen.

      “How are you feeling, hon?” Becca opened her eyes to see Kate standing at the opening in the privacy curtain. Kate had driven Becca to the emergency room as soon as the nausea and pain had started.

      The onset had hit Becca like an iron fist. One moment she was fine, walking from her desk to Kate’s office with the mail, just as she did every single day, and the next thing she knew, she was doubled over in pain. Sensing something, or maybe Kate had heard Becca whimper, Kate had insisted on taking her to the hospital. “I got you some ice chips,” Kate said. “I tried for water, but this was the best I could do. The nurse said she wants to make sure you can handle ice before she lets you have the hard stuff. They’re pretty busy out there, and they’re getting ready for a staff change. She said she’ll try to pop in before she clocks out, but if she can’t, she said the doctor who’s coming on duty will be in to see you.”

      Becca did her best to smile as she accepted the white foam cup from Kate’s outstretched hand. She felt like a wrung-out dishrag, but she was stable and the baby was okay.

      Now she just wanted to go home.

      “Thank you,” Becca said, trying to steady her thin, shaky voice.

      “I’d feed them to you, but—” Kate crinkled her nose as she held up her hands, motioning around with one “—it’s a hospital and I haven’t washed my hands. Plus, you’d probably bite me if I tried.”

      She smiled her sweet Kate smile. Becca did her best to smile back.

      “Feeding me would be going above and beyond. I can handle it, thank you.”

      As Kate sat down, Becca lifted a piece of ice to her mouth, letting it linger on her parched lips. It melted on contact, leaving behind a cool, clean moisture. As she licked the droplets of water, Becca thought it was possibly the freshest, most delicious thing she’d ever tasted in her life. She placed another chip on her tongue. Surely this was what they meant when they’d said nectar of the gods.

      Whoever they were. The ones who imparted such great wisdom about flipping coins and drinks fit for deities.

      “How’s the ice settling?” Kate asked.

      Becca turned her head toward her friend, who had seated herself on a chair in the tiny space.

      “I can’t recall ever tasting anything so good,” Becca said. “I highly recommend it.”

      She smiled at Kate, but Kate’s smile didn’t reach her worried eyes. “I’m glad you and the baby are going to be okay.”

      She knew her friend’s words were sincere, but an unspoken question hung between them.

      “No one else knows,” Becca said. “About the baby, I mean. No one except you. And the doctor and nurses.”

      “You haven’t told your family yet?”

      Becca shook her head. She moved the cup of ice chips from her stomach to rest on the side of the bed. She needed to tell them. She probably should’ve already told them—before anyone else.

      She’d wanted to be sure she’d make it through the first trimester...though, if she were being honest with herself, she hadn’t really thought about telling them until now. But it made sense. No use in causing a family uproar for naught.

      The thought made her shudder. She drew in a deep breath. Not only had her little one survived the first trimester, he or she had made it through this bout of food poisoning. This was a tenacious little being.

      The words meant to be skipped through her head.

      She would tell her parents.

      Sometime soon...

      As soon as she figured out how to explain.

      They would ask about the father. That was the tricky part. What should she say? That his name was Nick and he was tall, gorgeous, and he’d swept her off her feet?

      She’d met him at this very hospital the evening her nephew Victor had landed in this very emergency room that fateful evening three months earlier.

      Nick. Nick who? Nick of the sultry brown eyes and the secret tattoos. Nick, who had been kind and generous in body and spirit and comfort. He’d been at the hospital that day interviewing for a job, which he hadn’t taken or hadn’t been offered. For whatever reason, he didn’t work there now. Personnel wouldn’t tell her why. They offered no help finding him. Of course, she hadn’t told them she was pregnant. Not that it would’ve done any good. The woman with the horn-rimmed glasses had been so tight-lipped she might as well have been head of security at the Pentagon. She wasn’t giving anything away. Oh, sure, she’d taken Becca’s number and offered to pass it along. But Nick hadn’t called.

      Big surprise. They’d spent one night together. A night when her emotions had been raw. It was crazy because, judging by outward appearances—those tattoos, the motorcycle and that dark, penetrating gaze—he wasn’t her type at all.

      And what exactly was her type? It had been so long since she’d been on a date that she couldn’t really remember. Working at the Macintyre Foundation, she’d been so busy that she didn’t have time for much of a social life. But that night with Nick, something intense and foreign had flared inside her. It hadn’t mattered that he wasn’t her type or that she didn’t even really know the guy. She’d been inexplicably drawn to him, and in the midst of the rush, type hadn’t even factored into the equation.

      Of course, explaining this to her family would go over like a turd in the punch bowl. She was the good girl. She didn’t do things like that. Especially not after her sister, Rosanna, had gotten pregnant in high school. Nope. Rosanna had been the bad example, the cautionary tale about why you didn’t sleep with men who didn’t love you.

      Becca’s hand found her stomach again. If she’d stayed at the hospital the night of Victor’s accident, life would be drastically different right now.

      “Do you want to talk about it?” Kate asked.

      She shrugged.