Daddy in the Making

chapter Four

The second the words came out of her mouth, she wanted to take them back.

But they were the bald truth.

Rita glanced down at her uneaten plate of food. She’d rather be sharply forthright than to keep lying about the baby’s paternity. Sugarcoating the situation wouldn’t make things better for them. Good God, Conn didn’t even know who he was or where he’d been. He couldn’t possibly be together enough to make a decent father.

There was more than even that to consider, too. Besides being a stranger to himself, he was one to her. How could they possibly raise a child under those circumstances?

Maybe, based on what he already knew about himself, he would let her off the hook and go home, continuing his search for who he was. He would have a chance to get back in control of his life again without any other pressures, like a surprise child. And she would be free to raise this baby just as well as she was raising Kristy.

Conn hadn’t moved a muscle the entire time, but now he blinked. “Just who is the father, Rita?”

She tucked an errant curl behind her ear, composing herself before looking back up at him. “You are.”

“I see.” He glanced out the window, swallowing, then turned back to her. “I thought you said—”

“I changed my mind about telling you.”

Obviously, his mind was barely keeping up with everything that was hitting it, and a few moments trudged past.

Then he said, “I’m not very good at telling how far along a woman is.” He wrinkled his brow. “I’m used to life on a ranch, but not...”

“With a wife or steady girlfriend?”

Her comment must have cuffed him, because he reared back slightly. She’d hit a mark, but it hadn’t been because she wanted to be cruel.

It was just that she was made to be a mother, even if there wasn’t a father around. Who cared what kind of family she had or how she’d gotten it, just as long as she had one?

But Conn? She was pretty sure he was the opposite, and she would be doing him a favor by cutting him loose.

“I don’t hold you to anything,” she said. “We had no commitments.”

“You think I’m that unreliable?”

Slowly, she nodded. “Yes, I do.”

It was as if the air had gotten heavier, the raindrops on the window louder, taking over the growing space between them. She drank her water, he drank his, but neither of them ate a bite.

Finally, though, Conn lowered his voice so that she almost didn’t hear it. “You don’t know if it’s a boy or a girl yet?”

She swallowed away the ache in her throat. “No. They tell me I can find out during my next appointment.” During all life’s craziness, she’d almost forgotten that she was going to the doctor the day after tomorrow. “I’ve told Dr. Ambrose that I want to be surprised at the birth. It’s like...”

“Opening a gift on your own birthday.”

When she glanced up, she found him grinning, a look in his eyes that nearly slammed her to the ground.

A...softness?

What was it exactly?

A tiny, wishful thrill spun through her until she throttled it. This was no time for those fantasies she’d entertained about him the first night they’d met. He wasn’t her dream man, and she sure as heck wasn’t some princess who’d been swept away to some happily-ever-after with him.

At any rate, he was taking the news pretty well. Maybe this pregnancy had triggered another memory in him and he was thinking that it would be a good idea to leave the baby to her?

She ignored the leaden feeling weighing on her chest. “I guess a birthday present would be a good comparison. But, even though I want to wait, I can’t help wishing I could decide on baby names and start buying those teeny-tiny outfits for him or her. Sometimes the temptation to know just gets to me.”

“Baby names.” There was that tender light in Conn’s gaze again, and it made her wonder if he had ever thought about having children.

If he even remembered thinking about it.

And that was when she lost it—the control she’d been holding on to with such fierceness. It broke, just like that, when she made an attempt to change the subject, segueing into something safe like his life on his cattle ranch or something.

Too bad her attempt to start that new topic sounded just as cracked as her heart.

Cutting herself off, she looked down at her plate again. Dammit, he couldn’t see her like this. Not this stranger.

“Rita...”

Her hand had been resting on the table, and she felt Conn’s long fingers ease over hers.

At the spinning flip in her belly, she startled in her seat, a catch in her breathing. The warmth of his skin seeped into hers, and she fought the urge to pull back, to let him know without any doubt that touching her really wasn’t a good idea.

But she found herself just sitting there, nearly shivering as she hungered for more. As she remembered that night and how his hands had explored places far more sensual.

Don’t you dare look up at him right now, she told herself. Don’t do it....

Yet she was doing it, her gaze meeting the deep blue of his own—a tender, heartfelt shade that matched the one she’d seen the night they’d been together.

Suddenly, it was as if no time or hard feelings had passed between them at all. He really was a dream who’d walked into the Queen of Hearts Saloon, coming to a cocky stand at her table, grinning and stealing her should-know-better heart.

He must have felt it, too, because he reached across their small, far-too-intimate candlelit table, grasping her hand between the two of his as he leaned forward in his seat.

“I hate to see you sad,” he whispered.

Every sound in the restaurant diminished under the low silver light from the moon-glow windows, under the gentleness of his words and gaze.

She wanted to tell him that she wasn’t sad—that she had a beautiful child who made every day brighter, plus another one on the way. But there was an inexplicable emptiness inside her, letting her know that something else was missing, and it was this emptiness that he probably sensed right now as he stroked a thumb over the sensitive spot near her wrist.

Closing her eyes, Rita tried to find some trace of oxygen in the room so it could fill her lungs and get her breathing again. But there didn’t seem to be any.

How could he do this to her when she’d tried so hard to keep it from happening?

Unexpectedly, a tear escaped from her eye before she even knew it was there. It rolled down her cheek, marking her.

“Dammit, Rita.”

That tear must have been his undoing, because the next thing she knew, he brought her hand to his lips, resting her wrist there, her pulse tapping against the softness and heat of his mouth.

“I wish everything could work out for the both of us,” he murmured against her skin.

And when he reached across the table to rest his fingers on her face, to touch the trail of her tear, she bit her lip.

It was trembling, just as if she was a girl who’d never had a first time with any man, much less a dangerous one like this.

Now the look in his eyes had turned to something else, heating up like the most searing part of a flame. The part you never played with.

But here she was, wanting to do it.

As she closed her eyes again, leaning into his hand, allowing her lips to barely make contact with his palm, she realized that wanting was the most important thing in the world. Forget control. Forget safety. This was what mattered, because if you didn’t feel, you didn’t live.

God, how she wanted to live.

In the next slow, endless moment, she felt him lean even closer—close enough so that she could feel his breath over her mouth.

Then...

On a stifled moan, his mouth brushed over hers, sweetly, with just a hint of the blue heat she’d seen in his eyes. Lust—or whatever it’d been that had gotten her into his bed in the first place—roared inside her.

She was so ready—had been ready since he’d left her waiting for him to return.

But then, as if he’d been burned himself, he pulled away.

She couldn’t help opening her eyes, seeing him again, finding that his gaze had changed once more, this time to something unfocused, as if...

As if he were remembering.

As if whatever it was that had flashed across his brain had confused the hell out of him.

“What is it?” she asked, feeling the furious blush on her skin and wishing it wasn’t there.

Conn paused. He was the one who was looking away from her now, as if he didn’t want her to read him.

“It’s...” He pressed his lips together, shook his head. “It’s nothing.”

“Oh.” Had a memory been triggered? One he didn’t want to share?

Rita leaned back in her chair, distancing herself, cursing her weakness in succumbing to him, even if it was just for a moment. What had she been doing?

Duh. The answer was easy, wasn’t it? She’d completely forgotten herself and put herself in the exact same place she’d been in that night, when he’d charmed the pants off her and then broken her heart.

Was she crazy, setting herself up again for a repeat performance? And this time the stakes were much higher.

Rita straightened in her chair. Next time she would do everything within her power to make sure nothing like this happened again.

No. Correction. There wouldn’t be a next time.

She folded her napkin and set it on the table. “If it’s all the same, I’d like to box up the food.”

When he opened his mouth to argue, she held up a hand.

“This was a mistake. I think we both know it, too.”

“I didn’t mean to...” He gritted his jaw, then loosened it. “I meant it when I said that I didn’t like to see you sad. I got carried away. That’s all it was, Rita.”

“Okay.”

And that was all she really had to say, because it seemed as if she didn’t believe him...and as if he maybe didn’t even believe it himself.

She sighed. “You and I both know that neither of us can afford to get carried away.”

He stared out the window again, just as the rain picked up, throwing itself against the glass. Then, with a nod, he agreed with her, his lips forming a grim line, his jaw tight. A little piece of her heart seemed to break away from the rest of her once again, and she promised herself that this would be the last time her heart would crumble.

Definitely the last time.

She drew in a breath, but it only made her feel the ache in her chest that much more keenly.

“I hope you have everything you need,” she said.

For some reason, it seemed as if she’d struck him.

“I told you before—if I have any responsibilities where you’re concerned, I’m going to be a man who’ll take care of them.”

She cradled her tummy, as if securing her heart. “You don’t have any responsibilities, Conn. I want this baby, and the best thing you can do is to let me raise him or her in a stable home. I provided one for Kristy, and I’ll do it again.”

His brow furrowed. “So that’s it then?”

“Don’t you think that’s it?”

A storm brewed in his gaze, and she could tell that her words had knifed into him. All he knew was that he was a playboy, a lighthearted bachelor who might provide a bad example as a father.

Shoulders tight, he signaled for the waiter as Rita waited for him to say something else.

But he never did, and an uneasy feeling washed through her, just as surely as the rain was streaking down the windows like tears that she refused to cry anymore.

* * *

The road back to Conn’s home the next morning seemed longer than it actually was.

The rain had eased off, drying the asphalt that speared through the pastures and white fencing on his way to the Shadow Creek Ranch, where he would be able to retreat to his cabin and finally move on with life.

His brother Emmet had come back to St. Valentine to pick him up a couple of hours ago, and they’d remained quiet so far, listening to the crisp wind whistle through a seal near a window that needed some mending. But that didn’t stop Emmet from sneaking looks over at Conn every so often, curious as hell about what had gone on while he was away.

Finally, about a half hour from the ranch, Emmet could stand it no longer.

“You’re driving me loco, Conn. Don’t you have anything to say?”

“Nope. I got as much as I could out of a visit to St. Valentine, and it’s nothing to chat about.”

Bullshit. All that’d gone on was that he’d learned he was going to be a father. And that the mother thought he wasn’t fit for it.

Worst of all, in spite of her blunt words, he’d gone and stolen a kiss from her.

But how could Conn tell anyone about all that when he didn’t understand half of it himself?

He’d been pained by what she’d said about him, but he couldn’t refute any of it—not when all he heard from his brothers was about his playboy past and how he was an expert at enjoying himself with women but not tying himself to them.

But...a baby.

Something like fear seized him, making him think that Rita had been right to point out his unsuitability. Maybe it wouldn’t be fair to a child to put all his issues on him or her. Maybe he would even end up complicating Rita’s life when she already had everything under control, the picture of a loving mom who didn’t seem to need a partner to raise a well-adjusted daughter.

Hell, just look at how he’d even reacted with her, giving her that impulsive kiss. It’d been ill-advised, but at the same time, it’d rocked Conn from head to toe, and not just in a physical way.

There’d been a flicker of memory that had never turned into a full-fledged image. But, more important, something had come loose in Conn, causing a miniavalanche of feelings he was still trying to grasp.

An overwhelming flood of affection and...well, questions. Hopes. Things like a deep yearning to... Do what?

The answer was balancing on an edge inside of Conn, and it frustrated the hell out of him that he couldn’t shake that one memory loose.

Didn’t this just go to prove the instability that Rita had pointed out?

That was the reason he’d left.

Emmet gave him another long look, and Conn rolled his eyes.

“Jeez...what?”

“Something’s just off about you.” Emmet returned his gaze to the road. “You’ve always been a lone wolf when it comes to keeping most of your thoughts to yourself, but this is ridiculous.”

He was getting annoyed with his brothers always reminding him of who he’d been. “Why do you keep pointing out my worst qualities? Has it ever occurred to you that I might’ve left them behind?”

“Because you’ve forgotten them?”

Conn didn’t say anything for a moment. Then he narrowed his eyes, looking out the window at the passing oaks curled over the country road, constructing a sparse tunnel of sorts. “The old Conn could come back, but I’m not sure I can warm up to him. If he gave all those women he seduced a bad attitude like he did Rita, then I have to assume he didn’t care much about them in the first place. He didn’t seem to treat women very well, for one thing.”

And just imagine how he might treat a baby. Like a toy that he would leave behind when it lost its shininess?

Emmet grinned wryly. “Oh, but you did treat them well, Conn. At the time. I told you before, though—you had a graceful way of getting out of any serious entanglements and you left the girls happy.”

“How do you know that for certain? Did you ever meet any of those women?”

Emmet shrugged. “Can’t say I ever did. But you always made it sound as if you left them smiling.”

Another stretch of road ran by the window as they abandoned the oaks and the gray sky appeared, reflecting the color of Rita’s eyes.

He could only hope he’d left the other women smiling.

Emmet laid off Conn the rest of the way, and it wasn’t too long before they pulled into the road that ran past the main Colonial-style house on the Shadow Creek Ranch—four hundred and fifty acres of land that housed Brahman cattle.

Emmet pulled into the driveway, next to two beat-up trucks that belonged to their older brothers. “Mom’s got lunch going. She wanted to see you before you holed up in your cabin for a rest.”

“I don’t need a nap.”

“Don’t argue that with Mom. She’s got doctors’ recommendations on her side.”

Conn just about bit his tongue as he got out of the truck. There were a million things to do now that he was back. But who was he to go against the Word of Mom?

They went around the back, where an herb garden preceded a deck where Bradon and Dillon, Conn’s oldest brothers, were sitting in lawn chairs under the cloudy sky. Their boys—all three of them—came bounding over from their spot off the side of the deck, where they’d been digging in the dirt with plastic toys.

“Uncle Conn!”

Bradon’s five-year-old twins bashed into Conn’s legs first, followed by Dillon’s waddling toddler. They all hugged Conn, nearly toppling him.

“Whoa,” he said, laughing, patting them on their shoulders. “I wasn’t gone that long.”

“Yes, you were!” shouted Nate, the more outgoing twin.

“Yeah!” Ned, his brother, echoed him. “We missed you!”

Meanwhile, Conn ruffled their two-year-old cousin Jacob’s thick dark hair—a feature that didn’t escape any of the Flannigan brood.

Ned tugged on Conn’s shirtsleeve. “Want to dig worms with us?”

Dillon spoke up. “I’m sure Conn would rather sit and have a beer. Right?”

Conn shrugged. “Maybe later, kid.” He winked at the twins, and they scrambled off to do some more worm harassing. Jacob did his best to catch up with them, the sight of such short legs in baggy jeans making Conn chuckle.

But his laughter died when he thought of another child—the baby. Rita’s baby.

His baby.

He brushed off the thought, because, as Rita said, it was for the best that he was here and she was there.

Wasn’t it?

“Hey,” Bradon said, standing up and coming over to Conn so he could hand him a beer. “You plan to just stand there all day?”

With one smooth move, Emmet walked out from behind Conn and scooped the beer out of Bradon’s hand. “Don’t mind if I do.”

Bradon chuckled, then lightly pushed Conn toward the table with brotherly affection. Burlier than any of the brothers, he’d been the football star in the family—a fullback—until his knee had given out during an All-American game and destroyed his dreams of going pro.

Dillon was the baseball master—a pretty good pitcher—but his heart had always been on the ranch, much like Emmet’s and Conn’s. He’d even married his childhood sweetheart, Hayley, before settling on Shadow Creek for good in their own cabin, just as each brother owned.

“Any luck in St. Valentine?” he asked.

“Got a few mental nudges,” Conn said as Bradon cracked open another beer and handed it over. He briefly told them about Rita, leaving out most of the details. Hell—a lot of the details. “Day by day, flashes are coming to me, but...”

“But it’s not enough,” Dillon said, compassion written all over his tanned face. He tipped back his cowboy hat and took a sip of beer.

Conn took a swig too, then said, “I don’t think flashes will ever be enough. Not until they make one big picture of the past.”

Emmet sat back in his chair and propped a booted foot over his knee. “Funny. There’re a lot of people who’d love a clean slate in life.”

“Like you?” Bradon asked.

“My life’s perfect.” Emmet saluted them with his bottle. “Nothing else I ever wanted but to be free under an open Texas sky, and I’ve got that in spades.”

As he drank, Conn wondered if Emmet was being facetious. It was his brother’s tone that made him second-guess.

The creak of an opening screen door turned their attention toward the house, where Mom stood in the doorway.

“I see our wanderer is back,” she said, her hand on a curvy hip that was covered by an apron that read Goddess of the Hearth. Her dark hair glinted with silver streaks, cut in a short, no-fuss style.

“Mom,” Conn said, rising to go to her, then hugging her.

She was stronger than she looked as she embraced him right back. “How did it go?”

He used his stock answer. “Fine. During lunch I’ll tell you the little I accomplished.”

“Good. The girls are inside, seeing to the last touches.” She was talking about Trixie and Hayley, Bradon’s and Dillon’s wives. “It’s time for y’all to come in and wash up, though.” She motioned toward the boys. “I don’t want any dirty angels at my table.”

As she went back through the door, he caught a whiff of home—meat loaf, vegetables and fresh-baked bread. The wafting aroma must’ve gotten to his brothers, too, because they were already out of their seats, urging Conn inside.

He managed to get through the meal with just as many scant details as he’d offered Emmet on the ride home and, after they’d gotten their fill, Conn had Emmet drop him off at his place. As his brother pulled away, Conn merely nodded a goodbye to his brother, mostly to thank Emmet for staying mum about his adventures with Rita—sleeping with her, and even getting her pregnant, if Emmet suspected anything about it. Once inside the log cabin, which he’d built with his brothers over the years until he’d moved into it in his early twenties, he tossed his duffel bag on his quilted mattress in the bedroom and unzipped it.

He pulled out jeans, socks, a couple of shirts, aiming to toss them in his hamper, just as something fell out of the bundle and clanked to the wooden floor.

Conn didn’t move as he caught a glimpse of Rita’s necklace, with the R split in two.

Like gold lightning, an image hit him, whisking him away. His lips brushing hers, a pow of agonized need tearing through him, a craving so strong that all he wanted to do was hold on to it...

It was the kiss from last night. But that wasn’t all. On its tail came another flash, and suddenly, he was engrossed in an older memory.

White-wedding frills and church flowers. Sitting with his mom in a pew as Bradon stood at the altar with his bride, Trixie. Mom dabbing at her eyes with a linen handkerchief, leaning over to whisper, “It’s out there for you, too, Conn. I found it with my Owen, bless his soul, and all you have to do is look a little harder.”

Then, another memory—one that clashed with the first.

The morning after, with Rita in bed still sleeping, the early light whispering through a gap in the curtain as he thought, I’ve got to have more from her....

The mental pictures slipped away to nothing just as quickly as they’d come and, after a second, Conn bent down to get the necklace.

It gleamed in his palm. What had the memories meant? Could they mean that, when he’d left Rita that morning, he truly had intended to come back?

But for just how long?

Rattled, Conn sat on the bed. Strange, how these memories had come one right after the other: His mom telling him that he was going to find love, then him, looking down at a sleeping Rita in bed. The connection didn’t make sense, especially if he only meant to have a brief affair with her.

Frustration chewed on him once again. This was just like last night, when the post-kiss memory had only begun to inch toward a precipice, toward a fall where everything might finally crash down and jar him into true reality.

But he still wasn’t there. Even now, he was being teased by bits and pieces.

Conn looked down at the necklace in his hand, seeing how the R still hadn’t come together, knowing that with just one push, it could very well become whole again.

A real man—a man who had himself together—would push.

So who was Connall Flannigan? More important, who did he want to be?

Didn’t he have a choice in the matter?

He pushed the necklace together so it formed a solid letter.

R for Rita.

And that’s when he knew.

* * *

“Let’s get a good look at your bundle of joy,” said Dr. Ambrose as she waited for Rita to push her sweats just low enough for her curved belly to protrude over the waistband.

She lay back on the table in the exam room, tugging up her loose pink sweatshirt. “I thought things would be more difficult with this pregnancy,” she said while the doctor rubbed gel over her tummy. “The only minor complaint I have is that I tend to get dizzy sometimes when I get up too quickly. That’s about it, though.”

Dr. Ambrose, who’d been Rita’s practitioner since she was a child, nodded. “You should make it a point to relax more.”

“I will. I’ve got a lot of things coming up, like Vi’s wedding this weekend, and the rehearsal dinner and bachelorette party tonight. But I definitely won’t overdo it.”

“Good. Are you eating enough protein? Sometimes your blood sugar is affected when you don’t get enough of it, or if you’re not eating regularly.”

“I’ll make sure I’m doing that, too. Otherwise, I’m feeling really good this time around. Kristy exhausted me. I slept all the time and was always moody.”

The doctor gave her an understanding smile. She didn’t have to say that Rita had been going through some massive troubles during Kristy’s pregnancy, just after Kevin had revealed his affair and he’d left them both in the cold.

Rita tried not to think that, maybe, the doctor was even wearing a little of that caring, yet definitely chafing, “You should’ve known better” expression that everyone else in St. Valentine seemed to have, too.

She exhaled. Paranoid. That’s what she was. Dr. Ambrose had always been considerate and never said an annoying word to her. It was just that, ever since Conn had come around—and especially after he’d left again—she’d sensed that people on the streets were monitoring her, just as they’d done when she’d gotten pregnant the first time.

Conn. She could still feel his kiss, the gentleness of it, and there was that masochistic part of her that wanted him here to see his baby on the screen.

But fat chance of that. She’d chased him off well and good.

“You’ll do just fine, Rita,” the doctor said in her soothing, maternal voice. She even wore her faded brown hair in a relaxed granny bun that had a pencil sticking out of it, and her kind blue eyes were rayed by laugh lines. “All pregnancies are different. Don’t create problems by worrying about why nothing is wrong with this pregnancy.”

As Dr. Ambrose put the transducer against Rita’s tummy, she tried to relax, but failed.

She was still wanting Conn here. Still somewhat regretting that he wasn’t, even though it was for the best.

“Perfect as they come,” the doctor said.

Rita peered at the monitor to find a sweet little huddled shape. Tears gathered in her throat. “The baby’s perfect?” Just as perfect as that one night with Conn had been, when she’d thought that he might be the type of man who would love her?

“Perfect,” the doctor said.

The sound of her child’s heartbeat filled the room, and it pulsed through Rita, too.

It was silly, maybe even strange, but she pictured Conn standing by her side, watching the monitor right along with her. What would his face look like as he listened to the cadence of his child’s heartbeat, as he saw this miracle that had happened between them?

She pictured him, the proudest dad on earth, unable to look away from the screen, but...

But then she realized that, besides Dr. Ambrose and the baby, she was the only person in the room.

All alone.

Was it worth it? Was she doing the right thing, assuming that Conn was too much of a disaster right now to handle a baby?

She got a grip on herself as she watched the tiny person on the screen—legs, arms, toes, fingers. All so small. All so vulnerable.

Yes, this was the right thing to do. What if, after Conn regained his memories, he did become another Kevin?

That’s not what this baby needed, much less Kristy....

Rita listened to the heartbeat a little more, hoping it would make her feel better. It did, and it didn’t.

Fortunately, Dr. Ambrose spoke. “If you want to know your baby’s sex, I can tell you.”

Rita remembered what Conn had said when they’d had dinner last night. “It’s like opening a gift on your own birthday.”

God help her, she wanted to see what was inside.

“Yes,” she said, her voice thick. “I really want to know.”

Dr. Ambrose smiled that motherly smile. “You’ve got another little girl on the way, Rita.”

She laughed in utter joy. A girl. And, before she could stop herself, she looked at the place beside her, where she’d imagined Conn standing earlier.

A little girl. Our little girl...

But, of course, he wasn’t there.





Chapter Five

“Why a wedding just before Thanksgiving?” Rita murmured as she rushed out of the general store the next day, garbed in the first pair of sweats she’d seen in her dresser and with her hair pushed up into a messy bun. It’d been a chaotic morning, with her not only having to pick up some mascara, since she’d run out of it, but with her sister Kim arriving a little late to watch over Kristy, who was in one of her feistier moods. This, after yesterday, with the doctor’s appointment, a weekly inspection of the hotel, the rehearsal dinner and a short stint at Vi’s bachelorette party plus menu planning for the Thanksgiving that she and Kristy would be spending alone, since Kim and Nick would be en route to a horse-breeding schmooze-fest with some very good customers from out of the country.

While aiming for the church, Rita made sure that her garment bag, filled with her maid-of-honor dress, didn’t drag on the ground. She was also trying to carry a satchel with her shoes and accessories.

But those weren’t even the biggest things she was pulling around.

Nope—she wasn’t going to think about Conn right now. Wasn’t. Going. To.

She didn’t have time for the pang of missing him, for imagining that, for once, he might’ve gotten to see her all dolled up and looking like more than a hotel desk clerk if she hadn’t chased him out of town.

She didn’t have time for wanting.

Drawing near the church, she saw that someone had already adorned the white picket fence with autumn-hued decorations. Vi had wanted a fall wedding, and she’d chosen Thanksgiving time since some out-of-town relatives would already be visiting the area. Mist hung in the air, as if waiting for the sun to burn it off, while Rita entered the gate to the courtyard. She rounded the church to go to a side door where, in a half hour, she was to meet her hairdresser, who was going to make sense of this rat’s nest on top of her head.

But when she saw who was sitting on the stoop, she came to an abrupt halt.

Conn Flannigan spied her at the same time, slowly rising to his feet while taking off his cowboy hat.

All six-foot-plus of him. All tall, dark and off-limits, if she had any brains whatsoever.

“Rita,” he said, and the sound of his voice flowed through her, gathering in the center of her chest where it thudded.

He was looking at her as if she wasn’t the total mess she knew she was, dressed in the drabbest clothing possible and...

Good God, she wasn’t even wearing any makeup yet. Altogether, she felt more vulnerable than ever in front of him.

“What are you doing here?” she blurted out. Heck, it almost sounded like an accusation, as if he had some nerve seeing her like this.

He laughed a little. “Hi to you, too.”

She fought the urge to run, because she was basically au natural and, hello, he was seeing what she really looked like when she rolled out of bed. On the morning after their one-night stand, at least she’d still had on a trace of makeup.

He remained on the stoop, as if he was facing a skittish creature and he didn’t want to make her bolt. “I heard about Vi’s wedding this morning when I grabbed breakfast at the Orbit Diner. I figured you might be a part of it...”

“And you came to the church.” Yay.

“I actually went to your hotel first, but the clerk said you were already gone. So I took a chance and waited here.”

Took a chance, Rita thought. She’d already taken one too many of those with him.

But with him only about eight feet away, close enough for her to be under his spell once again, she felt as if she would take a thousand chances if only her common sense would let her.

Luckily, she still had that.

“You haven’t told me why you’re still here,” she said. “I didn’t think you’d stick around.”

“I left, but I couldn’t stay away.”

A slam of emotion hit her, almost as if she’d been putting pedal to the metal, driving so fast that she hadn’t seen what was ahead of her and crashed—but in a good way. It took her a moment to actually feel the happiness that his words brought on.

He couldn’t stay away?

But just as soon as she thought it, he corrected himself.

“What I meant to say is that I came to a realization at home. A decent man wouldn’t stay away in this situation.”

Somehow, she kept herself standing upright. Was he talking about the baby? Or was there something else he was referring to?

It was too much to hope that he’d come back because he had all of a sudden remembered everything his amnesia had taken away from him, and he’d realized that their one night had been chock-full of true love.

“What exactly do you mean?” she asked.

“The baby you’re carrying is mine, Rita. That should tell you everything.”

Although there was a warm spot growing in the pit of her stomach at that news, she withered a little, too.

Of course he hadn’t come back just for her. Who ever did?

Yet shouldn’t the fact that he’d returned because of their baby make her happy in and of itself? He was here because he didn’t want to leave her in the lurch. He was every bit the good man she’d hoped he was.

Wasn’t he?

“So,” she said, her voice sounding so tiny, “you’re here because of some notion of honor then.”

He seemed to turn that over in his mind, then a long breath escaped him before he said, “Maybe it is honor. I have a feeling I never had much of it.”

He glanced at her as if she knew enough about him to tell him otherwise, but she only shook her head. That haunted look she’d seen on him so many times took up residence in his gaze again, and she almost closed the distance between them, comforting him.

But the space that separated them was too big in so many ways.

“I kept thinking of you and this child,” he said, “and it was out of the question for me to stay home.”

He met her gaze straight on, but she didn’t back down. Her past wouldn’t allow her to.

“Do you even want to be a dad?” she asked.

“I think I could be a good one.”

It was an analytical answer, but what else could she expect from a man whose life was in flux? She would bet he wasn’t even sure what kind of emotions he should be having—what emotions the “real him” would have.

“I don’t understand,” she said, finally stepping forward and dropping her bag to the stoop—except for her dress. She kept that in front of her like a thin shield. “I’m not holding you to anything. You could go on with your life and not be saddled.”

“Then I guess we have some things to talk over, because that’s not my plan.”

He was impossible. “How can you even want this in your condition?”

“How?” He looked genuinely puzzled. “How can I not?”

As he said it, she could see something in his eyes grow stronger, and she wasn’t sure just why that was.

He still had to be confused, right? Like Kevin, he would end up not wanting the responsibility, and she had to prepare for the inevitability of that.

“You don’t know what you’re asking for,” she said. “You’re going through a lot, Conn. Maybe you’re—”

“Not thinking straight?” Now he sounded angry.

“I think you’re dealing with more than any human should have to deal with. You’ve still got a lot to sort out.”

And that’s what makes you extra dangerous to me.

He gripped his hat at his side. “Well, I’m here to do the sorting.”

“Conn—”

Shoving the hat back onto his head, he stepped around her bag on the stoop as he descended. Then he halted right next to her, and she went still, taking in the scent of him.

Hay and clover. It was as if he’d already become a part of her. A part that she had to let go.

“If it’s the last thing I do,” he said in a low voice, “I’m going to show you who I really am, Rita. Bet on that.”

As he walked away, why did she get the impression that Conn Flannigan would be dogging every step she took from now on?

And, most disturbingly, why was her heart jumping at the very thought?

* * *

A couple of hours later, Rita stepped back, hand over her heart, as she surveyed her best friend in the long antique mirror that stood in the dressing room in back of the church. Violet’s gown was just as polished as she was, with long sleeves and button detail, and a cut-out back with lace embellishments. A short veil was worked into her upswept red hair.

For a stolen second, Rita imagined that she wasn’t wearing the latte-colored satin cocktail dress that allowed her enough room to barely disguise her growing belly. She imagined she was the bride.

And that a certain cowboy who’d stubbornly moseyed back into town would be waiting for her at the altar.

“Thinking about Conn?” Violet asked as she adjusted her décolletage.

Whoops. Bad maid of honor, bad.

“I’m thinking about how Davis is going to melt when he sees you walking down the aisle,” Rita said. She meant it, too. Poor Davis was mincemeat.

Besides, this was Vi’s wedding. It wasn’t good timing for Rita to be thinking about how Conn made her weak in the knees or how she was dying to run outside after him just to make sure she hadn’t imagined that he’d returned to St. Valentine yet again.

“You’re not fooling anyone, you know.” Violet turned away from the mirror, smiling. “You should’ve just asked him to come inside and watch the wedding.”

“Yeah, that definitely would’ve shown him that I don’t want him around.”

“But you do.”

Dang it. “Yeah. I do.”

There were those words—“I do.” And Rita couldn’t help but wish yet again that things had turned out differently—that Conn had been the fantasy man she’d projected onto him that first night. That he’d lived up to all her wants and needs. That she might’ve been the one saying, “I do,” someday if she would only open up to him.

But what was it Mom had always told her? “If dreams were dimes, I’d live in a sprawling mansion.”

Speaking of moms, Violet’s mother, Andrea, eased open the door, saying, “Knock, knock!”

“Come on in,” Violet said.

Dressed in a tasteful, chocolate-hued long dress with her gray-and-red hair in a bun, Andrea closed the door behind her and sucked in a breath. “Oh, Vi. You’re going to make me cry.”

“No crying allowed.” She turned around, fairly glowing. “This is the happiest day of my life.”

Tears clogged Rita’s throat. Darn those baby hormones.

After Andrea doted over her only child, she turned her attentions on Rita. It’d been that way for years, since Vi and Rita had grown up together. When Rita’s parents had passed on, Andrea Osborne had taken their places in a lot of ways, offering a maternal shoulder to lean on when Rita needed it.

So it was no big surprise when Andrea noticed that something was wrong with Rita.

“It’s Conn, isn’t it?” she asked.

Rita shot Vi a glance, and Vi mouthed, “I didn’t say a word.”

“Is this all everyone in St. Valentine talks about?” Rita asked.

“Oh, honey, when a good-looker like that Conn Flannigan ambles into town, everyone talks.” Andrea came over to link arms with Rita. “I got a good peek at him while you two were in the courtyard earlier. He can’t seem to stay away from you, can he?”

Rita wanted to spill her guts to them, ask them if she was being too willful and prideful. But, again, this was Vi’s day.

“You’re in a real spot,” said Vi’s mom, rubbing Rita’s back.

“It’s these crazy hormones pinging all around in me,” Rita said.

Vi came over, too. “You’re carrying his baby, Rita. That means you’re attached to Conn in a significant way. He’s always going to be a part of your life. There’s no getting around that.”

“I was attached to Kevin, too, and—”

Andrea put the kibosh on that. “You lived through what Kevin did, and you’re going to come out of this with flying colors, too, because you’ve got a choice, Rita. You can sit here in your pretty dress and sob, or you can let go of the past and take a chance on the present.”

Vi jumped right in. “And don’t you dare say Conn left you a second time. You pretty much told him to take a hike. Kevin would’ve gone no matter what.”

Andrea and Vi walked Rita to the mirror, and what Rita saw wasn’t a bridesmaid who would never be a true, long-lasting bride—she saw that her friends might just be right.

She saw a woman with a growing baby bump in a gorgeous dress...and with a choice in what she wanted from the father.

“I know you’re looking for a guarantee,” Andrea said softly. “But there aren’t any of those in life. There’re just risks that we have to take to find happiness. You don’t get one without the other.”

Vi put her arm around Rita. “I took a risk with Davis, and here I am.”

“Risks are...scary,” Rita finally said. And it was the first time she’d been utterly honest with them. The words just seemed so naked, in need of being covered up.

But Vi and Andrea hugged her, as if they completely understood.

Andrea backed away, and Rita fully embraced Vi as tightly as she could. The music started up in the church. “Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring.” The song that would usher in the rest of Vi’s life.

Time for the bride. Time for Vi and Davis’s future to start.

“Just go out there and get him, would you?” Rita whispered in her friend’s ear.

As Vi backed away with a radiant smile on her face, then headed for the door, Rita almost forgot that Conn had all but promised he was going to catch up to her sooner or later.

Almost.

* * *

Conn had frittered away the time by driving to the Co-Zee Inn on the east side of St. Valentine, checking in to it for the second time this month, and then catching up with the news on TV until he guessed the wedding was over. All the while, though, his thoughts were racing.

Could he really live up to this promise he’d made to Rita, unlike the one he’d made to her the morning after their night together, when he’d said he was going to come back and resume their romance? It seemed the most important thing in the world to prove to her that he was responsible now. Actually, it was important to him, too.

If it’s the last thing I do, he’d said, I’m going to show you who I really am.

He hadn’t come back to St. Valentine to uncover memories this time—he was here to build them. But these memories would be about the child he’d created during that one, life-changing night.

What about Rita, though?

His heart told him that, yes, he was here for her, too. That there was something between them that he hadn’t quite grasped onto in his piecemeal memories. But, more important, every time he looked at her now, he couldn’t look away. This morning, as she’d stood in front of him in sweats, her hair in curly, haphazard disarray, she’d been the most stunning woman in the world.

It was something chemical in him that bubbled every time he got close.

It was something he couldn’t fight.

He just had to know what it was and why it wouldn’t go away.

After he drove to town, he parked in a public dirt lot, then walked to Amati Street. The farther he strolled down the boardwalk, the more he could hear the music coming from the Queen of Hearts Saloon. He also caught a glimpse of fancied-up people hanging around outside, laughing and socializing.

The wedding reception.

Adrenaline fizzed in him as he came to the front of the timeworn building, where there was a crowd of gray-haired men smoking pipes with cherry-scented tobacco. An oldster who resembled a crazy-haired cowpoke wearing a wrinkled blue suit and a bolo that had gone askew busted out of the bar and grill, waving everyone inside.

“Bride and groom are on their way,” he said. “Time to get in here for a toast!”

While he ushered the group into the saloon, Conn didn’t move an inch.

“You, too,” said the man, coming down the wooden steps, his hand extended. “There’re no strangers in St. Valentine. I’m Wiley Scott, family friend.”

Conn shook his hand. “Conn Flannigan. I’m afraid I don’t really know the bride or groom. There’s just a member of the wedding party that I...”

“Who?”

Oddly, Conn felt a rush of heat cover his face. “Rita Niles.”

“You’re in the proper place then. She looks right lovely, too, in that dress.” Before going through the doorway again, Wiley waved Conn in. “Come on. Have a drink!”

But Conn merely watched the old man go. Rita was in there, and...

A stray, foreign thought punched through him. He still had time to hightail it back to the ranch in his truck.

He shook his head. Just where the hell had that come from?

Yet Conn didn’t really need to ask. The thought had arrived so naturally that it had to have originated from habit, from years of thinking that way...and escaping from hard situations with women.

Was something inside of him preserving the bachelorhood that he had reportedly enjoyed so much?

He listened to the gaiety inside the saloon, seeing through the doorway how people were hugging and enjoying each other. In spite of himself, more unwelcome thoughts crowded him, convenient and easy.

If he went in there, would Rita make a scene at the mere sight of him? Would she say something like, I thought you knew enough to leave me alone and just go home...

Was that what he wanted her to say, just so he could assure himself that he’d given it the good old All-American try?

Again, it sounded like something the old Conn would’ve embraced.

An unfamiliar voice cut through everything else. “Looks like there’re folks from different sides of town in there, having fun. Things have come a long way for this place lately.”

Conn glanced to the other side of the doorway, where he hadn’t noticed a man loitering. He was dressed in black, from his low-dipped cowboy hat to his boots. The only deviation in color was his silver belt buckle, which Conn recognized as a rodeo trophy.

Conn nodded to him, and for an instant, he thought that the man actually hadn’t said anything at all. But then the guy used his knuckles to nudge up the brim of his hat so his dark eyes were visible.

“Jared.” He had a hard face, chiseled, but it wasn’t entirely unfriendly. Still, Conn got the feeling this guy wasn’t terribly sociable.

Then he realized that Jared resembled the pictures of the infamous town founder, Tony Amati, that he’d seen in newspaper articles and even on TV. How about that.

“I’m Conn.”

The man nodded, too, his gaze taking in Conn’s casual wardrobe. “Looks like you weren’t at the wedding. I wasn’t, either, but I’m never one to miss a party.”

“Even from the outside?”

Jared smiled. “I prefer it that way.”

Conn had heard about the look-alike’s standoffishness, and also that he wasn’t being very cooperative in Violet and Davis Jackson’s journalistic investigation into Tony Amati’s long-ago life and death. But before he could say anything about it, his new pal wandered away, as if he’d never had any intention of being a part of the reception.

Conn just watched him go. It was almost like seeing a dark ghost walk away. He recognized ghosts, too, because that was how he’d felt so often recently—disassociated, alienated, on the fringes of so many things.

It didn’t appeal in the slightest.

With a new sense of purpose, Conn walked through the Queen of Hearts’ doors, looking past all the people to the only woman he wanted to find.

And as Rita locked gazes with him, the rest of the world and all its troubles ceased to exist, just as they seemingly had during their one night together.

* * *

So this is what it’s like, Rita thought when Conn walked into the saloon.

This was how it felt to be looked at by that one special man, just as Davis had looked at Violet at the wedding ceremony, when she had appeared in her bridal gown and he hadn’t been able to take his eyes off her.

Rita didn’t remember ever feeling like this, even when she’d been engaged to Kevin. But that had been years ago, and so many ugly things had happened between them that it was hard to remember the good times, although Rita knew they had existed.

Now, as Conn smiled at her, fairy-tale dust seemed to shimmer through her veins. Out of defensive instinct, she almost shut off the feeling, just as she always did.

But then she thought of the moment she had seen their baby on the monitor in the doctor’s office, and when Dr. Ambrose had told her the child was a girl.

And how she’d wished Conn were there for all of it.

You can sit here in your pretty dress and sob, or you can let go of the past and take a chance on the present.

At the echo of Andrea’s words from earlier in the day, Rita took that chance and smiled back at Conn across the room.

Maybe she wasn’t altogether ready to offer her heart, but she could offer him an opportunity. He was the father of her baby, and he had seemed so genuine this morning, putting himself on the line and coming back here to see if they could work something out.

Conn deserved to at least make his case about the baby to her.

He started to thread through everyone in the room, which had been cleared for the reception, with the usual tables relegated to a rarely used adjoining room that was normally separated by a sliding door.

He never took his gaze from hers, and as he got closer, her heart beat louder...louder...

Until he was standing in front of her.

Her mouth was dry, but she worked up enough courage to say, “I’m glad you came.”

Before he could answer, the room exploded in applause and cheers as the bride and groom entered. When they paused at the doorway, the wagon-wheel light fixtures lent illumination to Violet’s joyous glow. Even a tuxedo-clad Davis, whose perpetually tossed dark blond hair was actually tamed for the wedding, looked as if he were walking on clouds.

Wiley Scott led the toast to the new couple, but Rita barely heard any of it. She couldn’t stop thinking about the cowboy at her side.

This time, she wasn’t imagining him being here, as she had during the sonogram. He had really come back again.

If only it was for more than an obligation, though...

The dancing started with a tried-and-true wedding tune, “Celebration.” On the floor, everyone from the bride’s and groom’s relatives to townsfolk—some from mining families like Vi’s, some from the rich side of town like Davis’s—was having fun. Even Davis’s hoity-toity, fashion-victim mom was on the outskirts, holding a drink and smiling as if she were trying very hard to enjoy herself as she watched her son and Violet posing for a picture.

When Rita saw that her daughter had pulled some of her little friends as well as her uncle Nick and her aunt Kim onto the floor, too, Rita waved at them. Kristy did a cute rear-end-wiggling shimmy in her flower-girl dress while Kim, who’d been watching her during the wedding, got to a knee to plant a kiss on her niece’s cheek.

Conn bent to Rita’s ear so she could hear him over the music. “You look beautiful.”

And...melting again. She felt as if she’d been left too long in the sun.

“Thanks.” Was she blushing now, too?

Why did he have that power over her when no one else could outwardly faze her?

She gestured toward his cowboy hat, Western shirt and jeans. “You look...”

“Like I wasn’t invited?” he asked, laughing.

“I invited you.”

Her blush intensified. Was she actually doing something like flirting?

Uh-uh. She was willing to give him the chance to show her that he was more than a fly-by-night playboy and that he had it in him to be a dad, but here she was, stepping over a line she shouldn’t be crossing on a personal level.

Couldn’t happen.

But he didn’t make an issue out of it. And soon, when the music flowed into another song—“Life’s a Dance,” a tune she hadn’t heard in a long, long time—Conn took her hand without even asking, leading her onto the dance floor.

Her first impulse was to resist, but she didn’t. Couldn’t. Truthfully, it didn’t take but a moment for them to ease right into the rotation of other dancers as they two-stepped and circled the floor.

She felt the burn of judgment singeing her from the observers they were passing. Margery Wilmore from the hotel, who’d always clucked her tongue at Rita and monitored every move she made. A few miners’ wives from a knitting circle who met in the saloon—part of the moral majority in this town.

But then Conn danced her past Vi’s mom, and Rita met her optimistic gaze.

When Andrea gave Rita a subtle wink, Rita smiled, then turned her full attention on Conn.

His laughing blue eyes, his playful grin... She didn’t care if the whole town would gossip about her and speculate if he was the dad of her new baby. Lost in his gaze, she couldn’t care less, because he was all that existed in this instant.

But all too soon, the song ended, and they didn’t let go of each other. She could feel her pulse flitting over every inch of her skin.

What next? she thought.

As she anticipated the answer, Conn smiled at her, and once again, he became her fantasy man, even though she knew the dream would probably end all too quickly.