Kate Thomas - Texas Bride

And how many have you caught, Mr. Joshua Michael Walker? Dani recalled the Virginia driver’s license she’d found in his wallet when she’d looked for an information card listing next of kin—just in case.

Michael... She’d been considering that name for a boy. Emily, if it was a girl... Plenty of time to decide once it’s here, she told herself, absently massaging a dull ache low in her back as she turned and headed for the cabin’s tiny bathroom. She’d get cleaned up and start breakfast, she decided, before waking her guest.

As usual, the lack of hot water speeded Dani through her morning routine, but as she changed into clean clothes and tugged the shirt over her rounded abdomen, she frowned. The baby was awfully quiet this morning.

At least her backache was gone. Maybe the rest of her problems would disappear that easily, too.

After quietly liberating a saucepan from the small stack of dishes on the drainboard, she measured water into it and set it on the stove. Then, while the water heated, she tried to figure out how to send her visitor on his way before he asked any awkward questions.

Dani smoothed her hand over her precious cargo, but inspiration still didn’t come. The Queen of Coping’s drawing a blank today.

The lid on the saucepan started to jitter. Grateful for the distraction, Dani shook oats into the boiling water and began stirring. With her other hand, she rubbed the ache that had returned to her lower back.

By the time the oatmeal was ready for the last of her brown sugar and raisins, the pain had faded again. But the baby still hadn’t kicked. Dani bit her lip as she added the flavorings to the hot cereal. If something was wrong... If anything happened to her baby...

Dani stirred harder, trying to dissolve the fear suddenly choking her.

Even before the soft sounds and oddly familiar smell opened his eyes, Josh remembered... everything. The flash flood. Being banged around like the tennis ball in a championship match. The angel who’d ordered him out of his sinking car. Being cold and wet, then warm and dry.

He’d been lucky, that was for damned sure. But... Now what?

One part of him wanted to forget the whole near-death experience and just slide back into his old routine.

But another part insisted he remember what he’d discovered: something was missing from his life. Okay, but—Josh grimaced at the rough ceiling overhead.

But nothing, he told himself. Only fools waste second chances. And any fool could tell you how to fill that emptiness inside.

“Hell,” he whispered to the lumber overhead. He still wanted a baby, but the biology hadn’t changed in the past six years: fatherhood still required a woman’s participation. And after Carrie, he could never trust a woman enough to share such an intimate bond.

Which meant no babies for Josh Walker.

Well, there were other meaningful things in life.

Find someone... help them. His sister-in-law’s advice floated through his brain again. Okay, when he got home, he’d see about signing up to tutor poor kids or something.

“Oh, good. You’re awake.”

His lips quirking at the unintentional irony, Josh glanced up. And rational thought disappeared, buried in an explosive, visceral male reaction he’d never before experienced.

Yesterday’s angel stood over him, her soft, full lips curved in a sweet smile that made him long to trace her mouth with his finger, then with his own lips, then plunder the moist, warm depths with his tongue....

Shocked by the intensity of his desire, Josh blinked, then blinked again as her thick braid slid forward over her shoulder to dangle an inch from his nose. The rope of hair glowed like polished maple; his hand itched to take its silky weight.

“How do you feel?” she asked, her green eyes clouded with concern.

Very alive. Very male. Very ready to prove it.

Trying to slow his pounding pulse, Josh took a deep breath and caught her scent: sweetness and soap and... woman. It made him ache, then turn on his side to hide his body’s instant response.

“Fine, Ms.—I’m sorry I don’t know your name,” he mumbled, fighting desperately to regain control. This didn’t happen to him.

But it was.

“Dani Caldwell,” the woman said, then bit her lip. “Please—forget you heard that.”

“Whatever you want, Dani,” he agreed. “You saved my life. Words seem pretty inadequate, but—thanks.” I wonder if her skin feels as soft as it looks. As he propped himself up on one elbow, Josh’s free hand moved toward his rescuer.

The woman stepped back. Good. Maybe he could think straight if she wasn’t close enough to caress.

Josh tore his gaze from his rescuer’s angelic face. Looked downward. “You’re pregnant!”

“I believe you’re right.” Her grin invited him to share her joy.

Like hell. “What in damnation were you thinking of, lady?” he demanded, sitting up and wadding the blanket with clenched fists to keep from shaking the little idiot. “You could have harmed your baby! Where the hell’s your husband? What kind of knucklehead lets his wife risk his unborn child by charging headlong into raging floodwaters? He ought to—” “He’s dead.”

“He can’t,” Dani interrupted. “He’s dead.”

Josh stared at her, shocked speechless. He’d spent years grieving beneath his icy outer layer because—thanks to Carrie’s betrayat—he would never hold his baby. This woman carried a child who would never know its father’s protective embrace. “Oh, God, Dani,” he whispered. “I’m sorry. So sorry.”

She stood looking at him for a moment, her eyes dark and distant, one hand slowly rubbing her back. “Well, ‘sorry’ never changed facts,” she said at last, “but...thanks.

“They should be dry now, so here. Get dressed.” Scooping up a pile of clothes draped over the foot of the bed, she dumped them on his lap. Which was a tad sensitive—since he was still more than a tad aroused.

Josh grabbed the clothes in self-defense. “Th-thank you.”

As he sorted through the apparel, Dani turned toward the stove. Her braid hung almost to her waist, he noticed. Then had to clamp a lid on heated images of her above him with it loose, streaming over her breasts, brushing his—She’s a grieving widow, Josh reminded himself as he shoved his legs into stiff jeans. Carrying proof of her love.

“Breakfast is ready. I hope you like oatmeal.”

She didn’t act grief-stricken, but she had a right to handle her sorrow her own way. Josh knew from his own bitter experience that talking never changed anything, anyway. And he was starving, but—“Oatmeal? I’d rather have eggs and bacon. Biscuits and honey.”

“Me, too.” At Dani’s low laugh, Josh’s thoughts of food were replaced by another sort of hunger.

Facts were the best weapon against dangerous feelings. He knew that from experience, too. “How old are you?” he blurted, desperate to control his inappropriate response to this woman.

“Twenty-three,” she answered, spreading her fingers over her beach ball stomach and frowning.

She looked younger. Made him feel ancient. “How long ago did your—”

“Six months. Now, about breakfast, Mr. Walker...”

“Call me Josh.” He wanted his name on those lush lips. Instead of painful memories. “But how did you—”

“I looked in your wallet.” She turned so quickly, her braid went flying. “Everything’s still there.”

“I’m sure it is,” he agreed as he climbed out of bed, buttoned his fly—with difficulty—then pulled on his shirt.

Hell, for saving his life, she could have every gold, platinum or purple card she found, all the cash, whatever. He told her so.

“I didn’t save your life, Josh! I—” She gestured impatiently. “I broke your windshield. Please—just eat your breakfast and go.”