Читать книгу Rock-A-Bye Bride - Tracy Madison - Страница 10

Chapter Three

Frustrated, Logan straightened his tie in front of the full-length mirror in an extra bedroom at Gavin and Haley’s farmhouse. After some discussion, Gavin had insisted that Logan and Anna have their wedding there. Since trying to plan a ceremony—even a small one—at the ranch had seemed impractical, Logan had agreed. It felt right, being married on land that was owned by family, even for a union that wouldn’t make it past the two-year mark.

What didn’t feel right was getting married without his mother’s presence. She’d called yesterday to cancel due to his grandfather’s so-called sudden bout of bronchitis. Wasn’t that sudden. The old man had been hacking for days, but he’d sworn up and down and sideways that what ailed him was nothing more than a head cold. Finally, a combination of extreme fatigue and chills had worn Zeke down, and he’d agreed to see the doctor.

Leaving her father in that condition, with her mother already requiring extra help, was an impossibility for Carla. And Logan got it. But not having her here resonated as a bad omen.

A ridiculous notion. If he was about to marry the woman he planned on spending the rest of his life with, that would be different. Then he’d have postponed for as long as necessary. In this situation, however, he did not want to delay so much as one additional day. Mostly because he kept waiting for Anna to back out of the entire ordeal.

Fortunately, she’d remained steadfast in her decision.

Logan glanced at his watch, and his heart nose-dived for his stomach. In less than an hour, he would have a wife. He would be a husband. And the real biggie: several months down the road, he’d have a son or a daughter. Surreal, on all accounts.

Other than his growing affection toward the prospect, the baby hadn’t yet become more than a hazy image in his mind. Try as he might, he couldn’t envision what life would become, how having a child would change him or his heart or how fatherhood would affect the day-to-day way of things. Oh, he had no question that he’d never be the same.

It was the specific details of those changes that escaped him.

“Looking good,” Gavin said, entering the room. He lightly punched Logan on the shoulder, his affable nature not quite enough to hide the worry lines around his eyes. “Now, I know I have little right to offer advice, seeing how we’re still relative newcomers to each other’s lives, but I feel compelled to ask one last time. You’re solid in this decision to marry Anna, correct? Because you can do right by your kid without a wedding.”

“Yup, I’m aware. Doesn’t hold any water in my book, but I’m aware,” Logan said, taken aback as he was every time he laid eyes on his half brother. The resemblance between Gavin and the Denny whom Logan had seen in those photographs was strong. Eerily so.

Whereas Logan and Gavin shared only one like feature: their eyes. The shade and the shape of his were identical to his half brother’s. In every other way, the two men looked nothing alike. Gavin was several inches taller than Logan’s height of six foot two and had lighter hair and the build of a quarterback. Or a lumberjack.

Logan’s skin was slightly darker from the Cordero side of his heritage, and while fit—you couldn’t work a ranch for most of your life and be anything but—no one on God’s green earth would compare him to a quarterback. Or, for that matter, a lumberjack.

That being said, they shared other similarities. They analyzed problems in the same manner, and their belief systems were almost identical. Hell, when Logan had told Gavin the truth behind this wedding, his half brother had admitted he would’ve done exactly the same.

“Alrighty then,” Gavin said. “I just wanted to be sure.”

“Thank you. If we were standing in each other’s shoes, I’d want to know, too.”

“And my answer would match yours.”

Gavin moved forward as if going in for a hug, had second thoughts and nodded. He ran his hand over his trimmed beard. “We’re getting there, aren’t we? Becoming family?”

“I am.” Logan shrugged. “Can’t speak for you.”

“Think I just spoke for myself.” Without hesitating a second time, Gavin gave him a fast hug, which he followed up with another punch to the shoulder. Stepping backward, he said, “I’ve never had a brother before. Takes some getting used to, but Logan, I’m glad you’re here. I’m glad to know you, and I’m honored to stand for you today.”

And Logan no longer worried that his mother’s absence was a bad omen. He had family here. In his head and in his heart, the “half” distinction disappeared. He had his brother.

“I’m glad, too,” he said, wishing he had other words, better words to express how much this moment meant. “It’s...ah...been good, getting to know you. And thank you for hosting the ceremony and agreeing to be my best man. Makes all of this easier.”

“Welcome.” Turning toward the door, Gavin said, “We’re about ready downstairs, and from what Lola says, Anna is, too. Might want to come down soon.”

“Got it.” Alone again, Logan inhaled a deep, fortifying breath, took one final look at himself in the mirror and followed Gavin’s footsteps. Husband and father. Two titles he’d never really believed would be his. He’d carry one forever, and for a time, he’d carry both.

Yup. Surreal was the word, all right.

* * *

Mrs. Logan Daugherty. Anna Daugherty. Anna Rockwood-Daugherty. Any way she sliced it, she was now Logan’s wife, and the reality of that, along with the current state of her overactive hormones, had whipped her emotions to a crescendo.

Delusional, to believe that she’d find peace tonight, with the wedding behind her and the rest of what was to come looming uncertainly in the future.

Oh, she woke this morning with the same surety she’d carried since accepting Logan’s proposal. Everything about the wedding itself had fallen into perfect order, and since her stomach was barely rounded at the four-and-a-half-month mark, she’d made a presentable enough bride in the simple Empire-style, knee-length dress she’d worn.

But then, out of nowhere, a flurry of doubts had flown into being. She’d left the bedroom that Gavin and Haley had settled her and her aunt in to dress and prepare for the ceremony. She’d gone downstairs, still feeling secure in her decision. It wasn’t until she’d stepped onto the house’s enclosed back porch—the rainy weather had derailed their plan of being wed in the tree-filled backyard—and she’d seen Logan standing there, austere and handsome and sexy in his dark suit and tie, that something deep inside had started to crumble.

Her aunt’s words had sounded off in her head. This was a mistake.

She had come so close—this close—to running away, then and there. How had she believed, even for a moment, that this was a good, smart idea? How had that even happened?

As if sensing her distress, her near bolt for the exit, Logan’s eyes found hers, and he smiled. He held his hands out toward her, and that simply, she regained her balance and her surety. Confidence returned, she walked the few remaining feet toward him and put her hands into his, and with very little fanfare, they exchanged their vows.

Celebration and food followed, and through the festivities, she held on to her belief that marrying this man, the father of her unborn child, was a sound decision.

Her confidence might have continued to hold steady if not for the posing of the photographs. Logan’s wish for their child to believe they were once in love had led them to the decision that there should be a wedding album, with as many of the traditional shots as possible.

So, Logan had wrapped his arms around her. He’d whispered nonsense into her ear to make her smile and laugh. He’d ruffled her hair and kissed her cheek. And in these staged moments, she somehow bought into the charade. Darn if she hadn’t felt loved by him. Cherished and protected and a part of something grander than she’d ever known.

She’d enjoyed those feelings. More so than she would’ve believed. Unfortunately, every one of them vanished the instant they finished with the photographs. Logan reverted to his normal self. He was as kind as ever. Considerate and accommodating and...sweet.

But now that Anna had a flicker of an idea of what being loved by Logan might feel like, she recognized a distance existed, as well. Between them, in every word spoken, every look and, yes, every action. And she hated it. The distance felt...awful. Strategic, in a way. As if he had to force himself to be kind and considerate and accommodating and sweet.

Because she was his responsibility. A burden he had to deal with, so he would.

Unfair, she knew, to draw these conclusions without even broaching her thoughts to Logan. Unfair, as well, because even if she was right, her emotional reaction was not Logan’s fault. He was only following the terms of their agreement. Platonic. Friendly. Partners.

Which was precisely what she wanted from him.

Yet, hours later, she still hadn’t bounced back. The second they’d arrived at Logan’s—no, their—house, she’d done what any crazy and hormonal and hurt-when-she-had-zero-right-to-be-hurt shotgun bride would have: she’d told him she wanted to change clothes, escaped to her bedroom and locked the door. And, pitifully enough, had spent thirty minutes crying her eyes out in as silent a fashion as possible, all the while trying to pull herself out of the muck.

Sitting up on her bed, Anna wiped her eyes and took in a breath. Yes. She was behaving unreasonably. It was time to stop. She had to believe that her hormones were the cause of this ridiculous show of emotion. Of the deep, almost desperate yearning that now ached in her heart.

Well, maybe she couldn’t put the entire blame on her hormones. There was a loss here, as well. A final goodbye, she supposed, to her girlhood dreams of growing up and finding the right man and having a fairy-tale wedding and... Oh. Suddenly, she got it.

She wasn’t wishing for more from Logan or their relationship. She wasn’t going crazy, either. She was simply reacting to the realization, the remembrance, of what she’d once wanted on the day she became someone’s wife, and coming to terms with the true reality of today.

When she added in the hormone-induced warfare raging in her body, her strong emotional response to the photo session made perfect sense. As did the yearning to be loved and cherished by her someday husband. Not by her husband in name only.

The oh-so-logical explanation sifted in and found stability, and relief quickly followed. Good. Now that she understood why she was so upset, she should be able to pull herself together. Her mother used to say that a good cry solved more than it hurt, and Anna had cried long and hard, so really, she should be good to go. She should be ready to face Logan.

Why, she’d just open the bedroom door, walk into the living room, and—

Damn it! Another full-body blast of emotion hit her head-on—likely caused by the bittersweet recollection of her mother—and her tears, which had finally tapered down to mere watery eyes, started anew. They drenched her cheeks and dripped into her mouth. Her throat tightened and her chest heaved. Lovely. Just freaking lovely.

At this rate, she’d be lucky to have herself under control by her due date.

* * *

Logan paced the living room, every now and then glancing toward Anna’s closed door, his gut telling him that something was wrong. She’d been in there for too long, and he didn’t believe she was tired enough to turn in for the night when it was barely seven thirty.

She could be ill. Or upset, in some form or another.

He stopped pacing and ran his fingers through his hair, trying to think. She hadn’t mentioned feeling sick, and their agreement was that she’d keep him informed of her physical well-being. Upset seemed the likeliest possibility, but for the life of him, he couldn’t think of anything that might have caused her distress. The day had gone beautifully, precisely as planned, down to the last detail. Well, except for his mother not being there.

Anna couldn’t be upset by that, could she? No. Made absolutely zero sense, as he’d told her about his grandfather’s illness and she’d reacted with sympathy.

What should he do? Leave her to her own devices or knock on her door and...what? He seriously did not have a clue, but leaving her alone, potentially upset, was not a proactive solution. If they were to make this work—and he had every intention of doing just that—then they had to start off in the proper manner, right from the beginning.

But he couldn’t exactly order her to come out here, now could he? Well, no. Doing so wouldn’t instill trust in him or their partnership. He had to try something, though.

Without having any sort of a feasible plan in mind, Logan went to Anna’s door and raised his fist to knock when he heard... Dear God, was she crying? He pressed his ear against the door to confirm that the sounds emanating from the room were those of a woman sobbing.

And yes, damn it, yes, they were. Logan backed away, fast, and considered his next move. Crying was not a positive sign. Hiding from him while she cried seemed even worse. They were supposed to be in this together. She was supposed to feel safe leaning on him.

Yet she hadn’t uttered a solitary syllable to let him in on her distress.

Raking his fingers through his hair again, he stared at the door as if he could see clean through the wood. Other than the stray emotional moment with his female relatives over the years, Logan did not have that much experience with crying women. He had a sum total of zero experience with crying women who were also pregnant.

And this woman was his wife.

Inhaling a breath, Logan pushed himself forward and rapped on her door. A startled sob-yelp hit his ears, and he cringed. “Anna? Can I come in for a few minutes?”

Silence. The deafening type, and it lasted for close to thirty seconds. When she finally spoke, it was in a louder, higher-pitched voice than typical. “Now r-really isn’t the best time, Logan. Sorry. But, see, I’m—I’m in the m-middle of something.”

Hmm. “Oh, yeah? What’s that? I’m rather handy, you know, so maybe I can help.”

“No! I... That is, you can’t h-help with this,” she said, her tone wobbly and strained. “I—I’ll come out soon and we—we can talk then. Or—or maybe in the morning. Because I seem to be having a br-breakdown of sorts, and I’m not sure how l-long it will last.”

“Anna, please let me in.”

“I’m fine! I—I just need to settle down.”

Logan rested his forehead against her door, grabbed the knob and twisted. Nope. Locked tight. “Now see, this isn’t going to work for me,” he said, keeping his voice relaxed and, hopefully, calming. “Being stuck out here, as I am, while you’re in there, having some type of a breakdown that involves crying. I need you to talk to me, tell me what has you so upset.”

“No, thank you,” she said. “Go away, p-please.”

She was still crying—he could tell that much—but her voice sounded steadier. Good. A step in the right direction. “Not happening, so you may as well let me in.”

“That’s also not h-happening!”

“Guess we’re at an impasse.” Logan sat down in the hallway, right next to Anna’s door. “So what I think I’m going to do is just sit here for a while, until you’re past this little breakdown of yours, and I can see that you’re okay. How’s that sound?”

Again, she didn’t answer right off, but he heard her moving around, and he could almost feel her staring at the door. “You’re just going to sit there and do n-nothing?” she asked, her voice closer than before. “Why would you do that?”

“Because I’m worried about you. Because we’re in this together. Because if you’re upset, that just doesn’t sit well with me. And,” Logan said, speaking the words as they came to him, “how you are and what happens to you matters, Anna. It matters a great deal.”

“Geez, you’re good,” she said after a moment’s pause. “And I kn-know you mean what you just said, but you can stop worrying. This has nothing to do with the baby.”

“Nothing at all?”

“Being p-pregnant supercharges my emotions, but I’m not upset about the baby.” She unlocked and opened the door, looked at him sitting on the floor and shook her head. “You’re a little crazy, too, you know. Sitting out here like—like a sentry or something, over a few t-tears.”

Rising to a stand, he took in her swollen, damp eyes and splotchy pink cheeks, her mussed hair and the way her arms trembled, just a little, as she crossed them over her chest. More than a few tears, he wagered, and he felt horrible for whatever she’d gone through, for whatever had put her in such a state. “Hey there,” he said. “It’s good to see you.”

She blinked once, twice. Breathed in a large gulp of air and blinked again. Those beautiful brown eyes of hers filled with a fresh onslaught of emotion, and she cursed, loudly and eloquently, and started to slam the door shut. Ah. Nope. Not happening.

Acting on impulse, he stuck his foot into the opening—because no way was he going to let her suffer on her own, not when he was there to provide some company—and said, “You don’t have to hide. We’re partners, remember? Lean on me, why don’t you?”

“I don’t want you to see me like this,” she whispered. “I’ll be better tomorrow.”

“I already see you, and why don’t we try to reach that goal tonight?” He had to fight, hard, the sudden need to pull her into his arms. To hold her for however long it took for her body to stop trembling, her tears to stop coming. “You don’t even have to tell me what’s wrong. Let’s just be a boring old married couple and watch TV. Or go for a walk. Or—”

“Or?” she asked.

A mistake, probably, but...to hell with it. “Let me hold you while you cry.”

Indecision darted over her features, but she didn’t say no and she didn’t voice any objections. Logan simply opened his arms and waited. She hesitated, briefly, before stepping into his embrace, and with her cheek pressed against his chest and her arms wrapped around his waist, her tears started coming faster and harder.

And Logan didn’t know if this was the right or wrong decision, holding Anna in such an intimate way, but he didn’t much care, either. She needed him, he was her husband and it was his job—at least for the next seventeen or so months—to take care of her.

After a while, he moved them to the living room, to the sofa, and covered them both with a blanket. Slowly her crying subsided and she stopped shivering, but they stayed as they were. It seemed their bodies had melded into one, they were so entwined with each other, and between that and Anna’s scent—a little spicy, a little sweet—and the soft brush of her hair against his jaw, Logan started questioning every last one of his self-made promises.

Because holding Anna, being surrounded by Anna, being there for Anna, felt more real, more right, more true than any other experience in Logan’s life thus far. All of this could be due to what he’d already considered, that Anna was the mother of his unborn baby and therefore was able to elicit from Logan a mass of unprecedented emotions.

Could be that, and he wasn’t anywhere close to ruling out that possibility.

But maybe he should widen his scope some. Consider if this rightness he felt might mean something a lot more lasting than a temporary, in-name-only marriage. Without, of course, doing anything that could jeopardize what he and Anna had already agreed upon.

Yeah, that could work. He’d just keep his hands on the steering wheel and take it nice and slow, see what his heart told him one day at a time, where it led him once their baby was born, and go from there. There was no cause to rush into a damn thing.

Hell, truth was, he had well over a year to figure this out.