Rebecca Winters: Christmas in Texas

Seagal hurried around to help her out of the car, amazed that his wife actually remained seated, patiently waiting for him. The soft blue dress fell around her tummy, catching his eye. It looked as if a watermelon had taken up residence inside his delicate wife. He eased her from the seat, trying to brace her. “I came back not a moment too soon, I can tell. I’m not leaving your side, Capri.”

“Obviously,” she said, sounding as though she was gritting her teeth a bit. “You’re assigned to me.”

“That’s right,” he said cheerfully, reminded that she couldn’t dislodge him even if she wanted to.

“Assigned isn’t the same thing as marriage,” Capri said, walking slowly into the doctor’s office. “You can stay with me until the cops figure out that I’m not in any danger. The whole drug thing is purely a coincidence. Then you can go back to wherever you came from.”

That didn’t sound good. Seagal wisely kept his mouth shut, hovering over his wife as she checked in, then helped her to a chair. He received several smiles from the other women in the waiting room and relaxed a bit. His wife was going to have to get over her idea that their marriage was a foregone failure.

He hadn’t come back to fail. When Beau, Capri’s beloved “baby” brother, had told him that Capri was having a baby, he’d pulled every department string possible to get himself assigned to the case—and ultimately, to her. Having worked his way up in the Texas Rangers, he was something of a hometown hero. It hadn’t been hard to get assigned back to BC.

It was terrifying to think he had only two weeks to win back his wife.

Capri would be mad as a little bee if she knew how determined he’d been to get back into her life. He’d wanted to keep her out of danger the second he heard about the case building in Bridesmaids Creek. But when he’d heard that she was pregnant, Seagal had known he had to move heaven and earth to be with her.

And he wasn’t leaving her ever again—not if he could convince his opinionated and cutely stubborn little wife otherwise.

* * *

“TOTAL BED REST,” Dr. Blankenship said. He gazed sternly at Capri.

The expression on the doctor’s face unnerved Seagal. Rarely had he seen the physician look so concerned.

“Bed rest?” Capri said. “I have a lot to do. I’m doing the flowers for a wedding. I’m also scheduled for some Christmas parties—”

“Total bed rest,” Dr. Blankenship cut in, shaking his head. “We talked about you needing to be in bed last week, Capri.”

“What?” Seagal looked at Capri in disbelief. “What were you thinking?”

“That I had Christmastown to set up, and that Dr. Blankenship is overprotective. I’ve known him since I was a child. He’s always been from the old school of medicine.” She tried to lever herself off the table, and both men jumped to assist her.

“No,” Dr. Blankenship said. “Capri, these babies are going to come early if you don’t stay off your feet. And the longer they stay in you, the better off they will be. Do you want them inside you growing and getting the nourishment they need naturally, or do you want to take precious time from them? They could end up with immature lungs or other complications,” he warned, his gray eyes filled with disapproval.

“All right. You’re right. Of course you’re right. I don’t know what I was thinking.” Tears jumped into Capri’s eyes, stunning Seagal. He’d seen Capri cry once, maybe, in all the years he’d known her. Doc Blankenship handed her a tissue, which she took gratefully, blowing her nose. “I’ve never been the kind of person to lie around.”

“I know.” The doctor looked at her with the first bit of a smile he’d worn in the past half hour. “But going ninety to nothing isn’t going to benefit you or the babies. You can press Kelly into service for help with the wedding arrangements, can’t you?” He regarded Seagal cautiously. “Are you back in town for good now?”

“Yes,” Seagal said, stressing the word with a glance at his wife.

Capri looked away, fidgeting with her tissue.

“Then you stay on her,” Doc Blankenship said. “It’s absolutely critical that Capri remain at home in bed. I should have forced her on this issue last week, but she assured me she was fine.”

“I am fine,” Capri said. “Or I was until last night.”

“Clearly I returned not a moment too soon.” Whether she liked it or not, he intended to be a pain-in-the-butt nurse, sticking to her like glue.

He knew Capri would resent his intrusion. Resist his efforts to take care of her. She’d barely accepted his role as bodyguard; bodyguard with a nursing specialty she’d like even less.

But she was still his wife. And he loved her, even if she thought she was over him.

Chapter Three

“Comfy?” Seagal asked Capri after he’d taken her home, given her a scolding in his overbearing I’m-taking-charge-now, I’m-a-cop, this-is-what-I-do-best tone, and then tucked her in her bed.

Their bed.

She glowered at him. “This isn’t going to work. I want you to call Kelly and tell her to hire someone to help me. It doesn’t need to be all the time, for heaven’s sake.”

“For when I’m out of the house.” Seagal nodded as if her suggestion made sense. “Good idea. I’ll call her now.”

“No,” Capri said, trying not to snap at him. He was just too big, too good-looking, overpowering the small bedroom where they’d spent many happy hours.

“I don’t want you here. You’re going to drive me insane.”

“Well, that is a personal problem, I believe,” Seagal said, dragging one of her pretty upholstered chairs into the bedroom. “I would drive you insane no matter what, so I might as well go for broke.” He flung himself into the stuffed, sweetly patterned chair that went with the floral sofa that had so offended his masculine sensibilities. “You covered these chairs. They were denim blue. Now they’re—”

“Toile,” Capri said, knowing he wouldn’t know what that meant. “To go with the floral sofa and the delft-blue paint on the walls, the delicate gold-foil mirror over the white fireplace mantel, and the special cushions I had made for the two ladderback chairs. Sort of country-French appeal I call it.” She smiled at him. “It’s a feminine room. Not a place for hanging deer heads and hunting rifles.”

“I know.” He grimaced. “And you changed the comforter on the bed. It’s lacy.”

“And white.” Capri enjoyed Seagal’s perplexed expression. “I gave up the masculine decorating scheme after you left.”

He looked at her. “We’ll discuss that another time. You just rest right now. You need the rest, and so do my sons. Clearly, you aren’t any better at obeying doctor’s orders than you are a husband’s.”

She tossed a pillow at him, catching him in the face. “Don’t go all pigheaded to try to get me off the subject. Call Kelly.”

“You’ll hardly notice I’m here. I’m serving a dual role that none of your girlfriends can fulfill.”

“Annoying me and wearing out the new furnishings?” She smiled sweetly. “As I said, this isn’t going to work. You’re too bossy—”

“And you’re stubborn as heck. What woman thinks decorating for Christmastown is more important than her own babies?” Seagal demanded. “You always said that my responsible side weighed your flighty side.”

“But I didn’t necessarily mean that it was a good thing.” Capri thought about it. “To be honest, Dr. Blankenship didn’t say I absolutely had to go to bed last week, Seagal. He said it would be best, and that he preferred to err on the side of caution. You know John Blankenship,” she said, trying to make him see she wasn’t being reckless with her pregnancy. “He advises most of the town to stay away from the Wedding Happy Bakery because he says the magic in their secret batters is guaranteed to clog arteries just from looking at the cookies and cakes. He’s a fine doctor, but he’s been known to be a bit of an alarmist.”