Blue Dahlia

you to tell me, here and now, do you love me?”
    “You’ve already told me I do.”
    He set his hands on her waist, drew her in, drew her up in the way that made her heart stutter. “Tell me.”
    Did he know, could he know, how huge it was for her to say the words? Words she’d said to no man but the one she’d lost. Here he was, those eyes on hers, waiting for the simple acknowledgment of what he already knew.
    “I love you. I do, but—”
    “That’ll do for now.” He closed his mouth over hers and rode out the storm of emotion raging inside him. Then he stepped back. “You make that list, Red. And start thinking what color you want on those living room walls. Tell the boys I’ll see them tomorrow.”
    “But ... weren’t you going to stay for dinner?”
    “I’ve got some things to do,” he said as he strode away. “And so do you.” He glanced over his shoulder. “You need to worry about me.”
     
    ONE OF THE THINGS HE HAD TO DO WAS WORK OFF the frustration. When he’d asked Rae to marry him, it was no surprise for either of them and her acceptance had been instant and enthusiastic.
    Of course, look where that had gotten them.
    But it was hard on a man’s ego when the woman he loved and wanted to spend his life with countered every one of his moves with a block of stubborn, hardheaded sense .
    He put in an hour on his cross-trainer, sweating, guzzling water, and cursing the day he’d had the misfortune to fall in love with a stiff-necked redhead.
    Of course, if she wasn’t stiff-necked, stubborn, and sensible, he probably wouldn’t have fallen in love with her. That still made the whole mess her fault.
    He’d been happy before she’d come along. The house hadn’t seemed empty before she’d been in it. Her and those noisy kids. Since when had he voluntarily arranged to spend a precious Saturday off, a solitary Saturday at his own house with a couple of kids running around getting into trouble?
    Hell. He was going to have to go out and pick up some Popsicles.
    He was a doomed man, he decided as he stepped into the shower. Hadn’t he already picked the spot in the backyard for a swing set? Hadn’t he already started a rough sketch for a tree house?
    He’d started thinking like a father.
    Maybe he’d liked the sensation of holding that baby in his arms, but having one wasn’t a deal breaker. How was either one of them supposed to know how they’d feel about that a year from now?
    Things happen, he thought, remembering Hayley’s words, because they’re meant to happen.
    Because, he corrected as he yanked on fresh jeans, you damn well made them happen.
    He was going to start making things happen.
    In fifteen minutes, after a quick check of the phone book, he was in his car and heading into Memphis. His hair was still wet.
     
    WILL HAD BARELY STARTED ON HIS AFTER-DINNER decaf and the stingy sliver of lemon meringue pie Jolene allowed him when he heard the knock on the door.
    “Now who the devil could that be?”
    “I don’t know, honey. Maybe you should go find out.”
    “If they want a damn piece of pie, then I want a bigger one.”
    “If it’s the Bowers boy about cutting the grass, tell him I’ve got a couple of cans of Coke cold in here.”
    But when Will opened the door, it wasn’t the gangly Bowers boy, but a broad-shouldered man wearing an irritated scowl. Instinctively, Will edged into the opening of the door to block it. “Something I can do for you?”
    “Yeah. I’m Logan Kitridge, and I’ve just asked your daughter to marry me.”
    “Who is it, honey?” Fussing with her hair, Jolene walked up to the door. “Why it’s Logan Kitridge, isn’t it? We met you a time or two over at Roz’s. Been some time back, though. I know your mama a little. Come on in.”
    “He says he asked Stella to marry him.”
    “Is that so!” Her face brightened like the sun, with her eyes wide and avid with curiosity. “Why, that’s just marvelous. You come on back and have some pie.”
    “He didn’t say if she’d said yes,” Will pointed out.
    “Since when does Stella say anything as simple as yes?” Logan demanded, and had Will grinning.
    “That’s my girl.”
    They sat down, ate pie, drank coffee, and circled around the subject at hand with small talk about his mother, Stella, the new baby.
    Finally, Will leaned back. “So, am I supposed to ask you how you intend to support my daughter and grandsons?”
    “You tell me. Last time I did this, the girl’s father’d