What a Woman Wants

And the greatest lesson he’d learned had come from Erick. When you got a woman pregnant, you married her.

Something brushed against his leg and he started. He pushed his chair back to stare at the black-and-white firehouse cat. “What do you want, Spot?”

If one was to believe the stories circulating around town about the feline that thought she was a dog, she had a habit of showing up on the doorsteps of those most in need of help, no fires necessary. And it was there she stayed, seemingly for no reason at all. Then, when the crisis went away, so did the cat.

Dusty Conrad’s wife, Jolie, believed the stories. She even credited the cat for helping to bring her and Dusty back together last autumn.

Of course John didn’t buy into any of the stories. Not even Jolie’s, although Jolie was one of the most levelheaded people he knew. He patted the cat on the head, then scooted it toward the door before his allergies kicked in. “Go on now. Why don’t you go see what ol’ Ed has for you.” He gestured toward the door and the counter behind, where Ed Hanover had taken over for George Johnson. Ed was always eating something or other.

John absently plucked the papers from his desk, read the fax number he’d been given over the phone, then dialed it and laid the papers in the document holder.

He imagined what his father might say at the news that his youngest had gotten a “good” girl pregnant. He could practically envision him tucking in his shirt, hiking up the waist of his slacks and then saying, “a Sparks always lives up to his responsibilities.”

Of course his many memories of his father saying that had come as a result of some minor infraction such as Ben’s being an hour late delivering his newspapers. Or his own promise to shovel the neighbor’s walk in the dead of winter. Certainly nothing that even neared the magnitude of this.

Still, his father’s words made a lot of sense. Had he planned on being a father? Unequivocally, no. Did that change things one iota? Again, no.

He leaned back in his chair, rocking slightly. Well, then, it only stood to reason that this particular Sparks should live up to his responsibilities, didn’t it?

He sprung from his chair as though it had catapulted him. No way. He couldn’t believe he was even contemplating such an option. No, not an option. It didn’t even near possibility status, as far as he was concerned.

He paced one way, then the other, but stopped when he caught himself tucking in his short-sleeved shirt and hiking up his pants.

What would Darby expect him to do?

The mere thought of her made his stomach pitch toward his feet. Not because she was pregnant, although that detail didn’t exactly have a small impact on him. No. Just thinking of her made him long for something he’d never known he wanted. Something he couldn’t quite define. Filled him with an unnamable something that made him want to hop in his SUV and head straight out to her house.

He decided to do just that.

Pressing the button to forward his calls to his cell phone and plucking his hat from the desktop, he headed for the door. He still didn’t have a clue about what he was going to do or say. But he suspected he’d figure it out by the time he got there.

Chapter Three

T he four-bedroom farmhouse on the outskirts of town sat nestled in the middle of the Promised Land Farm, 150 acres of ripe farmland that had just been plowed and planted. Having been raised in an apartment over the Laundromat in downtown Old Orchard, Darby usually took great satisfaction in her home, her surroundings, living the life she’d always longed to but never had until she married Erick.

Right now, however, she just wished the world would stop spinning for thirty seconds.

No, ten. That was all she needed. Just enough time to find the patience she usually had for the people who tried to help her out since Erick’s death but somehow managed to make life even more of a challenge.

She’d returned home after her doctor’s appointment to find that the teenage girl from up the road had left the pen gate open when she’d fed the animals. Everything from a llama to a miniature horse was left trampling all over the crooked rows of corn Old Man McCreary had planted last week. And now Erin had let Billy the Goat into the kitchen, the dinner potatoes were boiling over, Lindy was on Darby’s heels with nonstop questions, and somewhere in the house the cordless phone was ringing, even though Darby couldn’t for the life of her remember where she’d left it.

“Mom, do babies really come from mommies’ stomachs?” Lindy’s latest question nearly sent Darby skidding across the tile as she tried to keep Billy from devouring the blue-and-white checkered tablecloth. She tugged on the full-grown goat’s collar, and he in turn tugged on the tablecloth, sending the dinner placements crashing to the floor.

Darby sighed, nearly backing into Lindy. “Yes, sweetie, babies really do come from mommies’ stomachs.”

She swallowed hard. There wasn’t even a remote chance that her six-year-old daughter was talking about her own mommy, or the brother or sister who was on the way.

She tousled the girl’s blond curls as she bent over to retrieve the plastic cups. She’d learned long ago that while plastic might not be the most refined choice, it was the most practical. And the latest mishap only served to prove the point.

“But…” Lindy began.

Darby began stacking the plates and gathering the silverware, then leaned over and switched off the heat under the pan of potatoes. “Lindy, you remember when Petunia had her colt last year, don’t you?”

From the corner, where Erin was ineffectually pulling on Billy’s lead, came a laugh. Then Lindy said, “Mom, Petunia’s baby came out of her butt.”

Darby snapped upright, finding the imagery on top of everything else a little much. She wasn’t going to touch that one with a ten-foot pole. The girls were six. She’d explained where babies come from when Petunia gave birth and wasn’t quite up to another run-through just now. Not considering she’d be coming awfully close to describing the circumstances that had led to her own current pregnancy.

“It did not come out of her butt, stupid,” Erin said, giving up trying to control the goat and planting her hands on her hips.

“What did we agree about name-calling, Erin?” Darby asked.

“Dummy,” Lindy said to her sister, then stuck out her tongue.

Darby put her hand on Lindy’s head and turned her in the other direction. “Go see if you can find the phone before it stops ringing, okay?” As soon as one twin was out of the room, she turned to the other. Completely oblivious to her mother, Erin opened the back door and gave Billy a swift kick to the hind leg. The goat brayed and darted outside.

“Erin!” Darby gasped, appalled at her daughter’s actions.

“Whoa there, buddy,” a male voice sounded.

Darby’s heart hiccupped as she waited for the visitor to show himself. A second later, John’s hesitantly smiling face appeared on the other side of the screen.

“Hi,” he said.

Hi, indeed. Amidst the chaos swirling around Darby, just looking at John standing there, crisp and fresh in his sheriff’s uniform, his hair neat, his chin shaved, his grin warm and sexy, made her feel a different kind of chaos swirl inside of her. He looked better than any one man had a right to. Always had. But now that she’d not only been intimate with him but carried his child, she felt a connection that bound them as surely as the attraction that hummed between them.

“Um, hi,” Darby managed, hoping her smile wasn’t silly or too revealing. But so what if it was? She was glad to see him.

She watched his hazel eyes water. He turned his head, then sneezed.

Allergies. The goat…

Erin soundly closed the door in John’s face even as he murmured a “Pardon me” for the sneeze.

“Erin!” Horrified, Darby stared at her daughter. First the kick to the goat, then slamming the door on John. What had gotten into the girl? While Erin’s tongue could be sharper than a rapier, Darby had never known her daughter to be cruel to any of the animals, and she’d certainly never displayed anything but adoration for her “Uncle Sparky,” a title bestowed on John before the girls could even walk. Just that morning she’d flung herself at him as if he were king of the world. What had happened to change that?

Darby hurried to the door, nearly tripping over Lindy as she came rushing in from the other room, the cordless phone in her hand.

“It’s Aunt Jolie, Mama.”

“Thanks, sweetie.” Darby took the phone, then opened the door. John still stood there, his shocked expression likely mirroring her own. “I’m so sorry, John. Come. Come in.”

Darby moved from the door and whispered to Erin, “That was very rude. Apologize.”

Erin stuck out her bottom lip, stalked to the kitchen table and plopped down in her chair. Darby gave John an apologetic look. “I’ll be with you in just a moment.” She lifted the receiver to her ear. “Hi, Jolie. Is it all right if I call you back?”

Her best friend and sister-in-law’s quiet laughter told her she’d overheard. “Sure thing. Sounds like you’ve got your hands full.”

“Understatement. Thanks, Jol. Talk to you later.”

She pressed the disconnect button, then curled her arms until she held the phone against her chest. “Hi, again,” she said to John.

If her voice sounded a little breathless, that was normal, wasn’t it? Considering the past hour and all that it encompassed? It didn’t have to mean that just looking at John made shivers rush over her skin or her toes curl in her clogs.

His grin only heightened her reaction.

Darby jumped at the sound of a thud, making her realize she’d been staring. She glanced at where Erin had set a glass down hard on the table, finishing the place settings with Lindy’s quiet help. Then the sulky six-year-old pushed the fourth chair to the corner and put a laundry basket full of clean clothes on top of it. Darby realized her daughter was attempting to circumvent any intentions Darby might have of inviting John to dinner. Just what had happened when she wasn’t looking to make her feel such animosity toward John?

He cleared his throat, the sound filling the quiet room. “I, um, didn’t think that it was dinnertime. Maybe I should come back later,” he said, apparently not missing Erin’s actions, either.

“No,” Darby said quickly. A little too quickly. Movement caught her eye, and she stared at the cat that had nearly tripped her that morning outside John’s office. What was Spot doing all the way out here? She smiled at John. “I mean, you know there’s no such thing as a wrong time to drop in. Here—” she cast a warning glance at Erin, then pulled out her own chair “—have a seat. Would you like some coffee or something? And of course you’ll have to stay for dinner.”

John sat down. Behind him, Darby ignored Erin’s openmouthed, aghast reaction even as the girl picked Spot up. “Sorry, but I can’t—stay for dinner, that is. I’m on call tonight and should stick a little closer to town.” He cleared his throat. “Can we talk? You know, for a couple of minutes?”

Darby nodded as she drained the water from the potatoes. “Sure.”

“I was hoping we could maybe talk alone?”

“Oh.” She looked at the twins. She made a point of including them in everything that went on in the house. Especially since Erick died. Her cheeks flamed as she remembered things in which they weren’t welcome to participate. Like her hot-and-bothered tryst with John in the barn three months ago. “Lindy? Erin? Why don’t you two go wash up for dinner?”

They raced for the door, obviously intent on completing the chore as quickly as possible. Darby added, “Then pick up your rooms until I call for you, okay?”

“But, Mom—”

“Erin, please. Can you do as I ask just once without questioning me?”

To her surprise, Erin didn’t argue. Though her pouty expression didn’t disappear, she did do an about-face and leave the room without another word, clutching Spot to her chest.

Darby grasped the back of one of the chairs. “I’m sorry about that. I don’t know what’s the matter with her today.”

“Funny, it’s almost like she can’t stand the sight of me.”

Darby sat down and leaned forward. “Oh, no, that’s not it at all. Erin’s too young to know whom she likes or dislikes. I think maybe she’s feeling a bit…I don’t know, threatened by you, that’s all.”

“I’d never do anything to hurt either of those girls,” he said quietly.

She smiled. “I know you wouldn’t. And they know that, too. That’s not what I meant by ‘threatened.’ Whenever you come over, you distract me from them. Take my attention. And it hasn’t been quite a year yet since…”

She trailed off. If anyone knew when Erick had died, it was the man in front of her.

She looked everywhere but at his face. “Anyway, I’m sure Erin’s just having a bad day. We’re all known to have one every now and again. She’ll probably be back to her old friendly self before we know it.”

At least she hoped so. It was going to be hard enough for her to handle what she was facing without a rebellious child on her hands.

She took a deep breath and smiled at John again, finding that the mere act of doing so made her feel a thousand times better. “So…what’s so all-fired important that you need to talk to me alone?”

He shifted, looking doubly uncomfortable. Darby’s gaze dropped to where he juggled something in his hands. Her eyes widened. She’d been so distracted when he’d come in, she hadn’t noticed he was holding anything, much less the bouquet of wildflowers, a red foil-wrapped package of chocolates…and a suspicious, small jeweler’s box.

A lump the size of a potato clogged her throat. Even as she wondered what he was doing with the items, it registered that the gifts might be the cause of Erin’s behavior. In one glance, Uncle Sparky had transformed into someone interested in taking her daddy’s place.

“John?” Darby said slowly, “What are you—”

She gasped as he leaned forward and wrapped his free hand around hers.

“Darby, I…I, um, know I wasn’t exactly coherent when you told me the news this morning,” he said, his thumb setting fire to her skin as he stroked it. “Truth is, you could have knocked me over with a feather.”

“John, I—”

“No, please. Let me say my piece.”

Darby bit hard on her bottom lip and nodded, trying not to notice how handsomely earnest he looked.

“What I’m trying to say is that if I looked less than happy about the news, it’s only because of the surprise factor. You’re a great woman. Wonderful. And it’s no secret that we have…feelings for each other.”

Oh, God.

“I think…no, I want…”

Darby stared at him, completely spellbound. Her mouth refused to work. Her heart beat so loudly in her ears she barely heard him.

“Aw, hell, Darby, will you marry me?”

Chapter Four

“N o!”

John winced away from Darby’s gasp. She looked like someone had just turned a fire hose on her and was desperately searching for a way to dodge the spray.

Yet somehow she was still one of the most beautiful women he’d ever laid eyes on. Her green eyes were wide and compassionate, her mouth built for kissing for hours on end, her body made for the kind of loving he couldn’t stop thinking about wanting to give her.

When he’d decided to come out here, he hadn’t known what he was going to do. Okay, maybe he’d known. The flowers and the ring were evidence of that. Only, he hadn’t known whether he would have the guts to do it. Proposing marriage was so foreign, the idea alone was enough to strike fear deep into his heart. But when he’d said the words, he’d immediately known they were the right ones to say. They felt right. Darby was pregnant with his child. He was going to do the right thing and marry her.

He’d never imagined she’d say no.

John cleared his throat, for the life of him not knowing what to say now.

He did his best, though, along with a grin that missed the mark. “Well, that certainly didn’t come out the way I meant for it to, did it?” he spoke more to himself than to her, finding the house suddenly quiet. Too quiet. Somewhere two six-year-old girls were probably listening with their little ears pressed to the wall. “I’ve surprised you.”

Darby blinked several times, then smiled in a way he could only classify as uncertain. “Umm, I think ‘shocked’ is more the word I’d use.”

A roughly cut flower stem bit into John’s palm. He looked down at the bouquet. He’d told Janice at the recently rebuilt General Store that he was picking up the flowers for his mother. It was only after the impulse buy that he realized Janice would probably say something to Mona, then Mona would talk to his mother’s best friend, Beatrice, and before the day’s end everyone would figure out he hadn’t bought the flowers for his mother, but had, in fact, purchased them for someone else.

But he hadn’t been thinking about that at the time. He knew how much Darby liked daisies, and he’d wanted to buy her these, no matter the consequences.

And she didn’t even appear to notice them.

“Won’t these things die or something if you don’t put them in water?” he asked, breaking the silence.

Darby merely blinked at him again, not having moved more than that since the moment he’d blurted out his question.

He shrugged, going for nonchalance, but probably looking like an idiot. “Be a shame to have to throw such pretty flowers away.”

Finally Darby seemed to snap out of whatever trance she’d gone into. She snatched the flowers from his hand and put them on the opposite end of the table. “Forget about the flowers, John. I want you to, um, tell me that you didn’t just ask what I think you asked.”

He winced. Her words were like a punch to the gut. No-nonsense Darby. She’d earned the nickname while they were still in college. No matter what was going on, you could count on her to tell it like it was, no-holds-barred. He’d never wished otherwise—until now.

Okay, so maybe he’d mucked up the proposal. But he never thought she’d respond the way she had. He searched her eyes, finding in their depths confusion, a smear of sadness he’d become all too familiar with after Erick’s death, and a light that drew him in farther, deeper. He’d always been able to talk to Darby. Always. Yet the prospect of discussing his reasons behind his proposal now seemed impossible.

“But I did. Because it’s the right thing to do,” he said finally.

The light vanished from her eyes, leaving only the sadness and confusion. “I see.”

John cursed himself. Maybe he hadn’t done this right. Maybe he should have gotten down on one knee, as he had planned, instead of just blurting out the question like that. There seemed to be some sort of magic involved when guys did that.

He pushed from the table and bent down on one knee, his heart threatening to beat straight through the wall of his chest.

“John!” she whispered urgently, her gaze darting around the room. “What are you doing? Get up!”

He shook his head and reached for her hands, but she tugged them out of reach. He reached farther and caught them in his fingers. Her hands were warm, her palms as damp as his were. It was all he could do not to forget what he’d been about to do in order to marvel at her soft skin. He settled for turning her hands over and rubbing his thumb along the length of her palms. He only half registered her shiver.

“Darby, I…I know neither one of us planned…well, you know.” She glanced away. He caught her chin in his fingers and coaxed her to look back at him. “But facts are facts, and things being as they are, I think it would be a good idea if you and I became…”

He nearly said “husband and wife,” but somewhere between his lungs and his mouth the words got lost. He stared at her, trying to think of her as his wife. The only wife Darby had been was Erick’s.

“I think it would be a good idea if you and I got married,” he finally finished. He straightened his shoulders, trying to ignore the sudden itching of his nose.

“Oh, John,” she whispered, no longer trying to tug her hands away. But the words weren’t said in a wistful, happy way, as he’d hoped. Rather, Darby was looking at him as if he was in his Sunday best and had just fallen headfirst into a mud puddle.

Whoa, rejection. He didn’t have much experience in that department. In fact, he didn’t have any at all.

This time, he was the one to do the hand tugging. She held fast.

Darby leaned closer to him, but John refused to look at her for fear of what he’d find there. “Is this what you thought I was looking for when I told you…what I did this morning?”

He grimaced. Her gaze traveled over his face, then she ran her fingertips over his hair. A soft smile tilted her full mouth.

“It’s the right thing to do,” he said, damning his allergies to all her animals as he gave in and rubbed his nose against the uniform of his shirt to ward off a sneeze.

She shook her head, disturbing her auburn curls. “It’s completely the wrong thing to do,” she whispered. “You don’t want to marry me, John. You don’t want to marry anyone.”

He opened his mouth to say all that had changed, that it no longer mattered what he wanted, but she lay a finger across his lips to stop him. He nearly groaned at the feel of her flesh against his flesh. That so simple a touch sent his hormones to raging should have concerned him. But he couldn’t think much of anything at the moment.

“Thank you, though,” she said quietly, her gaze dropping to his chest where her fingers ran over the starched material of his shirt. “I think it’s really sweet, you know, that you asked.”

Heat fanned over his skin. “I wasn’t exactly going for sweet,” he said, his voice sounding much too gravelly.

The hint of a smile turned into a smile. “I know. And that’s what makes it even sweeter.”

Her hand dipped millimeters lower to touch his stomach. He drew a harsh breath and caught her fingers. “You know, I’m not used to taking no for an answer, Darby.”

Her smile faded.

“I believe marrying you is the right thing to do and I’m not going to give up until I see you and me at that altar.”

Darby’s breath snagged in her throat. The material under her fingertips was silky and inviting. John’s eyes held a resolution that touched her to her toes.

He wants to marry me.

Despite her initial shock at his bumbled proposal, Darby found that his words warmed her, touched her in a way she was helpless to explore just then. He was so earnest, so determined that she couldn’t help but be drawn to him, long to kiss him, if not for the panic swirling through her bloodstream, along with a thousand other jumbled emotions. Panic caused not by the thought of marrying him, of becoming Mrs. John Sparks, but fear that he was serious. That he intended to take this ridiculous idea of his and run with it.

“John…I think you and I need some time to adjust before either of us says anything we don’t mean.”

His jaw flexed, making her itch to inch her palm along the strong length of it. To press her mouth there, against his freshly shaved skin and drink in the tangy taste of him at her leisure. “I don’t need time, Darby. I know how I feel. I know what I need to do. And nothing you can say is going to change that.”

Something tickled her chest from the inside. “We’re not teenagers, John. When something like this happens, you don’t have to get married. There are alternatives now.”

His eyes narrowed.

“No, no, I didn’t mean that alternative. I’m going to go through with this.”

The relief on his face was so complete even she felt it rush through her body and warm her all over.

“Time,” he said pensively. “If it’s time you want, Darby, then it’s time I’m going to give you. But I promise you, no matter how long it takes, you are going to marry me.”

“No!”

Darby stared at him as if he had made the vehement announcement. Because if there was one thing she was sure of, she hadn’t said the word. Her heart was too busy doing a silly little dance for her to have responded in any manner.