Logan studied Charlotte, sitting in the rocking chair. As he watched, she rubbed her eyes wearily with one hand. “Let me get this straight. As things stand, Charlotte faces a real danger of losing custody of her own baby to Dylan’s mother, even though she hasn’t done anything wrong.”

  “Yeah. Sorry, but that’s the truth as I see it.”

  “But if she and I were married, Mrs. Tremaine and her fancy lawyer wouldn’t be able to pull it off.”

  “Right. I could pretty much guarantee a custody case would swing Charlotte’s way then, but since you two aren’t—” There was a pause on the other end of the phone. “Wait just a minute. Logan, you’re not thinking—”

  “We’ll talk again tomorrow, Eric.” Logan ended the call and walked toward the porch, his mind whirling.

  He wasn’t sure—yet—what he was going to do, or what Charlotte would say, or how this would all play out. Right now, he was only sure of one thing.

  Nobody was taking Charlotte’s baby away from her, not if he could help it.

  * * *

  “I don’t understand.” The following morning, Charlotte frowned at Logan as she struggled to adjust the truck’s seat belt over her baby bump. “Why do you keep pestering me about whether or not I have my Social Security card? I thought we were just going out for breakfast.”

  She wished she hadn’t let him talk her into this. She knew he was only trying to cheer her up, but she really didn’t feel up to it. Even though Ruby had insisted on dosing her with a big mug of herbal tea, she’d spent the night tossing and turning, worrying over what Findlay had told her. In the fitful snatches of sleep she’d managed, she’d dreamed terrible dreams.

  The fact that Logan had been so cagey about what his lawyer friend thought about her chances hadn’t helped. She didn’t want to go anywhere right now, and she sure didn’t feel like eating. All she wanted to do was find someplace to hide, hopefully somewhere Elizabeth couldn’t find her.

  “We are going for breakfast. First.” He glanced at her, then turned his attention back to the road. “Then I’ve got something else planned.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I’ll explain everything while we eat. Do you have the card with you or not?”

  She sighed and shifted the seat belt again, trying to find a comfortable position. It was a waste of time. There wasn’t one. The bigger she got, the more of a problem everything became. “You said to bring it and my driver’s license, so yes, I do. But I don’t understand why I need it.”

  “I’d rather not get into it while we’re driving. The restaurant’s not far, just over the Tennessee line.” He shot her another quick look. “Mama Berry’s. Remember? That was always one of your favorite places.”

  “Oh, Mama B’s!” In spite of her worries and her discomfort, Charlotte’s mouth tipped up into her first real smile since that awful phone call. “I love her blueberry pancakes.”

  He smiled back. “I know.”

  Charlotte felt a twinge of guilt. He was trying so hard to make her happy. He’d even taken the whole day off work, which Ruby assured her he never did, so he could treat her to this breakfast—and whatever else he’d planned. No telling what that was. He’d been acting weird ever since Ruby had called him out to the house yesterday.

  Charlotte winced as the baby moved and kicked—she wasn’t the only one getting uncomfortable these days. Well, whatever Logan was up to, she’d find out soon enough.

  And actually, blueberry pancakes didn’t sound half bad.

  Mama Berry’s was only a thirty-minute drive from Cedar Ridge, so they were soon pulling into the parking lot. The tiny eatery was pleasantly busy but not too crowded, and all decorated for autumn. Corn stalks were lashed together and spaced along the porch, along with hay bales and bright orange pumpkins. A chubby scarecrow wearing a bonnet and a calico dress perched on one of the bales, holding a sign that read, Welcome to Mama Berry’s! Mind Your Manners and Eat Your Fill!

  The fall colors clashed with Mama B’s unusual choice of magenta paint for her siding, but what did that matter? The restaurant looked exactly as she remembered it, and Charlotte felt her spirits lifting even before Logan had switched off the engine.

  She smiled as he came around to open the passenger door. “This place looks exactly the same. Do you think Mama’s still here?”

  “Are you kidding?” He carefully helped her down. “Mama won’t leave that griddle until they carry her out the door feet first. Come on.”

  He offered her his arm, and Charlotte took it. As they crossed the parking lot, she inhaled a breath of fresh mountain air—scented heavily with frying bacon. Her worries were immediately shoved aside, replaced with memories of the countless fun Saturday mornings she’d spent here with Logan. She squeezed his hand and laid her head briefly against his arm. “I’m sorry I was so grumpy earlier. This was a really sweet thing for you to do.”

  “Were you grumpy?” He cut her an amused glance. “I didn’t notice.”

  Charlotte snorted and swatted him.

  Once inside, they called an enthusiastic hello to Mama Janice Berry, who was manning the wide griddle and popping her chewing gum in time to the gospel music on the radio. When the heavy-set woman caught sight of them, she hollered so loudly that all the customers in the small room jumped and stared.

  “Look what the cat dragged in! Oh, I got to hug your necks. Phyllis, watch these pancakes for a minute. Mind now, I just turned ’em.” The sixtysomething restaurant owner squeezed around the counter and enveloped Charlotte in a soft, blueberry scented embrace.

  “Girl, girl, girl,” the older woman murmured in her ear. “It’s so good to see you! You’ve stayed away too long.”

  “It’s good to see you too, Mama B,” Charlotte whispered past the lump in her throat. Small towns had their advantages. She’d forgotten what it felt like to be hugged and welcomed like a movie star everywhere you went. When Mama finally released her, Charlotte laughed self-consciously and scrubbed at her teary eyes. “You haven’t changed a bit.”

  “Can’t say the same about you.” Mama Berry stepped back and looked down at Charlotte’s rounded middle with a grin. “You’re just about to pop, aren’t you? My, my! You were always such a little bitty thing, even though you ate my pancakes like a truck driver. And look at you now! All right, you two, go on and find yourself a table. No, no, you don’t need a menu—I know what you want better’n you do. Phyllis! Pour some more batter out on that griddle! We got two more tall stacks to make.”

  Logan led the way to a table crammed into the farthest corner, shielded from the rest of the room by a half wall decorated with pictures of pigs. He pulled out a chair, and Charlotte considered it dubiously.

  “Won’t we be kind of cramped over here?” She ran a hand down her middle with a rueful smile. “I’m not sure I can fit behind that table. Maybe we should try a booth.”

  “We need privacy.” Logan pulled the table out an extra foot from the wall. “There. Plenty of room for both of you now.”

  “All right.” Charlotte shrugged and sat in the offered chair. “Privacy, huh?” She pulled a few napkins out of the dispenser and handed him a couple. They both liked lots of syrup on their pancakes, and things got pretty drippy at Mama B’s. “I guess that explains why you brought me here instead of going to Angelo’s and letting Maggie make our pancakes.” She lowered her voice and leaned in close. “Don’t tell Mama B, but I’m sure Maggie could make pancakes almost as good as the ones here.” She straightened up and smiled. “I don’t think you’d get much privacy with your sister around, though.”

  “Not likely. Maggie would probably plop herself right down at the table with us.” Logan fidgeted with his napkin, folding and unfolding it. “She wouldn’t be the only one, either. Whenever I sit down to eat in Cedar Ridge, I end up cornered by somebody who wants to complain about a parking ticket or a loud neighbor.”

  “I didn’t think about that.” She’d been so caught up in her own problems that she’d forgotten what a load of responsibility Logan carried. “I don’t blame you for wanting to have a peaceful breakfast out of town.”

  He shot her a rueful look. “It may not be so peaceful once I explain—”

  “Here’s your coffee.” Mama B swooped over with a carafe in each hand.

  “Oh, thanks, but I shouldn’t—” Charlotte started.

  “Relax, honey. This ain’t my first rodeo. Decaf for you. Pancakes’ll be up in a jiffy, and I’m putting a little bit of bacon on your plate for a treat. Not much, and it’s that all-natural kind. Phyllis is frying it up special now. You’ll get the regular stuff,” Mama B informed Logan with wink.

  “Good.”

  “You sure found yourself a cozy corner over here.” The older woman winked. “I always did think you two made a cute couple. I know, I know.” She rolled her eyes. “You’re just friends. I’ve heard it all before, and going by that baby bump, it looks like Logan here missed his chance, but I’m still entitled to my opinion. Back in a minute.” She hurried off again.

  Charlotte stirred a splash of creamer into her coffee, studying Logan. He was fiddling with his napkin again. “All right. We’ve got our privacy, and the pancakes are on their way. Tell me about this secret plan of yours.”

  “Maybe we should eat first.”

  She frowned. “You’re stalling.” She’d lifted her coffee cup to take a sip, but now she set it back on its fat little saucer with a clink. “That’s not like you. You’re starting to make me nervous. What’s going on?”

  He leaned back in his chair and studied her. “I don’t know exactly how to tell you this,” he muttered.

  “How to tell me what?” She tilted her head, looking at him. “Spit it out, Logan. What exactly do you want us to do today?”

  He set his jaw and met her eyes. “I think we should get married.”

  Crash! Charlotte turned to find Mama B staring at the two laden plates she had dropped on the floor. The older woman looked up, and for once she seemed speechless.

  Charlotte understood that feeling. This was a speechless moment, for sure.

  “I’ll have Fred clean this up,” Mama muttered finally, her cheeks blooming a mottled red. “And I’ll...uh...bring you some more pancakes. Phyllis!” she bellowed as she hurried back toward the stove.

  Charlotte shifted around in her chair and faced Logan.

  “You. Start explaining.”

  Chapter Eight

  “Eric gave me the idea,” Logan started. He paused as Fred, the elderly busboy, came to clean up the mess of smashed dishes and pancakes.

  “Go on,” Charlotte prompted. The small restaurant had gone silent and the other customers were sneaking curious glances in their direction.

  He pushed his chair back and stood. “I think our privacy is shot. Let’s go outside. Mama B? Put those pancakes on hold for just a minute, will you?”

  Mama B turned, her spatula in one hand. “No problem.” She still looked shell-shocked.

  Charlotte understood the feeling. As she followed Logan outside, she kept turning what he’d said over and over in her mind.

  I think we should get married.

  If he’d announced, “I think we should fly to Mars,” she couldn’t have been any more confused.

  Outside Mama B’s the air was still cool and bacon scented, but the comforting sense of familiarity was gone. Logan Carter had just proposed marriage out of the blue, and her whole world had slipped sideways.

  He led the way to a cement picnic table underneath an oak whose green leaves were just starting to tint yellow. He brushed some debris off the seat and motioned for her to sit. Charlotte sank onto the bench, its cold dampness seeping through her maternity jeans.

  He sat across from her, propping his elbows on the rough slab of a table.

  “First off, I’m sorry about dropping that bomb on you back there. I’ve been worrying over how to bring this up, but I never came up with a good way to explain it.” He rubbed his chin and made a rueful face. “Obviously.”

  “You said you came up with this...bomb...because of something your lawyer friend told you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Maybe you’d better start there.”

  He nodded, looking relieved at the suggestion. “Okay, so the bad news is that Eric thinks Mrs. Tremaine has a real shot at this custody angle she and her lawyer are working.”

  Charlotte’s stomach fell, and panic crowded in. “I knew it!”

  “Wait! There’s good news, too. He’s pretty sure we can stop them.”

  “How?” When Logan raised his eyebrows, Charlotte’s panic shifted back to disbelief. “By getting married? You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “Nope, and to tell you the truth, it’s actually a pretty smart idea.”

  Charlotte listened as he explained how their marriage could derail Elizabeth’s plans in one move and make her look spiteful. Which, of course she was.

  The truth of that registered in the logical part of her mind. The other half of her brain was still struggling to get a handle on all this.

  “Marriage would make sense in other ways, too,” he went on. “My insurance has excellent maternity benefits. I looked it up. You’d be covered as soon as we were married. No waiting period. I checked on that, too. So you can go straight back home this afternoon and make that doctor’s appointment you’ve been putting off.”

  “Today? You want us to get married today?”

  “Right.” He spoke as if this was the most reasonable idea in the world. “It shouldn’t be a problem. Tennessee’s a marriage-friendly state. I mean, we could’ve gotten married at the Cedar Ridge courthouse—there’s no waiting period in Georgia anymore, either. But I know everybody there, and it would have turned into a circus. One of my deputies eloped to Tennessee last year, and he said it was the smartest decision he’d ever made. We can get married today, easily enough, with only the documentation we’re carrying. No wait, no fuss, all done.” He looked at his watch. “If we hurry, we could probably get the license before lunch.”

  “I’m sorry.” Charlotte blinked and shook her head. “I’m...struggling to catch up here. This offer is really...” Okay. She had no idea what to call this. “I guess generous doesn’t exactly cover it. And as—” Charlotte struggled to find the right word “—out there,” she finished, “as this whole idea is, I suppose it’s something we could talk over. Maybe. But, come on, Logan. We can’t just get married. Today. Just like that.” She snapped her fingers.

  “Sure we can. I explained that. See, there’s no waiting period—”

  “No, no. I got that part.” In spite of everything, she found herself fighting a desire to laugh. Sometimes Logan was such a—guy. “Legally, yes, I suppose we could.”

  “Okay.” He waited, eyebrows lifted. “So, what’s the problem?”

  What’s the problem? Was he serious? “Well, for starters, aren’t you the guy who was telling me just the other day he had no intention of ever getting married?”

  “Well, yeah.” Logan blinked. “And I know you never planned to marry again, either. This is different. It wouldn’t be that kind of a thing.” He frowned at her. “You understand that, right? I’m not asking you to—I wouldn’t expect...” He trailed off. “Our friendship is important to me. I’d never want anything to mess that up. We’d still be friends—who also happen to be married.”

  For the first time since this unbelievable conversation had started, Logan’s idea actually sounded reasonable. Something stirred to life, way in the back in the furthest reaches of Charlotte’s mind. Something almost...hopeful.

  “Married friends,” she repeated. That didn’t sound so awful. “We get married but stay friends.”

  “Sure. Why not?”

  She threw him a suspicious look. Why not? She had a checkered history with that question.

  It was her favorite question to ask when she was working on a design project, debating on a not-so-traditional style or pattern or fabric. That one question had led her to create some of her very best work, work which was fresh and surprising and uniquely her own.

  But that was art. The same question had also led her into some not-so-great life choices. Dylan came to mind.

  Then again, Logan wasn’t at all like Dylan.

  She studied him—the straight, firm line of his jaw, so different from her late husband’s softer one. The way his shoulders under the short-sleeved white shirt were set, so wide and strong. The way he edged ahead to open doors for her, his old-fashioned habit of pulling out her chairs. The way he insisted on walking her up steps and steadying her arm.

  The way he’d driven all the way down to Savannah to spend the night in an uncomfortable chair in her hospital room, because he’d remembered what it meant when she wore her mother’s ring.

  And the way he sat here now, offering her his life on a platter, because he couldn’t bear the idea of standing by and doing nothing while she got hurt.

  “Charlotte?”

  She blinked. “I’m thinking.”

  “Is it starting to make more sense?”

  “Maybe.” She frowned. “I guess, if you strip away all the romantic stuff, a marriage boils down to a legal contract between two consenting adults.” An idea occurred to her, and she glanced up at him, alarmed. “But Logan, there’s something else.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I’m pregnant.”

  He lifted an eyebrow. “I’ve noticed.”

  “Have you thought about that?”

  He sent her a quizzical look. “Charlotte, the baby’s kind of the whole reason for this.”

 

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