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“No.”
“You should tell Mom. She’ll get you some.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
“What happened to your shoulder?” Small fingers touched the reddened area of newly healed flesh.
“A scar.”
“How’d you get it?”
Logan hesitated, trying to decide how much to tell him. “I got shot,” he said, reasoning that Quint had seen him in uniform nearly every day and had already asked some questions about the gun Logan carried.
His eyes got big. “By a bad guy?”
“Yup.”
“Did you catch him?”
“We sure did.”
“Does it hurt a lot to get shot?”
“It hurt an awful, awful lot,” Logan stressed.
“Did you have to go to the hospital?”
“Yup, and the doctors had to operate to get the bullet out.”
“Were you there a real long time like my grandpa was when he got hurt?”
“I was there a long time, but probably not as long as your grandpa.”
“Do you think I could be a sheriff when I grow up?”
“I think you can be anything you want to be—a sheriff, an astronaut, or a cowboy in a rodeo.”
Of all the things Logan had imagined doing with a son, this middle-of-the-night conversation wasn’t one of them. Yet lying there, talking with his son, and listening to him prattle on a dozen different subjects, this was easily one of the most enjoyable things he had ever done. He was sorry when he saw Quint’s eyes growing heavy. He waited, watching as Quint nodded off. Only then did Logan gather him up and carry Quint to his own room.
Cradling a child in his arms was a new sensation. It moved him in some deep, bonding way Logan didn’t understand. Slow to relinquish the moment, he laid Quint on the twin bed and took his time pulling the covers around him. A little self-conscious, he brushed a kiss on Quint’s forehead and straightened away from the bed.
There were too many emotions, too many desires running too close to the surface when Logan came out of Quint’s room and collided with Cat. Automatically he reached out to steady her even as her hands moved to clutch at him.
“Quint? Is he—”
“He’s sleeping. I just tucked him back into bed.” A dozen different impressions registered at once—the drowsy, only half-awake look of her eyes, the bareness of her shoulders and neck, and the full contact with her satin-draped body. It all worked into him and through him.
“I thought I heard—Did he have a bad dream?”
“No.” Logan smiled. “He discovered I don’t snore. He wanted to wake you up, but I told him I didn’t think that was a good idea.” Looking at her, all he could think was that this stunning woman was the mother of his child, easily the most amazing gift he had ever received. “Thank you, Cat, for giving me such a beautiful son.”
But it wasn’t his murmured words that held Cat motionless. It was the incredible love shining in his eyes. It filled her vision, dazzling her even as his mouth moved over hers in a warm and fiercely tender kiss. She had no time to collect her scattered defenses—no time to even remember that she should.
The pressure eased until his lips were barely brushing hers, evoking an ache that was gnawing and sweet. “I probably should have told you that before.” The tips of his fingers caressed her cheek. Her lashes fluttered down, then lifted again when he raised his head to gaze at her through heavily lidded eyes. “I’d like you to give me more children. Maybe a little girl next time. One with gorgeous green eyes like yours.”
She couldn’t seem to get her breath as his eyes darkened with undisguised hunger. Something inside leaped at the thought of a child, a little girl. It sent her pulse racing.
“Once I thought it would be enough to have you in my bed.” His thumb stroked her lower lip, setting all its sensitive nerve ends to tingling. “But it isn’t enough, Cat. Not nearly enough. I wish to God I knew how to get him out of your mind.”
