Ian expelled his breath. "I'm trying. Give me a chance to adjust to it, okay?"

Her tears moistened his shoulder.

"Cecilia, please, don't cry."

"I can't help it."

He kissed the tears from her face. Soft kisses, gentle kisses that eventually brought his lips to her mouth. "It'll be all right," he said and hoping to reassure her, kissed her again and again.

"This is our baby," she whispered, and hiccupped on a sob. "I want you to be happy.... I want you to love our baby."

"I will." He closed his eyes and struggled with his conflicting emotions.

"But you don't now?"

He dragged in a deep breath. "I'm trying. That's all I can do."

Cecilia broke free and rolled onto her side, turning away from him.

"Honey, please, do you want me to lie?"

"No."

"Then give me time." He cuddled her spoon fashion and slipped his arm around her middle. From pure habit, his palm cupped her breast. Many a night aboard ship, he'd dreamed of doing exactly this, cuddling his wife, loving her and enjoying the feel of her body so close to his own.

A sigh shuddered through Cecilia and she shifted her little butt closer to his growing arousal. She seemed to take delight in moving seductively against him. "Ian?" she whispered.

He squeezed his eyes shut and didn't respond.

"There's a nice thing about me being pregnant."

He wanted to know what it was, but at the moment the blood flow in his body wasn't headed in the direction of his brain.

"You don't have to wait until I'm asleep to come to bed anymore."

He smiled to himself. With a soft growl, he urged her onto her back. Sighing in surrender and welcome, she slid her arms around his neck and guided his mouth to hers.

"We're going to be all right," she promised him. "We really are."

Ian so badly wanted to believe her. "I know." But anything else he might have said was lost as he buried his fears in his wife's embrace.

Twenty-Four

Charlotte Jefferson couldn't stop smiling. She placed a cherry pie in the oven and set the timer, then turned to her knitting.

"Wipe that silly grin off your face," she chided Harry, her black cat, who sat on the arm of the sofa and studied her with a bemused look. "I know, I know, but this is just so wonderful I can't believe it's really happening."

When the doorbell chimed, Charlotte carefully put her knitting aside and hurried to answer it. She checked the peephole—one could never be too cautious—and saw that it was her daughter. After unbolting the locks, she opened the front door.

"What took you so long?" Olivia sputtered as she barreled past Charlotte. She was halfway into the kitchen before she stopped. Whirling around, she marched back into the living room and then sank abruptly onto the sofa, as though all her energy had drained away.

"Olivia, what's gotten into you?" Charlotte asked, concerned by her daughter's odd behavior.

Olivia bolted to her feet and almost immediately sat down again. She covered her face with both her hands. "I think I've made a terrible mistake."

"What mistake?"

Olivia dropped her hands and stared forlornly out the living-room window, her shoulders sagging. She looked close to tears. "It's Jack and me."

Charlotte gasped. "My goodness, you've been married less than three months!"

"You think I don't know that? Lately... lately it's like we can't even talk."

"You and Jack? Why? What's wrong?"

"Oh, Mom, I feel so awful. We're just so different and we irritate one another and... and..."

"There, there now," Charlotte cooed softly. Things must be bad for her daughter to show up on her doorstep in this condition. In all the years Olivia had been married to Stan, never once had she run home after an argument or sought her parents' advice.

"I love Jack so much."

"Of course you do." Olivia's feelings for him were apparent months before she admitted she was in love.

Olivia's face crumpled as she struggled to hold back tears. "I love him, but he... he's a slob. And I can't stand it."

"You have to compromise, sweetie."

"You think I haven't tried?" Olivia shook her head. "I hate myself for nagging him to pick up his dirty clothes, but really, why should I follow him around and clean up after him?"

"Wait here," Charlotte murmured. "I'm making a pot of tea." The most serious discussions required tea. For some reason, everything made more sense over a shared cup of strong tea. And whatever had happened between Olivia and Jack appeared to be serious, indeed.

Less than ten minutes later, Charlotte was back. She carried in the tray, complete with a large ceramic pot, two china cups and a plate of homemade cookies. Olivia sat on the edge of the sofa with a wadded tissue in her hands.

"Start at the beginning," Charlotte said as she poured. She handed the first cup and saucer to Olivia, then poured her own. Olivia set the cup on the coffee table, her composure shaky.

"I'm...I'm not sure how this whole thing began, but tonight when I came home and saw the mess in the bathroom, I lost it. I realize Jack doesn't care about tidiness and order the way I do, but that's no excuse for leaving wet towels on the floor. He didn't so much as pick up his dirty underwear."

Charlotte sighed.

"Maybe I shouldn't have said anything but I did, and then Jack yelled at me and..." Her lower lip trembled. "We both said things we shouldn't have. He left and then I left, and now I feel so bad."

"Of course you do," Charlotte said with warm sympathy.

"When we returned from Hawaii, he made an effort to keep the house neat, but it didn't take him long to slip back into his old habits."

"That's a man for you," Charlotte said. "With your father and me, what we quarreled about was his tendency never to throw anything out. I'd get annoyed and put ten-year-old bills in the trash and then he'd get annoyed...." She sighed again, remembering. It seemed such a small thing now.

"I know I have irritating habits, too," Olivia said. "Mother, do you think I'm compulsive?"

Charlotte wasn't about to answer but it didn't matter; Olivia barreled on.

"Just because I insist the cap be on the toothpaste and the towels hung evenly on the rack—that doesn't make me a neat freak, does it?"

"Everyone has a certain, uh, comfort level," Charlotte said, hoping to sidestep the issue. She'd come across that useful term in a magazine article a while ago.

"I can't believe I'm running to my mother with this," Olivia cried. "It's just that I never thought Jack and I would argue so...so horribly."

"Olivia, every couple argues. It's healthy to clear the air."

Olivia nodded. "I know.... But we were both so adamant in what we said and now I think Jack's sorry he ever married me."

"I'm sure that's not true."

"He told me he'd had it with this diet I'd put him on and that if he saw another chunk of tofu he was dumping it in the garbage. But Mom, his diet is atrocious! He thinks I'm picking on him because I want him to lose a few pounds. All I want is for him to make healthier food choices."

"Of course you want him to eat properly, but—"

"He said we got along a lot better when we lived apart."

Charlotte was stunned. "He didn't mean it."

Olivia covered her face again. "I think he did, because right after that he left. I wasn't letting him walk out on me, so I left, too. Can you believe I'd do anything so childish?"

Charlotte had to admit she was somewhat amused. This must have been a humdinger of an argument.

Olivia had hated fighting when she was a little girl, too. It used to upset her to the point that she'd make herself sick.

"What should I do now?" Olivia pleaded. "Should I just go back to the house and pretend nothing happened?"

"Well," Charlotte said, gently patting her daughter's shoulder. "First of all, I'm sure Jack is feeling just as bad as you are. You both need to remember that you were single for a lot of years. Marriage is a major adjustment. Perhaps it would be best if you bought two tubes of toothpaste."

"I did" she said indignantly. "But Jack can't remember which one is his. Half the time he can't find it, and mine's handy, so he uses it." She reached for her cup of tea and took a sip. "Then he gets upset when I say something. According to Jack, it shouldn't make any difference."

"I know."

"You can't possibly know. The other night I found an open jar of peanut butter on the kitchen counter. The knife was still in it."

Charlotte dropped her jaw as though shocked.

"Apparently Jack got up in the middle of the night and made himself a sandwich."

"I take it peanut butter isn't on his diet?" Charlotte tried hard not to smile.

"No, and Jack knows that. It's for his own good."

"Ob, dear."

Olivia raised her head at the sound of a car and she vaulted to her feet, dashing to the window. "Jack just pulled up out front." She squared her shoulders and looked back at Charlotte. Then, as if she were making a court decree, she declared, "Tell him I'm not here."

"Olivia, you're being ridiculous. Your car's parked in ray driveway. I'm not going to lie to your husband."

"Look at me, Mother! Just look at me. I'm a sensible adult, or at least I was until I married Jack Griffin. Overnight I'm back to being a teenager. I've never come running to my mother in my life and now—now just look at me. I'm a mess! I'll talk to Jack once I've had a chance to compose myself."

The doorbell chimed. Olivia heaved in a breath. "I need to freshen my makeup.. .and I don't want him to know... Oh, just tell him whatever you want."

Charlotte frowned.

Olivia disappeared and Charlotte went to the front door. Jack didn't seem surprised when she answered before he'd even knocked. He had on his light raincoat, rumpled as usual, hands deep in his pockets.

"Hello, Jack."

A scowl darkened his face. He nodded. "Hello, Charlotte."

"What can I do for you?"

"Do you have a minute?"

Charlotte hesitated, then gestured him in. "Of course. Come inside."

He stepped into the house and glanced around. Charlotte noticed that his gaze lingered on the two teacups, but he didn't comment on the fact that Olivia was obviously at the house.

"I heard a rumor this afternoon and wanted to see if it was true."

"Sit down," Charlotte invited soberly, trying to hide her amusement at both Olivia and Jack. They were acting like kids—and as Olivia had said, even when she was a kid, she hadn't acted like this. Still, amused or not, Charlotte was worried; immature behavior could escalate and end in drastic consequences. This was a good marriage in the ways that counted. She hoped they'd give it the chance it deserved.

He chose the wing chair and stroked Harry's head as he walked past the cat. Harry remained unruffled by all these dramatics. She envied him a little.

"What did you hear?" Charlotte asked as she sat down again. She picked up her knitting, hoping it would calm her.