Read Online His Woman, His Child by Beverly Barton - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Beverly Barton
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called toxoplasmosis, which is dangerous to the fetus. But Scooter oversees most of the hands-on work at the shelter, now that I'm pregnant. And I always wear disposable gloves here at home when I change the litter boxes, and at work when I come in contact with the animals."
"Sorry, I didn't mean for my questions to sound like I'm trying to interfere with—"
"I appreciate your concern," she said. "It's sweet of you to care."
"Of course, I care. You're Lowell's wife and one of Tallie's best friends." That's it, Bishop, he told himself. Let her know that you don't have any personal feelings for her.
"Yes, I'm Lowell's widow," she said quietly. "I'm sorry, Hank, that my pregnancy has complicated your life. That Lowell's death brought you home to temporarily take over his responsibilities."
Hank uncrossed his arms. "That's not your fault. None of us knew, when I agreed to … to do Lowell a favor, that he was going to get killed a month later." Damn, but this conversation was making him uncomfortable. "Even if you hadn't been pregnant, I probably would have agreed to come back and finish out Lowell's term as sheriff. I want to see his killer caught and punished."
"But my being pregnant and the child being …" She lowered her gaze as she stroked the patchwork quilt that covered her from the waist down. "Your being my baby's biological father no doubt makes you feel more responsible than you would have if Lowell had been the father."
What could he say? How did he respond to her statement? Of course, knowing the child she carried was his doubled—no, tripled—his feelings of responsibility.
"Do you regret agreeing to the artificial insemination?" she asked. "I mean, now that Lowell—"
"I never wanted to be a father that's for sure." Damn, he hadn't meant to speak so sharply. He walked into the room and toward the bed, but he stopped several feet away from her. "Look, Susan, I have no intentions of marrying and producing any kids of my own. When I agreed to donate my sperm so that you and Lowell could have a baby, I never for one minute thought I'd wind up having to step in and try to be a father to the child. I'm not sure I can. I'll do my best to look after you for the next seven months and I'll always be available if you need me. But I can't be more than a godfather to your baby."
"I understand," she said.
"I'll take an interest, of course. Birthday presents and Christmas presents. And when he's older, he can come visit me. And—"
"I said I understand," she repeated, her voice an octave higher.
"Okay. Fine. I'm glad you do." He shoved his hands into his pockets and rocked back and forth on his heels. "So, is there anything you want or need right now?"
"I'm hungry."
"Hungry?"
"Do you suppose you could fix me some creamed potatoes? Whenever I was sick as a child, Aunt Alice would always fix me creamed potatoes."
"Creamed potatoes, huh? I'm not much of a cook, but if that's what you want, I'll give it a try."
"Thank you."
He wished she wouldn't look at him so appreciatively with those big blue eyes of hers. He didn't want to feed her—he wanted to make love to her.
"It'll take me a while," he said. "Anything else you need before I tackle the potatoes."
"No, thanks. I think I can make it to the bathroom by myself."
She threw back the covers, slid her legs to the side of the bed and, using her hands braced on the bed's edge as leverage, lifted herself to her feet. Her gown, which had been hiked up to midthigh, dropped to her ankles, covering the smooth satin of her naked flesh. Hank's sex grew hard and heavy. He turned quickly and left the room.
"I'll be back with your potatoes as soon as I can," he shouted from the hallway.
Susan shook her head as sadness and humor combined within her. Hank Bishop was afraid of her! The realization surprised her. He was as scared of her as she had always been of him. But why? What sort of threat could she possibly be to him?
He doesn't want to be a father, an inner voice
"Sorry, I didn't mean for my questions to sound like I'm trying to interfere with—"
"I appreciate your concern," she said. "It's sweet of you to care."
"Of course, I care. You're Lowell's wife and one of Tallie's best friends." That's it, Bishop, he told himself. Let her know that you don't have any personal feelings for her.
"Yes, I'm Lowell's widow," she said quietly. "I'm sorry, Hank, that my pregnancy has complicated your life. That Lowell's death brought you home to temporarily take over his responsibilities."
Hank uncrossed his arms. "That's not your fault. None of us knew, when I agreed to … to do Lowell a favor, that he was going to get killed a month later." Damn, but this conversation was making him uncomfortable. "Even if you hadn't been pregnant, I probably would have agreed to come back and finish out Lowell's term as sheriff. I want to see his killer caught and punished."
"But my being pregnant and the child being …" She lowered her gaze as she stroked the patchwork quilt that covered her from the waist down. "Your being my baby's biological father no doubt makes you feel more responsible than you would have if Lowell had been the father."
What could he say? How did he respond to her statement? Of course, knowing the child she carried was his doubled—no, tripled—his feelings of responsibility.
"Do you regret agreeing to the artificial insemination?" she asked. "I mean, now that Lowell—"
"I never wanted to be a father that's for sure." Damn, he hadn't meant to speak so sharply. He walked into the room and toward the bed, but he stopped several feet away from her. "Look, Susan, I have no intentions of marrying and producing any kids of my own. When I agreed to donate my sperm so that you and Lowell could have a baby, I never for one minute thought I'd wind up having to step in and try to be a father to the child. I'm not sure I can. I'll do my best to look after you for the next seven months and I'll always be available if you need me. But I can't be more than a godfather to your baby."
"I understand," she said.
"I'll take an interest, of course. Birthday presents and Christmas presents. And when he's older, he can come visit me. And—"
"I said I understand," she repeated, her voice an octave higher.
"Okay. Fine. I'm glad you do." He shoved his hands into his pockets and rocked back and forth on his heels. "So, is there anything you want or need right now?"
"I'm hungry."
"Hungry?"
"Do you suppose you could fix me some creamed potatoes? Whenever I was sick as a child, Aunt Alice would always fix me creamed potatoes."
"Creamed potatoes, huh? I'm not much of a cook, but if that's what you want, I'll give it a try."
"Thank you."
He wished she wouldn't look at him so appreciatively with those big blue eyes of hers. He didn't want to feed her—he wanted to make love to her.
"It'll take me a while," he said. "Anything else you need before I tackle the potatoes."
"No, thanks. I think I can make it to the bathroom by myself."
She threw back the covers, slid her legs to the side of the bed and, using her hands braced on the bed's edge as leverage, lifted herself to her feet. Her gown, which had been hiked up to midthigh, dropped to her ankles, covering the smooth satin of her naked flesh. Hank's sex grew hard and heavy. He turned quickly and left the room.
"I'll be back with your potatoes as soon as I can," he shouted from the hallway.
Susan shook her head as sadness and humor combined within her. Hank Bishop was afraid of her! The realization surprised her. He was as scared of her as she had always been of him. But why? What sort of threat could she possibly be to him?
He doesn't want to be a father, an inner voice
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