Carol Ericson - The Pregnancy Plot

By the time the kettle whistled, Nina had returned, wedging a shoulder against the refrigerator, hugging a shapeless, red sweater around her body.

She wrinkled her nose. “You don’t look too comfortable in the kitchen.”

“Really?” He swung a tea bag in the air, wrapping the string around his finger. “I thought I was doing a bang-up job in here.”

“Find everything okay?” She had scooped her shoulder-length, dark hair back into its ponytail, and the tilt of her head sent it swinging behind her.

“I did.” He held up the runner’s mug. “Is this you?”

Shoving her hands into the pockets of her jeans, she lifted her shoulder to her ears. “I ran cross-country in college.”

“Impressive. Here in Washington?”

“Oregon.”

“A runner’s paradise—even more impressive.” He poured the bubbling water over the tea bags in the cups, and the rising steam gave a much-needed homey touch to the dilapidated kitchen.

She joined him at the counter to take her mug, her shoulder brushing against his, the fuzzy softness of her sweater tickling his arm through his T-shirt. Her pale, stiff fingers curled around the handle of the mug.

What she really needed was a warm bath, but if he suggested that, she’d probably haul out that shotgun again.

“Does that fireplace in the other room work?”

“Yes, and I even have a cord of wood that my neighbor delivered—the same neighbor who owns that boat you borrowed.” She tapped his mug with her fingernail. “Do you want some sugar or milk for that?”

Since he never drank tea, he didn’t have a clue. “I, uh, take it black.”

She wrapped her hands around the cup, closed her eyes and sniffed the steam floating up from the mug. Her long lashes created dark crescents on her cheeks, and her full lips curved into a slight smile.

He caught his breath at the simple beauty of her expression and then shook his head. Put him in the presence of a pregnant woman and his thoughts went haywire. Nina wasn’t Maggie, and the baby she was carrying was Simon Skinner’s, not his.

“Let’s get this fire started.” And he didn’t mean the one that had been doing a slow burn in his belly ever since he locked his gaze onto Nina Moore.

She skirted past him, her pale cheeks sporting two red spots, as if she could read his mind.

He followed her into the great room, which must’ve functioned as a sitting room and gathering place for guests—when there were guests.

She gestured toward the big stone fireplace that took up half the wall. “I’ve already used it once, so I know it works, unlike the boat.”

“Speaking of the boat.” He swept aside the curtain at the front window and peered outside. “Looks like they’re bringing it in, so at least they saved it from sinking.”

“I’ll look at it later.” Nina collapsed into a recliner, facing the fireplace and folding her hands around her cup.

She looked as if she needed warming up, and even though he had a few impure thoughts about how he could do that, he placed his mug on the table beside her and crouched in front of the fireplace and got to work.

“Did I ever say thank you?”

“For?” He cupped his hand around the orange flicker as it raced across the edge of the newspaper crumpled beneath the logs.

“For rescuing me out there on the bay. Even though I wasn’t in imminent danger of drowning, the water was freezing cold and...”

He held his breath. Would she mention her pregnancy now?

She coughed. “And I could’ve been floating out there for a while before another boat came along.”

He let out his breath and prodded a log into place before rising to his feet and retrieving his tasteless tea.

He eased into a love seat at right angles to Nina’s chair and the fire, crackling to life. “There was that other boat. They were probably on their way to save you when they saw me. I’m glad I could get to you faster.”

She stretched her long legs in front of her, crossing her legs at the ankles. She’d gotten rid of her sodden sneakers, her feet now encased in a pair of soft red socks that matched her sweater. Her coloring played well against the red, her blue eyes a contrast to her dark hair, giving her an exotic look.

Simon Skinner had been a redhead. The baby could be an interesting combination of Mom and Dad.

Then the truth punched him in the gut. If her ex-fiancé and the father of her baby was dead, she had a right to know. They had only Max Duvall’s word for that now, but once they received confirmation, he’d convince Jack Coburn that they had to tell Nina.

He didn’t like it when people kept the truth from him, and he wouldn’t be a party to doing that to someone else.

Of course, he was in the wrong line of work for those sentiments.

The fire danced higher, creating a wall of warmth, and Nina held her hands out toward it, wiggling her fingers.

“Are you warming up?”

“Slowly but surely.” She pointed to his cup, still brimming with pale gold liquid. “You’re not drinking your tea.”

“I’m not the one who wound up treading water in the sound for ten minutes.”

“True, but you did give up your flannel and had to cross the bay in nothing but a flimsy T-shirt.” Her gaze flicked over his chest, and he resisted the urge to flex.

That glance alone did more to heat him up than ten cups of chamomile could.

She snapped her fingers as if to break the spell between them. “I hung up your shirt in the bathroom, but maybe it would dry faster in front of this fire.”

She scooted forward on her chair and he held up his hand. “I’ll get it. Tell me where.”

“Down the hall past the staircase, through the door and the bathroom’s the first room on your right. Those quarters are separate from the rest of the B and B.”

He pushed up from the chair, taking his cup with him. He made a detour to the kitchen and placed it in the sink.

Nina called from the other room. “You could’ve asked for something stronger.”

“I hate drinking alone.”

She turned in her seat as he came out of the kitchen and she cocked her head. “How’d you know I wouldn’t join you? You didn’t ask.”

“You seemed hell-bent on tea.” He shrugged and ducked behind the staircase.

Idiot. He planted the heel of his hand against his forehead. If his boss could see the way he was conducting this assignment, Coburn would pull his secret agent card.

He pushed open the door to the small bathroom and snagged his shirt from the shower curtain rod.

His hand hovered at the corner of the medicine cabinet and then he abruptly turned and exited the bathroom. He was here to watch over Nina, not spy on her.

His agency didn’t suspect her of any wrongdoing and she deserved her privacy.

He shook out the still-damp shirt in front of him as he returned to the great room. After he’d boarded the boat to go after Nina, he suspected he might have to go into the water after her, so he’d stashed his weapon and shoulder holster on the neighbors’ boat. He hoped they didn’t decide to take it out for a spin.

The fire was in its full glory, and the glow from the flames cast an aura over Nina, backlighting her dark hair as she turned toward him and giving her face a rosy sheen.

“Is it still wet?”

“A little.” He dragged an ottoman in front of the fireplace and spread his shirt on top of it. “This should do the trick.”

He sprawled in his chair, wedging his ankle on the opposite knee. “So what made you come out here and open a B and B?”

“I grew up here, and it seemed like a good idea to come home and try to get this place back into shape. My mom and stepdad ran it until...their health failed. That’s why it’s just a mess now.”