Confidential: Expecting! (8 page)

“I’m hardworking,” she told him.

Logan blew out a breath, unimpressed. “That’s just another label for the same thing. Is that the best you can do?”

“It’s enough. It should be enough.” Her voice rose.

He reached over for one of her hands. “I haven’t known you very long, Mallory, and already I see so much more than that. You sell yourself short.”

Even in the dimly lit car he could see her throat work. “Well, do tell.”

He wasn’t offended by her attempt at sarcasm. He squeezed the hand he still held in his. “No. It’s for you to see. Not for me to tell you. It won’t have the same
impact then. And before you accuse me of analyzing you, how about we change the subject?”

“Okay.” She blew out a breath, clearly trying to rally. Determined. Yes, she was definitely that. “So, what do you think of jazz?”

“I like it.”

“You sound a little surprised.”

“I am. Maybe it was the live performance tonight or the company.” He flashed her a grin. “But I really enjoyed myself. I may have to go out and buy a jazz CD. Or you could lend me a couple of yours until I’m sure I like the genre?”

“Maybe,” she allowed.

They reached her apartment building. Logan found a parking spot half a block past the front entrance and pulled the car to the curb. Switching off the ignition, he turned to her and asked, “So, are you still mad at me?”

“Mad? Why would I be mad?” But she crossed her arms over her chest. He thought he saw a flicker of challenge in her expression.

He played along. Nodding, he said, “You are, but you know, this could be a blessing in disguise.”

Mallory’s brow crinkled. “How do you figure that, Doc?”

“Everyone knows that make-up sex is the best kind.” He waited a moment before bobbing his eyebrows.

Mallory didn’t so much as smile.

“You look skeptical.”

And a little amused. Her lips had begun to twitch
despite her effort to remain stoic. “I may need some convincing,” she said.

Logan opened his car door and came around to her side. As he helped her out, he said, “Come on, then. Let’s get started.”

“S
O, WHO
is he?” Vicki Storm asked.

Their drinks, tortilla chips and a bowl of salsa had just arrived at their table at Tia Lenore when Mallory’s best friend and former college roommate asked the question. Vicki wasn’t one to beat around the bush. It was one of the things Mallory liked about the other woman, but she didn’t appreciate it tonight. For reasons she couldn’t quite explain, she hadn’t told her friend about Logan.

“Who is who?”

“The man who has kept you so busy that you’ve skipped not one but two of our margarita dates? And tonight doesn’t really count as a margarita night, either.” Her friend’s nose wrinkled. “You’re drinking plain old water.”

“I didn’t feel like tequila tonight.” The truth was, salsa was low on her list, too. She’d been battling a bad case of indigestion for the past week.

When silence ensued, Vicki followed up with an impatient, “Well?”

Vicki worked as an interior designer, decorating the palatial penthouses and estates of some of the area’s wealthiest people. She was good at her profession. Downright gifted, in fact. But Mallory still thought the woman should have gone into journalism. She’d make one hell of a reporter. Or a formidable interrogator with the Chicago police department.

“His name is Logan, okay?”

“Does he have a last name or is this some sort of kinky Internet thing?”

The moment of truth had arrived. “It’s Bartholomew.”

“Logan Bartholomew.” Her friend’s eyes widened then. “As in the hunky radio doctor?”

“That’s the one.” Mallory couldn’t help the smug smile that accompanied her words.

“There’s an ad promoting his show at my El stop. Is he as gorgeous in person or was he Photoshopped to male perfection?”

“He’s that good-looking.” It came out a near sigh.

Vicki whistled between her teeth. “Well, no wonder you’ve fallen off the radar. When did this happen? How? Where? Why? Etcetera. And don’t even think about skimping on the details,” her friend warned, taking a chip from the basket in the center of their table to dip in the salsa.

“We’ve been seeing each other for about six weeks,” Mallory began, using her index finger to follow the path of a bead of condensation on the outside of her glass of ice water.

“Uh-oh.”

She glanced up sharply. “What?”

“It’s serious, isn’t it?”

“We’re just dating.” Mallory attempted a shrug.

Vicki appeared unconvinced. “So, tell me about this famous hunk you’re
just
dating.”

No doubt her friend was regretting her offer when, half an hour later, Mallory ended her monologue. She hadn’t been able to help herself. Nor had she been able to prevent smiling.

It was no surprise when Vicki plunked back in her seat on an oath. “I think I need another drink. I’ve never heard you go on about a guy the way you do this one.”

Mallory folded her arms. “Gee, sorry if I’ve bored you.”

“You know you haven’t. Sadly, given the state of my love life lately, listening to yours is more exciting.” Her friend sighed again.

“What about that accountant, John?”

“Jerry. And it turns out he’s married.”

“Sorry, Vicki. Want to talk about it?”

“Thanks, but we’ll save my man troubles for another girls’ night out. Back to my point. You dated Vince for what, three years?”

“Technically, three and a half,” Mallory said, forgoing the salsa to munch on a plain tortilla chip.

“Yet whenever we got together for margaritas and girl talk his name rarely came up in conversation,” Vicki pointed out.

“Vince was a jerk,” Mallory said succinctly.

“I’m glad you realize that.”

“What was to realize? He cheated on me.” Four words that said it all but barely scraped the surface of the pain Mallory had experienced when she’d dropped by his apartment unexpectedly one Saturday and had come face-to-face with the half-naked proof of his betrayal.

“Yes, but he was a jerk even before he stepped out,” Vicki said. “He was a real pro at putting himself first and you last and getting you to think it was your idea.”

If it were anyone but Vicki saying this, Mallory would have felt ashamed. Since it was Vicki, she pulled a face. “I hate it when you’re right.”

“And I love it that you’ve finally met a great guy, one who opens car doors for you and takes you to places that he knows will be of interest to you.”

“Logan is great. The more time I spend with him…” She shrugged, smiled.

“You’re hooked.”

Her friend’s smug pronouncement had Mallory straightening in her seat.
Hooked
was just another name for a really big emotion. “Oh, no. No, no, no.” She shook her head. “I’m not hooked.”

Vicki blinked. “What?”

“I can’t be hooked.”

Her friend’s eyes narrowed and her tone took on an edge. “But you said you’d already decided Logan wasn’t a potential story.”

“I have.” Indeed, Mallory had given up on that idea while lying in bed with a telephone receiver tucked
under her ear, listening to him talk and giving voice to some of her private demons. “I’ll find another way to free myself from pabulum-writing hell.”

Then she frowned. Odd, but for weeks now her career had stopped being the center of her existence. She’d been too focused on Logan. Not the man, but the relationship that was developing between them. For her at least, it was moving well beyond the sex.

Sex…for weeks…without interruption from—

Another thought niggled as she contemplated that time frame, and nausea rose up to taunt her. Mallory pressed a hand to one temple. The room seemed to spin. She wished she could blame it on tequila, but she’d sipped nothing stronger than water. And thank God for that, given what she was thinking right now.

“Oh, no,” she moaned, and slumped back in her seat.

Vicki’s eyes widened. “Mal, you okay? You’re as pale as a ghost.”

Mallory shook her head. “I’m not okay.”

“Are you going to be sick?” Vicki glanced around in a panic for their waitress. “I’ll get the check and meet you outside.”

“No, no.” She waved off the suggestion, though a little fresh air wouldn’t have hurt. “I’m not sick, Vicki. I’m…I’m…”

Her friend leaned forward. “You’re what, hon?”

Pregnant? In love?

She couldn’t bring herself to say either aloud. Instead she murmured, “I think I may be heading toward hooked.”

Later that evening, alone in her apartment, she read the display on the early test kit she’d purchased on the way home. She was indeed going to have a baby. Logan’s baby.

Slumping down on the closed lid of the toilet, she let out a long breath. She was scared to death and excited beyond measure.

She’d been physically attracted to Logan from the very start, but she’d suspected for a while now that so much more was at stake. Maybe that was why she hadn’t told Vicki or anyone else about the relationship. She hadn’t been ready to face what was happening.

Her heart was on the line, the same heart the other men in her life—the really important ones—had made a bad habit of breaking.

Now even more was on the line than that.

How was Logan going to feel when she told him he was going to be a father?

Logan whistled as he wrapped up his work at the radio station for the day. His Doctor-in-the-Know program had ended an hour ago and on a professional high note. For once he’d felt as if he really was doing some good. A caller had complained about her elderly mother’s recent odd behavior. Sadly, it sounded like the early signs of dementia, although it could have been a drug interaction or even a vitamin deficiency. Off-air, he’d stayed on the line with her, suggesting a list of questions the woman should ask her mother’s doctor.

Perhaps reaching out to people who felt they had
nowhere else to turn for advice was every bit as important as serving clients in a private practice. Perhaps even more so.

All he had to do before leaving for the weekend was finish some paperwork and catch up on correspondence from fans. Logan made a point of clearing his e-mail at the end of each week and selecting a few from listeners who’d been unable to contact him on-air, which he then discussed in his Monday morning “mailbag” segment.

As he sifted through the e-mails, though, his mind was on Mallory. They had plans for the evening. There was nothing especially new in that. They’d spent time together almost every day, meeting for lunch, going out for dinner, taking evening sails on
Tangled Sheets.

He couldn’t seem to get enough of her. He didn’t want to. The more time he spent with the woman, the more time he wanted to spend with her. She was one of the most fascinating people he’d ever met. So many damned layers. And he was enjoying peeling back each one to see what was revealed.

His interest was not that of a psychiatrist, though his training made it easier to understand why she could be so confident in some aspects of her life and so utterly vulnerable in others. If he ever met her father—not that it looked like there was much chance of that—Logan was more likely to sock the guy in the jaw than to shake his hand. That was saying a lot, since generally he frowned on violence and considered it a poor substitute for civilized discourse. But give him ten minutes alone
with Mitchell Stevens and Logan would put his fists to good use.

Divorce or no divorce, what kind of man walked away from his children and failed to provide for them, not only financially but emotionally? Perhaps because of his own loving upbringing, Logan found it inconceivable and unforgivable. He ached for Mallory and detested the harm such an elemental rejection had done to her psyche. But his interest in her was not that of a doctor or counselor. His interest in Mallory was purely that of a man…a man who was having a damned hard time keeping his hands to himself.

The only stumbling block to total peace of mind was that he didn’t quite trust her. Not completely and without reservation. He needed to believe that Mallory’s only reason for seeing him was personal. He almost did.

Almost.

His hesitation had less to do with her reputation—which his agent called to remind him of daily—than it did with his past. Nearly a decade after Felicia’s bombshell that she’d found someone else and was leaving, his heart finally had healed. It was perfectly whole now, every last fissure mended. Not surprisingly, he wanted to keep it that way. But relationships—the serious and long-term variety, at least—required one to take a risk. Logan wasn’t sure he was ready to do so, even if that was exactly what he regularly advised some of his lovelorn callers to do.

Case in point, Emily in Elmhurst, whose e-mail was on his computer screen at the moment.

Dear Doctor,

I’ve been dating my current boyfriend for nearly a year. I would classify our relationship as serious, though he hasn’t mentioned marriage. We are both in our thirties and we both have suffered bad breakups in the past. My concern is this: I have yet to meet his family. They live nearby and he sees them regularly, but I have never been invited along. Could he be trying to tell me something?

“Confront him about the matter, but without hostility. Discuss the situation calmly,” Logan wrote. “Your boyfriend may not think the relationship as serious as you do, or it may be something else entirely at the crux of his hesitation. Something such as…”

He frowned at the computer screen as his own experience juxtaposed with that of Emily’s beau. He understood the man’s hesitation. He understood it perfectly.

Logan hadn’t brought a woman around his family since his breakup with Felicia. They had accepted his ex-fiancée, loved her and when she betrayed him, they had felt betrayed, as well. So, just as he’d guarded his own heart these past years, he was careful with theirs.

He was contemplating the wording of his advice to Emily—advice he wasn’t sure he would be ready to heed—when his cell phone trilled. It was his brother.

“Finally,” Luke groused upon hearing Logan’s greeting. “You’ve been a hard man to reach lately. If it
weren’t for hearing your voice on the radio, I might think something bad had happened to you.”

“Sorry. I got your messages.” Luke had left three in the past week. None had seemed urgent, or Logan would have returned them immediately. “I was going to call you today.”

“I’ve tried you day and night. Where have you been?”

“Out.”

Logan’s monosyllabic response earned laughter from the other end of the line. “No kidding.” Luke sobered somewhat when he asked, “Is everything okay?”

“Better than okay, actually.”

“Hmm.” More laughter followed. “So, what does she look like?”

“Funny,” Logan evaded. “Is there a point to this call?”

“Beyond my being concerned about my big brother’s welfare, you mean?” Barely fifteen months separated them in age. When they were boys, they’d fought unmercifully. As men, they had become the best of friends.

“Yeah. Beyond that,” he said dryly.

“Fine. I need your taste buds. Even though you’ll never be able to hold a candle to me in the kitchen, I trust your judgment.”

“Gee, thanks.” Logan leaned back in his chair and doodled on the edge of the desk blotter with his pen. “For what exactly?”

“I want to expand the Grill’s menu,” Luke replied, referring to his restaurant. “We offer a terrific selection at lunchtime. The diverse crowd we pull in reflects that.
But traffic falls off significantly in the evening. The same patrons who faithfully come in at noon for our sandwiches, soups and salads, forget all about us when the sun sets.”

“Is business bad?” Logan asked. The economy being what it was, a lot of establishments that relied on people’s disposable incomes were foundering. If Luke needed cash to see him through to better times, Logan would offer it. No questions asked, no strings attached. They were family.

“I wouldn’t classify it as bad,” Luke hedged. “We do well enough thanks to eat-in and takeout lunch orders, but I’d be able to make a couple of my servers full-time if we brought in a better dinner crowd.”

Logan set his pen aside and rubbed his chin. “So, what kind of dishes are you considering?”