The Pregnant Ms. Potter

“No sense trying to buck the weather, and no use worrying over things you can’t control.”

“But I don’t want to be an imposition, Mr. Taggart. Is there a motel or an inn nearby where I can stay?”

Pete nodded. “There’s the Sweetheart Inn and Flannery’s Motel.” At her sigh of relief he added, “But they’re both full, because of the Christmas holidays. Looks like you’re stuck with me—for now.”

“Oh, I couldn’t…”

“Sweetheart’s not New York City, and that’s a fact, Miz Potter. I guess you’ll find that out soon enough.”

Sweetheart. There was a story behind that name, she’d bet money on it. Maddy thought about all the advertising possibilities it proffered and smiled to herself.

“Sounds familiar. I grew up in a small farming community in Iowa.” And hated every minute of it. She’d left as soon as she turned eighteen, not that her father would’ve noticed. Her mother had died by then, and Mary Beth had married her high school sweetheart, Lyle Randolph, so there’d been nothing to keep her there, certainly not Andrew Potter, whose only passion in life had been pigs.

She’d read once that an actress had been jealous of her famous ventriloquist father’s dummy while she was growing up, which was exactly how Maddy had felt about her dad’s stupid swine. He’d treated those pigs with far more affection than he’d ever shown her.

Her father was still living alone on the farm, still tending his pigs. Mary Beth kept in contact with him, but he and Maddy hadn’t spoken in years. They’d never had all that much to say to each other. Nothing good, anyway.

“New York must have been quite a culture shock after Iowa,” Pete remarked, drawing her attention back.

“At first, but I’ve grown to love it. It’s got a heartbeat all its own. And you never feel alone there.” Lonely, but never alone.

“I went there once with my—” He almost said wife, but caught himself just in time. Pete didn’t like discussing Bethany with strangers, with anyone really. If Maddy noticed, she didn’t let on. “Didn’t much like it,” he said finally.

Maddy continued sipping her tea. “Guess it’s not for everyone. It’s certainly not tranquil like this. How do you stand it? I’m not sure I’ll be able to sleep without horns honking outside my bedroom window all night.”

He studied her thoughtfully for several moments, seemed disturbed about something, then pushed back his chair and said, “If you’re done, I’ll show you to your room. It’s got a fireplace, so you should be warm enough. Tomorrow I’ll try to hook up the generator.”

“I’m truly sorry to be such an imposition, Mr. Taggart. It’s kind of you to put me up.”

“We don’t turn away stranded folks out here in the country, ma’am, so you needn’t apologize. And you may as well call me Pete, seeing as how we’ll be living together for an indefinite period of time.”

The very idea of their “living together” was disconcerting, if not downright alarming, but she nodded anyway, following him up the stairs, thinking that it would be glorious to take off her wet stockings and soak her feet in a tub of hot water. “Where is your room located, if you don’t mind my asking?”

His smile grew teasing. “Why, right next door to yours. But you needn’t worry about locking your door. I think I’ll be able to control myself.”

Her face flamed. “I wasn’t trying to imply—”

“If you need anything, just give a holler. And if you’re hungry, there’re sandwich makings in the cooler out on the back porch.”

He walked away then, leaving Maddy to stare at the audacious man’s broad back and wonder how she was going to survive in his company for even one more day, let alone an indeterminate length of time.

Chapter Two

Garbed in a green-and-white Sweetheart High School football jersey and thick woolen socks that Pete had provided for her the night before, and which were undoubtedly his, judging by the reluctant expression on his face when he’d handed them to her, Maddy made her way across the cold bedroom floor toward the bathroom.

The fire in the hearth had gone out hours before, and the ice smothering the windowpanes promised another day of snow and below-freezing temperatures.

How long was she going to have to remain stranded here? Maddy wondered. Not that she wasn’t grateful for Pete Taggart’s hospitality, because she was, but she needed to get to her sister’s, needed to fix the mess she’d made of her life. If she could. And that was a very big if.

Pushing open the bathroom door, she let loose a scream. Pete Taggart was standing half-naked on the other side of it, looking like a Greek Adonis come to life. Her hand went to her throat, and her eyes widened. “Wha—what are you doing here?”

“Ouch! Dammit!” he cursed, razor in hand, turning away from the mirror over the sink to look at her startled expression. “What’s it look like I’m doing? I’m shaving, that’s what I’m doing.” He looked quite annoyed as he blotted the bloody nick on his face with a tissue. “You might try knocking next time, instead of just barging in.”

Her jaw dropped as she took in his thickly muscled chest lightly sprinkled with hair, corded biceps, and the towel that hung precariously low on his hips, which barely covered his—

“Deck the halls with boughs of holly…”

She didn’t want to think about what it barely covered. Not this early in the morning.

“I—I thought this was my bathroom.”

“Guess I should have made myself clearer. It’s our bathroom. It adjoins the two bedrooms. But you’re welcome to use it. When I’m not in it.”

She tried to avert her gaze, but that meant she had to look into his mesmerizing blue eyes. “You might have told me that we’d be sharing this bathroom. That would have been the gentlemanly, civilized thing to do.”

The sexy grin flashing across his face told her more than words that there wasn’t a civilized bone in Pete Taggart’s muscular, oh-so-very-fine body. “Never been accused of being civilized, Miz Potter, ma’am.”

“You infuriate me, Mr. Taggart,” she admitted, reaching up to secure the scrunchie that had come loose during the night, and hearing him suck in his breath.

Pete’s gaze zeroed in on her long, shapely legs, and his eyes filled with heat. “I wouldn’t be raising your arms up like that, if I were you, ma’am, or you might be revealing more than you were intending.” Not that he minded the view. It had been a long time since he’d entertained a pretty woman in his bedroom, or bathroom, for that matter.

Maddy slammed the door shut in his face, but she could still hear Pete’s laughter coming through, and it filled her with outrage. Sucking in huge gulps of air, she ran to the brass cheval mirror standing in the corner and lifted her arms, observing the effect. Then she gasped.

“Good Lord!” The jersey barely covered her thighs! Why hadn’t she noticed that before?

Oh no! What the man must be thinking!

WHAT THE MAN WAS THINKING was something Maddy was better off not knowing. His thoughts were X-rated, to say the least. Pete had already cursed himself many times over for finding the woman attractive. Attractive, headstrong and intelligent, despite what he’d told her. A deadly combination.

He’d sworn off women four years ago, and he didn’t need this temptation, this complication in his life right now. His self-imposed celibacy—the butt of many a joke by his two younger brothers—was taking its toll. And having a half-naked woman flaunting herself at him was not helping matters in the least. Just because she hadn’t intended to flaunt didn’t matter. Flaunting was flaunting, no matter how you looked at it. And he sure as heck liked looking at it—her—which resulted in some pretty predictable results.

Just thinking about how she’d looked all warm and tousled from bed and dressed in his old football jersey was enough to weaken his resolve and harden his member. “Damn!” Pete fiddled with the gauges on the generator as he tried to figure out why it didn’t work and cursed again.

“Why?” he asked himself. Why now when he was just getting his head back together? His heart would never mend, but he figured he could live with that.

Four years. Four years since Bethany’s death, since the death of their unborn child, and the pain still festered, as if it had only been yesterday.

“I’m sorry, Pete,” Dr. Reynolds had told him when he’d entered the ER that rainy afternoon four years ago. “Bethany didn’t survive the crash.”

“And the baby?”

The old man had shaken his head, and there was pity in his eyes. “Both dead. I’m sorry, son.”

Pete blamed himself for their deaths. If he hadn’t been arguing with Bethany over her new job at the radio station, if she hadn’t run off half-cocked during the middle of a severe thunderstorm…

If, if, if. Too many ifs and not enough answers. None that would suffice anyway. His wife and child were gone.

Though he took his fair share of responsibility for what had happened, he blamed Bethany more. She’d always been headstrong, bent on having her own way about working after they were married. She hadn’t been content to be “just a rancher’s wife” and had told him as much after they were married. She wanted to contribute, to make her mark in the world, to have it all.