Chapter 10 #3
She was thinking about it now. Sleep? Not likely, not with him in the same house, so close but still out of reach.
She reminded herself that Brogan had made his position about involvement crystal clear. He was big and handsome, capable, and she was … in many ways, a failure.
Past failure, she corrected. To the best of her ability, she’d atoned for her bad decisions and the blunders she’d made.
The sad truth was, even without the mistakes in her past, she wasn’t all that appealing.
She was too short and thin, and the thought of intimacy made her want to hide.
The toll a baby took on a woman’s body couldn’t be denied.
Her hips were a little wider now, her stomach not as flat, and she had a few faint stretch marks on her breasts.
The glaring truth couldn’t be denied. If Brogan was interested in more—and he most emphatically was not, even if his hold now felt possessive, even if she felt his lips move against her hair and the gentle way he clasped her fingers—she still wasn’t sure she had the courage to get naked with anyone.
When her body had been unmarred in her prepregnancy days, she hadn’t been “enough.” How could she risk being told she wasn’t enough now?
After finally slipping out of Brogan’s arms, she took his hand and led him back to the kitchen. Cort and Marlow agreed to wait while he went to the lake house. Once he was gone, Marlow insisted that she take her shower and change into her sleep clothes.
Pixie took the fastest shower in history. She was thrilled that Brogan trusted her to watch over Shayna, and she didn’t want him to think she’d shirked that responsibility for her own convenience.
With her hair still in a high topknot, damp tendrils sticking to her neck, she dressed in an oversized T-shirt and soft leggings, shoved her feet into her fuzzy slippers, and found the necessary bedding for Brogan.
Pillow, sheet, and quilt in hand, she left the bedroom just as Cort let Brogan in through the kitchen door.
He’d gone out that way to keep from disturbing Shayna. He, too, looked freshly showered. He carried a duffel bag and had more supplies for Shayna in a tote bag. Under his other arm, he carried his own pillow and a quilt.
They smiled at each other.
“I was just about to make up the couch for you.”
“I can sleep on the floor. Like you said, the couch is a little short.” He glanced at Cort. “I have a sleeping bag in the car, but I couldn’t carry it all in one trip.”
“Want me to grab it?” Cort asked.
He shook his head. “I’ll just put this down—and then walk you and Marlow out.”
There was some quiet communication going on between the men, but Pixie didn’t understand it.
Brogan started out of the kitchen, but paused when he spotted Marlow sitting there on the sofa, staring down at Shayna. Pixie joined him, and then Cort.
It was a heartwarming image. Marlow’s deceased husband had twice now surprised her with children from other women, and yet the expression on her face was soft with affection. “There can’t be another woman like her anywhere,” Pixie whispered.
Because it all made her weepy with gratitude, she got moving again and carried the extra bedding into the enclosed porch. Brogan followed. He set everything down on the couch, but caught Pixie before she could leave.
Cupping her face in his hands, he said, “You’re wrong, you know.”
“About what?”
He smiled, kissed her forehead, then the bridge of her nose, and then …
Pixie held her breath—until he hugged her.
“You’re every bit as wonderful. Don’t forget that, okay?”
Outside, Cort helped Marlow into the truck and closed the door, then joined Brogan at the back of his SUV.
Brogan handed him a slip of paper. “My number, in case you should need it. If you see Ruth, or hear anything about her, I’d prefer you tell me, not Pixie.”
Cort pocketed the note. “You plan to keep things from her?”
His even tone gave nothing away, but Brogan disabused him of that notion anyway. “No. I want her to trust me, and I can’t do that if I shut her out.”
“Agreed. But you want to protect her.”
“It might be better if I have time to make plans with Ruth, without Pixie getting too involved. Not saying I’ll take off. I won’t—unless it’s necessary, and I’d tell Pixie first. I meant what I said about wanting Shayna to have family.”
The glow of the porch light didn’t reach the back of his car, so he couldn’t read Cort’s expression.
Actually, he didn’t need to. He sensed that Cort was about to impose his will.
As the owner of the lake house, and one of Pixie’s closest friends, he had rights, and he was the type of man who wouldn’t retreat.
“Good decision,” Cort said. “Because now that she’s been introduced, Shayna has family, whether you deem it so or not.”
It was a challenge, plain and simple, but damned if it didn’t make Brogan grin. “Excellent.”
Cort released a smile, too. “Go easy with Pixie. She can handle herself, but right now, I’m not sure either of you know what you want.”
As he hitched the strap of the sleeping bag over his shoulder and locked the car, Brogan watched Cort walk away. He was wrong—at least where Brogan was concerned. He knew exactly what he wanted.
With fireflies all around him, he started back around the house to the kitchen entrance.
Pixie opened the door just as he reached it, proving she’d been watching for him. There were questions in her eyes and uncertainty in her smile, but she opened the door and welcomed him.
Yeah, he knew what he wanted, all right.
Just as he knew he had no right to it. That kind of happiness wasn’t for him. He hadn’t expected it. Had known it was out of reach.
And then he’d met Pixie Nolan, and everything he’d ever known was somehow different now.