A marriage of convenience...

Turns into the love of their lives!

When Regan Channing finds herself in the family way, the last thing she expects is for another man to make her his wife! Especially not former bad boy Connor Neal. But Connor’s changed. Pretty soon Regan’s newborn twins have him wrapped around their fingers. And the electricity sizzling between Connor and Regan could power Haven for days. But can the deputy’s debt of obligation ever become true love?

BRENDA HARLEN is a former lawyer who once had the privilege of appearing before the Supreme Court of Canada. The practice of law taught her a lot about the world and reinforced her determination to become a writer—because in fiction, she could promise a happy ending! Now she is an award-winning, RITA® Award–nominated national bestselling author of more than thirty titles for Mills & Boon. You can keep up-to-date with Brenda on Facebook and Twitter or through her website, brendaharlen.com.

Also by Brenda Harlen

The Sheriff’s Nine-Month Surprise HerSeven-Day FiancéSix Weeks to Catch a CowboyClaiming the Cowboy’s Heart

A Wife for One YearThe Daddy WishA Forever Kind of FamilyThe Bachelor Takes a BrideTwo Doctors & a BabyBuilding the Perfect Daddy

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk

Double Duty for the Cowboy

Brenda Harlen

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-09108-4

DOUBLE DUTY FOR THE COWBOY

© 2019 Brenda Harlen

Published in Great Britain 2019

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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Version: 2020-03-02

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Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Epilogue

Extract

About the Publisher

Prologue

It had been a fairly quiet week in Haven, and Connor Neal was grateful that trend seemed to be continuing on this Friday night of the last long weekend of summer. Sometimes the presence of law enforcement was enough to deter trouble, so the deputy had parked his patrol car in front of Diggers’ Bar & Grill and strolled along Main Street.

There was a crowd gathered outside Mann’s Theater, moviegoers waiting for the early show to let out so they could find their seats for the late viewing. Construction workers were sawing and hammering inside The Stagecoach Inn, preparing the old building for its grand reopening early in the New Year. Half a dozen vehicles were parked by The Trading Post; several people lingered over coffee and conversation at The Daily Grind.

He waved at Glenn Davis, as the owner of the hardware store locked up, then resumed his journey. Making his way back toward Diggers’, he heard the unmistakable sound of retching. Apparently, patrol tonight was going to include chauffeur service for at least one inebriated resident, which was preferable to letting a drunk navigate the streets. He only hoped that whoever would be getting into the backseat of his car for the ride home had thoroughly emptied their stomach first.

He followed the sound around to the side of the building, where he discovered a nicely shaped derriere in a short navy skirt, beneath the hem of which stretched long, shapely legs. He felt a familiar tug low in his belly that immediately identified the owner of those sexy legs—it was the same reaction he had whenever he was in close proximity to Regan Channing.

She braced a hand on the brick and slowly straightened up, and he could see that she wore a tailored shirt in a lighter shade of blue with the skirt, and her long blond hair was tied back in a loose ponytail. She turned around then, and her eyes—an intriguing mix of green and gray—widened with surprise.

Her face was pale and drawn, her cheekbones sharply defined, her lips full and perfectly shaped. It didn’t seem to matter that she’d been throwing up in the bushes, Regan Channing was still—to Connor’s mind—the prettiest girl in all of Haven, Nevada.

She pulled a tissue out of her handbag and wiped her mouth.

He gave her a moment to compose herself before he said, “Are you okay?”

“No.” She shook her head, those gorgeous eyes filling with tears. “But thanks for asking.”

He waited a beat, but apparently she didn’t intend to say anything more on the subject. He took the initiative again. “Can I give you a ride home?”

“No need,” she said. “I’ve got my car.”

“Maybe so, but I don’t think you should be driving.”

“I’m feeling a lot better now—really,” she told him.

“I’m glad,” he said. “But I can’t let you get behind the wheel in your condition.”

“My condition?” she echoed, visibly shaken by his remark. “How do you know—” she cut herself off, shaking her head again. “You don’t know. You think I’ve been drinking.”

“It’s the usual reason for someone throwing up outside the town’s favorite watering hole,” he noted.

Regan nodded, acknowledging the validity of his point. “But I’m not drunk... I’m pregnant.”

Chapter One

Six and a half months later

Regan shifted carefully in the bed.

She felt as if every muscle in her body had been stretched and strained, but maybe that was normal after twenty-two hours of labor had finally resulted in the birth of her twin baby girls. Despite her aches, the new mom felt a smile tug at her lips when she looked at the bassinet beside her hospital bed and saw Piper and Poppy snuggled close together, as they’d been in her womb.

The nurse had advocated for “cobedding,” suggesting that it might help the newborns sleep better and longer. Regan didn’t know if the close proximity was responsible for their slumber now or if they were just exhausted from the whole birthing ordeal, but she was grateful that they were sleeping soundly.

And they weren’t the only ones, she realized, when she saw a familiar figure slumped in a chair in the corner. “Connor?”

He was immediately awake, leaning forward to ask, “What do you need?”

She just shook her head. “What time is it?”

He glanced at his watch. “A few minutes after eleven.”

Which meant that she’d been out for less than two hours. Still, she felt a little better now than when she’d closed her eyes. Not exactly rested and refreshed, but better.

Her husband hadn’t left her side for a moment during her labor, which made her wonder, “Why are you still here?”

Thick, dark brows rose over warm brown eyes. “Where did you think I’d be?”

“Home,” she suggested. “Where you could get some real sleep in a real bed.”

He shrugged, his broad shoulders straining the seams of the Columbia Law sweatshirt—a Christmas gift from his brother—that he’d tugged over his head when she’d awakened him to say that her water had broken. “I didn’t want to leave you.”

Her throat tightened with emotion and she silently cursed the hormones that had kept her strapped into an emotional roller coaster for the past eight months. Since that long ago night when she’d first told Connor about her pregnancy, he’d been there for her, every step of the way. He’d held her hand at the first prenatal appointment—where they’d both been shocked to learn that she was going to have twins; he’d coached her through every contraction as she worked to bring their babies into the world; he’d even cut the umbilical cords—an act that somehow bonded them even more closely than the platinum bands they’d exchanged six months earlier.

“I think you couldn’t stand to let the girls out of your sight,” she teased now.

“That might be true, too.” He covered her hand with his, squeezing gently. “Because they’re every bit as beautiful as their mama.”

She lifted her other hand to brush her hair away from her face. “I’d be afraid to even look in a mirror right now,” she confided, all too aware that she hadn’t washed her hair or even showered after sweating through the arduous labor.

“You’re beautiful,” Connor said again, and sounded as if he meant it.

She glanced away, uncertain how to respond. Over the past few months, there had been hints of something growing between them—aside from the girth of her belly—tempting Regan to hope that the marriage they’d entered into for the sake of their babies might someday become more.

Then a movement in the bassinet caught her eye. “It looks like Poppy’s waking up.”

He followed the direction of her gaze and smiled at the big yawn on the little girl’s face. “Are you sure that’s not Piper?”

“No,” she admitted.

Although the twins weren’t genetically identical, it wasn’t easy to tell them apart. Poppy’s hair was a shade darker than her sister’s, and Piper had a half-moon-shaped birthmark beside her belly button, but of course, they were swaddled in blankets with caps on their heads, so neither telltale feature was visible right now.

He chuckled softly.

“Do you think she’s hungry?” Regan asked worriedly.

The nurse had encouraged her to feed on demand, which meant putting the babies to her breast whenever they were awake and hungry. But her milk hadn’t come in yet, so naturally Regan worried that her babies were always hungry because they weren’t getting any sustenance.

“Let me change her diaper and then we’ll see,” Connor suggested.

She appreciated that he didn’t balk at doing the messy jobs. Of course, parenthood was brand new to both of them, and changing diapers was still more of a novelty than a chore. With two infants, she suspected that would change quickly. The doting daddy might be ducking out of diaper changes before the week was out, but for now, she was grateful for the offer because it meant that her weary and aching body didn’t have to get out of bed.

“She’s so tiny,” he said again, as he carefully lifted one of the pink-blanketed bundles out of the bassinet.

They were the first words he’d spoken when newborn Piper had been placed in his hands, his voice thick with a combination of reverence and fear.

“Not according to Dr. Amaro,” she reminded him.

In fact, the doctor had remarked that the babies were good sizes for twins born two weeks early. Piper had weighed in at five pounds, eight ounces and measured eighteen and a half inches; Poppy had tipped the scale at five pounds, ten ounces and stretched out to an even eighteen inches. Still, she’d recommended that the new mom spend several days in the hospital with her babies to ensure they were feeding and growing before they went home.

But Regan agreed with Connor that the baby did look tiny, especially cradled as she was now in her daddy’s big hands.

“And you were right,” he said, as he unsnapped the baby’s onesie to access her diaper. “This is Poppy.”

Which only meant that the newborn didn’t have a birthmark, not that her mother was particularly astute or intuitive.

Throughout her pregnancy, Regan had often felt out of her element and completely overwhelmed by the prospect of motherhood. When she was younger, several of her friends had earned money by babysitting, but Regan had never done so. She liked kids well enough; she just didn’t have any experience with them.

She’d quickly taken to her niece—the daughter of her younger brother, Spencer. But Dani had been almost four years old the first time Regan met her, a little girl already walking and talking. A baby was a completely different puzzle—not just smaller but so much more fragile, unable to communicate except through cries that might mean she was hungry or wet or unhappy or any number of other things. And even after months spent preparing for the birth of her babies, Regan didn’t feel prepared.

Thankfully, Connor didn’t seem to suffer from the same worries and doubts. He warmed the wipe between his palms before folding back the wet diaper to gently clean the baby’s skin.

“Did you borrow that plastic baby from our prenatal classes to practice on?” she wondered aloud.

He chuckled as he slid a clean diaper beneath Poppy’s bottom. “No.”

“Then how do you seem to know what you’re doing already?”

“My brother’s eight years younger than me,” he reminded her. “And I changed enough of Deacon’s diapers way back when to remember the basics of how it’s done.”

There was a photo in Brielle’s baby album of Regan holding her infant sister in her lap and a bottle in the baby’s mouth, but she didn’t have any recollection of the event. She’d certainly never been responsible for taking care of her younger siblings. Instead, the routine childcare tasks had fallen to the family housekeeper, Celeste, because both Margaret and Ben Channing had spent most of their waking hours at Blake Mining.

But Connor’s mom hadn’t had the help of a live-in cook and housekeeper. If even half the stories that circulated around town were true, Faith Parrish worked three part-time jobs to pay the bills, often leaving her youngest son in the care of his big brother. Deacon’s father had been in the picture for half a dozen years or so, but the general consensus in town was that he’d done nothing to help out at home and Faith was better off when he left. But everything Regan thought she knew about Connor’s childhood was based on hearsay and innuendo, because even after six months of marriage, her husband remained tight-lipped about his family history.

Which didn’t prevent her from asking: “Your father didn’t help out much, did he?”

“Stepfather,” he corrected automatically. “And no. He was always too busy.”

“Doing what?” she asked, having heard that a serious fall had left the man with a back injury and unable to work.

“Watching TV and drinking beer,” Connor said bluntly, as he slathered petroleum jelly on Poppy’s bottom to protect her delicate skin before fastening the Velcro tabs on the new diaper.

“I guess you didn’t miss him much when he left,” she remarked.

He lifted the baby, cradling her gently against his chest as he carried her over to the bed. “I certainly didn’t miss being knocked around.”

She felt her skin go cold. “Your stepfather hit you?”

“Only when he was drinking.”

Which he’d just admitted the man spent most of his time doing.

“How did I not know any of this?” she wondered aloud, as she unfastened her top to put the baby to her breast.

He shrugged again and turned away, as if to give her privacy.

If the topic of their conversation hadn’t been so serious, Regan might have laughed at the idea of preserving even a shred of modesty with a man who’d watched the same baby now suckling at her breast come into the world between her widely spread legs.

“It’s not something I like to talk about,” he said, facing the closed blinds of the window.

“So why are you telling me now?” she asked curiously.

It was a good question, Connor acknowledged to himself.

He’d tried to bury that part of his past in the past. He didn’t even like to think about those dark days when Dwayne Parrish had lived in the rented, ramshackle bungalow with him and his brother and their mother. To Dwayne, ruling with an iron fist wasn’t just an expression but a point of pride most often made at his stepson’s expense.

He turned back around, silently acknowledging that if he was going to have this conversation with his wife, they needed to have it face-to-face.

“Because part of me worries that, after living with him for seven years, I might have picked up his short fuse,” he finally confided.

Regan immediately shook her head. “You didn’t.”

“We’ve only been married for six months. How can you know?”

“Because I know you,” she said. “You are gentle and generous and giving.”

“I hit him back once,” he revealed.

She didn’t seem bothered or even surprised by the admission. “Only once?”

“I never thought to fight back.”

As a kid, he’d believed he was being disciplined for misbehavior. By the time he was old enough to question what was happening, he was so accustomed to being smacked around, it was no more or less than he expected.

“Not until he backhanded Deacon,” he confided.

His little brother had been about seven years old when he’d accidentally kicked over a bottle of beer on the floor by Dwayne’s recliner, spilling half its contents. Deacon’s father had responded with a string of curses and a swift backhand that knocked the child off his feet.

“You wouldn’t stand up for yourself, but you stood up for your brother,” she mused.

“Someone had to,” he pointed out. “He was just a kid.”

“And how old were you?”

“Fifteen.”

“Still a kid yourself,” she remarked. “What did he... How did your stepfather respond?”

“He was furious with me—that I dared to interfere.” And he’d expressed his anger with his fists and his feet, while Deacon cowered in the corner, sobbing. “But I guess one of our neighbors heard the ruckus and called the sheriff.”

Faith had arrived home at almost the same time as the lawman. Connor didn’t know if his mother would have found the strength to ask her husband to leave if Jed Traynor hadn’t been there with his badge and gun. But he was and she did, and Dwayne opted to pack up and take off rather than spend the night—or maybe several years—in lockup.

“He left that night and never came back,” Connor said.

“Is that when you decided that you wanted to wear a badge someday?” Regan asked.

“It was,” he confirmed. “I know it sounds cheesy, but I wanted to help those who couldn’t help themselves.”

She shook her head. “I don’t think it sounds cheesy. And that’s how I know you’re going to be an amazing dad.”

“Because I finally stood up to my stepfather?”

“Because you didn’t hesitate to do what was necessary to protect someone you care about,” she clarified.

“There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for my brother,” Connor acknowledged.

And apparently, that included lying to his wife about the reasons he’d married her.

Chapter Two

As Regan climbed the steps toward the front door of the modest two-story on Larrea Drive that had been her home since she married the deputy, she knew that she should be accustomed to surprises by now. Over the past eight months, her life had been a seemingly endless parade of unexpected news and events.

It had all started with the plus sign in the little window on the home pregnancy test. The second—and even bigger surprise—had come in the form of not one but two heartbeats on the screen at her ultrasound appointment. The third—and perhaps the biggest shock of all—Connor Neal’s unexpected marriage proposal, followed by her equally unexpected yes.

She hadn’t known him very well when they exchanged vows, and if she hadn’t been pregnant, she never would have said yes to his proposal. Of course, if she hadn’t been pregnant, he never would have proposed. And though marriage had required a lot of adjustments from both of them, Connor had proven himself to be a devoted husband.

He’d been attentive to her wants and needs, considerate of her roller-coaster emotions and indulgent of her various pregnancy cravings. He’d attended childbirth classes, painted the babies’ room, assembled their furniture and diligently researched car seat safety. And in the eight days that she’d spent in the hospital since their babies were born, he’d barely left her side.

But when she finally stepped inside the house, after fussing over the dog, whose whole back end was wagging with excitement as if she’d finally returned from eight weeks rather than only eight days away, she found another surprise.

The living room was filled with flowers and balloons and streamers. There was even a banner that read: Welcome Home Mommy, Piper & Poppy!

She looked at him, stunned. “When did you—”

“It wasn’t my doing,” he said, as he set the babies’ car seats down inside the doorway.

Baxter immediately came to investigate, which meant sniffing the tiny humans all over, but he dutifully backed off when Connor held up a hand.

“Then who...” The rest of her question was forgotten as Regan looked past the bouquets of pink and white balloons to see a familiar figure standing there. “Ohmygod... Brie.”

Her sister smiled through watery eyes. “Surprise!”

Before Regan could say anything else, Brielle’s arms were around her, hugging her tight. She held on, overwhelmed by so many emotions she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry; she only knew that she was so glad and grateful her sister was home.

“Nobody told me you were coming,” she said, when she’d managed to clear her throat enough to speak. She looked at Connor then. “Why didn’t you tell me she was coming?” And back at Brielle again. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”

“When I spoke to you on the phone, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to get any time off. But I needed to see you and your babies, so I decided that if I had to quit my job, I would.”

Regan gasped, horrified, because she knew how much her sister loved working as a kindergarten teacher at a prestigious private school in Brooklyn. “Tell me you didn’t quit your job.”

Brie laughed. “No need to worry. I’m due back in the classroom Monday morning.”

Which meant that they had less than four days together before her sister had to return to New York City. Four days was a short time, but it was more time than they’d had together in the seven years that had passed since Brielle moved away, and Regan would treasure every minute of it.

“Well, you’re here now,” she said.

“I’m here now,” her sister agreed. “And I asked the rest of the family, who have already seen the babies, to give us some one-on-one time—with your husband and Piper and Poppy, of course.” She moved closer to peek at the sleeping babies. “If they ever wake up.”

“They’ll be awake soon enough,” Connor said. “And you’ll have lots of time with them.”

“Promise?” Brie asked.

He chuckled. “Considering that neither of them has slept for more than three consecutive hours since they were born, I feel confident making that promise. But for now, I’m going to take them upstairs so that you and your sister can relax and catch up.”

Regan smiled her thanks as he exited the room with the babies, Baxter following closely on his heels, then she turned back to her sister. “When did you get in? Are you hungry? Thirsty?”

“I got in a few hours ago, I had a sandwich on the plane and, since you asked, I wouldn’t mind a cup of tea to go with the cookies I picked up at The Daily Grind on the way from the airport, but I can make it.”

“You stopped for cookies?”

“I made Spencer stop for cookies,” Brie explained. “Because he picked me up from the airport. And because oatmeal chocolate chip are my favorite, too.”

“Now I really want a cookie,” Regan admitted. “But I no longer have the excuse of pregnancy cravings to indulge.”

“Nursing moms need extra calories, too,” her sister pointed out.

“In that case, what kind of tea do you want with your cookies?” she asked, already heading toward the kitchen.

Brie nudged her toward a chair at the table. “Your husband told you to relax.”

“Making tea is hardly a strenuous task,” Regan noted.

“Then it’s one I should be able to handle.” Her sister filled the electric kettle with water and plugged it in. “Where do you keep your mugs?”

“The cupboard beside the sink. Tea’s on the shelf above the mugs.”

Brie opened the cupboard and read the labels. “Spicy chai, pure peppermint, decaffeinated Earl Grey, honey lemon, country peach, blueberry burst, cranberry and orange, vanilla almond, apple and pear, and soothing chamomile.” She glanced at her sister. “That’s a lot of tea.”

“I was a coffee addict,” Regan confided. “The contents of that cupboard reflect my desperate effort to find something to take its place.”

“Anything come close?” her sister wondered.

She shook her head. “But I’m thinking the vanilla almond would probably go well with the cookies.”

“That works for me,” Brie said, setting the box and two mugs on the counter.

Connor walked into the kitchen then, a baby monitor in hand. “Baxter missed his morning w-a-l-k so I’m going to take him out now, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course not,” Regan assured him. “But why are you spelling?”

“Because you know how crazy he gets when I say the word.”

Regan did know. In fact, Connor didn’t even have to say the word; he only had to reach for the leash that hung on a hook by the door and Baxter went nuts—spinning in circles and yipping his excitement. But today the dog was nowhere to be found.

Brielle took a couple of steps back and peered up the staircase her brother-in-law had descended. “Is that first door the babies’ room?”

“It’s the master bedroom,” Connor said, following her gaze. “But we’ve got the babies’ bassinets set up in there for now.”

“He’s stretched out on the floor in front of the door,” Brie said to Regan, so that her sister didn’t have to get up to see what everyone else was seeing.

“And you were worried that he might be jealous of the babies,” Regan remarked to her husband.

“He was abandoned when I found him,” Connor explained. “So I had no idea if he’d ever been around kids or how he’d behaved with them if he had.”

“What kind of dog is he?” Brie asked.

“A mutt,” Connor said.

“A puggle,” Regan clarified. “Though Connor refuses to acknowledge he has a designer dog.”

“He has no papers, which makes him a mutt,” her husband insisted.

“A puggle is part pug, part...beagle?” Brie guessed.

Her sister nodded.

“That might explain why he’s already so protective of the babies,” Brie said. “Beagles are pack animals, and Piper and Poppy are now part of his pack.”

“Say that five times fast,” Regan teased. “And since when do you know so much about dogs?”

“I don’t,” her sister said. “But for a few months last year, I dated a vet who had a beagle. And a dachshund and a Great Dane.”

“That’s an eclectic assortment,” Connor noted.

“He had three cats, too.”

“Wait a minute,” Regan said. “I’m still stuck on the fact that you dated this guy for a few months and I never heard anything about him until right now.”

“Because there was nothing to tell,” her sister said.

“Baxter,” Connor called, obviously preferring to walk rather than hear about his sister-in-law’s dating exploits.

The dog obediently trotted down the stairs, though he hesitated at the bottom. His tail wagged when Connor held up the leash, but he turned his head to glance back at where the babies were sleeping.

“Piper and Poppy will be fine,” Connor promised. “Their mommy and Auntie Brie will be here if they need anything while we’re out.”

Of course, the dog probably didn’t understand what his master was saying, but he seemed reassured enough to let Connor hook the leash onto his collar.

“I won’t be too long,” Connor said, then reached across the counter to flip the switch on the kettle.

Brie looked at her sister. “How long were you going to let me wait for the water to boil before telling me that there was a switch?”

“Only a little while longer.”

Connor chuckled as he led Baxter to the door.

“So tell me when and how you met the hunky deputy,” Brie said, as she poured the finally boiling water into the mugs.

“I’ve known Connor since high school. He was a year ahead of me, but we were in the same math class because I accelerated through some of my courses.”

“I remember now,” Brie said. “He was a scrawny guy with a surly attitude who you tutored in calculus.”

She was grateful her sister didn’t refer to him as the bastard kid of “Faithless Faith”—a cruel nickname that had followed Connor’s mother to her grave. Regan had never met Faith Neal—later Faith Parrish—but she knew of her reputation.

In her later years, Faith had been a hardworking single mom devoted to her two sons, but people still remembered her as a wild teenager who’d snuck out after curfew, hung with a bad crowd and smoked cigarettes and more.

Some people believed she was desperately looking for the love she’d never known at home. Others were less charitable in their assessment and made her the punchline to a joke. If a man suffered any kind of setback, such as the loss of a job or the breakup of a relationship, others would encourage him to “Have Faith.” That advice was usually followed by raucous laughter and the rejoinder: “Everyone else in town has had her.”

“He sure did fill out nicely,” Brie remarked now. “Was it those broad shoulders that caught your eye? Or the sexy dent in his square chin? Because I’m guessing it wasn’t his kitchen decor.”

Regan reached into the bakery box for a cookie. “This room is an eyesore, isn’t it?”

“Or are white melamine cupboards with red plastic handles retro-chic?”

“Connor’s saving up to renovate.”

“Saving up?” Brie echoed, sounding amused. “I guess that means he didn’t marry you for your money.”

“He married me because I was pregnant,” Regan told her. Because when a bride gave birth six months after the ring was put on her finger, what was the point in pretending otherwise?

“Well, if you had to get knocked up, at least it was by a guy who was willing to do the right thing.”

“Hmm,” Regan murmured in apparent agreement.

Brie broke off a piece of cookie. “I would have come home for your wedding, if you’d asked.”

“We eloped in Reno,” Regan told her.

“Doesn’t that count as a wedding?”

She shook her head. “Weddings take time to plan, and I didn’t want to be waddling down the aisle.”

“I’m sure you didn’t waddle,” her sister said loyally.

“I showed you my belly when we Facetimed, so you know I was huge. I was waddling before the end of my fifth month.”

“Well, you were carrying two babies,” Brie acknowledged. She chewed on another bite of cookie before she asked, “What did the folks think about your elopement?”

“They were surprisingly supportive. Or maybe just grateful that their second and third grandchildren wouldn’t be born out of wedlock.”

Their first was Spencer’s daughter, but he hadn’t even known about Dani’s existence until her mother was killed in an accident. He’d given up his career on the rodeo circuit to assume custody, then moved back to Haven with his little girl and fallen in love with Kenzie Atkins, who had been Brielle’s BFF in high school.

“They were a lot less happy to learn that I was pregnant,” Regan confided to her sister now. “Dad’s exact words were, ‘And you were supposed to be the smart one.’”

Brie winced. “That’s harsh. Although it’s true that you’re the smart one.”

“They don’t let dummies into Columbia,” Regan pointed out.

“True,” her sister said again. “But no one I met at Columbia is as smart as you.” She selected another cookie from the box. “What did Mom say?”

“You know Mom,” Regan said. “Always practical and looking for the solution to a problem.”

Brie’s expression darkened. “Because a baby is a problem to be solved and not a miracle to be celebrated.”

“I like to think they were happy about the babies but concerned about my status in town as an unwed mother,” Regan said, though even she wasn’t convinced it was true. “You know how people here like to gossip.”

“And then Connor stepped up to ensure the legitimacy of his babies and all was right in the world?” Brie asked, her tone dubious.

“Well, Dad was happy that Connor had done the right thing—at least, from his perspective. Mom made no secret of the fact that she thinks Connor and I aren’t well-suited.”

“How about you?” Brie asked. “Are you happy with the way everything turned out?”

“I never thought I could be this happy,” Regan responded sincerely. Not that her marriage was perfect, but she was confident that she’d made the right choice for her babies—and hopeful that it would prove to be the right choice for her and her husband, too.

“I’m glad.”

It was the tone rather than the words that tripped Regan’s radar. “So why don’t you sound glad?” she asked her sister.

Brie shrugged. “I guess I’m just thinking about the fact that everyone around me seems to be having babies,” she explained. “Two of my colleagues are off on mat leave right now, a third is due at the end of the summer and another just announced that she’s expecting.”

“That’s a lot of babies. But still, you’re a little young for your biological clock to be ticking already,” Regan noted.

“I’m not in any rush,” Brie said. “But I do hope that someday I’ll have everything you’ve got—a husband who loves me and the babies we’ve made together. Although I’d be happier if they came one at a time.”

Regan managed a smile, despite the tug of longing in her own heart—and the twinge of guilt that she wasn’t being completely honest with her sister. “I have no doubt that your time will come.”

“Maybe. But until then, I’ll be happy to dote on your beautiful babies.”

“You’d be able to dote a lot more if you didn’t live twenty-five hundred miles away,” she felt compelled to point out.

“I know,” her sister acknowledged. “I love New York, my job, my coworkers and all the kids. And I have a great apartment that I share with wonderful friends. But there are times when I miss being here. When I miss you and Kenzie and—well, I miss you and Kenzie.”

Regan’s smile came more easily this time. “So come home,” she urged.

Brie shook her head. “There’s one elementary school in Haven and it already has a kindergarten teacher.”

“That’s what’s holding you back?” Regan asked skeptically. “A lack of job opportunities?”

“It’s a valid consideration,” her sister said. Then, when she heard a sound emanate from the monitor, “Is that one of my nieces that I hear now?”

Regan chuckled, even as her breasts instinctively responded to the sound of the infant stirring. “You know, most people don’t celebrate the sound of a baby crying,” she remarked.

“But doting aunts are always happy to help with snuggles and cuddles.”

“And diaper changes?”

“Whatever you need,” Brie promised.

Chapter Three

As soon as Connor and Baxter stepped outside, the dog put his nose to the ground and set off, eager to explore all the sights and smells. They had a specific route that they walked in the mornings and a different, longer route they usually followed later in the day. At the end of the street, Baxter instinctively turned east, to follow the longer route.

“We’re doing the short route this afternoon,” he said. Although he enjoyed their twice-daily walks almost as much as the dog, he didn’t want to leave Regan for too long on her first day back from the hospital.

He knew it was silly, especially considering that her sister was there to help with anything she might need help with. But Connor was the one who’d been with her through every minute of twenty-two hours of labor and for most of the eight days since, and he was feeling protective of the new mom and babies—and maybe a little proprietary.

Baxter gave him a look that, on a human, might have been disapproving, but the dog obediently turned in the opposite direction.

Connor started to jog, hoping to compensate for the abbreviated course with more intense exercise. Baxter trotted beside him, tongue hanging out of his mouth, tail wagging.

He lifted a hand in response to Cal Thompson’s wave and nodded to Sherry Witmer, who was carrying an armload of groceries into her house. It had taken some time, but he was finally beginning to feel as if he was part of the community he’d moved into three years earlier.

There were still some residents who pretended they didn’t see him when he walked by. People like Joyce Cline, the retired music teacher whose disapproval of “that no-good Neal boy” went back to his days in high school. And Rick Beamer, whose daughter Connor had gone out with exactly twice, more than a dozen years earlier.

But he was pleased to note that the Joyce Clines and Rick Beamers were outnumbered in the neighborhood. The day that Connor moved in, he’d barely started to unpack when Darlene and Ron Grassley were at his door to introduce themselves—and to give him a tray of stuffed peppers. An hour later, Lois Barkowsky had stopped by with a plate of homemade brownies—assuring him that they weren’t the “funny kind,” even though recreational marijuana use was now legal in Nevada. He told her that he was aware of the law and thanked her for the goodies.

Over the next few weeks, he’d gotten to know most of the residents of Larrea Street. When he’d taken in Baxter and started walking on a regular basis, he’d met several more who lived in the surrounding area.

Estela Lopez was one of those people, and as he and Baxter turned onto Chaparral Street, they saw the older woman coming toward them. At seventy-nine years of age, she kept herself active, walking every morning before breakfast and every evening after supper—and apparently also at other times in between.

“Oh, this is a treat,” she said, clearly delighted to see them.

In response to the word treat, Baxter immediately assumed the “sit” position and waited expectantly. She chuckled and reached into the pocket of her coat for one of the many biscuits she always had on hand. Baxter gobbled up the offering.

An avid dog lover who’d had to say goodbye to her seventeen-year-old Jack Russell the previous winter, Estela worried that she wasn’t able-bodied enough to take on the responsibility of another animal. Instead, she gave her love and doggy biscuits to the neighborhood canines who wandered by.

“How are you doing, Mrs. Lopez?” Connor asked her.

“I’m eager to see pictures of your girls,” the old woman told him.

Connor dutifully pulled out his phone. “They came home today.”

“Eight days later.” She shook her head. “I remember when they kicked you out of the hospital after only a day or two. Of course, most people couldn’t afford to stay any longer than that.”

Which they both knew wasn’t a concern for his wife, whose family had not only paid the hospital bill but made a significant donation to the maternity ward as a thank you to the staff for their care of Regan and the twins.

He opened the screen and scrolled through numerous images of Piper and Poppy—a few individual snaps of each girl, others of them together and a couple with their mom.

“Oh, my, they are so precious,” Estela proclaimed. “And Regan doesn’t look like she labored for twenty-something hours.”

“Twenty-two,” Connor said. “And she did. And she was a trouper.”

“You’re a lucky man, Deputy Neal.”

“I know it,” he assured her.

Baxter nudged her leg with his nose, as if to remind her of his presence. She obligingly reached down and scratched behind his ears.

“I heard your sister-in-law made a surprise visit from New York City.”

“Well, there’s obviously nothing wrong with your hearing,” Connor teased.

“I was at The Daily Grind, having coffee with Dolores Lorenzo, when she stopped in to pick up a dozen oatmeal chocolate chip cookies,” Estela confided.

“Regan’s favorite.”

“I almost didn’t recognize her—Brielle, I mean,” Estela clarified. “Of course, she’s only been back a few times since she moved out East—it’s gotta be about seven years ago, I’d guess. And even when she came back for Spencer and Kenzie’s wedding, she only stayed a couple of days.”

“She’s only here for a few days now, too,” Connor noted.

“Is she staying with you or at that fancy house up on the hill?”

That fancy house up on the hill was the description frequently ascribed to the three-story stone-and-brick mansion owned by his in-laws. The street was called Miners’ Pass, and it was the most exclusive—and priciest—address in town.

“With us,” he said. “She wants to spend as much time as possible with Regan and the twins.”

“Of course she does,” Estela agreed. “I can’t wait to take a peek at the little darlings myself, but I’ll give your wife some time to settle in first. Although my kids are all grown-up now—and most of my grandkids, too—I remember how stressful it was in those early days, trying to respond to all the new demands of motherhood—and I only had to deal with one baby at a time.”

“Regan would love to see you,” Connor said. “Especially after she’s had a chance to catch up on her rest.”

“Well, I’m not waiting until the twins’ second birthday,” she told him, sneaking another biscuit out of her pocket for Baxter.

“Please don’t tell me it’s going to be that long before Piper and Poppy sleep through the night.”

“Probably not,” she acknowledged. “But dealing with the needs of infants requires a special kind of endurance—which I don’t have anymore, so I’m going to get these weary bones of mine inside where it’s warm.”

“You do that,” he said.

She started up the drive toward her house, then paused to turn back. “But don’t let those babies exhaust all your energy—” she cautioned, with a playful wink “—because new moms have needs that require attention, too.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Connor promised, then he waited to ensure his old neighbor was safely inside before heading on his way again.

But the truth was, if his wife had any such needs, Connor would likely be the last to know. Although he and Regan presented themselves as happy newlyweds whenever they were in public together, they mostly lived separate lives behind closed doors. Sure, it was an unorthodox arrangement for expectant parents, but it had worked for them.

Until his brother came home for the Christmas holidays.

Because, of course, Deacon expected to sleep in his own room. He had no reason to suspect that his brother’s marriage wasn’t a love match—although he was undoubtedly smart enough to realize that his sister-in-law’s rapidly expanding belly was the reason they’d married in such a hurry—and Connor didn’t ever want him to know the truth.

So for the sixteen days—and fifteen nights—that his brother was home, Connor moved his belongings back into the master bedroom to maintain the charade that his and Regan’s marriage was a normal one.

The days hadn’t really been a problem—especially as Regan continued to work her usual long hours in the finance department at Blake Mining. But the nights, when Connor was forced to share a bed with his wife, were torture.

He made a valiant effort to stay on his side of the mattress, to ignore the fragrant scent of her hair spread out over the pillow next to his own, and the soft, even sound of breath moving in and out of her lungs, causing her breasts to rise and fall in a steady rhythm. But it was impossible to pretend she wasn’t there, especially when she tossed and turned so frequently.

She apologized to him for her restlessness, acknowledging that it was becoming more and more difficult to find a comfortable position as her belly grew rounder. Connor knew she was self-conscious about her “babies bump,” but he honestly thought she looked amazing. He knew it was a common belief that all pregnant women were beautiful, though he’d never paid much attention to expectant mothers before he married Regan. But he couldn’t deny that his pregnant wife was stunning.

Of course, he’d always believed she was beautiful—and maybe a little intimidating in her perfection. In addition to the inches on her waistline, pregnancy had added a natural glow to her cheeks and warmth to her smile, making her look softer and more approachable. And as the weeks turned into months, Connor realized that he was in danger of falling for the woman he’d married.

During one of those endlessly long nights that his brother was home, Connor pretended to be asleep so that Regan would relax and sleep, too. But he froze when he heard her breath catch, then slowly release.

“Are you okay?” he asked, breaking the silence as he rolled over to face her.

“I’m fine,” she said. Then she took his hand and pressed it against the curve of her belly.

He was so startled by the impulsive gesture, he nearly pulled his hand away. But then he felt it—a subtle nudge against his palm. Then another nudge.

His other hand automatically came up so that he had both on her belly as his heart filled with joy and wonder. “Is that...your babies?”

“Our babies,” she correctly quickly. “Or at least one of them.” Then she moved his second hand. “That’s the other one.”

“Oh, wow.” He couldn’t help but smile at this proof that there were tiny human beings growing inside her. Sure, he’d seen them on the ultrasound, but feeling tangible evidence of their movements was totally different than watching them on a screen. “Apparently, they’ve decided that Mommy’s bedtime is their playtime,” he noted.

“According to the baby books, it’s not uncommon for an expectant mother to be more aware of her baby’s movements at night,” she told him.

“Or for babies to be more active at night, as their mother’s movements during the day rock them to sleep,” he remarked.

“You’ve been reading the books, too,” she realized.

“I can’t wait to meet your—our—” he corrected himself this time “—little ones.”

“I’m not sure how little they are anymore,” Regan said. “I know that I’m certainly not.”

“You’re beautiful,” he said sincerely.

“You don’t have to placate me. I know I look like I swallowed a beach ball.”

“You look like you’re pregnant—and you’re beautiful.”

She looked at him then, and their gazes held for a long, lingering moment in the darkness of the night.

Afterward, he couldn’t have said who made the first move. He only knew that she was suddenly in his arms, and her lips were locked with his in a kiss that was so much hotter than he’d imagined.

Because yes, there had been occasions since they’d exchanged vows that he’d found himself wondering what it might be like if their marriage was more than a piece of paper. There had been times when their eyes had locked, and he’d thought that maybe she wouldn’t mind if he breached the distance between them to kiss her, that maybe she even wished he would.

But he’d always held back, because he knew that if he was wrong and the attraction he felt was not reciprocated, their living arrangement would become so much more awkward.

Neither of them was holding back now.

She wriggled closer—as close as her belly would allow. He cupped her breasts through the soft cotton nightshirt. His thumbs brushed over the peaks of her already taut nipples, and she gasped. “Oh, yes.” She whispered the words of encouragement against his lips. “Touch me, please.”

He couldn’t respond, because she was kissing him again.

And he was touching her, tracing the luscious contours of her body, learning what she liked and what she really liked by the way she arched and sighed.

Their lips clung as their hands eagerly searched and explored. The encounter was as hot and passionate as it was surprising—and it might have led to more if he hadn’t suddenly remembered that theirs wasn’t a real marriage and recalled that all the baby books he’d been reading talked about how the hormonal changes a woman went through during pregnancy could increase or decrease her sexual appetites. Add to that the forced proximity of their sleeping arrangements and the excitement of the holidays, and he had to wonder how much those factors were influencing her reactions right now.

But did it matter what was motivating her sudden desire?

Or did it only matter that she wanted him—as he wanted her?

Unfortunately, his body and his brain were in disagreement on the answers to those questions.

And his conscience—reminding him of the deal he’d made with her father—won out.

Because even if making love was her choice, it couldn’t be an informed choice so long as there were secrets between them. And there was a very big secret between them.

For the remainder of the holidays, he’d stayed up late every night to ensure Regan was asleep before he slid between the sheets of their shared bed. Thankfully, Deacon returned to Columbia early in the New Year, allowing his brother and sister-in-law to once again retreat to their respective corners. But there was no “back to normal” for Connor, because there was no way he could forget the passionate kiss they’d shared. Or stop wondering what their marriage might be like now if he hadn’t put on the brakes that night.

And with her sister visiting, he would be forced to share his wife’s bed again.

Of course, there was no question of anything happening between them only eight days after she’d given birth. But he suspected that knowledge wouldn’t prevent his body from responding to her nearness, and he prepared himself for the sleepless nights ahead that had nothing to do with the demands of their newborn babies.

* * *

Regan and Brielle were on the sofa in the living room, each with a baby in her arms, when Connor and Baxter returned from their walk.

“You weren’t gone very long,” Regan remarked.

“We did the short route,” Connor said, unhooking the dog’s leash to hang it up again.

Baxter immediately ran to his bowl for a drink of water.

“Did you see Mrs. Lopez?” she asked.

He nodded. “And Baxter got two treats.”

“Spoiled dog,” she said affectionately. “What about you?” she asked her husband. “Did you get any treats?”

He shook his head.

“Well, then it’s lucky you did the short route,” she told him. “Because there are still a couple of cookies left in the bakery box on the counter.”

“Only a couple out of the dozen that Brie picked up at The Daily Grind?” he teased.

“How did you know where I got the cookies? And how many?” Brie wondered.

“Mrs. Lopez was in the café when you stopped by,” he admitted.

“You’ve been away so long you’ve forgotten the many joys of small-town living,” Regan remarked sardonically.

“Because having everyone know your business is a joy?” her sister asked skeptically.

“Having a freezer full of casseroles courtesy of neighbors who want you to be able to focus on your babies is a joy.”

“I’ll reserve judgment on that—until after dinner,” Brie said. “Just don’t expect me to eat anything called tuna surprise, because I’m not a fan of tuna and I don’t think anyone should ingest something with surprise in the name.”

“No tuna surprise tonight,” Connor promised. “Celeste dropped off a tray of lasagna, a loaf of garlic bread and a bowl of green salad.”

Brie gave her sister a sidelong glance. “Now who’s spoiled?”

Regan just grinned.

* * *

Over dinner Brielle entertained them with stories about her job and her life in New York. Though Regan was in regular contact with her sister via telephone and email, she’d missed this in-person connection. Connor seemed content to listen to their spirited conversation while he rubbed Baxter’s belly with his foot beneath the table.

It seemed a strange coincidence to Regan that her sister and his brother were both currently living in the Big Apple. If their circumstances had been different—and they didn’t have two newborn babies—she might have suggested that they take a trip to New York to visit their respective siblings. But their circumstances weren’t different, and she didn’t envision any joint travel plans anywhere in their immediate future.

“There’s an Italian restaurant near our place—Nonna’s Kitchen—that my roommate Grace would swear has the best lasagna she’s ever tasted.” Brie dug her fork into her pasta again. “I told her that she only thought it was the best because she’s never had Celeste’s lasagna, but even I’d forgotten how good this really is.”

“Her chicken cacciatore is even better,” Connor noted.

“Apples and oranges,” Brie said. “Though I would say they’re both equally delicious.”

By the time they’d finished eating, Piper was awake and wanting her dinner, so Regan and Brie went to deal with the babies while Connor washed the dishes and tidied the kitchen. He walked into the living room as Regan lifted a hand to her mouth, attempting to stifle a yawn.

“I’m sorry,” she said to her sister.

“I should be the one to apologize,” Brielle said. “You just got home from the hospital after giving birth barely more than a week ago—it’s a wonder you’re still awake.”

“And since the babies are sleeping...” Connor began.

“I should be, too,” his wife said, finishing the recitation of the advice all the doctors and nurses had given to her. “And I will, as soon as I make up the bed in the spare room—”

“Already done,” he said.

“You didn’t have to go to any trouble,” Brielle protested. “I would have been happy camping on the sofa with a blanket and pillow.”

“It wasn’t any trouble at all,” Connor assured her.

She hugged him then. “You are, without a doubt, my absolute favorite brother-in-law.”

“I’m your only brother-in-law,” he remarked dryly.

Brielle grinned. “And that’s why you’re my favorite.”

Regan couldn’t help but smile, too, as she listened to the banter between them. She was pleased that Brie had so readily accepted Connor as part of the family, especially because she knew he hadn’t been welcomed with open arms by her mom and dad.

But she wasn’t worried about his relationship with her parents right now—a bigger and more immediate concern was the fact that she had to share a bed with her husband tonight.

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