Everything but the marriage (20 page)

Reed's brows rose but, wisely, he didn't argue. "Well, whatever kind of relationship it is, you're damned lucky."

Devlin watched as he entered the spare bedroom. He continued to stare at the closed door, a frown tugging at his forehead. "Whatever kind of relationship it is." That was a damned good question.

Annalise reached out to take the hand Reed offered, her smile reflecting her regret at this goodbye. She hked Reed Hall. He was easy to like, but even without that, she liked the fact that he cared about Devlin.

Devlin had given her the bare outline of what had happened eight years ago, of how Reed had believed in him then. As far as she was concerned, that alone was reason enough to like the man.

"I enjoyed meeting you," she said. She wanted to say something about seeing him again someday. But her own relationship with Devlin was too uncertain. She didn't know how likely it was that she'd be here if Reed ever visited again.

"It was a great pleasure to meet you," he said, his soft drawl giving the words a courtly sound. His hand tightened over hers, his eyes taking on a serious edge.

"Have patience with him," he said abruptly, almost as if he'd read the doubts she hadn't voiced. "He's worth the effort."

Without waiting for her to come up with a reply, he bent to kiss her cheek. He released her hand, gave her a quick grin and disappeared out the door.

Annalise stared after him, listening to him exchanging a final few words with Devlin on the porch.

Have patience with him, he'd said.

She had all the patience in the worid. The question was, would it do her any good?

Chapter 12

Uevlin would have been happier if he could have defined Annalise's place in his life. He had to admit she had one. They were living together. When he looked around, he saw signs of her presence everywhere: a poster of a forest glade she'd tacked to two studs in the half that was drywalled living room; bright yellow curtains in the kitchen; flowers in the yard.

She'd made an impact in his hfe that went deeper than just sharing his bed. He'd smiled more, laughed more in the weeks she'd lived with him than he had in the ten years that had gone before.

She'd trusted him enough to share her grief, something more difficult than sharing his bed. She'd believed in him, asking no explanations. He'd told her the whole truth surrounding his conviction, holding back nothing. He hadn't killed Laura Sampson but

he'd slept with her, knowing perfectly well that she was married. Annalise's eyes had offered no judgment, no reproach.

Life had left Devlin wary. Trust was something that he gave to very few people. He'd known most of his life that he'd never marry, never have children, never get deeply involved with a woman.

Yet here he was, involved with Annalise St. John, a woman who'd had more than her share of pain in life. He didn't want to add to that pain. He didn't love her, but he'd come to care for her. Yes, that was a good way to describe it. He cared for her.

That admission made it possible for him to admit that he'd begun to think it might be possible to have her in his life, perhaps for a long time to come.

It was all very logical. She needed a home. He had a home to offer. They got along, in and out of bed. When he thought about spending the next few years with her, it sounded like a good idea.

He couldn't offer her a grand, romantic passion. He didn't have that to offer. But he could give her security. Not marriage. He could offer everything but marriage. But she'd been that route once and he doubted she'd be interested in giving it another try.

And no children. He ached for the pain she'd suffered when she found she couldn't have children, but he couldn't pretend that he hadn't been relieved to know that was one thing he wouldn't have to worry about. And having lost her little girl, she wouldn't want to take that risk again, anyway.

She had plenty of reasons to want a gentler, more comfortable future. Maybe, just maybe, they could build that future together.

Annalise also thought a lot about the future m the days following Reed's departure. Her realization that she loved Devlin had changed everything.

After losing Mary, she'd never thought she'd be able to care deeply for another human being. The pain had been so terrible, it had been like acid eating into her soul. She'd never wanted to risk that kind of hurt, again.

Devlin had proved how wrong she'd been. She'd cared for her first husband—thought she loved him. She saw now that what she'd felt for Bill had been nothing more than affection. They'd married more to assuage a mutual loneliness than because they felt a deep love.

What she felt for Devlin was nothing like her feelings for Bill. Her feelings for Devlin were so complex. She felt protected by him, but she also felt very protective of him. In his arms she felt safe, she also felt vividly aUve.

Knowing how she felt didn't tell her how Devlin felt, that was the question that nagged at her now that she'd realized her own feelings.

He cared for her—that much she was aware of. But whether that caring went deepCT than the concern he'd feel for anyone who was down on their luck, she couldn't be sure.

One thing she knew was that he had an enormous amount to give, if only he was willing to do so. It

didn't take a psychic to tell her that he was wary of involvement. That he'd gotten as involved with her as he had was a hopeful sign.

Be patient. Reed had said. Patience was one thing she had plenty of. She was willing to give Devlin all the time in the world to realize that they could build something together, something as strong and lasting as the house on which he was lavishing such caie.

She'd wait as long as it took for him to realize the future would be much brighter if they faced it together.

But the future was rushing in much faster than An-nalise realized.

"You look pale." Devlin's dark brows drew together as he frowned across the table at her.

"Thanks." When his expression didn't lighten, she let her smile fade. "I'm just a little tired."

* * You were tired yesterday and the day before."

"Excuse me for being human," she snapped. Inmie-diately she bit her lower lip, regretting the outburst. "I'm sorry."

"That*s okay." His eyes were concerned. "You just seem a little out of sorts, that's all."

Annalise poked her fork listlessly into the chef's salad in front of her. While she'd been making it, she'd felt positively ravenous and had nibbled at the ham and cheese. Now that it was in front of her, it had lost its appeal. Maybe she'd nibbled more than she'd realized.

"Fm just tired," she repeated, summoning up a smile. Actually it was all she could do to keep her eyes open lately.

"You slq)t this afternoon," he pointed out, still frowning.

Annalise kq)t her lashes lowered, forcing back the sudden tears that stung her eyes. He wasn't being critical. He was concerned. It was wonderful that he cared enough to be concerned. So why did she feel like bursting into tears?

"Maybe I need to take more vitamins," she suggested, keeping her tone light.

' *Maybe you need to see a doctor.''

"I'm not sick." Her fork clattered on the table as she pushed her barely touched salad away. "It's probably just the heat."

"It hasn't been that hot."

"Well, maybe I think it's hot," she snapped, shoving back from the table.

Devlin watched her storm from the room. After a moment, he got up and b^an clearing the table. He hadn't talked to Ben Masters since telling him that Annahse was going to be staying with him for a day or two. He stacked the salad plates in the dishwasher and shut the door, his expression thoughtful.

He wasn't much inclined toward interfering in someone else's life. But he'd been noticing Annalise's unusual lethargy for a week now, since not long after Reed left. She slept later in the morning, went to bed earher in the evenings and had taken more than one nap in the middle of the day.

It wouldn't hurt to call Ben and ask him to suggest a doctor—a woman. Not because he had felt any reluctance to have Annalise see a male doctor—no, that wasn't it at all. He just thought Annalise might be more comfortable with a woman.

Annalise was lying on the bed when he entered the bedroom. Beauty was seated beside her, getting her ears scratched. Two of the kittens were playing a game of tag on the bedspread.

"How are you feeling?" he asked quietly.

"Stupid.'' She stopped petting the cat and sat up, giving Devlin an apologetic smile. "I must be more tired than I thought to snap at you like that. I'm sorry."

"Don't worry about it." He came over to sit on the edge of the bed, drawing one knee up so that he faced her. "Before you get too much in sympathy with me, I should warn you that I called Ben Masters and got a recommendation for a doctor."

"Ben Masters. He's the doctor who was here the night you rescued me from the river, isn't he?"

"Yes." He'd been prepared for her to be furious. Instead, she looked thoughtful. "He suggested that you see a Dr. Linden. He says she's very good. I think I've heard Kelly mention her. Maybe you could call and ask her."

"That's okay. I'll trust your friend." She sighed. "I suppose it won't hurt to see a doctor. I'm sure there's nothing wrong that some vitamins won't cure."

"Sure." Devlin reached out to brush her hair back from her face, feeling a vague ache somewhere in the region of his heart. She looked so pale.

Maybe he was overreacting. No doubt she was right—she was probably just a little anemic. Woman got anemic all the time, right? But he couldn't deny that he'd feel better when the doctor confirmed it.

Devlin went with Annalise to Dr. Linden's office, though she insisted that she was perfectly capable of driving into Remembrance by herself. He had other things to do in town, he said vaguely. There was no reason to take two cars.

Secretly she rather liked having him with her. It made it seem as if they were a couple, as if there were more definite ties between them than he'd willingly admit existed. Besides, though she hadn't admitted as much, the blanket of exhaustion that seemed to be weighing her down lately had begun to worry her a httle.

Dr. Linden was a pleasant woman in her forties. She had medium brown hair, lightly sprinkled with gray and rather ordinary features. But her brown eyes were kind and reassuring.

Annalise endured the examination and answered all the questions she were asked. By the time the nurse told her she could get dressed, she was starting to feel foolish for having come in. Really, a spell of tiredness didn't seem like a symptom worthy of taking up a doctor's time.

It was wonderful that Devlin had been concerned about her, but she shouldn't have let his concern push

her into making an appointment that her better judgment told her was unnecessary. She got dressed, feeling as if she should apologize to the doctor.

But Dr. Linden didn't seem to feel any apology was necessary. The nurse showed Annalise into a pleasantly decorated office and told her to have a seat. She had only a moment to wait before the doctor came in and sat behind the desk. She spoke before Annalise could launch into the apologetic speech she'd been rehearsing.

"I think the source of your tiredness is obvious, Annalise."

"You do?" The question reflected her surprise. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing is wrong precisely." Dr. Linden folded her hands on top of Annalise's file and fbced the younger woman with a kind smile. "You're pregnant."

The words hit with sledgehammer force. Annalise stared at the doctor, her mind completely blank for the space of several heartbeats.

"I can't be."

"About eight weeks along, I'd say." Dr. Linden glanced at her notes again, giving her patient a chance to absorb the news.

"You're mistaken." There was absolute conviction behind the statement.

"You seem very sure of that."

"I can't have children.''

Dr. Linden's brows rose in surprise. "It says here that you had a successful pregnancy." She glanced at the chart for confirmation.

"Yes, but the doctors told me it was virtually a miracle that I got pregnant that one time." She explained, calmly and thoroughly, just why it was that she couldn't be pregnant.

For one moment, when the doctor had said she was pregnant, she'd felt a fierce blaze of joy, but she'd controlled it immediately, knowing that there'd been a mistake.

Dr. Linden listened to her explanation politely, asking one or two questions to clarify the situation.

"So you understand why there's been a mistake," Annalise finished, trying to pretend that her chest wasn't so tight with pain that she could hardly breathe.

"I understand why you find it difficult to believe, Annalise, but I'd like to point out that medicme is not as exact a sdoice as we'd all like it to be. Catainly, the conditions you're describing would make cohcq)tion extremely difficult—almost impossible. But it's that 'almost' that's the key word here. You did conceive once."

"But they said it was a miracle," Annalise whispered, terrified to let herself start bdieving that what the doctor had told her could be true—that she could be carrying Devlin's baby.

"It's possible to have two miracles in one lifetime," Dr. Linden said gaitly. "You seon to have been twice blessed."

Looking at ha-, Annalise felt the reality of it start to sink in. A baby. She was going to have another baby. Devlin's baby. Tears filled her eyes. She pressed her hand over her flat stomach, letting the miracle slowly become real.

* * *

When she rejoined Devlin in the waiting room, she had to swallow the urge to shout out the news. She'd stuffed all the brochures and pamphlets she'd been given into her purse and decided that tomorrow would be soon enough to fill the prescription for prenatal vitamins. At the moment, vitamins weren't as important as going home and breaking the news to Devlin that he was going to be a father.

She told him that the doctor had given her a clean bill of health—which wasn't a he. A pregnancy wasn't the same thing as an illness. Devlin's relief was obvious and Annalise hugged that to her on the drive home.