Книга - First Comes Love

First Comes Love
Elizabeth Bevarly


The news of her "pregnancy" hit Tess Monahan like a ton of wet diapers. Her denials were lost in a gust of gossip, and she wasn't about to announce to all of Marigold, Indiana, "I'm a twenty-six-year-old virgin!" Besides, her "bun in the oven" had awakened the protective instincts of Will Darrow…the man she'd been trying to get to notice her for as long as she could remember. Will's impulse was chivalrous–but slipped into passion. And Tess would never halt his smoldering kisses. In fact, she was hoping their wild loving would put Will in the mind to marry and make some babies of his own–with her!







How To Impregnate A “Pregnant” Virgin:

1. Swallow the utterly scandalous rumor that your best friend’s straitlaced younger sister is suddenly with child, even though she blushes at the mere suggestion of how babies are made!

2. Even though it’s definitely not your baby-on-the-way, offer to paint the little darling’s room (pregnant women should not sniff paint fumes or climb ladders), escort her to the doctor (or drive during rush hour) and satisfy her late-night cravings (especially if what she craves is you).

3. When your kisses explode into an undeniable need to consume and possess, sweep this woman into your steely arms…then into the bedroom.

4. Brace yourself against the shock that the “pregnant” woman you just made love to was, until moments ago, a virgin!

5. Apologize profusely for believing rampant rumors about her impending motherhood.

6. Prepare to propose when you realize that you may have just turned the rumors of her pregnancy…to truth!


Dear Reader,

Thanks to all who have shared, in letters and at our Web site, eHarlequin.com, how much you love Silhouette Desire! One Web visitor told us, “When I was nineteen, this man broke my heart. So I picked up a Silhouette Desire and…lost myself in other people’s happiness, sorrow, desire…. Guys came and went and the books kept entertaining me.” It is so gratifying to know how our books have touched and even changed your lives—especially with Silhouette celebrating our 20th anniversary in 2000.

The incomparable Joan Hohl dreamed up October’s MAN OF THE MONTH. The Dakota Man is used to getting his way until he meets his match in a feisty jilted bride. And Anne Marie Winston offers you a Rancher’s Proposition, which is part of the highly sensual Desire promotion BODY & SOUL.

First Comes Love is another sexy love story by Elizabeth Bevarly. A virgin finds an unexpected champion when she is rumored to be pregnant. The latest installment of the sensational Desire miniseries FORTUNE’S CHILDREN: THE GROOMS is Fortune’s Secret Child by Shawna Delacorte. Maureen Child’s popular BACHELOR BATTALION continues with Marooned with a Marine. And Joan Elliott Pickart returns to Desire with Baby: MacAllister-Made, part of her wonderful miniseries THE BABY BET.

So take your own emotional journey through our six new powerful, passionate, provocative love stories from Silhouette Desire—and keep sending us those letters and e-mails, sharing your enthusiasm for our books!

Enjoy!






Joan Marlow Golan

Senior Editor, Silhouette Desire




First Comes Love

Elizabeth Bevarly







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


For Lori Foster and Jackie Floyd and all the other members of Ohio Valley Romance Writers who got me “pregnant” at their conference.

And for Teresa Hill, who made me write about it.


ELIZABETH BEVARLY

is an honors graduate of the University of Louisville and achieved her dream of writing full-time before she even turned thirty! At heart, she is also an avid voyager who once helped navigate a friend’s thirty-five-foot sailboat across the Bermuda Triangle. Her dream is to one day have her own sailboat, a beautifully renovated older model forty-two-footer, and to enjoy the freedom and tranquillity seafaring can bring. Elizabeth likes to think she has a lot in common with the characters she creates, people who know love and life go hand in hand. And she’s getting some firsthand experience with motherhood, as well—she and her husband have a six-year-old son, Eli.




Contents


Chapter One (#u9a0ef9bc-da5b-5e5b-a376-d69c5c8d9197)

Chapter Two (#uf27c861c-1f20-529a-aa2a-23d907518c78)

Chapter Three (#uf031567f-8f29-530e-951f-6c5e83a70c6d)

Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)




One


Tess Monahan never got sick. Never.

She had documented evidence of that in the attic of the house where she’d grown up in Marigold, Indiana—the house where she continued to live alone, now that her five older brothers were on their own and her parents had retired and moved to Florida. In her attic there were boxes and boxes full of school memorabilia, one of which contained thirteen certificates for perfect attendance, from kindergarten through twelfth grade.

She just never got sick. Never.

Even during the five years she had spent at Indiana University earning her bachelor’s and master’s degrees in education, she’d never missed a day of classes due to illness or anything else. Never. Even having taught first grade at Our Lady of Lourdes Elementary School for the last four years, she hadn’t contracted so much as a sniffle to slow her down. Every single child in her class could come to school with some heinous virus, and Tess would remain hale and hearty. She just never got sick. Never.

Through every epidemic, big or small, that had hit her tiny hometown since her birth, she had remained perfectly healthy. She’d never had the chicken pox, never had the measles, never had the mumps, never had her tonsils out. She’d never run a fever. She’d never had allergies. She’d never coughed unless there was something stuck in her throat. She simply did not get sick. Ever.

Until today.

And today it was as if every single germ she had fought off in the past twenty-six years had come home to roost. With their entire bacterial families. But good.

She had awoken in the middle of the night feeling nauseated and it had only gotten worse as the wee hours of the morning wore on. She’d spent the last three hours hugging the commode, and now, as dawn crept over the horizon, she was certain she was going to die. And quite frankly, at this point—as far as Tess was concerned?—death would be a welcome diversion.

Unfortunately, death would have to wait. Because in a few short hours Tess was expected at the annual Our Lady of Lourdes teachers’ appreciation brunch. She hadn’t missed a single year, and this year would be no exception. Not just because she was adamant in meeting her obligations as an educator, but also because she would be receiving this year’s Award for Excellence in Teaching. It was an honor she was proud to receive, and she wasn’t about to disappoint her students, or her students’ parents, or the rest of the Lourdes staff, by missing the presentation.

She would be there. She would accept the award graciously, with her heartfelt thanks. It was the least she could do to show her appreciation for her students’ appreciation. Even if she did feel—and no doubt looked—like death warmed over as she extended those heartfelt thanks.

Tess groaned as she pushed herself up from the commode, then sighed as she leaned back to feel the cool tile wall through the white cotton tank she wore with her pajama bottoms. It must have been something she ate, she decided. After all, it was the middle of May, and the cold and flu season had long ago concluded. As she cupped her palm over her forehead and shoved her sweaty blond bangs out of her eyes, she realized she was burning up with fever. Whatever was assaulting her system, her body had called out every weapon it possessed to fight it. Maybe, with any luck at all, she’d feel better in a few hours.

Somehow she garnered the strength to turn on the shower, strip off her clothes and crawl under the tepid spray of water. Surely a shower, a dose of Alka-Seltzer and a few saltines would make a huge difference, she told herself. Surely the worst of her illness was over. Surely by the time she arrived at school, she’d be feeling good as new again. Surely she would live.

Surely.

Weakly, she rinsed her hair and shut off the water, then stepped out of the shower and toweled off. And although she really wasn’t able to conjure much concern for her appearance, she wanted to look as nice as she could for the brunch and award presentation. Striving for comfort over anything else, she pulled a loose-fitting, pale-blue jumper over an equally loose-fitting, pale-yellow T-shirt. Then she dragged a comb through her damp, near-white, shoulder-length tresses and frowned at her reflection in the mirror. She didn’t think she had the strength to lift a hair dryer for any length of time, so she tied her hair back with a blue ribbon and ruffled her bangs dry with her fingers as best she could.

Her fair complexion was even paler than usual, thanks to her sickness, so she donned a bit more makeup than she normally would. Unfortunately, she couldn’t quite cover the purple smudges beneath her eyes, so she tried to be heartened by the fact that they made her eyes look even bluer somehow. Hey, she was known for making the best of every situation, wasn’t she? Right now she’d take what she could get.

But even after completing her morning toilette, Tess continued to frown at the woman gazing back at her from the mirror. She looked like heck—as first-grade teachers at Catholic elementary schools were wont to say. There was no mistaking that she was gravely under the weather. She just hoped she could remain vertical long enough to accept her award.

Stumbling into the kitchen, Tess went immediately for the saltines, knowing she needed to put something in her stomach. She had some carbonated mineral water in the fridge, and she reached for a bottle of that, as well. Then she took a seat at the kitchen table and nibbled experimentally at her repast.

As she ate, she felt her forehead again and found that it was a bit cooler. The Alka-Seltzer must have helped some to bring down her temperature. Surprisingly, the crackers stayed down, too, and that helped some more. And the bottled water did seem to soothe her nausea to a considerable degree. Might not be a bad idea to take some with her to the brunch, though. Heaven knew she wouldn’t be consuming any of the lovely dishes she knew would be served—fruit salad, blueberry scones, crepes, eggs Benedict….

Her stomach rolled again just thinking about it, and Tess reached weakly for the entire box of saltines. No sense taking any chances.

She filched a couple more bottles of fizzy water from the fridge, then stowed her booty in a nylon lunch bag decorated with the image of Disney’s Cinderella—a gift from one of her students last Christmas. Then she tucked her bare feet into a pair of sandals, filled her oversize canvas carryall with her foodstuffs and all the necessary accoutrements of a first-grade teacher about to receive an award. Then, very gingerly, she headed for the front door.

She was just turning the knob when another wave of nausea uncoiled in her stomach. Oog, she thought. It was going to be a long—and icky—day.

Icky, however, didn’t begin to describe the morning that unfolded after that. Tess did make it to school on time, but she had to head immediately to the girls’ rest room once she got there. Worse than that, Sister Angelina, the school principal, caught her retching and encouraged her to go home and rest. Tess, however, had protested that she was feeling fine, and that her nausea was only temporary. And really, by the time she took her seat at the Reserved table beneath the speakers’ podium set up in the cafeteria, she was actually starting to feel a little better.

The events following those, however, were much less welcomed, and much more nauseating—starting with the arrival at her table of Susan Gibbs. Susan was one of the other first-grade teachers at Lourdes, and since the beginning of the school year, she had thought…had assumed…had expected…to win the coveted Award for Excellence in Teaching. And ever since the announcement last month that Tess would instead be taking home that distinction this year, Susan had been a tad cool in her reception.

Of course, Susan Gibbs had also been Tess’s rival since childhood for…oh, just about everything. Dark-haired, dark-eyed Susan had always been the perfect foil for fair Tess Monahan, as so many citizens of Marigold, Indiana, had pointed out over the years. So far, though, they were pretty well even, in wins and losses.

Tess had won the regional championship in the statewide spelling bee in sixth grade, but Susan had won the regionals in the geography bee the same year. Tess had been the jay-vee football homecoming queen when they were freshmen, while Susan had been the jay-vee basketball homecoming queen. Tess had been the yearbook editor in tenth and eleventh grades, Susan the school newspaper editor those years. Tess had been Miss June on the school calendar when they were seniors, and Susan had been Miss October.

Of course, now Tess was about to receive the Award for Excellence in Teaching and Susan wasn’t, but she didn’t for a moment feel smug about that. She didn’t. Not at all. Honest. It wouldn’t be right.

“Good morning, Tess,” Susan said as she folded herself into the chair next to Tess’s.

“Hello, Susan,” Tess replied as she shook a few saltines from the wax paper cylinder that held them. Then she pulled a bottle of carbonated water from her bag and twisted off the cap with a soft psst.

Susan noted her actions with a curious eye and frowned. “Gee, you look like heck this morning.”

Tess threw her a watery smile. “Gosh, thanks, Susan. You always know the right thing to say.”

“Sorry,” the other woman said without a trace of apology. “But you do look like heck.”

Tess just smiled a bit more waterily.

“By the way,” Susan added, “I don’t think I’ve congratulated you yet on winning the Award for Excellence this year.”

Tess had started to lift the bottle of soda water to her mouth, but halted at Susan’s comment. “No, you haven’t,”she said with a much less watery smile. Maybe Susan wasn’t going to be as snotty as Tess had assumed.

But Susan said nothing more to expound on her statement—or to offer congratulations—so Tess lifted the bottle to her lips for a brief sip. She was about to compliment Susan on her springtime-fresh, flowered dress when one of the eighth-grade student volunteers came by with a coffeepot. As Tess sipped her water, Susan automatically turned her cup up and set it in its saucer in silent invitation for the girl to fill it. When the student had finished doing so, she turned to Tess, asking if she, too, would like coffee.

In response, Tess held up one hand, palm out, then placed the other over her still-rolling stomach. “Oh, no, thank you,” she told the girl. “No one in my condition should be drinking coffee—trust me.”

Susan fairly snapped to attention at Tess’s comment. She dropped her gaze to the saltines and soda water sitting on the table before her, then to the hand Tess had placed over her stomach, then to Tess’s face. Her mouth dropped open in shock, then an evil little smile uncurled on her lips.

“Tess,” she said in a voice of utter discovery. “My gosh, you’re pregnant, aren’t you?”

The eighth-grader who had been pouring coffee had started to move away from the table, but at Susan’s—loudly—offered assumption, the girl spun back around.

“You’re gonna have a baby, Miss Monahan?” she cried—loudly. “That’s so cool! When are you due?”

Before Tess had a chance to voice her objection, Susan replied in the voice of authority, “Well, if she’s this sick now, I imagine she’s only a month or two along. That would put delivery at…December or January. Oh, a Christmas baby!” she fairly shouted in delight. “How wonderful for you, Tess!”

Tess’s eyes widened in complete shock. Try as she might to avert the charge, she was so stunned by it, that she had no idea what to say. Unfortunately, two women at the next table turned to gape at what they had just heard, and she realized she had better say something to avert the charge, before things went any further and got too far out of hand. For long moments, though, Tess could only shift her horrified gaze from Susan to the eighth-grader to the awestricken women at the next table, and back again. And for every moment that she didn’t respond, Susan’s smile grew more menacing.

“You are pregnant, aren’t you?” she charged. “Tess Monahan, knocked up! And not married! Oh, I can’t believe it! I can’t believe you’re pregnant!” Then a new—and evidently equally delightful—thought must have occurred to her, because her menacing smile grew positively malignant. “My gosh, who’s the father? Your brothers are going to kill him!”

Only Susan Gibbs would ask such a forward, invasive question, Tess thought, the gravity of the charges being leveled against her still not quite registering in her brain. Finally, however, as she saw the two women at the neighboring table begin to chat animatedly with two others that joined them, Tess lifted both hands before her, palms out, as if in doing so, she might somehow ward off Susan’s accusation.

“I am not pregnant,” she assured both Susan and the eighth-grader who still stood gaping at her, coffeepot in hand. “It’s the flu. I’m sure of it.”

“Oh, please,” Susan said indulgently, clearly not buying it. “It’s May, Tess. Nobody gets the flu in May. Admit it. You’re pregnant.”

“Then it was something I ate yesterday,” Tess said quickly. “Because I couldn’t possibly be pregnant.”

“You’ve never been sick a day in your life, Tess Monahan,” Susan countered. “I remember the Fourth of July picnic when we all ate a batch of bad potato salad, and you were the only one who didn’t get nauseated afterward. You have the constitution of a horse and a galvanized stomach to boot. Nothing has ever made you sick. Except, obviously, getting pregnant. Hey, I have three sisters with kids,” she added parenthetically, “and I’ve seen how arbitrarily morning sickness hits. I can see it downing even you.”

“It’s not morning sickness,” Tess insisted. “Because I’m not pregnant.”

She may not know exactly what it was, making her feel this way, but she knew it wasn’t…that. There was a specific activity in which one had to engage in order for…that…to happen, and Tess hadn’t engaged in it lately. Or…ever. If she was pregnant, then she was about to receive a million dollars from the National Enquirer for the story surrounding her impending virgin birth. And she’d also be getting an audience with His Holiness Himself.

No worries there.

Susan, however, was clearly reluctant to disbelieve what she considered the obvious, because she continued, “Oh, come on, Tess. You don’t have to be ashamed or embarrassed. It happens all the time these days. Even to good little Irish-Catholic girls like you.”

“Susan, I’m not—”

She turned, hoping to include the eighth-grader in her assurance, but to her dismay—nay, to her utter horror—the girl had wandered off to pour more coffee. Among other things. Even now Tess could see her chattering at Ellen Dumont, one of the math teachers, who immediately spun around in her chair to look at Tess with stark disbelief.

Oh, no, Tess thought. The girl might as well be broadcasting the news of her alleged pregnancy on CNN. Ellen was connected to everybody in town.

“Well, let me be the first to congratulate you,” Susan said. “Many, many, many congratulations on your upcoming blessed event.” Vaguely Tess noted that her rival was certainly capable of conjuring congratulations for a nonexistent pregnancy, if not for an actual award.

“Susan, don’t. I’m not—”

But Susan only waved a hand airily in front of herself. “Oh, your secret is safe with me,” she said. “I won’t tell a soul.”

Yeah, right. Like Tess was going to believe that.

“I just think it’s so amazing,” Susan continued with a slow shake of her head. “I mean, you’re just so…straitlaced. So upright. So forthright. So do-right. So boring,” she added adamantly, in case Tess didn’t fully grasp her meaning—as if. “I didn’t even think you were dating anyone special,” Susan added, “let alone having—”

“Susan,” Tess quickly interjected. “I’m not. I’m not dating anyone special, nor am I…doing anything else with anyone special.”

Susan gaped harder. “You mean it was a one-night stand?” she cried, even more loudly than before.

Now the women at the tables on both sides of Tess were gawking at her. And they were all looking at the saltines and sparkling water sitting on the table before her. Tess closed her eyes in mortification. Rumors in Marigold, Indiana, traveled faster than the speed of light. What was worse, though, the things piped over the Marigold grapevine almost always ended up being true. A little more embellished than usual, maybe, but still essentially true. If you heard it over the backyard fence in Marigold, Indiana, then, by golly, you could pretty much count on its reality, in one form or another.

By midafternoon, everyone in town was going to be certain Tess was pregnant. And they would be sure it had come about after some sordid one-night stand. She had to put a stop to this now.

“It wasn’t a one-night stand,” she said through gritted teeth.

“Then it was someone special,” Susan surmised.

“No, it wasn’t,” Tess insisted. “It was nobody. I’m not pregnant.”

But Susan was having none of it. When Tess opened her eyes, it was to see the other woman sitting back in her chair with a dreamy little speculative look in her eyes. “Let’s see now, who could it be…?” she murmured. “Last time I saw you out with a man, it was at the Christmas bazaar. Donnie Reesor brought you.”

“Donnie’s just a friend,” Tess said. “And you know it. And as everybody in town knows, he’s about to ask Sandy Mackin to marry him.”

Susan chuckled. “Well, this just might put a little crimp in those plans now, mightn’t it?”

Tess closed her eyes again. “Susan, please…”

“Fine,” the other woman relented. “Like I said, I won’t tell a soul. I’ll let you break the news to everyone when you’re ready. ’Course, you won’t be able to wait too long,” she added jovially. “These things have a way of…showing themselves.”

“There’s no news to break and nothing to show,” Tess said. “I—”

“Oh, but I can’t wait to see how your brothers are going to respond to the news,” Susan interrupted again. “Those Monahan boys were always ripe for a fight when we were growing up—anytime, anywhere. They’re going to pound the father of your baby once they hear.”

Although she was beginning to understand that the gesture was pointless, Tess tried one last time to deny Susan’s assertion. “Susan, there is no father,” she stated as levelly and forcefully as she could. “Because there is no baby. I’m sick, that’s all. The flu, food poisoning, something. Not pregnancy, I assure you.”

Susan leaned forward, wrinkled her nose in something akin to a smile and patted Tess’s hand. “Don’t you worry, Tess,” she said. “Your secret is safe with me. Oh, look, there’s Sister Mary Joseph. I absolutely must speak to her about a matter of grave importance.”

And before Tess could stop her, Susan Gibbs rose from the table and scrambled across the room toward a gaggle of nuns. Tess buried her head in her hands and wanted to cry. The Award for Excellence in Teaching wasn’t the only thing she would be up for today, she thought. No, by day’s end everyone would be thinking of her in terms of Mother of the Year.




Two


The mood in the third bay of Will Darrow’s Garage and Body Shop was, as always, laid-back. He had officially closed shop over an hour ago, at his usual weekday 6:00 p.m., and he relished the end of a productive day—a day of good, honest labor—like he relished nothing else in life. Cool jazz wafted from a portable CD player that sat atop the cluttered desk in the attached office, Will was sprawled beneath the chassis of a ’68 Corvette that just so happened to belong to him, and his best friend, Finn Monahan, sat leaning back in the rickety desk chair he’d pushed into the bay, enjoying a long-neck bottle of beer.

Life, Will supposed, didn’t get any better than this.

He had his own business—which was thriving nicely, thank you very much—and his best friend from childhood was his best friend in adulthood. Matter of fact, Will was still close to the whole Monahan clan, and although he hadn’t thought it would be possible, he’d been drawn even closer into the circle of their affection since his father’s death ten years ago. His old man had never remarried after his mother’s death when Will was four, so the Darrow family had never numbered more than two. The Monahans, however, had always welcomed Will with open arms. They were the family he’d never had himself, right down to little Tess.

Of course, little Tess wasn’t so little these days, which was something Will tried really, really hard not to notice whenever he saw her. Or whenever he thought about her. Or whenever he fantasized about—

Not that he ever fantasized about Tess, he quickly reminded himself. Not much, anyway. Well, hardly ever. Maybe just on those occasions when he saw her and tried really, really hard not to notice how she wasn’t so little anymore. Unfortunately, with her looking the way she did now, it was pretty much impossible not to notice, because she was just so damned—

Best to think about something else, he told himself quickly as a vision of not-so-little Tess unwrapped itself in his mind. Because, as was frustratingly common nowadays, whenever visions of not-so-little Tess appeared in his brain, she was always not-so-little dressed. In fact, this particular image was one of her wearing a skimpy little scrap of pale-yellow lingerie and some of those fuzzy high-heeled things and—

Oh, boy. Not again.

Will squeezed his eyes shut tight and concentrated on other things—anything—that might make the vision of a scantily clad Tess Monahan go away. The capital of Vermont is Montpelier, he thought. Babe Ruth hit 714 home runs in his career. The atomic weight of Boron is 10.81. A Scout is brave, trusty, kind, cheerful, obedient, thrifty, lusty…

No, wait. That wasn’t it. Where was he? Oh, yeah. Tess Monahan in wispy lingerie and—

No! That wasn’t it, either.

Will sighed with much exasperation, reminded himself that Tess’s oldest brother was in the room and started over again.

Marigold, Indiana, had been his home since he was seven and a half, and Finn Monahan had been his best friend since he was seven and a half and a day. Hell, Will could still remember when Mr. and Mrs. Monahan had brought Tess home from the hospital when he and Finn were ten, a tiny bundle of pink lingerie…uh, pink flannel…surrounded by five raucous little boys—six, if you counted Will. And Mr. and Mrs. Monahan always had.

Nope, Will thought as he twisted a wrench and loosened a lug nut—and recalled a faint image of Tess wearing that yellow lacy number—life definitely didn’t get any better than this.

“Hello? Anybody home?”

Oh, great, Will thought. As if fantasizing—or, rather, thinking—about Tess Monahan wasn’t enough to mess him up, now she had to come calling at the garage.

“Hey, Tessie!” he heard Finn call out from the corner of the room. “How was school today?”

How was school today? Will replayed the words in his head and smiled. He could almost erase ten or fifteen years from their lives and hear Finn asking Tess that very question as she bounded through the front door all scrawny legs and tattered braids. He settled the wrench onto the oily concrete and pushed himself out from beneath the ’Vette.

“Hi-ya, kid,” he said as he rose, nearly choking on the last word when he got a look at Tess.

Kid. Right. With a body like hers and a mouth that tempting, Tess Monahan was anything but. Even so, to remind himself just where he and she stood in the scheme of things, he strode over to where she had parked herself and, as had been his habit for two dozen years, ruffled her hair.

Bad mistake, he realized, as he invariably did upon completing the action. And not just because she turned a mutinous, murderous gaze on him for doing it, either. But because Tess’s hair was like the finest silk, all soft and shimmery beneath his hand. He wondered how it would feel to, instead of rubbing her head like a good-luck charm, skim his palm lightly over those long tresses, or knife his fingers gently through the soft mass, or wrap a strand around his thumb and pull her closer, close enough to cover her mouth with his and—

Nothing, he told himself brutally. He would never do anything to—or with— Tess Monahan. She was a kid, even if she didn’t look the part. And she was his best friend’s sister.

And there was another reason, too, one Will didn’t like to dwell upon, one that unfolded in his head, anyway, as he wiped his hands on his soiled coveralls. It was no secret to anybody in Marigold that Tess Monahan had always had a crush on him. Hell, Will had known it himself since she was ten years old. And as much as he thought about—all right, fantasized about— Tess, he would never take advantage of that crush. Because crushes had a way of turning into infatuation. And infatuation never led anywhere at all.

Yeah, Will knew Tess had a thing for him. And maybe, just maybe, he had a little bit of a thing for her, too. But that thing, for her, at least, was little more than a habit by now. If she had feelings for him, it was only because she’d had them for so long, they had become second nature to her. They weren’t the result of an adult emotion that was destined for greatness. For Will to take advantage of her crush on him would be reprehensible, immoral. And it would only lead to trouble and a whole heap of hurt.

So Will kept his distance, because he knew it would be foolish to act on the attraction. Whatever might heat up between him and Tess would no doubt burn to a crisp in no time flat. Then the tenuous friendship they had would begin to feel awkward and uncomfortable. And in messing up things with Tess, Will might very well lose Finn, too. And Finn was the best pal he’d ever had.

“Hi, Will,” Tess greeted him as she pushed her—soft, silky, shimmery—bangs back into place. And, as she always did when she saw him, she took a couple of steps backward.

He hated it that he intimidated her the way he clearly did. But hell, he had twelve inches and about eighty pounds on her—not to mention ten years—so there wasn’t much he could do about it. And he knew she still felt embarrassed about that incident in her mother’s kitchen four years ago, when she’d gone so far as to blurt out the reality of what a big crush she’d had on him all her life.

Truth be told, Will wasn’t all that comfortable with the recollection of that, either. Even though there had always been a certain unspoken knowledge of her crush on him, neither of them had ever overstepped the bounds of propriety by actually talking about it. Not until the day Tess had just up and put voice to it the way she had.

But Will had moved on and forgotten all about the incident. He would put it right out of his mind. Totally and completely. Well, pretty much. Sort of. Hey, just because he couldn’t quite bring himself to look Tess in the eye anymore, that wasn’t any big deal, was it?

Nah.

“School was great today,” she told her brother. But there was something in her voice that didn’t quite ring true, something that sounded a little strained.

“They give you the big award?” Finn asked.

He’d risen from the chair long enough to give his sister a quick peck on the cheek, and now he folded himself back into it. The physical resemblance between the two siblings was amazing, Will noted, not for the first time. Except that Finn’s hair was black instead of blond. Then again, all of the Monahan kids resembled each other—all had those piercing blue Monahan eyes, all were extraordinarily good-looking, and all of the boys, at least, were tall and fit and slim. Tess, too, was fit and slim, but at five foot two, she didn’t exactly qualify for tall.

Upon closer inspection, though—but not too close— Will noted that she didn’t exactly qualify for fit today, either. Even standing in a slash of evening sunlight that spilled through the open bay door, she seemed a little pale, a little fatigued. A little…sick? But that was impossible. Tess Monahan never got sick.

“It wasn’t that big an award,” she told her brother, scattering Will’s thoughts. “But, yes, they gave it to me.”

“Congrats again, Tess,” Will said. And avoided her gaze.

“Thanks, Will,” she replied softly. And avoided his, too.

A strange and uncomfortable silence followed, and for some reason Will got the impression that Tess wanted to say something, but wasn’t sure how to go about it. Finn seemed to sense the odd mood, too, along with his sister’s lack of color, because he tipped his head to the side to observe her.

“Everything okay, Tessie?” he asked in clear concern.

She nodded quickly. A little too quickly, Will thought. “Fine,” she said, the word coming out clipped and fast. “Everything’s fine. Perfectly fine. Why wouldn’t it be fine? Do you know something I don’t know that would cause it to be not fine?”

Will exchanged a hasty glance with Finn, then both men gazed curiously at Tess.

“Uh, no,” Finn said. “I don’t think so. You know more than me—you’re the teacher, after all.”

Tess seemed to relax a little but was still obviously guarded as she said, “So you haven’t…you know… heard any…news?”

Will and Finn traded another one of those curious glances, then, “What kind of news?” Will asked.

Tess shrugged, but there wasn’t anything casual about the gesture at all—it was as quick and anxious as the words that followed it. “I don’t know,” she said. “Just…news. Newsy…news. Something, you know… out of the ordinary. Something you wouldn’t normally expect. Something that might shock or surprise you.”

Will and Finn both shook their heads. “No,” Will said. “It’s been pretty quiet around here today.”

Tess expelled a long, slow breath and swallowed with what Will could only liken to relief. Then, “Oh,” she said quietly. “Okay.”

“Is there something we should know, Tessie?” Finn asked, his voice laced with suspicion. “Something you want to tell us?”

“No!” she said, even more quickly than before. Immediately she blushed and dropped her gaze to the ground.

Oh, there was definitely something going on here, Will thought. Tess was acting very strangely. She was usually the most cool, calm, composed person he knew. This wasn’t like her at all.

“I mean,” she began again, “uh…no. There’s, um, there’s nothing. And if you do hear any news,” she added, glancing up, only to blush more furiously and drop her gaze again, “it’s not true.”

This time when Finn looked over at Will, it was with obvious apprehension. But all he said was, “Okay, Tessie. But if you want to talk about something…”

“Nothing,” she stated emphatically. “I don’t want to talk about anything. There is nothing to talk about.”

“Okay, kid. Whatever you say.”

“Will,” she said, turning her attention away from her brother, “do you have that old tire you promised me for the kids in day camp?”

He nodded, putting aside—for now, at least—his concern over her strange behavior. “I found a truck tire,” he told her as he went to retrieve it from out back. “It’ll be a good size for the garden you want to make.”

Within minutes he had the big tire loaded in her trunk for her, and Tess was climbing into her car and waving goodbye. Boy, she couldn’t get out of there fast enough, he thought. He winced as she squealed her tires pulling out into the street.

“Man,” Finn said when Will returned, “what’s up with her?”

Will shook his head. “Got me. But there’s something going on, that’s for sure.”

Finn sighed philosophically. “Well, whatever it is, it’ll come out soon enough. Tessie never could keep a secret to save her life.”

Will tipped his head toward the car he had been working on when Tess arrived. “Put on some coveralls and get under the car with me for a minute. I need your opinion on something.”

Within seconds—and without coveralls— Finn was rolling himself under the chassis from the side opposite Will, heedless of the dirt and grime that were already decorating his designer dress shirt and tie. Will shook his head in wonder at his friend’s carelessness, but he figured Finn would just buy himself some new duds to replace the old ones, if they got dirty. And, hey, it wasn’t like the guy couldn’t afford it.

“What’s up?” he asked.

For long moments the two men pondered a complex mechanical dilemma, until the arrival of two red high heels—complete with shapely calves—appeared on the other side of the car.

A feminine voice called out, “Hel-lo-o-o-o-o? Will, are you here?”

Yeesh! Abigail Torrance, Will thought. Probably with another casserole. Just what he needed. His freezer was already overflowing with Abigail’s…creations. God, he hated casseroles.

“Go ahead,” Finn said softly with a devilish smile, wresting the wrench from Will’s fingers. “I’ll take care of this. I know how you feel about Abigail.”

Damn the man. The last thing Will needed was some woman underfoot. Still, Abigail—along with her trucking fleet—was one of his best clients, so he couldn’t very well offend her by telling her to shove off, could he?

With a resigned sigh he pushed himself out from under the car and stood. Even though he knew it wouldn’t do much good, he wiped his grease-stained hands on a grease-stained rag, then raked them both through his black hair. Akin to nothing, it occurred to him that he was long overdue for a haircut.

“Abigail,” he said with a forced smile when he saw her. “What a surprise. And is that a casserole you’re holding?”

She smiled in reply, turning her head in a purposeful way that Will knew was completed in order to show off the faint dimple in one cheek. She really was kind of pretty, he thought, and he had always preferred brunettes. But for some reason Abigail just didn’t rev his motor—so to speak. Then again, few women did.

It wasn’t that Will wasn’t interested in the fairer sex—on the contrary, his…masculine drive…was probably a bit more, uh…more masculine…than that of a lot of men. But there were other things in life that took precedence. He just wasn’t ready to settle down.

“You’ll love it,” Abigail told him coyly. “Tuna noodle surprise.”

Will forced another smile. “Did I ever tell you that was my favorite? I love the surprise part. Not many women would think to include watermelon.”

She batted her eyelashes. Actually batted them. Incredible. Then she purred, “Uh-huh. You did tell me it was your favorite.”

“Wow,” Will remarked dryly. “And you remembered. Imagine that.”

She extended the large, rectangular container toward him. “Just heat it up at three hundred and seventy-five degrees for forty-five minutes, and it will be ready.” She smiled again, more suggestively this time. “There’s plenty there for two, you know.”

Will nodded. “Great. You’ve got me covered for tonight and tomorrow night both. Thanks, Abigail. You’re swell.”

He tried not to choke on that last part, and hoped his dubious gratitude was convincing. He must have been at least marginally successful, because although she pouted at his rejection of her more-than-obvious offer, she quickly recovered and smiled again.

“Have you heard the latest news?” she asked.

Oh, boy. Gossip. Gee, Will just lived for that. “Um, no, Abigail, can’t say that I have.” He turned quickly toward the office with the pretext of taking the casserole in there, hoping the sight of his back would let her know just how anxious he was to hear whatever choice item she might have—namely, not anxious at all.

But Abigail, as usual, didn’t take the hint. “It’s about Tess Monahan,” she said, nearly breathless with excitement.

Will spun around, his gaze inevitably drawn to the trouser-clad legs sticking out from beneath the ’Vette. The trouser-clad legs that belonged to Tess Monahan’s oldest brother. The trouser-clad legs that Abigail obviously hadn’t seen.

“Uh, Abigail?” Will began, hoping to cut her off.

Although he didn’t for a moment think there could be anything shocking or controversial about Tess—hey, after all, it was Tess—he didn’t think it prudent for Abigail to be gossiping about her in front of one of her brothers. It just wasn’t polite. And Finn, like all of his brothers, had just a bit of a quick temper, not to mention a protective streak a mile wide, when it came to his kid sister. None of the Monahan boys would much appreciate Tess’s being talked about. Even if the talk was harmless. Which Will was sure this would be.

Because, hey, after all…it was Tess.

He opened his mouth to announce Finn’s presence, but Abigail, evidently much too excited to be put off any longer, blurted out her big news before he had the chance. And boy, oh, boy, what news it was.

“Tess Monahan has been knocked up!” she cried almost gleefully.

“What?!”

Will was surprised to discover that the outraged exclamation erupted not from the man beneath the ’Vette, but from his own mouth. And as if that weren’t bad enough, to punctuate his utter and complete shock, he dropped the casserole—tuna, noodle and surprise—onto the cement floor with a resounding crash.

Abigail, too, was taken aback by his response—literally. She took one giant step backward, as if she feared Will was going to bolt right over her on his way to—

To do what? he wondered. Right this egregious wrong? Beat the hell out of whoever was responsible for Tess’s condition? Break the jaw of whoever had started this stupid rumor in the first place? Even if it were true, what the hell business was it of his if Tess Monahan had gotten herself—

Knocked up?

Tess?

No way.

He spared a quick glance at Finn’s legs, which were still sticking out from under the car and, surprisingly, weren’t quivering with rage. Either he hadn’t heard Abigail’s announcement—which Will found highly unlikely—or else he was waiting to hear the rest…before he went out and thrashed the son of a bitch responsible for Tess’s predicament.

“No way,” Will said, turning back to the messenger, voicing his thoughts out loud. Though whether that was for Finn’s benefit, for Tess’s benefit or for his own benefit, he honestly wasn’t sure. “You must have gotten your wires crossed somewhere, Abigail. Tess Monahan isn’t that kind of girl.”

In response Abigail chuckled, and Will couldn’t help but think that there was something almost triumphant in the sound. “She is now,” Abigail said. “I saw her myself this morning at the teachers’ brunch. She was sick as a dog.”

Will shook his head in denial. “Tess has never been sick a day in her life.”

“I know. That’s what I said. The only thing that could make her this sick is morning sickness. Sister Angelina saw her barfing in the girls’ rest room, too.”

Will shrugged it off. “Oh, big deal. So Tess has the flu.” But even he had trouble believing it. “That doesn’t mean she’s pregnant.”

“There’s more,” Abigail said.

Yeah, Will would just bet there was. “Like what?”

Abigail took a few steps closer—carefully avoiding the spilled casserole—as if wanting to pull him physically into her conspiracy. “Well, for instance, about two months ago, Dolores Snarker was up in Bloomington, and she saw Tess at a Motel Six.”

Will somehow refrained from rolling his eyes. “So? A lot of people stay at motels, Abigail. And believe it or not, most of them don’t get pregnant.”

“Yeah, but Dolores saw Tess go into her room one night with a man.”

This Will found hard to believe. He also found it hard to digest, because his stomach pitched at hearing the revelation. But even if it was true that Tess had been with a man—Oh, God—it didn’t mean she was pregnant. It made him feel a little sick—all right, it made him feel a lot sick—but it didn’t mean Tess was pregnant. Probably. Then again, she was pretty naive, he reminded himself. She might not take the proper precautions if she found herself in that kind of situation. She was so trusting.

“That’s not proof of anything, Abigail,” he said, in spite of his misgivings.

But Abigail ignored his objection. “And,” she continued, “my aunt who works for Dr. Schwartz, the OB-GYN? She said Tess had an appointment last month.”

Will felt himself blushing at the mention of a…of a…of one of those…doctors…but, again, it wasn’t conclusive proof of anything. “It’s my understanding,” he said, “that women go see the…the…” He growled under his breath. “That women have appointments like that every year.”

“Ah, but it was Tess’s second visit in two months,” Abigail told him.

“Yeah, but still…” Will objected. Though not quite as strenuously as before.

“And,” Abigail continued happily, “Tess was in Bonnie’s Baby Boutique a couple of weeks ago, and Bonnie herself said Tess bought almost a hundred dollars worth of baby clothes and stuff.”

“It was probably a gift,” Will pointed out, though it was unlikely. Nobody in Marigold who was close to Tess was pregnant.

“That’s some gift,” Abigail replied dubiously.

“Tess is a generous person,” Will countered.

But his objections now were halfhearted, at best. There sure did seem to be an awful lot of evidence against Tess. And although gossiping was a pretty stable pastime in Marigold, hardly anyone could dispute that what went around almost always turned out to be true. Marigoldians might be rumormongers, but they were generally pretty good about keeping their facts straight. Even Will, who avoided the rumor mill, knew that.

Abigail stepped back again. “Well, nuns don’t lie,” she said, “and I heard about Tess’s condition from both Sister Mary Joseph and Sister Margarite. She’s pregnant, Will. And all of us are just dying to know who the father is. Susan Gibbs said she heard Tess say herself that it was a one-night stand.”

“What?”

Again, much to Will’s dismay, the outcry came not from under the ’Vette, but from the depths of his own dismay. Tess Monahan pregnant. And by some jerk who’d loved her and left her in one night. He could scarcely believe it.

But rumor, at least in Marigold, Indiana, didn’t lie. Tess Monahan was going to have a baby. And Will Darrow had no idea what to do.




Three


By week’s end, after three days of suffering from the flu, Tess was feeling a bit better. Although she was still weak and her appetite hadn’t returned to full capacity, her stomach was no longer rolling, and her fever had eased. Even so, she had readied herself for an early bedtime tonight, just as she had for the three evenings prior, and had already changed into her nightclothes—a powder-blue T-shirt and a fresh pair of pajama bottoms, these patterned with puffy white clouds. And she had just retired to the couch with a new book that a number of first-grade teachers on the Internet were touting as a wonderful educational aide—Raising a Creative Child in Modern Times—when the doorbell rang.

Tess sighed with heartfelt exasperation at the intrusion, then settled the book, spine up, on the sofa cushion beside her. Honestly. After the three days she’d just survived, the last thing she wanted or needed now was a visitor.

Having done her best this week to fend off—with not particularly effective success—all the speculation and congratulations about the birth of her upcoming, though nonexistent, baby, she was ready to scream at the next person who brought it up.

Marigold being the kind of place that it was, there probably wasn’t a soul around who hadn’t heard about—and been convinced of—her “condition” by now. Her visitor this evening, she was certain, was yet another Marigoldian who had come to either speculate or congratulate.

Or, worse, to offer help.

Carol McCoy, up the block, who had four teenagers, had met Tess at the front door when she’d arrived home from school that first day of the rumors, and the other woman had been pulling a wagon loaded with three big boxes of hand-me-downs. They were her children’s cast-offs that Carol had been storing in the basement, knowing that someday they’d come in handy for some expectant mother.

Tess had tried to talk Carol out of her donation, had assured her that there must be someone out there who was more deserving—someone who was oh, say… pregnant, for instance, unlike Tess—but Carol would have none of it. She’d assured Tess that she wouldn’t tell a soul about her condition, that she’d take the secret to her grave—which, of course, wouldn’t be necessary, because it wouldn’t be long before everyone in Marigold knew, would it?—and had hustled back down the street to meet her own brood.

Tess had actually followed her neighbor halfway down the block, assuring Carol all the way that there would be no baby, because there was no condition, because she wasn’t pregnant, but Carol had only nodded indulgently, murmured “Of course, of course” a few times, and told Tess to keep the clothes, anyway, just in case. So now the boxes were stacked haphazardly in Tess’s living room, and she had no idea what to do with them.

Nor did she know what to do with the boxes of maternity clothes stacked beside them that Rhonda Pearson and Denise Lowenstein had donated to the cause. Nor did she know what to do with the big bag of infant toys Cory Madison had brought over. Nor the crib that Dave and Sandy Kleinert had given her—the one that was still sitting in pieces, propped against the wall, where the couple had left it until Dave knew which room would be the nursery, after which, he’d promised Tess, he would come back over and reassemble it. And just that afternoon, Mr. Johanssen, whose backyard abutted Tess’s, had brought over a beautiful handcrafted cradle.

No matter how often—or how hard— Tess had objected to the gifts, her neighbors had only smiled and told her to keep them, just in case.

Whoever was at the front door now would be no different, Tess was sure. Because in spite of her adamant denial of the rumors of her pregnancy, nobody—but nobody—had believed her. The Marigold grapevine was an omnipotent power, infinitely more persuasive than little ol’ Tess Monahan could ever hope to be. If rumor had it that she was pregnant, then according to Marigold canon, she was.

Instinctively she dropped a hand to her belly as she went to answer the front door, as if she herself almost believed she was nurturing a new life there. Boy, smalltown gossip sure could be convincing, she thought as she tugged open the door.

And, boy, it sure could be humiliating, too, she thought further when she saw who stood on the other side.

Because she could think of no reason on earth why Will Darrow would come calling at her house, unless it was because he had finally heard talk about her imaginary pregnancy. And realizing that Will must be thinking it was true—why else would he have come over?—Tess felt the heat of a blush creep from her breasts up to her face. Then again, she always blushed when she saw Will—or even thought about him, for that matter—so why should this episode be any different?

Maybe, she thought, it was different now because deep down she’d always hoped that someday she would get pregnant and that when she did, Will Darrow would be the father of her child. That would of course be—at least in her fantasy—because he was her husband, too. And that would of course be—likewise at least in her fantasy—because he had fallen head over heels in love with her.

Hey, it was her fantasy. She could make it as outrageous as she wanted to. And having Will Darrow fall in love with her? Well, things didn’t get much more outrageous than that. He still ruffled her hair whenever her saw her. Ruffled. Her. Hair. Oh, yeah. That was always a precursor to romantic love. To Will, obviously, she would always be ten years old.

Involuntarily—and hopefully surreptitiously— Tess scanned her visitor from head to toe. She couldn’t help herself—she didn’t get that many chances to scan him up close this way. Even though he had been her oldest brother’s best friend since childhood, these days, she saw very little of Will. One might have thought—might have hoped—that seeing so little of him would cause her childhood crush on the guy to finally go away. Instead, that old saw about absence making the heart grow fonder had come way too true. Because Tess’s heart—among other body parts—was very fond of Will Darrow.

Always had been.

Always would be.

Then another thought struck Tess. If Will had heard about her “condition,” then Finn had probably heard by now, too. And if Finn had heard…

Oh, boy.

She didn’t even want to think about the rampage that must be going on down at Slater Dugan’s Irish Pub. No wonder Will was at her front door. He was probably looking for bail money.

At thirty-six years old, Finn Monahan was a fine, upstanding citizen and a bastion of the community, a complete 180-degree version of the quintessential bad boy he’d been in his youth. Until someone threatened or bad-mouthed a member of his family. Or, even more unforgivable, said a cross word about Violet Demarest, who didn’t even live in Marigold anymore, not since she’d married and moved away, but whom Finn had elevated to a pedestal—nay, an altar—a lo-o-o-o-ong time ago.

But whenever one of those two things happened, then Finn Monahan could be counted on to revert right back to the surly adolescent of two decades ago, the one who was always ripe for a fight. There was no question that talk of his little sister getting knocked up would put Finn in a rare—and very bad—humor.

“Is he in jail again?” Tess blurted out before she could stop herself.

It made for a less-than-welcoming greeting, she knew, but that was the first thought that went through her head when she saw Will. Oh, all right, the second thought that went through her head when she saw him. The first thought had been what it always was—that he looked really, really yummy.

His blue eyes were complemented by a blue chambray work shirt that was nearly the same color, and by blue jeans that were lovingly faded and torn at one knee. His overly long, black hair had been ruffled by the late-evening breeze, and the swiftly setting sun lit silver and orange fires ablaze amid the highlights. A day’s growth of dark beard shadowed the lower half of his face and throat. Anyone else might find him menacing or intimidating. Tess just found him adorable.

But the last time she’d seen Will alone at her front door this way, it was because he’d come to tell her that Finn had been arrested for throwing a chair through the front window at Slater Dugan’s Irish Pub. That actually would have been one of Finn’s lesser offenses, if it hadn’t been for the fact that Dennis Matheny had been sitting in the chair when it went through the window. But Dennis had asked for it—he’d called Violet Demarest the Whore of Babylon, right to Finn’s face. Hey, Dennis was lucky Finn hadn’t fulfilled his childhood fantasy of becoming an astronaut by sending him straight into orbit.

At hearing Tess’s question, Will, who had been looking very uncomfortable when she’d opened the door, now looked very confused. Well, he still looked very uncomfortable—which was pretty much how he always looked whenever he saw Tess, doubtless because he knew what a raging crush she’d had on him since she was ten years old—but he looked confused, too.

“Is who in jail?” he asked.

“Finn,” she clarified. She still couldn’t shake the notion that her big brother had done something stupid in response to very real allegations about her very nonexistent pregnancy. “What’s he done?” she asked further. “He hasn’t hurt anybody, has he? Dugan’s Pub is still standing, isn’t it?”

Will narrowed his eyes in even deeper confusion. “Finn’s fine,” he said. “I mean, I guess he is. He was fine when I saw him this afternoon. Pretty much,” he qualified mysteriously.

In spite of the mystery, Tess breathed a sigh of relief. Good. Maybe Finn hadn’t heard, after all. Actually, come to think about it, none of her brothers seemed to have heard about her rumored condition, because none of them had contacted her. Of course, Sean was out of town, and Rory was in deep research mode these days. Connor would just naturally ignore anything he heard through the grapevine, but Cullen usually bought in to talk. And Finn…

Well, Finn always knew what was going on in Marigold. So if Finn hadn’t heard, then maybe things weren’t as bad as Tess thought. And if Finn hadn’t heard, then Will probably hadn’t, either, in which case she was worrying for nothing. Except for the fact that the man she’d had a raging crush on since she was ten years old was at her front door, and she was standing there in her jammies, yammering incoherently at him.

Oh, but hey, other than that…

“Um, then…what are you doing here?” she asked him.

He went back to looking merely uncomfortable and didn’t meet her gaze. But then that was hardly surprising. Will Darrow hadn’t met her gaze squarely since…

Well, Tess couldn’t really remember the last time he’d met her gaze squarely. Certainly not in the four years that had passed since she’d returned to Marigold after graduating with her master’s in education from Indiana University. Her mother and father had thrown her a graduation party the month before they’d moved down to Florida, and Will, of course, had attended. At one point Tess and Will had ended up alone in the kitchen of this very house, and she—after having a little too much of her mother’s infamous Pink Parisian Punch—had breathlessly blurted out something about how she’d always had such a raging crush on Will.

She had been mortified after doing it, of course, but she’d figured Will would just laugh off the comment and go back to the party and totally forget about it in five minutes’ time, because he’d never taken her seriously. But Will hadn’t done any of those things.

Except, evidently, take her seriously.

Because, much to her amazement, he’d blushed like a schoolboy, had stammered something unintelligible and had bolted for the back door. He’d fled the party completely and hadn’t returned, and ever since then he hadn’t been able to be around Tess without seeming—without being—extremely uneasy.

Me and my big mouth, she thought now, not for the first time. Had it not been for her imprudent revelation about the raging crush thing, she might still be able to harbor it in secret, and Will would be less hesitant to be around her. As it was, whenever they had family gatherings—and family gatherings always naturally included Will—he managed to stay in one room while she was in another. Or, if they were forced to be in the same room, he made it a point to keep them on opposite sides at all times. Tess was almost never close enough to him to actually touch him.

But she was now.

Because now he stood just over the threshold, scarcely two feet away. Now, had she a mind to, she could reach right out—and up—to cup his cheek with her palm. Now, had she a mind to, she could push herself to tiptoe and brush her lips over his. Now, had she a mind to, she could hurl herself shamelessly into his arms and wrestle him to the ground and have her way with him.

But of course, she’d never have a mind to do that. Not while he was in the immediate vicinity, at any rate.

“I’m here,” he said, reminding her that she had asked him a question that required an answer, “because I promised your brother I’d come over and talk to you.”

“Why doesn’t he come over and talk to me himself?” she asked, thinking it a very good question. Unless…

Will closed his eyes briefly, then opened them again, and, as always, Tess marveled at how blue they were. “He was afraid if he came over to talk to you himself, he wouldn’t do any talking. He’d just do a lot of exploding.”

Uh-oh. That didn’t sound good. That sounded like… “He’s heard about my condition, huh?”

Will went a little gray at the question. “Yeah. He’s heard about you being pregnant.”

It took Tess a moment to realize how badly she had misspoken, then, “No!” she shouted, more loudly than she had intended. “That’s not what I meant. I’m not pregnant.”

Will gaped at her. “Tess, you just admitted it. And everybody knows about it, so you might as well stop denying it.”

She shook her head vehemently. “I did not admit it. I just misspoke. I’m not pregnant. I’m not.”

Will, however, didn’t look anywhere near convinced. Then again, why should he? she thought. The Marigold grapevine had spoken. The announcement might as well have been engraved on stone tablets and presented by a burning bush.

“Tess, you don’t have to keep denying it. Nobody thinks any worse of you,” he told her. “Everybody just wants to help. That’s why I’m here, too.”

“You’re here to keep my brother from sending my couch through my living room window,” she corrected him.

He shrugged conspicuously. “Yeah, well…that, too.”

“It’s not true, Will,” she said, even though she could see quite plainly that the denial would be pointless. “I’m not pregnant. I’ve had the flu. I would never… I couldn’t possibly… There’s no way I’d…” She gave up when she realized she wasn’t finishing a single thought.

Will, however, continued to gaze at her with what she could only liken to pity. “Finn knows, too,” he said again, unnecessarily. “He was in a state the other day, when he found out, let me tell you. I managed to convince him to give it a few days before he spoke to you, to cool off. Then I convinced him to let me come over and do the talking instead.”

“Why?” she asked warily.

“Because he hasn’t cooled off,” Will said simply. “Sean still doesn’t know, because he’s still in Indianapolis, and I don’t think Rory’s heard, because he’s been holed up at the library all week, and you know how he gets when he’s in Deep Thought—he doesn’t hear anything anybody says. But Connor and Cullen are looking to kick some butt. It’s not an easy thing, keeping your brothers at bay, Tess. They made me promise to report back as soon as I talk to you. But they realize they can’t be reasonable about this right now. So they’re letting me mediate.”

“Even Connor believes it?” Tess asked incredulously. “But he never believes anything he hears on the grapevine. He’s the last great skeptic.”

“Hey, the evidence speaks for itself.”

Evidence? Tess wondered. What evidence? Just what was everyone saying about her behind her back?

“I’ve had the flu, Will,” she insisted. “That’s all there is to it.”

Will inhaled a deep breath and released it slowly, but he still didn’t look convinced of her…nonmaternity. What he did look, she thought, was, well…really, really yummy.

“You’ve had the flu,” he echoed dubiously.

She nodded.

He hesitated a telling moment before pointing out, “You’ve never been sick a day in your life. You’ll forgive me if I—along with everyone else in Marigold—have a little trouble believing that you suddenly contracted the flu. Especially since it isn’t even the time of year for it. Nobody else in town has the flu, Tess. Just you. Kinda suspicious, I say.”

“Then it was something I ate,” she insisted. She told herself she didn’t have to defend herself—to Will or anyone else. Despite that, she felt obligated to do so just the same.

“Tess, you have the stomach of an ox,” he pointed out.

And, oh, wasn’t that just the thing a woman wanted to hear from the man for whom she’d been carrying a torch for more than a dozen years. “An ox,” she echoed flatly.

He had the decency to look apologetic, even if he didn’t apologize per se. “You know what I meant. You’re a woman who can eat jalapen˜os straight from the jar without batting an eye. Though I wouldn’t recommend it now. Not in your condi—”

“Oh, Will,” she moaned. “Not you, too. Don’t tell me you believe it.”

“Well, what else am I supposed to believe?” he demanded, sounding as upset about the development as she was. “Everybody’s saying you’re pregnant. Even nuns, Tess. Who can argue with nuns?”

But all she could offer in response was another disappointed, “Oh, Will.”

He might not want to believe she was pregnant, but he did. Tess sighed fitfully and ran a restless hand through her bangs. Then, resigned to her fate, she tugged the door inward and stepped aside.

“You might as well come in,” she said. “I have a feeling it’s going to take a while to explain things to you and change your mind. Then you can report back to Finn and the boys after we’ve talked.”

Will was obviously hesitant about entering, though. Which was odd, because he’d probably been inside the Monahan house more times than he’d been in his own when he was a boy. There had been so many nights when Will and Finn had played so late, or studied so late, or talked so late, that Will just naturally spent the night. And although she would never, ever, confess such a thing to anybody, there had been nights when Tess had sneaked into the bedroom Finn shared with her second-oldest brother, Sean, just to watch Will Darrow sleep.

Now, as he cautiously crossed the threshold and entered the house, Tess couldn’t help recalling those nights, couldn’t help remembering how a younger Will had looked, sleeping shirtless and restless in a slice of silver moonlight.

He’d been slim, but solid, as a youth. As a man, he was still solid—way solid—but he had filled out, too. A lot. As he squeezed past Tess—careful not to let any part of his body come into contact with any part of hers—he towered over her by nearly a foot. He was twice as broad as she was, too, though that wasn’t really saying much. Tess had one of those fast metabolisms that left her looking far too willowy for her liking—or would have left her looking willowy, anyway, had she been taller than five foot two. As it was, to her way of thinking, she just looked scrawny.

“Abigail Torrance stopped by the garage the other night,” Will began without preamble as Tess closed the door behind him.

“Gee, what else is new?” she asked as she motioned him into the living room. She told herself she did not sound petulant as she continued, “Abigail stops by the garage just about every night. What succulent little morsel did she bring you to eat that night?” Besides Abigail Torrance, she then added uncharitably to herself.

“That’s not important,” Will said as he strode toward the sofa. “What is important is—”

He halted midstride and midsentence, his gaze fixed on the book that was lying faceup on the sofa cushion—the book titled How to Raise a Creative Child in Modern Times.

Oh, great, Tess thought. She knew exactly what he was thinking, so before he had a chance to say anything, she hastily explained, “It’s for school.”

“You’re reading how-to-raise-a-kid books for school?” he asked dubiously.

She nodded. “How-to-raise-a-kid books make great educational aides. A lot of teachers are reading that book. Teachers who aren’t pregnant,” she added pointedly.

Will clearly wasn’t swayed in his opinion. He hooked his hands on his hips— Tess tried not to drool at the way his shirt gaped open a bit over the dark hair beneath—and just got right to the matter at hand. “Talk has it that you were seen at a motel a while back with a man.”

Now this was news to Tess. And it frankly surprised her that the Marigold grapevine—enthusiastic though it might be—would perpetuate something so unfounded and malicious. Not that passing along the false notion that she was pregnant was particularly kind, but it had at least been grounded in some kind of odd reality—the impression that she had been suffering from morning sickness and had herself made a reference to her “condition.”





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