But it was, she thought. He'd exchanged a bright, airy house for darkness and seclusion. "Did you build the cabin you live in now?" "Yes, but not for me, specifically. All of the guest cabins are somewhat remote. The folks who rent them are looking for an escape from the city."

"And those who want luxury stay at the lodge," she added. "Or they stay here."

"Exactly. But this place is yours now, Julianne. Yours and the baby's."

"I'll take good care of it," she said, wondering about Bobby's wife, the lady who'd lived here before her.

"How long were you married?" she asked.

"A year."

"Was she Cherokee?"

"Yes," he answered without blinking. His eyes were shielded, his feelings hidden. "She was."

Suddenly, Julianne envied his wife the woman who'd shared his culture, his name, his heart.

Dear G.o.d, she thought. She envied a dead woman?

"Do you want to see the rest of the house?" he asked, changing the subject.

"Okay." She knew her voice was quiet, but she couldn't help the emotion crowding her soul. Bobby had

burned his wife's belongings and moved out of his home, yet he continued to wear a gold band on his finger. A ring that still made him seem married. A few minutes later he showed her the den, where most of the boxes she'd shipped were being stored. "I'll help you unpack," he said. "But I'm sure you'd like to rest. We can get to it later."

"That's fine."

When they entered a large, artfully decorated guest room, Bobby gestured broadly. "This can be the nursery. We can ditch all this stuff and start over."

Julianne turned to look at him and he brushed her hand. "This baby means everything to me," he said. "I know." And she knew how difficult it was for him to come back to this house, to air out his memories and start new ones.

But he'd done it. For the sake of their child. * * *

Bobby helped Julianne unpack the following day. Most of her belongings were personal items. She hadn't shipped a lot of household goods, but he'd told her ahead of time that the cabin was stocked with necessities.

They worked in the master bedroom. He transferred her clothes from wardrobe boxes into the closet and she folded pajamas and whatnots into dresser drawers.

Whatnots?

Just say it, he told himself. Just admit that she was tucking away her bras and panties, pretty little things that kept catching his eye.

Like thegarterbelt number she'd worn on her birthday. The silk and lace he'd hastily stripped from her body. "This is a beautiful bed." He spun around. "What?" "The bed." "What about it?"

"It's beautiful," she said again, motioning to the four-poster frame.

"I've never slept in it," he responded, letting her know it wasn't the bed he'd shared with his wife. "It's not part of my original furniture."

"I wasn't wondering about that. I just..." Her words drifted and she reached for her soda and took a sip. "Thought it was nice," she added, even though they both knew she was downplaying her curiosity, pretending that her interest in the bed had nothing to do with him.

A lull of silence hit the room and he wished these awkward moments would quit happening.

Their eyes met and held, but neither of them could think of anything to say.

d.a.m.n, he thought, grimacing. d.a.m.n. d.a.m.n. d.a.m.n.

"I'm sorry," she finally said after another long, clock-ticking strain of silence. "I didn't mean to make you

uncomfortable."

"You didn't," he lied.

"Oh. Okay. Well,good ." She gave him a small, nervous smile, her dimple appearing for a millisecond.

When she fidgeted with her soda, he wanted to coax her to smile again. Just to see the dimple reappear.

Somehow that sweet little indentation never failed to ignite his blood.

Because he'd yet to taste it.

Which was something he had no business even thinking about.

He shifted his stance. Why not? Thinking and doing weren't the same thing, and he bad every right to fantasize. Especially after she'd called him for phone s.e.x. A guy couldn't just forget something like that.

Could he?

"Do you want some?" she asked, extending her soda.

Did he want put his mouth where hers had been? Touch the lipstick mark she'd made?

h.e.l.l, yes. Definitely. You bet. He'd suck on the can if it would curb his s.e.xual urges.

"No, thanks," he said. A few sips of cherry cola weren't going to curb a d.a.m.n thing.

Julianne drank the fizzy liquid instead and he watched her, studying the woman carrying his child.

Her vibrant hair was pulled into a messy ponytail and she wore jeans and a green-and-white T-shirt a simple, wholesome outfit that made herlook younger than forty.

He supposed that would please her, considering how wrapped up in her age she was.

He c.o.c.ked his head, studying her from another angle, gliding his gaze up and down her body, then settling on her waist. She didn't look pregnant. To him, her stomach still appeared flat.

"You said your tummy was getting bigger."

She glanced down, then back up again. "It is."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, but I don't think it's the baby. I did at first, but it's too soon. I shouldn't be showing this early." She paused, made a funny face. "I think it's from all my food cravings."

"Really?" He couldn't help but smile. "Like what?"

"Artichokes."

"Artichokes?" he parroted.

She nodded. "Steamed with lots of mayonnaise."

He made a mental note to have the chef's a.s.sistant send some artichokes to the house. Then he changed his mind and decided he should go to the market himself. He couldn't keep asking his staff to look after Julianne. She and the baby were his responsibility.

"Anything else?" Bobby asked.

"Frozen pizza."

He blinked. "You eat it frozen?"

She laughed. "No. I cook it in the microwave, so it's sort of rubbery."

"Rubbery pizza." Got it, he thought, not getting it at all. "Is that it?"

"No. I've been eating lots of chocolate, too." She touched her tummy. "That's probably what's making me fat." He searched for the fat, but couldn't see an ounce of anything. Maybe her T-shirt was doing a good job of hiding it.

If he could just take a peek. One littlepeek , so he could draw his own conclusion.

"Can I see?"

She froze. "See what? My stomach?"

"Yeah." It wasn't as if he was asking her to take off her clothes. "Just lift your shirt."

Her cheeks colored. "No."

He frowned. "Why not?"

"Because I feel stupid, showing you my binge belly."

Bobby tried not to laugh. "My kid is in there, Julianne."

"Along with forty pounds of chocolate."

"I still want to see."

"Oh, good grief." She yanked up her T-shirt, exposing her stomach.

Bobby moved closer and then grinned like a naughty schoolboy who'd just paid a girl to lift her top.

Only it wasn't her b.r.e.a.s.t.s he was after; it was her navel.

"It's cute," he said. She did have a bit of a pooch. Just a bit.

She righted her T-shirt,then made a wide circle with her arms, clasping her hands together. "Will you think it's cute when it's out to here?"

"Yep." His baby inside her tummy made her the most beautiful woman inTexas.

She smiled, flashing her dimple, and he realized he was almost close enough to kiss her.

To taste her.

To curb his appet.i.te.

He took a deliberate step back. Almost, he thought. But not quite.

"We should get back to work, Julianne."

"Okay." She flashed another quick, girlish smile. He grabbed a handful of clothes, wishing he'd licked that d.a.m.ned dimple when he'd had the chance.

The sweet, innocent-looking dimple that made himwant to get her pregnant all over again.

Chapter 9.

Julianne's first two weeks of living inTexaswent by quickly. She spent a good portion of her time on the Internet, checking western apparel sites and ordering catalogs and business magazines. On this late afternoon, she sat in front of her computer, with a gla.s.s of milk at her side, gathering information about an industry trade show hosted inDenvertwice a year.

While her printer went to work, sputtering color copies, she sipped her milk and looked around. She'd transformed the den into an efficient office. It was the only room she'd redecorated, using bits and pieces of furniture she'd shipped from home.

She tried to tell herself thatTexaswas home now, but she hadn't quite settled in. Although she loved this cabin, with its rich, warm woods and bright colors, it still seemed like Bobby's place a house he shouldn't have abandoned.

Every once in a while, Julianne pictured him living here with her. It was a crazy notion. But she couldn't help it. She wanted to erase mental images of Bobby and his wife occupying this cabin, cooking together in the kitchen, watching TV in the den, making love in the bedroom.