off the road had revealed changes in her slender form that were too obvious to someone who knew that form as intimately, even if fleetingly, as he had.
“Well?” he prompted.
“Yes,” she said in a strangled whisper.
Dylan didn’t know what to say. Inside he felt as if he’d just scored a touchdown at the Super Bowl, but he also had this weird feeling of detachment, as if he was looking in on some other guy’s life. As if what she’d just said wasn’t real—didn’t involve him. But he was involved, very much so. Or at least he would be, whether she liked it or not.
“Were you going to tell me sometime, or did you just hope that I’d never know?”
As much as he fought to keep the hard note of anger from his voice, he could feel it lacing every word. It left a bitter taste in his mouth and he struggled to pull himself under control. He didn’t want to antagonize her or scare her away, and it wasn’t as if he’d made an effort to get in touch with her again before today. This was way too important, and at the crux of it all an innocent child’s future depended on the outcome of tonight.
“I meant to tell you, and I was going to—in my own time. I’ve been busy and I had a bit of a struggle coming to terms with it myself. Getting my head around how I’m going to cope.”
Jenna’s voice shook, but even though she was upset, he sensed the shields she’d erected earlier growing even thicker, her defense even stronger.
“And you didn’t think I should have known about this earlier?”
“What difference would it have made?”
Her words shocked him. What difference? Did she think that knowing he was going to be a father made no discernible difference to his life, to how he felt about everything? Hell, he’d lost his own father only a couple months ago. Didn’t she think he at least deserved a light in the darkness of mourning? Something to get him through the responsibility of having to get up every day and keep putting one foot in front of the other, all because so many other people depended on him to not only do exactly that, but to do it brilliantly—even when he wanted to wallow in grief?
“Trust me.” He fought to keep his tone even. “It would have made a difference. When did you know?”
“About three weeks after we—” Her voice broke off and she appeared to gather up her courage before she spoke again. “I began to suspect I might be pregnant, and waited another week before going to my doctor.”
Dylan sucked in a breath between his teeth. So, by his reckoning, she’d had confirmation that their encounter had resulted in conception for plenty of time. She could have shared the news—no matter how busy she was.
Damn it, he’d used a condom; they should have been safe. But nothing was 100 percent effective, except maybe abstinence. And there was one thing that was guaranteed, when it came to Jenna: abstinence was the last thing on Dylan’s mind.
Even now, as quietly irate as he was right this second, she still had a power over him. His skin felt too tight for his body, as if he was itching to burst out and lose himself in her. His flesh stirred to life even as the idea took flight. Desire uncoiled from the pit of his belly and sent snaking tendrils in a heated path throughout him.
No one had had that power over him before. Ever. Yet this diminutive woman had once driven him to a sexual frenzy that had tipped over into sheer madness. She still could.
A ringing sound penetrated Dylan’s consciousness, a much needed reminder of the here and now and the fact that Jenna sat opposite him, quite a different woman from the one he’d so quickly but thoroughly made love to two and a half months ago.
“I’ll be right back,” he said, surreptitiously adjusting himself as he rose from the seat. “I need to check on something in the kitchen.”
After a quick examination of the beef bourguignonne simmering on the stovetop, and checking that the rice in the cooker was fluffy and ready, he grunted with satisfaction. They would continue this discussion at the table, where, hopefully, he’d find his manners again and stand a better chance of hiding the effect she had on him.
He returned to the living room and painted a smile on his face.
“Dinner’s ready. Would you like to come through to the kitchen? I thought we could eat in there, if you’re comfortable with that.”
“Since I usually eat standing up at the store or off a tray on my lap when I’m home, just sitting at a table sounds lovely.”
She stood and smoothed her clothes, her hand lingering on the tiny bump that revealed a child of his now existed. It hit Dylan like a fist to the chest. His child. Someone of his blood. Everything else in his life right now faded into the background as that knowledge took precedence. Now there was another generation to think about, to protect and to teach.
The thought filled him with a new sense of purpose, of hope. The past five years had been challenging, the past couple of months even more so. But this baby was a new beginning. A reason for Dylan to ground himself in what was good, and to put some much needed balance back in his life, balance that was sadly lacking. This baby, his son or daughter, was a lifeline out of a spiral of work and hard play that had threatened to consume him. One way or another he would be a part of his child’s world—every single day if he could, although that would take some engineering with him based in L.A. and Jenna here in Cheyenne. Whatever the logistics, he was prepared to work this situation out. He just needed to be certain that Jenna felt the same way.
She crossed the room to where he stood, and he put his hand at the small of her back and guided her through to the kitchen. He felt her stiffen slightly beneath his touch, and heard her breath hitch just a little. Knowing she wasn’t as unaffected by him as she pretended went a long way toward making him feel better about the semi-erection he was constantly battling to keep in control.
He seated her at the square wooden table in the kitchen and gestured to the vase containing a handful of wildflowers he’d found on his four-acre property when he’d gone to walk off some steam this afternoon.
“They could probably have done with your touch,” he said as he turned to the oven to take warmed plates out and lay them on the table.
“They look fine just the way they are,” Jenna commented.
But as if she couldn’t resist, he saw her reach out and tweak a few stems. Before he knew it, the bouquet looked a hundred times better.
“How do you do that?” he asked, bringing the Dutch oven filled with the deliciously fragrant beef across from the stove.
“Do what?”
“Make a jumble of weeds look so good.”
She shrugged. “It’s a knack I picked up, I guess.”
“What made you decide to work with flowers?”
“I didn’t, really.” She sighed. “They kind of picked me.”
“Not a family business, then?” he probed, curious to discover just how she had ended up under Mrs. Connell’s roof.
Jenna gave a rueful laugh. “No, not a family business at all, although once I started working at the store it felt like home to me.”
