Free His Woman, His Child by Beverly Barton

reminded her. And you are carrying his baby.
    "He doesn't want to love this child." She patted her tummy as she walked to the bathroom. "He's afraid of caring about me and our baby."
    Just as Susan finished using the bathroom, she heard Hank's Jeep. Where was he going? He hadn't said a word about leaving. Maybe he was going out to try to find some creamed potatoes. Surely not. The nearest restaurant open on a Sunday night was over in Marshallton.
    She glanced at herself in the mirror and cringed. I need a bath! But she felt as weak as a wet dishrag. What if she fell in the shower?
    After a quick sponge bath at the sink, Susan brushed her teeth, combed her hair and changed her gown. By the time she sat down in the wingback chair beside the window in her bedroom, she heard the Jeep pull into the driveway. Fred and Ricky barked a couple of times, and Hank scolded them. Susan smiled. His voice sounded rough and mean, but she knew, from personal experience, that like Ricky and Fred, Hank's bark was worse than his bite.
    She sat in the big chair, trying to relax, trying not to think about anything beyond today. Hank might not want his baby and he might not want her. Not now. Not yet. But right this minute, he was in her kitchen, fixing her something to eat. He was soothing her. Petting her. Taking care of her. She doubted that he'd ever tried to pacify another woman the way he was trying so hard to pacify her.
    Susan smiled. A contented smile. Rome wasn't built in a day, she reminded herself. Conquering her own fears and Hank's might take some time, but for the sake of the baby growing inside her, she had to find a way. In seven months, she and Hank were going to become parents—whether or not either of them was ready for the awesome responsibility.
    He rapped softly on the bedroom door.
    "Yes?"
    "Your creamed potatoes are ready," he said.
    "Great. I'm starved. Come on in."
    She glanced up when he approached the chair and for one split second was taken back by the sight of Hank Bishop carrying a shiny stainless steel stew pot in his hand. A long wooden spoon stuck straight up in the middle of the pot. Hank handed her a dish towel and then offered her the pot. She couldn't suppress a grin.
    "They're instant potatoes," he admitted. "I ran down to the grocery store and picked up a box. I followed the instructions, but they look a bit lumpy to me."
    "I'm sure they're delicious," she told him, accepting the offering and managing not to giggle.
    She lifted the spoon. The concoction stuck to the utensil's surface. She eyed the potatoes.
    "Is there something wrong with them?" he asked.
    "Oh, no. They're fine." Susan put the spoon to her mouth and licked off a bite of the thick, white glob. Despite the uneven texture of the potatoes, they didn't taste half bad. Of course, she was starving to death.
    Hank stood and watched her as she ate several bites, then he relaxed. She noted the way his tense shoulders eased and the frown on his face was replaced by a self-satisfied smile.
    Men! Susan thought. Especially hard-edged, macho types like Hank. He would never admit that her approval was important to him. That he wanted very much to please her. Perhaps he wasn't even aware of it himself.
    She ate about a fifth of the instant potatoes, then handed the pot to Hank. "They were delicious, but that's all my stomach will hold right now. Thank you, Hank, for being so good to me."
    Was that a blush she saw coloring his cheeks? Susan wondered. It was! She'd embarrassed him. She smiled, barely suppressing the laughter bubbling up inside her.
    When he took the pot from her, she deliberately allowed their hands to touch. Sizzling, shivering contact. He looked into her eyes and for one brief moment she thought he was going to kiss her. He grabbed the pot out of her hand and stepped backward, moving quickly away from her.
    "I'll clean up in the kitchen and then I'll head on—"
    "Hank?"
    "Yeah?" He halted in his hasty retreat.
    "I know it would be an