Not Quite Married by Christine Rimmer

to it.”
    “To find me and then decide I was remarried and not bother to get in touch with me until three weeks ago.”
    “The important thing is, I did get in touch with you.”
    “Finally.”
    She looked at him dead-on. “Do you really want to go there right now, while I’m resting ?”
    Those blue eyes were on her, so focused, so determined. “No. You’re right. I don’t.”
    She shoved at her ponytail, which had sagged rather sadly and would be coming completely undone any minute now. “May I have my purse, please?” He got right up and brought it to her. “Thank you.” He sat down again. She foraged around in the central compartment until she found her brush. And then she redid the ponytail, brushing it up and into her fist, then twisting the elastic back into place. “There. Much better.”
    He got up again and put the purse back in the locker. He was just shutting the metal door when the baby kicked her a good one.
    “Ouch!”
    He turned, fast, looking freaked. “Clara! What?”
    She laughed and rubbed the spot. “It’s just the baby. She’s a kicker.”
    He came to her side. “She?”
    She started to grab his hand and put it where he’d feel the next one—and then hesitated, suddenly self-conscious, a little embarrassed.
    Which was silly. She’d let complete strangers touch her tummy. Yeah, okay, the guy had done a number on her heart. But he was the father. And he was trying. She nodded, pushed the covers out of the way, took his hand and put it on the side swell of her stomach. The baby promptly kicked her again. She winced. “There. Feel it?”
    “I do.” He had that look, a look of wonder, of awe. It made her almost start to love him a little again, in spite of everything—scratch that. Like . It made her like him a little. Those blue eyes were shining. “By God, I feel it. I do.”
    She laughed again and held his hand as he pressed his big, warm palm to the side of her belly. Another kick. She chuckled. And Dalton made a low, marveling sound. His hand felt so strong, long fingers spread, against the side of her belly.
    And then her gaze went to his. They just stared at each other. With zero animosity. Only shared delight.
    He asked, “A girl, you said?”
    “Yes. I had an ultrasound.”
    “A girl,” he repeated, as if he’d never heard anything more miraculous in his life. “I never thought...”
    “What?”
    He looked faintly abashed. She found that way too charming. “I don’t know,” he said almost shyly. “A girl, that’s all. A little girl. What do you think of that?” It wasn’t really a question. More an exclamation along the lines of Isn’t that awesome? Or How completely cool .
    Clara watched his face and remembered the sweet, passionate, caring man she’d fallen in love with. Why was he hiding from her? Where had he gone?
    She was actually considering asking him, when her half sisters Jody and Nell appeared in the open door to the hallway.
    He must have caught the shift in her gaze. Pulling his hand away, breaking that tenuous connection, he turned toward the door.
    * * *
    Rocked to the core by the feel of his daughter’s tiny foot poking against his palm, Dalton turned to the two women standing in the doorway. One was conventionally pretty, with light brown hair and a big vase full of flowers in her hands. The other? An auburn-haired stunner, in a short, tight dress, she wore boots straight out of a Sons of Anarchy episode and had brightly colored tattoos from shoulder to elbow down her shapely left arm.
    The family resemblance was clear—between the two women in the doorway and the woman in the bed behind him. Sisters, probably. On the island, Clara had told him she had two half sisters and one full sister. Plus, there was someone named Tracy, wasn’t there? Tracy had come to live with Clara’s mother’s family, been raised as one of them, after her parents died tragically in a fire.
    “Jody. Nell,” Clara greeted the two with real warmth in her voice.