that whipped through Texas in spring.
“Can we go back inside?” Her lips quivered, and he quickly shrugged out of the old sweatshirt he’d shoved on the night before.
“Layer up. It’s only February.”
He took her hand and pulled her toward the house. Something in his chest turned over when she dragged the ratty old Dallas Cowboys sweatshirt on over her head, her stomach pressed against the material of the sweatshirt she already wore. She was a slender thing, tall and willowy, but even with another thick layer of material covering her torso, her stomach still bore a definitive bump.
It was no trick of the morning light through his back windows. Nor was it some fanciful play of imagination after a long night without sleep.
The flat stomach he’d explored on a sensual journey one lonely night was nowhere in evidence. And after living with a head full of erotic visions for six agonizing months, he knew damn well his memory wasn’t the least bit faulty.
He’d explored every inch of Lizzie Conner’s body. Had tasted every soft dip and expanse of her skin. Had buried himself deep inside her, allowing every one of the long, lonely years they’d held in common to fade away in the joy of being together.
Ethan stopped himself, pushing away the sharp tang of awareness that made him want things he had resolved never to have.
The scent of bacon still lit up the kitchen, and he shot a concerned glance at her. “Do you need me to throw out breakfast?”
“No!” She shook her head before wrapping her hands tight around herself. “No, I’m fine now.”
“Why don’t we go into the living room. It’ll keep for a few more minutes.”
“Drain it first. Please. It was—” She broke off, swallowing hard. “The grease was what turned my stomach. If you don’t drain it, we can’t eat it later. I just need to slip to your powder room for a quick minute.”
He directed her down the hall, then did as she’d asked with breakfast. He snatched up one of the slices as he patted the rest dry with paper towels, knowing full well he needed a heck of a lot more fortification than a few pieces of bacon.
But a man took what he could get.
And braced himself for the news he was going to be a father.
* * *
Lizzie ignored the pale face that stared back at her from the mirror and deftly swished her mouth out with water. She’d thought she was past tossing her cookies after the first trimester, but there were still some things with food that sneaked up and caught her unawares.
Now bacon grease, she mentally chastised herself, adding to the growing list that also included raw chicken, onions and pudding.
“Oh, and don’t forget facing the father of your child,” she muttered to herself as she did a quick hunt for mouthwash in the medicine cabinet. She came up empty on the rinse but did find a small tube of toothpaste in its stead.
Mouth clean once more, Lizzie squared her shoulders. She’d put this off long enough—it was time to tell Ethan the truth. She slipped off the sweatshirt, loath to remove the soft cotton that smelled of him—a mix of the outdoors and something raw and wholly male—and folded it as she walked.
He stood before the large fireplace, the thick stone like a frame. He was a hard man, she knew, harder even than the slate at his back. He’d shown signs of it even as a young boy—and who wouldn’t after what he and his siblings had lived through?
But Ethan had suffered more than the rest of them.
At the age of seven he’d discovered his mother lying murdered out behind the family’s farmhouse. A red bull’s-eye was painted on her forehead in Magic Marker, the clear mark of his father, one of Texas’s most notorious serial killers.
“Lizzie, are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
She pushed away the images that assailed her at the very thought of what he’d discovered and focused on the here and now.
And what she had to share with him.
“I have something to tell you.”
Ethan nodded, his face resigned, but he held his position before the fireplace. “I think I might have an idea.”
“I’m pregnant.”
He nodded again, and whether it was in acknowledgment of her words or the response of someone dumbfounded and searching for something to say, she wasn’t sure. After all, she’d had almost six months to get used to the idea.
And he’d had none.
“What took you so long to tell me?”
“I didn’t—” She hesitated, even though she’d prepared for this question. “I know how you feel about children. You were honest with me. That night and even when we were kids, you’d mentioned it a few times. That you don’t want children. That you’re afraid to pass on—”
She broke off again, heat creeping up her neck and into her cheeks.
Damn. She so didn’t want to go there.
Ethan had told her of his fears. That he believed his father’s psychopathic tendencies ran in his blood, and for that reason, he’d never have children. She’d tried to tell him it was a load of bullshit, but he wouldn’t be put off. And if Lizzie were fair, she knew the roots of his fear were all too real.
She’d grown up in foster care, too, her parents a nonexistent memory. Who gave up their child, leaving them to the care of strangers? She hadn’t even been good enough for adoption. Oh, no, instead she’d gone from foster home to foster home, cared for by people who by and large were kind but overworked, overextended with the number of children in their care and unwilling to allow themselves to get too attached.
“You’re right. I made a vow, and I believe in my reasons. None of it changes the reality that there is a child on its way that, by your presence, I assume is mine.”
“Of course!”
The question beneath his words was a slap, but she stood tall. Although she wasn’t an innocent, she wasn’t a woman who would pass off the child of another man. And she hadn’t had sex in some time, all her relationships seeming to end after a date or two, before things got intimate or too serious.
“I’m sorry.” He shook his head. “That was out of line. I know you. And I’ve known you for a long time. I just didn’t think— I mean, we used protection.”
“Which I thought was effective. I did ask my doctor about it, and she said that while usually effective, there’s a reason the box comes with a warning. We’re the one percent where the condom didn’t work.”
“I guess we are.” A harsh laugh escaped his lips. “I’ve spent my entire damn life avoiding slips outside the lines. Clearly I’m not trying hard enough.”
His words were like icicles against her skin, but she stood strong, refusing to cower. She wanted to
