She nodded, conversation time apparently over for her husband. Looking back, she wondered now if they'd been doomed from the start to a life of miscommunication followed by quiet distance-Tag's family full of stoicism and silence, hers reverberating with chatter but so much of it lies and anger. Even if she knew better now, with her newfound counselor perspective she could see what a shaky foundation they'd built from the start.

For this baby, for her other two children, she would hold strong. She would model healthy relationships in hopes of helping them build ones of their own.

J.T. ambled around the hood of the truck to her side, opened the door, filled her eyes. He extended his arms, Hawaiian shirt flapping in the breeze, crisp white cotton, stretching across an endless chest she could lose herself against.

He couldn't really expect to carry her? He waited, arms out. Unmoving.

She knew he could do it, just wasn't sure she could bear the heartbreaking reminder of other pa.s.sionate trips in his arms that ended oh so differently than this one would. "Would you pa.s.s me the crutches from the back, please? I can make it up there on my own."

"d.a.m.n it, Rena." His eyes snapped along with his voice. "Is it really that distasteful to have me touch you?"

His arms dropped, hands hooked on his hips, narrow hips, his fingers pointing a direct arrow to- Her eyes jerked up. Heat delivered a double whammy to her cheeks, then pooled lower. Hotter. "What?"

"I know you can maneuver around on crutches. And I realize the doctor said everything looks okay with the pregnancy. But you know as well as I do that I can carry you inside. The strain will be less than your trying to maneuver with crutches. Why exert yourself? Unless my touching you is so d.a.m.ned awful."

"Oh."

"Yeah. Oh." He hooked a hand on the open doorway, just over her head. "I'm sorry if my touching you is a problem."

"It's not a problem." Not how he meant, anyway.

"Good. We've always put the kids first. This baby shouldn't be any different."

Rena swung her legs to the side and out, waiting. Bracing herself for the feel of his hands on her body, the unyielding wall of his muscled chest against the give of her own softer flesh.

Broad palms slid under her, one arm around her back, the other under her knees. By instinct, her arm glided up and around his neck. Her fingers found the bristly shortness of the hair along the nape of his neck. Only a soft grunt from him indicated any reaction.

And the reaction wasn't from exertion.

Even with the few extra pregnancy pounds she'd packed on, carrying her posed no hardship for her honed husband. He kept in tip-top shape for the physical aspects of his job that even more mechanized cargo holds couldn't completely eradicate.

So many times she'd stood in the doorway leading to the garage and watched him lift weights, his muscles straining and shifting under sweat-sheened skin. Determination and focus. Strength.

She drew in a shaky breath and found the scent of him, fuller, stronger. How could she have forgotten the familiar potency of his smell-pine soap and musky man? Clean. Arousing.

Pure J.T.

What the h.e.l.l was with the immutable, near-insane physical attraction she felt for this man? Would she spend the rest of her life starving for his touch?

A daunting thought.

His gym shoes thudded along the flagstone path and up the wooden porch steps. Already voices drifted through the door along with someone playing show tunes on the piano. The lace curtains rippled with the movement of bodies inside.

Only a few seconds more in J.T.'s arms. A few seconds more for the memories to tempt her. Unstoppable images so she didn't have to waste energy trying to tamp them down.

Yes, she and J.T. had hurt each other, done so many things wrong, but some things right. And at the moment, all those beautiful, special, right things about her marriage blossomed through her mind. Did he remember them, too? She couldn't change the past, but she had control over the present, and she intended to make sure J.T. carried something positive with him from their years together.

Her hand fell to stop his on the doork.n.o.b. "J.T.?"

He peered down at her. "Problem?"

She squeezed his hand, let her fingers linger in spite of his stunned eyes widening. "No doubt we're wrong for each other in a hundred different ways. But never, never have I found your touch distasteful. Far from it."

His fingers twitched against her, tightened, the only sign he'd heard her as his face stayed stoic. Unemotional. Handsome ruggedness carved in granite.

Still, he'd heard her, and her words meant something to him. Her defenses slipped, and she didn't have the heart to recall them, instead allowed the need building during their ride home to bloom.

She brought her hand up to rest on his neck again. "I thought you already knew that, except now I'm realizing maybe with everything else going on, you somehow forgot. Or wondered. And even though we both realize it's not enough, I just wanted you to know that we did share something mutual."

A smile dented a dimple in his face, so incongruous, and therefore all the more enticing. "Thanks, babe."

Her eyes fell to his mouth, lingered on the sensual fullness of his lower lip. She waited, wanted, even as pride wouldn't let her make the move forward. But if he leaned? She definitely wouldn't move away.

J.T. struggled to control the heat surging through him over something as simple as holding his wife. d.a.m.n it, he was not going to kiss her, no matter how good her soft hands and softer body felt against him.

He steeled his resolve. Steel? More like tinfoil, which meant he'd better haul a.s.s inside. p.r.o.nto.

He twisted the doork.n.o.b. Disappointment flickered through her G.o.diva-rich eyes. Resolve shredded into foil confetti.

The door jerked open beneath his hand, snapping the mood. Thank you, Lord.

Chris lounged in the open portal with a bag of Cheetos clutched in his hand, fingertips deep orange from munching. "What took you so long? I'm starving and folks brought food that I can't eat until you get here."

J.T.

looked away, up. "In a minute, son. How about unload your mother's things from the truck first." "Sure," he answered through a fresh mouthful of cheese curls.

J.T.

angled sideways, guiding Rena's trim legs over the threshold first. Over the threshold. Just as he'd done when they were young, nervous, full of plans.

Ready to break in the new mattress in their efficiency apartment.

Her fingers twisted in his cotton shirt, her touch as hot now as it had been then. Except today, she could hardly stand to look at him. She focused on the hanging ivy that, d.a.m.n it all, he'd forgotten to water.

He stopped in the middle of their overflowing living room. Bo shared the piano bench with Nikki, playing the right hand from the open score sheet while Nikki plucked out the left. Well, if Nikki's plunkings could be called playing, his tomboy daughter always preferring running track to running scales.

And if Bo didn't move his a.s.s a little farther down that bench- "Mom!" Nikki bolted up with an athletic grace gained from hours on the university soccer field. Thank G.o.d for soccer scholarships, even partials. "OhmiG.o.d, are you okay? Dad didn't call me until this morning or I would have come sooner. Probably why he didn't call me. Geez, like I couldn't drive after dark."

"I'm fine, hon," Rena rushed to interrupt. "The crutches are just awkward right now."

"Okay, good, that's what Bo said when he filled me in on the latest, but I thought maybe he was soft-soaping things so I wouldn't worry."

J.T.'s scowl deepened. Bo? She'd been talking with Bo?

So what if Nikki was already older than Rena had been when they married? He wanted his daughter to have a chance to be young. And while he liked Bo in the workplace, no way was Nikki getting near that squadron player renowned for wooing women with his guitar and singing. And apparently the piano now, too.

"J.T., you can put me down now. J.T.?" Rena tapped his chest lightly.

"Where?" he asked.

"Chair."

"Ottoman?"

"Yes, please."

As he lowered her carefully into the overstuffed floral chair, he couldn't help but notice how easily they'd

fallen back into marital shorthand conversation.

Footsteps sounded from the kitchen, down the hall, soft padding steps, seconds before Julia Dawson

strode into the living room, carrying a blond-haired toddler on her hip. "Hey there, sweetie. I've plugged in a Crock-Pot full of chili. There's also a platter of buffalo wings." While the two women exchanged greetings and food-reheating instructions, he tried like h.e.l.l to ignore the warmth of Rena's calf as he arranged a pillow under her foot.

"Don't thank me," Julia insisted. "Thank my multi-talented husband. Zach made it all before he headed in

to work for a couple of hours. I'm only the delivery person. A good thing, huh?" said the lady carpenter, more comfortable with a hammer than a spatula.

Rena inhaled, bringing her b.r.e.a.s.t.s closer to J.T.'s face. "Everything smells great. You really know how to

rev those pregnancy cravings into overdrive."

He finished adjusting the pillow under her foot, his fingers lingering above her ankle. Oh yeah, he

remembered those pregnancy cravings of hers well. All of them, especially how her sensual appet.i.tes increased, too.

Julia hitched her son higher on her hip. "Well, I need to hit the road. Patrick's about ready for his

afternoon nap."

Bo swung his legs around the piano bench, rising. "Little fella looks like he's getting heavy. How about I buckle him into the car seat for you, ma'am?"

A ploy to impress Nikki? Or was he just being a nice guy? Bo certainly seemed at ease with the baby-

and with flaunting that "talent" right under Nikki's nose with a smile and wink Down, Lieutenant.

J.T. followed Julia and Bo out the door as Chris jogged past inside with a small suitcase and basket of flowers in his hands, Cheetos bag in his teeth. J.T. plowed ahead. He might not be able to do much about his wife, but he could make d.a.m.n well sure a certain lieutenant kept his musical "talents" zipped up tight.

Rena watched her husband stride out the door after Bo and Julia, J.T.'s mercurial moods unsettling to say the least. One minute he seemed ready to kiss her. The next he was Sergeant Scowl. Then Mr. Sensitive with the footstool. Then back to Sergeant Scowl.

And she was definitely Counselor Cranky. Knowing her irritability came from pure s.e.xual frustration didn't help.

Nikki plopped down on the ottoman, long legs folded to the side. "Do you need anything? A gla.s.s of water?"

"I'm fine for now, hon." Rena reached to tuck a stray strand of her daughter's chin-length bob behind her ears. If this sleek, earthy changeling didn't look so much like her father, Rena might wonder what rainbow Nikki had slid down into the hospital ba.s.sinet marked Baby Girl Price. "Thanks for coming home to check on me with exams starting."

"We don't all get much time to hang out together in the same house anymore," she said, her tone light, her clear gray eyes piercing. "Sorry I have to go back after supper. But where would I sleep, anyway, with Dad's stuff piled up in my old room?"

Easygoing kid? Not always. Nikki landed her sly digs in with the best of them. "Then let's enjoy this afternoon and the chili before you go. Your father's home to help until I'm on my feet since you and Chris have school. Nothing more and you know that. I'm sorry, hon, but that's the way it is."

"Like you helped him through after he got back from Rubistan." She nodded her bob into a steady swing. "Right. Got it. Lots of helping going on for two people who say they don't want to be married anymore."

Rena folded her arms over her increasing waistline. "Back off, kiddo. I'm the mom. You're not. Boundaries. Respect them."

"Sure thing." She reached to put her hand over her mother's crossed arms. "Hey, cool news about the baby."

"Thank you, hon." Nikki might be p.i.s.sed, hurt even, but she never held a grudge. Rena envied her daughter the ability to let concerns slide off her. "You're okay with this? Not all embarra.s.sed by your old pregnant mom?"

"Old? You've gotta be kidding me." She patted her mother's tiny bulge again. "And of course I'm okay with the kid. If you're happy about the baby, then I'm happy."

Rena placed her hand over her daughter's and let herself enjoy the momentary peace of simply celebrating the new life in their world. She blinked back tears.

"Oh Geez, Mom. Hormones, huh?" Chuckling, Nikki drew her hand away. "Have cravings kicked in yet?"

"G.o.d, yes." She swiped the back of her wrist over her watery eyes. "With a vengeance. I can smell those chicken wings from here."

Nikki's gray eyes flecked with sparks of mischief. "Be nice to me and maybe I'll fix you a plate once they're done heating."

"Brat."

"That's me. Always in trouble." Always in motion, too, Nikki scooped three granola-bar wrappers- starving Chris's, no doubt-off the coffee table, wadded them into a ball before lobbing them into a wicker trash basket. "How far along are you?"