in the medicine cabinet. She came up empty on the rinse but did find a small tube of toothpaste in its stead.
Mouth clean once more, Lizzie squared her shoulders. She’d put this off long enough—it was time to tell Ethan the truth. She slipped off the sweatshirt, loath to remove the soft cotton that smelled of him—a mix of the outdoors and something raw and wholly male—and folded it as she walked.
He stood before the large fireplace, the thick stone like a frame. He was a hard man, she knew, harder even than the slate at his back. He’d shown signs of it even as a young boy—and who wouldn’t after what he and his siblings had lived through?
But Ethan had suffered more than the rest of them.
At the age of seven he’d discovered his mother lying murdered out behind the family’s farmhouse. A red bull’s-eye was painted on her forehead in Magic Marker, the clear mark of his father, one of Texas’s most notorious serial killers.
“Lizzie, are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
She pushed away the images that assailed her at the very thought of what he’d discovered and focused on the here and now.
And what she had to share with him.
“I have something to tell you.”
Ethan nodded, his face resigned, but he held his position before the fireplace. “I think I might have an idea.”
“I’m pregnant.”
He nodded again, and whether it was in acknowledgment of her words or the response of someone dumbfounded and searching for something to say, she wasn’t sure. After all, she’d had almost six months to get used to the idea.
And he’d had none.
“What took you so long to tell me?”
“I didn’t—” She hesitated, even though she’d prepared for this question. “I know how you feel about children. You were honest with me. That night and even when we were kids, you’d mentioned it a few times. That you don’t want children. That you’re afraid to pass on—”
She broke off again, heat creeping up her neck and into her cheeks.
Damn. She so didn’t want to go there.
Ethan had told her of his fears. That he believed his father’s psychopathic tendencies ran in his blood, and for that reason, he’d never have children. She’d tried to tell him it was a load of bullshit, but he wouldn’t be put off. And if Lizzie were fair, she knew the roots of his fear were all too real.
She’d grown up in foster care, too, her parents a nonexistent memory. Who gave up their child, leaving them to the care of strangers? She hadn’t even been good enough for adoption. Oh, no, instead she’d gone from foster home to foster home, cared for by people who by and large were kind but overworked, overextended with the number of children in their care and unwilling to allow themselves to get too attached.
“You’re right. I made a vow, and I believe in my reasons. None of it changes the reality that there is a child on its way that, by your presence, I assume is mine.”
“Of course!”
The question beneath his words was a slap, but she stood tall. Although she wasn’t an innocent, she wasn’t a woman who would pass off the child of another man. And she hadn’t had sex in some time, all her relationships seeming to end after a date or two, before things got intimate or too serious.
“I’m sorry.” He shook his head. “That was out of line. I know you. And I’ve known you for a long time. I just didn’t think— I mean, we used protection.”
“Which I thought was effective. I did ask my doctor about it, and she said that while usually effective, there’s a reason the box comes with a warning. We’re the one percent where the condom didn’t work.”
“I guess we are.” A harsh laugh escaped his lips. “I’ve spent my entire damn life avoiding slips outside the lines. Clearly I’m not trying hard enough.”
His words were like icicles against her skin, but she stood strong, refusing to cower. She wanted to be angry—to accuse him of being a heartless bastard—but she knew all about trying to live a good life. A perfect life. And she knew what that quest for perfection did to a person.
That bone-deep fear that you’d never be enough, just as you were.
She’d spent years working through the lingering pain of being a foster child, and she knew there were no easy answers. After she’d got her job with the bank, the benefits had allowed her to seek out counseling, and she’d willingly gone to a therapist, eager to talk through the self-doubt that had plagued her through much of her life.
Although she’d instinctively known the choice to abandon her was the fault of those nameless, faceless parents, working with someone had helped bring things into focus. Had helped her believe in herself and her dreams for her future.
So she marched on. And on the days when the doubt demons spoke too loudly, she practiced the techniques Dr. Johansen had given her to stay afloat.
“Yes, I’m having a baby. And yes, it’s yours.”
“Is it a boy or a girl?”
“I—” She broke off, surprise filling her at the simple question. “I don’t know. I haven’t wanted to know.”
His hazel eyes had gone nearly as gray as the wall of slate behind him. “I deserved to know, Lizzie.”
He did deserve to know. And while she’d had her reasons for waiting—namely his lifelong feelings on fatherhood—it didn’t change the fact that she’d cheated him of the knowledge he was going to be a parent.
“I didn’t want to burden you with this. I know how you feel about...about children.”
“So you thought I’d rather stay in the dark than accept my responsibilities?” His voice was quiet—too quiet—but the power of his words ricocheted around the room with all the force of gunshots.
Head high, she drew on every reserve she had. “I know how to accept my responsibilities. And I can take care of myself and my child.”
“Our child.”
Our child. Our.
She only nodded, the truth that had needled her since discovering her pregnancy blossoming into full-blown guilt. “Yes. Our child.”
“So what changed?”
“I’ve had some problems at work.”
Whatever else he’d been about to say faded as he stared at her. “What sort of problems?”
The fear that had dogged her for the past few months gripped her in tight fingers, rattling her spine until a line of shivers worked its way through her body. “Notes. Flowers. And recently, someone broke into my house.”
“Do you know who?”
“No.” Something in his gaze had her going still and words clogged in her throat.
He finally moved, dragging her close, his arms wrapping tight around her. “You don’t have any idea? None at all?”
“I can’t think of anyone.” She kept her arms at her sides, unwilling to get too close to the delicious heat that was Ethan Colton. Too afraid to draw on the strength to be found in his arms. “But the incidents began after I announced my pregnancy at work.”
“Tell me about them.” His arms stayed wrapped around her, but his hand drifted to her lower back, rubbing in small circles. Heat filled her everywhere their bodies touched, but it was that simple gesture of comfort that was nearly her undoing.
Tears gripped her throat in a hard fist and she swallowed around it, unwilling to finally let the dam break on her emotions.
“The