Читать книгу Double Duty For The Cowboy - Brenda Harlen - Страница 13

Chapter Three

As soon as Connor and Baxter stepped outside, the dog put his nose to the ground and set off, eager to explore all the sights and smells. They had a specific route that they walked in the mornings and a different, longer route they usually followed later in the day. At the end of the street, Baxter instinctively turned east, to follow the longer route.

“We’re doing the short route this afternoon,” he said. Although he enjoyed their twice-daily walks almost as much as the dog, he didn’t want to leave Regan for too long on her first day back from the hospital.

He knew it was silly, especially considering that her sister was there to help with anything she might need help with. But Connor was the one who’d been with her through every minute of twenty-two hours of labor and for most of the eight days since, and he was feeling protective of the new mom and babies—and maybe a little proprietary.

Baxter gave him a look that, on a human, might have been disapproving, but the dog obediently turned in the opposite direction.

Connor started to jog, hoping to compensate for the abbreviated course with more intense exercise. Baxter trotted beside him, tongue hanging out of his mouth, tail wagging.

He lifted a hand in response to Cal Thompson’s wave and nodded to Sherry Witmer, who was carrying an armload of groceries into her house. It had taken some time, but he was finally beginning to feel as if he was part of the community he’d moved into three years earlier.

There were still some residents who pretended they didn’t see him when he walked by. People like Joyce Cline, the retired music teacher whose disapproval of “that no-good Neal boy” went back to his days in high school. And Rick Beamer, whose daughter Connor had gone out with exactly twice, more than a dozen years earlier.

But he was pleased to note that the Joyce Clines and Rick Beamers were outnumbered in the neighborhood. The day that Connor moved in, he’d barely started to unpack when Darlene and Ron Grassley were at his door to introduce themselves—and to give him a tray of stuffed peppers. An hour later, Lois Barkowsky had stopped by with a plate of homemade brownies—assuring him that they weren’t the “funny kind,” even though recreational marijuana use was now legal in Nevada. He told her that he was aware of the law and thanked her for the goodies.

Over the next few weeks, he’d gotten to know most of the residents of Larrea Street. When he’d taken in Baxter and started walking on a regular basis, he’d met several more who lived in the surrounding area.

Estela Lopez was one of those people, and as he and Baxter turned onto Chaparral Street, they saw the older woman coming toward them. At seventy-nine years of age, she kept herself active, walking every morning before breakfast and every evening after supper—and apparently also at other times in between.

“Oh, this is a treat,” she said, clearly delighted to see them.

In response to the word treat, Baxter immediately assumed the “sit” position and waited expectantly. She chuckled and reached into the pocket of her coat for one of the many biscuits she always had on hand. Baxter gobbled up the offering.

An avid dog lover who’d had to say goodbye to her seventeen-year-old Jack Russell the previous winter, Estela worried that she wasn’t able-bodied enough to take on the responsibility of another animal. Instead, she gave her love and doggy biscuits to the neighborhood canines who wandered by.

“How are you doing, Mrs. Lopez?” Connor asked her.

“I’m eager to see pictures of your girls,” the old woman told him.

Connor dutifully pulled out his phone. “They came home today.”

“Eight days later.” She shook her head. “I remember when they kicked you out of the hospital after only a day or two. Of course, most people couldn’t afford to stay any longer than that.”

Which they both knew wasn’t a concern for his wife, whose family had not only paid the hospital bill but made a significant donation to the maternity ward as a thank you to the staff for their care of Regan and the twins.

He opened the screen and scrolled through numerous images of Piper and Poppy—a few individual snaps of each girl, others of them together and a couple with their mom.

“Oh, my, they are so precious,” Estela proclaimed. “And Regan doesn’t look like she labored for twenty-something hours.”

“Twenty-two,” Connor said. “And she did. And she was a trouper.”

“You’re a lucky man, Deputy Neal.”

“I know it,” he assured her.

Baxter nudged her leg with his nose, as if to remind her of his presence. She obligingly reached down and scratched behind his ears.

“I heard your sister-in-law made a surprise visit from New York City.”

“Well, there’s obviously nothing wrong with your hearing,” Connor teased.

“I was at The Daily Grind, having coffee with Dolores Lorenzo, when she stopped in to pick up a dozen oatmeal chocolate chip cookies,” Estela confided.

“Regan’s favorite.”

“I almost didn’t recognize her—Brielle, I mean,” Estela clarified. “Of course, she’s only been back a few times since she moved out East—it’s gotta be about seven years ago, I’d guess. And even when she came back for Spencer and Kenzie’s wedding, she only stayed a couple of days.”

“She’s only here for a few days now, too,” Connor noted.

“Is she staying with you or at that fancy house up on the hill?”

That fancy house up on the hill was the description frequently ascribed to the three-story stone-and-brick mansion owned by his in-laws. The street was called Miners’ Pass, and it was the most exclusive—and priciest—address in town.

“With us,” he said. “She wants to spend as much time as possible with Regan and the twins.”

“Of course she does,” Estela agreed. “I can’t wait to take a peek at the little darlings myself, but I’ll give your wife some time to settle in first. Although my kids are all grown-up now—and most of my grandkids, too—I remember how stressful it was in those early days, trying to respond to all the new demands of motherhood—and I only had to deal with one baby at a time.”

“Regan would love to see you,” Connor said. “Especially after she’s had a chance to catch up on her rest.”

“Well, I’m not waiting until the twins’ second birthday,” she told him, sneaking another biscuit out of her pocket for Baxter.

“Please don’t tell me it’s going to be that long before Piper and Poppy sleep through the night.”

“Probably not,” she acknowledged. “But dealing with the needs of infants requires a special kind of endurance—which I don’t have anymore, so I’m going to get these weary bones of mine inside where it’s warm.”

“You do that,” he said.

She started up the drive toward her house, then paused to turn back. “But don’t let those babies exhaust all your energy—” she cautioned, with a playful wink “—because new moms have needs that require attention, too.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Connor promised, then he waited to ensure his old neighbor was safely inside before heading on his way again.

But the truth was, if his wife had any such needs, Connor would likely be the last to know. Although he and Regan presented themselves as happy newlyweds whenever they were in public together, they mostly lived separate lives behind closed doors. Sure, it was an unorthodox arrangement for expectant parents, but it had worked for them.

Until his brother came home for the Christmas holidays.

Because, of course, Deacon expected to sleep in his own room. He had no reason to suspect that his brother’s marriage wasn’t a love match—although he was undoubtedly smart enough to realize that his sister-in-law’s rapidly expanding belly was the reason they’d married in such a hurry—and Connor didn’t ever want him to know the truth.

So for the sixteen days—and fifteen nights—that his brother was home, Connor moved his belongings back into the master bedroom to maintain the charade that his and Regan’s marriage was a normal one.

The days hadn’t really been a problem—especially as Regan continued to work her usual long hours in the finance department at Blake Mining. But the nights, when Connor was forced to share a bed with his wife, were torture.

He made a valiant effort to stay on his side of the mattress, to ignore the fragrant scent of her hair spread out over the pillow next to his own, and the soft, even sound of breath moving in and out of her lungs, causing her breasts to rise and fall in a steady rhythm. But it was impossible to pretend she wasn’t there, especially when she tossed and turned so frequently.

She apologized to him for her restlessness, acknowledging that it was becoming more and more difficult to find a comfortable position as her belly grew rounder. Connor knew she was self-conscious about her “babies bump,” but he honestly thought she looked amazing. He knew it was a common belief that all pregnant women were beautiful, though he’d never paid much attention to expectant mothers before he married Regan. But he couldn’t deny that his pregnant wife was stunning.

Of course, he’d always believed she was beautiful—and maybe a little intimidating in her perfection. In addition to the inches on her waistline, pregnancy had added a natural glow to her cheeks and warmth to her smile, making her look softer and more approachable. And as the weeks turned into months, Connor realized that he was in danger of falling for the woman he’d married.

During one of those endlessly long nights that his brother was home, Connor pretended to be asleep so that Regan would relax and sleep, too. But he froze when he heard her breath catch, then slowly release.

“Are you okay?” he asked, breaking the silence as he rolled over to face her.

“I’m fine,” she said. Then she took his hand and pressed it against the curve of her belly.

He was so startled by the impulsive gesture, he nearly pulled his hand away. But then he felt it—a subtle nudge against his palm. Then another nudge.

His other hand automatically came up so that he had both on her belly as his heart filled with joy and wonder. “Is that...your babies?”

“Our babies,” she correctly quickly. “Or at least one of them.” Then she moved his second hand. “That’s the other one.”

“Oh, wow.” He couldn’t help but smile at this proof that there were tiny human beings growing inside her. Sure, he’d seen them on the ultrasound, but feeling tangible evidence of their movements was totally different than watching them on a screen. “Apparently, they’ve decided that Mommy’s bedtime is their playtime,” he noted.

“According to the baby books, it’s not uncommon for an expectant mother to be more aware of her baby’s movements at night,” she told him.

“Or for babies to be more active at night, as their mother’s movements during the day rock them to sleep,” he remarked.

“You’ve been reading the books, too,” she realized.

“I can’t wait to meet your—our—” he corrected himself this time “—little ones.”

“I’m not sure how little they are anymore,” Regan said. “I know that I’m certainly not.”

“You’re beautiful,” he said sincerely.

“You don’t have to placate me. I know I look like I swallowed a beach ball.”

“You look like you’re pregnant—and you’re beautiful.”

She looked at him then, and their gazes held for a long, lingering moment in the darkness of the night.

Afterward, he couldn’t have said who made the first move. He only knew that she was suddenly in his arms, and her lips were locked with his in a kiss that was so much hotter than he’d imagined.

Because yes, there had been occasions since they’d exchanged vows that he’d found himself wondering what it might be like if their marriage was more than a piece of paper. There had been times when their eyes had locked, and he’d thought that maybe she wouldn’t mind if he breached the distance between them to kiss her, that maybe she even wished he would.

But he’d always held back, because he knew that if he was wrong and the attraction he felt was not reciprocated, their living arrangement would become so much more awkward.

Neither of them was holding back now.

She wriggled closer—as close as her belly would allow. He cupped her breasts through the soft cotton nightshirt. His thumbs brushed over the peaks of her already taut nipples, and she gasped. “Oh, yes.” She whispered the words of encouragement against his lips. “Touch me, please.”

He couldn’t respond, because she was kissing him again.

And he was touching her, tracing the luscious contours of her body, learning what she liked and what she really liked by the way she arched and sighed.

Their lips clung as their hands eagerly searched and explored. The encounter was as hot and passionate as it was surprising—and it might have led to more if he hadn’t suddenly remembered that theirs wasn’t a real marriage and recalled that all the baby books he’d been reading talked about how the hormonal changes a woman went through during pregnancy could increase or decrease her sexual appetites. Add to that the forced proximity of their sleeping arrangements and the excitement of the holidays, and he had to wonder how much those factors were influencing her reactions right now.

But did it matter what was motivating her sudden desire?

Or did it only matter that she wanted him—as he wanted her?

Unfortunately, his body and his brain were in disagreement on the answers to those questions.

And his conscience—reminding him of the deal he’d made with her father—won out.

Because even if making love was her choice, it couldn’t be an informed choice so long as there were secrets between them. And there was a very big secret between them.

For the remainder of the holidays, he’d stayed up late every night to ensure Regan was asleep before he slid between the sheets of their shared bed. Thankfully, Deacon returned to Columbia early in the New Year, allowing his brother and sister-in-law to once again retreat to their respective corners. But there was no “back to normal” for Connor, because there was no way he could forget the passionate kiss they’d shared. Or stop wondering what their marriage might be like now if he hadn’t put on the brakes that night.

And with her sister visiting, he would be forced to share his wife’s bed again.

Of course, there was no question of anything happening between them only eight days after she’d given birth. But he suspected that knowledge wouldn’t prevent his body from responding to her nearness, and he prepared himself for the sleepless nights ahead that had nothing to do with the demands of their newborn babies.

* * *

Regan and Brielle were on the sofa in the living room, each with a baby in her arms, when Connor and Baxter returned from their walk.

“You weren’t gone very long,” Regan remarked.

“We did the short route,” Connor said, unhooking the dog’s leash to hang it up again.

Baxter immediately ran to his bowl for a drink of water.

“Did you see Mrs. Lopez?” she asked.

He nodded. “And Baxter got two treats.”

“Spoiled dog,” she said affectionately. “What about you?” she asked her husband. “Did you get any treats?”

He shook his head.

“Well, then it’s lucky you did the short route,” she told him. “Because there are still a couple of cookies left in the bakery box on the counter.”

“Only a couple out of the dozen that Brie picked up at The Daily Grind?” he teased.

“How did you know where I got the cookies? And how many?” Brie wondered.

“Mrs. Lopez was in the café when you stopped by,” he admitted.

“You’ve been away so long you’ve forgotten the many joys of small-town living,” Regan remarked sardonically.

“Because having everyone know your business is a joy?” her sister asked skeptically.

“Having a freezer full of casseroles courtesy of neighbors who want you to be able to focus on your babies is a joy.”

“I’ll reserve judgment on that—until after dinner,” Brie said. “Just don’t expect me to eat anything called tuna surprise, because I’m not a fan of tuna and I don’t think anyone should ingest something with surprise in the name.”

“No tuna surprise tonight,” Connor promised. “Celeste dropped off a tray of lasagna, a loaf of garlic bread and a bowl of green salad.”

Brie gave her sister a sidelong glance. “Now who’s spoiled?”

Regan just grinned.

* * *

Over dinner Brielle entertained them with stories about her job and her life in New York. Though Regan was in regular contact with her sister via telephone and email, she’d missed this in-person connection. Connor seemed content to listen to their spirited conversation while he rubbed Baxter’s belly with his foot beneath the table.

It seemed a strange coincidence to Regan that her sister and his brother were both currently living in the Big Apple. If their circumstances had been different—and they didn’t have two newborn babies—she might have suggested that they take a trip to New York to visit their respective siblings. But their circumstances weren’t different, and she didn’t envision any joint travel plans anywhere in their immediate future.

“There’s an Italian restaurant near our place—Nonna’s Kitchen—that my roommate Grace would swear has the best lasagna she’s ever tasted.” Brie dug her fork into her pasta again. “I told her that she only thought it was the best because she’s never had Celeste’s lasagna, but even I’d forgotten how good this really is.”

“Her chicken cacciatore is even better,” Connor noted.

“Apples and oranges,” Brie said. “Though I would say they’re both equally delicious.”

By the time they’d finished eating, Piper was awake and wanting her dinner, so Regan and Brie went to deal with the babies while Connor washed the dishes and tidied the kitchen. He walked into the living room as Regan lifted a hand to her mouth, attempting to stifle a yawn.

“I’m sorry,” she said to her sister.

“I should be the one to apologize,” Brielle said. “You just got home from the hospital after giving birth barely more than a week ago—it’s a wonder you’re still awake.”

“And since the babies are sleeping...” Connor began.

“I should be, too,” his wife said, finishing the recitation of the advice all the doctors and nurses had given to her. “And I will, as soon as I make up the bed in the spare room—”

“Already done,” he said.

“You didn’t have to go to any trouble,” Brielle protested. “I would have been happy camping on the sofa with a blanket and pillow.”

“It wasn’t any trouble at all,” Connor assured her.

She hugged him then. “You are, without a doubt, my absolute favorite brother-in-law.”

“I’m your only brother-in-law,” he remarked dryly.

Brielle grinned. “And that’s why you’re my favorite.”

Regan couldn’t help but smile, too, as she listened to the banter between them. She was pleased that Brie had so readily accepted Connor as part of the family, especially because she knew he hadn’t been welcomed with open arms by her mom and dad.

But she wasn’t worried about his relationship with her parents right now—a bigger and more immediate concern was the fact that she had to share a bed with her husband tonight.