Read Online His Woman, His Child by Beverly Barton - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Beverly Barton
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feel terrible that I kept you from enjoying a day out in the cold, damp woods with your brother."
Hank narrowed his gaze. "I'd forgotten that you aren't an advocate of hunting."
"I'm not a rabble-rouser," Susan said. "Anyone who wants to kill poor, defenseless animals has every right to do so. I just can't understand the reasoning that enables people to get pleasure out of it."
Hank lifted her coat off the rack and draped it around her shoulders. "Come on, little mother. Let's go home."
Hank opened two cans of cat food and dumped them into the small ceramic bowls decorated with roses and inscribed with the names Lucy and Ethel. Susan's felines watched and waited, neither coming near their bowls until Hank moved away to lift the sack of dog food from the pantry shelf. Fred and Ricky lay on the large braided rug by the table, intently staring at the stainless steel dishes engraved with their names.
When he'd put Susan to bed earlier that day, she'd asked him to feed her animals around six o'clock, if she wasn't able to get up and do it herself. It was after six and Susan was still sleeping. She'd slept nearly all day, thanks to the shot the doctor had given her.
Hank washed his hands, then poured himself a cup of freshly brewed coffee—regular that he'd retrieved from his apartment. Returning to the den, he relaxed in the large, brown leather recliner and turned the sound up on the television enough to hear the local news and weather report.
He had spent the afternoon watching a football game on TV and periodically checking on Susan. Twice, he'd found her without any cover. Apparently she still had a little fever and was kicking back the sheet and quilt when she got hot. Each time he'd been unable to keep from inspecting her. Slender curves. Small, delicate bone structure. Small round breasts that seemed to enlarge more and more each week. Just looking at her, no one would suspect she was pregnant.
As Hank leaned back in the recliner, his stomach growled. He'd fixed himself a sandwich for lunch, but that had been hours ago. What he'd like was a thick steak and a big baked potato. He could call Steak Express in Marshallton, but he wasn't sure they delivered all the way to Crooked Oak.
"Hank?"
He jumped at the sound of her voice. His heartbeat accelerated. He got up and hurried down the hall. After easing open the door a fraction, he poked his head into her bedroom. She was sitting up in bed, the pillows propped behind her back. Color had returned to her face and she was smiling.
"Feeling better?" he asked.
"Much better, thank you."
"You're looking a lot better." He pushed the door open all the way, but didn't enter the room. Instead, he leaned his hip against the doorjamb and crossed his arms over his chest. "So, what do you need?"
"Have you been here all day?"
"Yep."
"You didn't have to stay."
"I wanted to stay," he admitted, as much to himself as to her. "Just in case you needed me. After all, that's one of the reasons I'm in Crooked Oak, isn't it—to look after you?"
"What have you been doing to pass the time?"
"Watching football." Why the hell did she have to look so damn good? Most women, after a severe bout with a stomach virus, would look terrible. But not Susan. With her long, brown hair a ratty mess and her face void of any makeup, she looked sweet and sexy. That was it—that was why he found her so attractive. That contradictory combination of sweet, innocent wholesomeness and hot, tempting sexuality. She probably had no idea how sexy she was. Or how much he wanted her.
"Oh, yeah, I fed the zoo," he said. "They're out in the kitchen lapping it up right now."
"The zoo?" Susan giggled. "You call two cats and two dogs a zoo? If you really want to see a zoo, stop by the shelter sometime."
"Working around all those animals isn't a problem, is it?" he asked. "I mean, being exposed to them and you pregnant. I've heard they can carry diseases, especially cats."
"That's true. Cats can carry something
Hank narrowed his gaze. "I'd forgotten that you aren't an advocate of hunting."
"I'm not a rabble-rouser," Susan said. "Anyone who wants to kill poor, defenseless animals has every right to do so. I just can't understand the reasoning that enables people to get pleasure out of it."
Hank lifted her coat off the rack and draped it around her shoulders. "Come on, little mother. Let's go home."
Hank opened two cans of cat food and dumped them into the small ceramic bowls decorated with roses and inscribed with the names Lucy and Ethel. Susan's felines watched and waited, neither coming near their bowls until Hank moved away to lift the sack of dog food from the pantry shelf. Fred and Ricky lay on the large braided rug by the table, intently staring at the stainless steel dishes engraved with their names.
When he'd put Susan to bed earlier that day, she'd asked him to feed her animals around six o'clock, if she wasn't able to get up and do it herself. It was after six and Susan was still sleeping. She'd slept nearly all day, thanks to the shot the doctor had given her.
Hank washed his hands, then poured himself a cup of freshly brewed coffee—regular that he'd retrieved from his apartment. Returning to the den, he relaxed in the large, brown leather recliner and turned the sound up on the television enough to hear the local news and weather report.
He had spent the afternoon watching a football game on TV and periodically checking on Susan. Twice, he'd found her without any cover. Apparently she still had a little fever and was kicking back the sheet and quilt when she got hot. Each time he'd been unable to keep from inspecting her. Slender curves. Small, delicate bone structure. Small round breasts that seemed to enlarge more and more each week. Just looking at her, no one would suspect she was pregnant.
As Hank leaned back in the recliner, his stomach growled. He'd fixed himself a sandwich for lunch, but that had been hours ago. What he'd like was a thick steak and a big baked potato. He could call Steak Express in Marshallton, but he wasn't sure they delivered all the way to Crooked Oak.
"Hank?"
He jumped at the sound of her voice. His heartbeat accelerated. He got up and hurried down the hall. After easing open the door a fraction, he poked his head into her bedroom. She was sitting up in bed, the pillows propped behind her back. Color had returned to her face and she was smiling.
"Feeling better?" he asked.
"Much better, thank you."
"You're looking a lot better." He pushed the door open all the way, but didn't enter the room. Instead, he leaned his hip against the doorjamb and crossed his arms over his chest. "So, what do you need?"
"Have you been here all day?"
"Yep."
"You didn't have to stay."
"I wanted to stay," he admitted, as much to himself as to her. "Just in case you needed me. After all, that's one of the reasons I'm in Crooked Oak, isn't it—to look after you?"
"What have you been doing to pass the time?"
"Watching football." Why the hell did she have to look so damn good? Most women, after a severe bout with a stomach virus, would look terrible. But not Susan. With her long, brown hair a ratty mess and her face void of any makeup, she looked sweet and sexy. That was it—that was why he found her so attractive. That contradictory combination of sweet, innocent wholesomeness and hot, tempting sexuality. She probably had no idea how sexy she was. Or how much he wanted her.
"Oh, yeah, I fed the zoo," he said. "They're out in the kitchen lapping it up right now."
"The zoo?" Susan giggled. "You call two cats and two dogs a zoo? If you really want to see a zoo, stop by the shelter sometime."
"Working around all those animals isn't a problem, is it?" he asked. "I mean, being exposed to them and you pregnant. I've heard they can carry diseases, especially cats."
"That's true. Cats can carry something
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