gaze dropped for just a split second to her middle, then rose to meet her eyes again.
He didn’t say anything. He merely stared at her a minute more, his brows beetled together in a dark, dark frown.
Then he nodded—really only a raise of his chin in acknowledgment—before he followed his grandfather out of the house.
Chapter Four
Noah was a no-show for work on Monday. He didn’t call. He didn’t send any kind of message saying he wouldn’t be there. He didn’t respond to the voice mail Wyatt left when Wyatt called to ask where he was before Neily and Wyatt left for their honeymoon.
“It’ll be fine. I’ll deal with it. It isn’t as if I haven’t handled contractors before,” Marti assured both of her brothers so Ry could get on the road to Missoula, too.
But underneath it all?
Marti was even more of a wreck than she’d been before.
She just didn’t know why.
So what if Noah had freaked out about the baby? So what if he didn’t want anything to do with her or the pregnancy or with his child once it was here? She hadn’t intended to make him a part of it before this, she’d intended to do it on her own anyway.
What difference did it make if he’d ended up knowing? It didn’t change anything. The baby was still hers. She was still going to have it, raise it, love it. If he didn’t want any part of that, fine, she told herself.
Absolutely fine. No problem whatsoever. All the better, probably.
Yet, for some reason, thinking that that was the reason he’d done a disappearing act today had thrown her off balance, and by the end of Monday afternoon she just wanted to get away from everything to have a moment to herself.
So she trudged up to her bedroom, feeling the weight of all she’d found in Northbridge bearing down on her. Wondering if she really could do what she’d convinced her brothers she could when it came to the conundrum surrounding Theresa, and taking the next steps in opening a new Home-Max in the small town and overseeing the renovations of the house by the contractor who had gotten her pregnant and now made himself scarce…
No, it was okay that Noah seemed to have vanished into thin air, she told herself again as she closed the bedroom door and pressed her forehead to it. At least nobody else knew he was the baby’s father. At least nothing on the surface had changed.
And if she’d gone to bed last night thinking about those deep, dark eyes and that smile that could spread out so slowly it was like waiting for Christmas and a voice as rich as hot fudge? Well, now she knew how Noah had gotten to her in Denver, but it didn’t have anything to do with here and now.
Here and now the fact of the matter was that Noah was not Jack—Jack who would have been thrilled with a baby, who would have marveled at every minute of the pregnancy they shared, who would never have left her hanging—and she needed to make sure she didn’t lose sight of that.
But yes, today she felt as if she was carrying a pretty heavy load on her shoulders, and despite her show of strength and confidence and invincibility to her brothers, she was feeling anything but.
The house phone rang just then and Marti held her breath, hating that everything seemed to pause as she waited to hear if the call might be from the sexy contractor.
And then Mary Pat yelled up, “It’s for you, Marti. It’s Noah,” and in that split second the dark clouds over her head seemed to part.
But that wasn’t good, either, she cautioned herself.
“He’s probably just calling to say he’s history when it comes to the baby and the remodel,” she muttered.
But if that was the case, she needed to get it over with so she would know exactly where she stood and could just get on with this new twist, too.
So she hollered back to Mary Pat, “I’ll be right there,” and pushed away from the bedroom door to open it.
As she retraced her steps downstairs to take the call there sprang to life a tiny ray of something she tried to ignore.
Something that felt a little like the hope that underneath Noah Perry’s laid-back charm and simmering sensuality she might find that he was a stand-up guy after all.
Marti arrived at the coffeehouse earlier than she’d told Noah she would be there. That had been the purpose of his phone call late in the afternoon—to ask her to meet him for coffee that evening. He hadn’t apologized for not coming to work, nor had he said anything about the baby. In a very serious, sober tone of voice, he had merely told her he wanted to meet with her. And she’d agreed.
Then she’d skipped dinner because her stomach had been too tied in knots to put food in it. Instead she’d taken a second shower, shampooed her hair and carefully chosen a pair of low-slung brown linen slacks and a cream-colored silk sweater set. She’d caught the sides of her hair in a clip in back and left the rest of it to fall free, added mascara, blush and a little lip gloss to finish her efforts, then drove Wyatt’s SUV to Main Street and the small establishment that served hot and cold beverages and a few pastries.
And there she was, trying to prepare herself for whatever was about to come her way. Anticipating the worst.
She didn’t have long to wait. Noah arrived five minutes after her. The front of the place was all windows so from her seat at a corner table where her back was to the wall, she saw him drive up.
He parked his white truck at the curb and got out. Marti couldn’t be sure, but she had the impression that he might have put some thought into his own clothes. He had on a pair of dark denim jeans and a tan V-neck sweater over a white crew-necked T-shirt. There wasn’t even the hint of a beard on his handsome face so she knew he’d shaved right before he left.
Looks can be deceiving, though, she thought when she couldn’t help the twinge of appreciation for the sight he presented. No matter how good a presentation he made, if he was there to tell her what she thought he was there to tell her, he was a creep.
He spotted her the minute he walked into the place and came over to her. “Hi,” he greeted her simply with a tightlipped impersonation of a smile that was clearly wary.
“Hi,” she answered just as guardedly.
“Thanks for coming.”
Marti nodded.
“What can I get you?” he asked with a glance over his broad shoulder toward the counter where orders were taken. “Can you drink coffee? Do you drink coffee?”
We don’t even know that about each other, Marti lamented.
“I’ll have a decaf nonfat latte.”
“I’ll be right back,” he said as he left again.
Marti watched him at the counter, unable to deny that the rear view was almost as good as the front because his jeans encased a derriere too prime not to notice.
Then he turned with their coffees and she quickly raised her gaze to his ruggedly striking face again.
