her husband, for heaven's sake. She had every right to make a pass at him.
Screwing up her courage, she took another step toward him, stopping at his side. She placed her hand on his chest. "I—I'd like it if you'd move back to our bedroom."
Tom stood stock-still, but she felt his heart pick up speed under her hand. He cleared his throat in that way that meant he was uneasy. "Gee, Suze, I don't think tonight's a good night for that. I'm upset about Jake's news. And I've, uh, got a headache." Tom's hand patted hers. His lips curved in a reassuring smile, but his eyes never quite met hers. "I'm afraid I'd just toss and turn and keep you awake. I don't want to set you back just when you're making progress."
A huge lump clotted her throat, making it hard to speak, much less to muster a smile. She tried nonetheless. "Okay."
He kissed her cheek, a soft, brotherly peck. Susanna's heart broke into a million pieces. She quickly turned her back to him, trying hard to hide the tears that sprang to her eyes. ``Well, I'm going to turn in. Good night."
She hurried upstairs to the master bedroom, stifling back a sob, trying to stifle the fear clutching at her throat as well.
She'd already lost her daughter. And now—dear heavens—was she losing her husband as well?
Chapter Six
Jake mounted the steps to Annie's front porch, squinting against the glare of the early morning sun rising over the shake-shingle roof. He'd left Tulsa before dawn, hoping to catch Annie before she started reading tea leaves or grooming llamas or whatever the hell it was she did all day.
Besides, he'd been up anyway, awakened by another of the troublesome dreams that had been plaguing him ever since he'd learned he had a child. Babies and billboards, llamas and teacups had paraded through his mind all night in a solemn procession. But more alarming that that were the erotic images that had awakened him this morning—images of Annie and her luscious breasts swaying tantalizingly above him. With a muttered oath, he'd thrown back the covers and taken a cold shower.
He was only dreaming about that Hollister woman because of the child, he'd told himself as he stood under the stream of icy water. He'd had a baby with her, and his subconscious was processing the information. It didn't take a Ph.D. in psychology to figure out that it was his mind's way of sorting through data, of trying to make sense of the situation. So what if he'd dreamed about pulling that Tweety Bird ponytail holder out of her flame-colored hair and tasting her berry-tinted lips and touching the slopes of her generous breasts? That didn't mean anything. It didn't mean anything at all.
Hell, she wasn't even his type. He'd always gone for women like Rachel, women who were sleek and pulled together, whose physical appearance reflected their rational, logical, low-key approach to life. His only interest in this Hollister dame had to do with his child.
His child. The thought sent a ripple of amazement racing through him. It was an astounding concept, one that was difficult to absorb, even after two days. A child. A daughter. A dark-haired, dark-eyed little girl named Madeline, who was already fourteen months old.
He'd missed out on her first year. He'd missed her first tooth, her first smile, her first step. Well, by golly, he didn't intend to miss out on any more. It could take a year or longer to reach a permanent custody settlement, especially if this Hollister woman fought him on it. What he needed to do was come to some sort of temporary arrangement with her.
He rapped hard on the front door, then stepped back, eyeing the pot of pink geraniums on the ground beside it. He'd gotten off to a bad start with Annie the other day, but he was sure he could fix that. Once he apologized and smoothed things over, he was certain he could convince the woman to see things his way. After all, he was an experienced negotiator, and the law was on his side. If the paternity tests showed what he was
Screwing up her courage, she took another step toward him, stopping at his side. She placed her hand on his chest. "I—I'd like it if you'd move back to our bedroom."
Tom stood stock-still, but she felt his heart pick up speed under her hand. He cleared his throat in that way that meant he was uneasy. "Gee, Suze, I don't think tonight's a good night for that. I'm upset about Jake's news. And I've, uh, got a headache." Tom's hand patted hers. His lips curved in a reassuring smile, but his eyes never quite met hers. "I'm afraid I'd just toss and turn and keep you awake. I don't want to set you back just when you're making progress."
A huge lump clotted her throat, making it hard to speak, much less to muster a smile. She tried nonetheless. "Okay."
He kissed her cheek, a soft, brotherly peck. Susanna's heart broke into a million pieces. She quickly turned her back to him, trying hard to hide the tears that sprang to her eyes. ``Well, I'm going to turn in. Good night."
She hurried upstairs to the master bedroom, stifling back a sob, trying to stifle the fear clutching at her throat as well.
She'd already lost her daughter. And now—dear heavens—was she losing her husband as well?
Chapter Six
Jake mounted the steps to Annie's front porch, squinting against the glare of the early morning sun rising over the shake-shingle roof. He'd left Tulsa before dawn, hoping to catch Annie before she started reading tea leaves or grooming llamas or whatever the hell it was she did all day.
Besides, he'd been up anyway, awakened by another of the troublesome dreams that had been plaguing him ever since he'd learned he had a child. Babies and billboards, llamas and teacups had paraded through his mind all night in a solemn procession. But more alarming that that were the erotic images that had awakened him this morning—images of Annie and her luscious breasts swaying tantalizingly above him. With a muttered oath, he'd thrown back the covers and taken a cold shower.
He was only dreaming about that Hollister woman because of the child, he'd told himself as he stood under the stream of icy water. He'd had a baby with her, and his subconscious was processing the information. It didn't take a Ph.D. in psychology to figure out that it was his mind's way of sorting through data, of trying to make sense of the situation. So what if he'd dreamed about pulling that Tweety Bird ponytail holder out of her flame-colored hair and tasting her berry-tinted lips and touching the slopes of her generous breasts? That didn't mean anything. It didn't mean anything at all.
Hell, she wasn't even his type. He'd always gone for women like Rachel, women who were sleek and pulled together, whose physical appearance reflected their rational, logical, low-key approach to life. His only interest in this Hollister dame had to do with his child.
His child. The thought sent a ripple of amazement racing through him. It was an astounding concept, one that was difficult to absorb, even after two days. A child. A daughter. A dark-haired, dark-eyed little girl named Madeline, who was already fourteen months old.
He'd missed out on her first year. He'd missed her first tooth, her first smile, her first step. Well, by golly, he didn't intend to miss out on any more. It could take a year or longer to reach a permanent custody settlement, especially if this Hollister woman fought him on it. What he needed to do was come to some sort of temporary arrangement with her.
He rapped hard on the front door, then stepped back, eyeing the pot of pink geraniums on the ground beside it. He'd gotten off to a bad start with Annie the other day, but he was sure he could fix that. Once he apologized and smoothed things over, he was certain he could convince the woman to see things his way. After all, he was an experienced negotiator, and the law was on his side. If the paternity tests showed what he was
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