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She just stood there, staring up at Dalton as he took that last step that brought him up close and personal, and then put his warm, long-fingered hand over hers.
It felt good, his hand on hers. It felt really, really good.
“Um … here.” Clara’s voice kind of broke on the word. And then she slid her hand out from under his and clasped it, moving it to where she felt the kick. “Yeah.” She smiled in spite of herself. “That’s it.”
“I feel it,” he agreed as the baby poked at his palm, then poked again. He was watching their hands, all his attention on the movement beneath them. And then he lifted his gaze and met her eyes. His were the clearest, most beautiful blue right then. “Clara …” His voice was rougher now, even lower than usual.
She just stared up at him, still annoyed with him, and at the same time swept up in the moment, in the intimacy of it—their baby kicking, her hand over his. She should have glanced away.
But she didn’t.
The Bravos Of Justice Creek: Where bold hearts collide under Western skies
Not Quite Married
Christine Rimmer
CHRISTINE RIMMER came to her profession the long way around. She tried everything from acting to teaching to telephone sales. Now she’s finally found work that suits her perfectly. She insists she never had a problem keeping a job—she was merely gaining “life experience” for her future as a novelist. Christine lives with her family in Oregon. Visit her at www.christinerimmer.com.
For Gail Chasan, because you are the very best!
Contents
At five fifteen on a sunny April afternoon, Dalton Ames sat on a bench in a park near his Denver corporate offices and told himself he was making a big mistake.
He should have gotten some answers before he agreed to meet with her. He should have made her tell him why, exactly, she had contacted him out of the blue and just had to speak with him in person. Because, honestly. What good could possibly come of seeing her now?
None. He knew that.
And yet here he was, briefcase at his feet, stomach in knots. Waiting. Irresponsibly, illogically, ridiculously eager just for the sight of her.
It could go nowhere. He knew that. And yet...
His racing thoughts trailed away to nothing as he spotted her approaching: Clara Bravo, more adorable than ever in a long white dress and a short jean jacket. Clara, with her shining sable hair, her tempting mouth so quick to smile. But she wasn’t smiling now. Her expression was somber, her head tipped down.
Clara.
So beautiful.
And so very, very pregnant.
Seeing her so huge shocked him, though it shouldn’t have. The detective he’d hired to find her back in early December, months after their summer romance, had reported that she was pregnant and engaged to marry the baby’s father.
She glanced up and spotted him, those big eyes locking on him. Her soft mouth dropped open—and then snapped resolutely shut. She hesitated on the path, but then stiffened her spine and kept on coming.
He stood.
“Hello, Dalton.” Her wonderful, slightly husky voice broke on his name.
He nodded. “Clara.” His voice sounded calm. Reserved. It gave nothing away, which was as he’d intended. He took care not to glance down, not to ogle that big, round belly of hers. “It’s good to see you,” he lied.
It wasn’t good. It hurt to see her. Even big as a house with some other guy’s baby, she was much too appealing. He still wanted her. It turned a brutal knife inside him to have to look at her and know that she belonged to another man.
She lifted her left hand and nervously tucked a shining strand of dark brown hair behind her ear. No wedding ring. Odd.
And
