“is a baby.”
Ian went completely still.
“Ian?”
Her husband straightened, sitting on the side of the bed with his back to her. “Don’t you think this is something we should’ve discussed first?”
“We’re…we’re discussing it now.”
“At the last possible moment.”
“You don’t want a baby?”
Ian stood then and faced her. His shoulders were bare and his pants half unzipped. He rubbed his hand over his eyes as if her question had overwhelmed him. “I do want children, but not yet.”
“I thought-”
“It’s too soon, sweetheart.”
“It’s been three years.” Her desire for a child had grown progressively stronger in the months Ian had been at sea. It made sense to complete her schooling before getting pregnant again, but she’d done that and found a wonderful job. “I’m ready, Ian.”
His shoulders sagged. “I’m not…I can’t risk getting you pregnant.” He zipped his pants and picked up his shirt, yanking it on and shoving his arms into the sleeves. He fastened the buttons with record speed and scooped the car keys from the dresser.
Cecilia bit her lip. He was right; she should’ve mentioned it earlier. They’d communicated almost daily via e-mail, and phone calls whenever possible. There’d been ample opportunity to discuss the matter long before his arrival home.
Ian walked out of the bedroom, then turned back at the door. “Stay right there,” he said, pointing in her direction.
“Where are you going?”
His laugh was weak with impatience. “To the drugstore. Stay where you are, okay? I’ll be back before you know it.”
It felt as if the sun had disappeared behind a dark cloud.
Perhaps, deep down, Cecilia had known this would be Ian’s reaction. Her husband was afraid of another pregnancy, afraid of what it would do to her physically and what it might do to them as a couple.
Cecilia understood why he felt that way because she’d faced those same fears herself. She’d believed-or wanted to believe-that Ian, too, had moved past them. Apparently she’d been wrong.
Chapter Three
With a sense of joy and celebration, Maryellen Sherman carried the heavy cardboard box out of her rental house and set it in the trunk of her car. Soon she’d be living with Jon Bowman-married to him.
After all this time it hardly seemed possible. The barriers between them had been lowered. No longer could she disguise her love for him. Nor did she have to; they’d admitted their feelings for each other. The misunderstandings were over, pride and anger put aside.
Jon followed with a second box, which he set next to the first. He took her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze, silently letting her know how pleased he was that they were finally going to be together for good.
Katie, their nine-month-old daughter, slept contentedly in her crib as they brought another load out to the car, then hurried back inside the house. Maryellen realized they only had a few more minutes of peace before their daughter woke. Most of her belongings weren’t even packed.
“That’s it for now?” Jon asked, hands on hips as he glanced around the living room.
“I’ll have more later,” she promised. Maryellen had barely started packing. She’d lived in this rental house for almost twelve years and what she’d accumulated in that length of time was staggering. Sorting through clothes and books-what to keep, what to give away or throw out-had already taken weeks.
“How much more?” A note of weariness entered Jon’s voice.
“Lots. Do you want to pack up a few boxes now?” She was thinking she should probably fill up the back seat of her car before they caravanned to his home.
“What I want is to get you permanently in my house.” He sounded as impatient as she felt.
“I’m just as eager to get there.” She stepped into the compact kitchen and tried to figure out what else they should take with them this afternoon. Moving had never seemed so complicated or frustrating.
“Did you talk to your mother about a wedding date?”
“She thinks Memorial Day is perfect.” Maryellen held back a smile. She suspected her mother was just plain relieved that she and Jon had actually decided to tie the knot. Since they already had a child together, a ceremony was long past due, in Grace Sherman’s opinion.
“You’re sure you don’t mind not having a big fancy wedding?”
Maryellen shook her head. She opened the refrigerator and took out a tall pitcher of iced tea. She’d had all the glamour and glitter with her first marriage. The wedding had been lovely, the marriage itself anything but. She’d been young and naive; the divorce, a year later, had left her reeling emotionally for a long time.
Twelve years after that, when she’d met Jon, she’d still been frightened of falling in love again. In the beginning, she’d spurned him, insulted him and did everything she could think of to keep him out of her life. She felt mortified now when she thought back on everything she’d said and done.
Jon got two glasses from the cupboard and set them on the counter. “You’re not getting any bargain in the husband department, you know?”
The anger that flared in her was too hot to be denied. “If you ever say that to me again, I swear I’ll…I’ll make you suffer.”
A smile briefly softened Jon’s sharp features. He wasn’t a handsome man. He was tall and long-limbed with dark hair and intense brown eyes. And he was quite possibly the most talented photographer she’d ever encountered. His work hung in one of the best Seattle galleries and his name was fast gaining recognition.
“You know everything now,” he said and lowered his head, avoiding eye contact.
“You know everything about me, too,” she reminded him.
They both had their secrets, painful bits and pieces from their pasts. Now they had each other and, for the first time since her divorce, Maryellen felt she could heal the unresolved griefs of that marriage. She knew it was their pasts that had kept them apart. Despite everything, they’d been drawn toward each other from the very beginning, but the secrets they’d so desperately wanted to hide had almost torn them apart.
“You’re not the one with a prison record,” Jon muttered.
Clasping his hand, Maryellen raised it to her lips. “I consider it one of my life’s greatest blessings that I’ll be your wife. Until I met you I was in prison, too-a prison of my own making.” That might sound melodramatic, but she meant every word.
His smile was enough to brighten the kitchen, and she slipped her arms around his waist and buried her face against him. “The truth is, I can’t
