Merry Christmas, Baby by Jill Shalvis Page A

father. He was a man who would always honor his obligations, but it didn’t mean he wanted this baby.
    She blew out a breath and looked out the window. Not quite dawn. Two weeks before Christmas and the trees were dusted with snow, as all of Lucky Harbor was.
    Winter on the Pacific Northwest coast was only for the hardy.
    And there was no one more hardy than her husband. His head was dipped to the task of rubbing her baby bump. He had thick brown hair that contained every hue under the sun and fell over his forehead in front when he was in the shower or otherwise occupied in bed. It was tamed now only because it was still damp from a shower, and he’d clearly used just his fingers to shove it back.
    When the baby settled, he dropped his hand from her and went back to his packing. Chloe watched as Sawyer pulled a gun from the safe, checking it with the ease of a man whose gun was an extension of himself, and then it, too, went into his bag. She knew from experience that he had at least one other gun on him, and most likely a knife as well.
    What was it about him checking his weapons like other men buttoned their shirt that was so damn hot? And how was it that even though she was the approximate size and weight of a buffalo, she still could get aroused just by looking at him?
    The silence between them gave her a bit of a reality check. She might be turned on by him, but he wasn’t having the same problem.
    “It’s only a week,” he said, and Chloe jumped.
    He was at her side again, all lethal stealth. He set her fast-acting asthma inhaler on the nightstand for easy reach and then her cell phone, which he’d no doubt charged for her since she’d forgotten. His bag hung from his shoulder, and he watched her from those fathomless eyes. If she looked closely she could see the gold flecks in them. Sometimes, when he laughed, those flecks danced.
    But they were still now.
    As still as the man watching her.
    “I know,” she murmured. “Just a week. You’ll be back for the town Christmas party. You promised to take me.”
    His jaw went a little tight. Parties weren’t exactly Mr. Social’s thing. “We talked about this,” he said.
    “Yes, and you agreed to take me.”
    He shook his head. “I said it wasn’t a great idea, you exerting the energy to dress up and go to a crowded event.”
    “I’m not a piece of china,” she said.
    “No one would ever mistake you for one,” he responded, and she was pretty sure it wasn’t a compliment.
    “But,” he went on in that voice of steel, “you’re eight months pregnant and suffer debilitating asthma. Give yourself a damn break.”
    “I’ve had one,” she said. “Maddie and Tara won’t even let me work at my own spa. I need to get out, Sawyer. I need to see people.” Before her life changed forever … “I’m going.”
    “I’ll be back,” was all he said.
    “And the party?”
    “We’ll see.”
    Not exactly a promise, but then again he was careful never to promise anything he couldn’t deliver. His word, when he gave it, was good as gold.
    He lifted her chin and looked into her eyes for a long beat. “Dr. Tyler is only a call away,” he said. “Your sisters are close by. Jax and Ford are in your speed dials and are on standby for anything.”
    Chloe’s obstetrician was wonderful, and so were her sisters Maddie and Tara and their husbands—Sawyer’s BFFs Jax and Ford. But if there was an emergency, it wasn’t any of them that Chloe wanted.
    It was the tall testosterone and attitude-ridden man standing in front of her, already long gone given the look on his face.
    “I want you to take care,” he said.
    “You heard what Dr. Tyler said the last time we were in her office for false labor.” She patted her belly. “The Bean’s in for the long haul.”
    “I meant you,” Sawyer said. “Take care of you.”
    Coming from him, the words were tantamount to a shouted vow of love, and they moved her as only Sawyer could. “Always,” she promised,