It didn’t matter, really, Maura told herself. His decisions would have no impact on her. And though her heart was galloping in her chest, she wouldn’t be saying yes. She wouldn’t have a man who didn’t love her and she knew bloody well Jefferson King was not in love.
“Argue if it makes you feel better.” Jefferson looked down at her, their eyes locked and she read pure determination in those pale blue depths. For all the good it would do him.
“And you make all the decisions you like,” Maura countered briskly. “It appears you enjoy doing it no matter that nothing will come of it.”
“It’s all arranged.” He sniffed at the mingled scents of hay and wet sheep. “Or it will be soon. My assistant’s taking care of the details, but with the time difference, it’ll probably take a couple of days.”
“What exactly,” Cara asked, when it became clear Maura had no intention of asking the question herself, “is it that your assistant is so busily arranging?”
“A marriage license, a venue.” His gaze fixed on Maura. “I told Joan I thought you’d prefer to be married in the village church, but we can change that if you’d rather. Westport maybe? Dublin? Hell, we can wait and get married in Hollywood if you want.”
“Hollywood?” Cara asked, saying the word a bit wistfully.
“Doesn’t matter to me,” Jefferson said. “As long as we get married, I don’t care where we do it.”
“How very thoughtful,” Maura managed to choke out.
“It’s not thoughtful,” he countered. “It’s expedient.”
“And quite romantic,” Maura sniped. “Why, my heart’s just weeping with the joy of it all.”
“This isn’t about romance,” he said.
“That’d be plain to a blind man.”
“It’s about what’s right.”
“Oh, and I suppose you’re the one to be deciding what right is?”
“Someone has to,” he said with a barely restrained snarl.
“Well then,” Cara announced, effectively interrupting the argument, “I can see you two have a lot to talk about, so I’ll be going, shall I?”
Maura jolted. She didn’t want to be alone with Jefferson. Not now. Not yet. “Don’t you dare leave this barn, Cara…”
Giving her a wink, her sister stood up, handed the lamb and its bottle to Jefferson and announced, “I wish you luck in your dealings with my sister. She can be a bit hardheaded, as I’m sure you’ve noticed.”
“So much for family loyalty,” Maura murmured.
Cara ignored her and spoke only to Jefferson. “Mind though, make her cry and I’ll make your life a living misery.”
“Fair warning,” Jefferson said with a nod as he settled the lamb more comfortably against him.
“Good.”
“Cara, blast you for a traitor, don’t you leave me here with him—”
“I’ll take myself off back to Westport,” Cara said, lifting her voice to carry over Maura’s. “I’ll stay with Mary Dooley again since I’ve an early shift at the café tomorrow anyway. You two have a good night,” she added, then looked at Jefferson. “Mind the lamb drinks the whole bottle now.”
She was gone a moment later and the only sounds in the barn were those made by the restive sheep.
“I’ve never fed a lamb before,” Jefferson said, taking a seat on an upturned crate. He looked down at the small animal in his arms and added, “I’ve hand-fed calves though. Shouldn’t be too different, though if you tell Justice I said that, I’ll deny it.”
Maura swallowed hard, then realized her lamb was through feeding. She set him down in the pen, reached for the next one and began the process over again. They were too intimate here. Too crowded together in too small a space. She couldn’t draw a breath without taking in the scent of him. It was fogging her mind, but not so much that she’d give way to a bully trying to force his decisions on her.
“There’s no reason for you to stay,” she said.
“I’m helping,” he told her.
“I don’t need your help just as I don’t need to be told I’m getting married.”
“Apparently,” he said, “you do.”
“I won’t marry you.”
“Why the hell not?” He lifted his eyes from the lamb, who was feeding as if it were the last bit of milk it might ever see. “It’s the right thing to do and you know it. You’re pregnant with my child. In my family, kids have parents who are married. Besides, my child is going to carry my name.”
“So this is nothing to do with me,” Maura argued. “It’s all what you think should be done. Your rights. Your responsibility. Your child. Well go and have your marriage. Just don’t expect me to participate.”
“If you’ll quit being so damn stubborn about this, you could think rationally. For the sake of the baby we made, we have to get married. Our kid deserves two parents.”
“And he’ll have them.”
“He?” Jefferson asked.
She sighed. “No, I don’t know what sex the baby is and don’t want to know.”
“Good,” he said with a nod. “I like the surprise, too.”
A part of her melted at that until she reminded herself that a man who cared for his child wouldn’t necessarily care for the child’s mother. This was all wrong. All of it. It broke her heart, but damned if she’d sentence either of them to a life without love.
“Do you really think I’ll marry you because you think you owe me your protection?” She shook her head and scoffed at the notion. “I’m a grown woman. And this isn’t the nineteenth century, Jefferson. Even in Ireland a woman alone can raise her child in peace. And the name Donohue will suit my child nicely.”
“Our child,” he corrected, “and there’s no reason for you to be alone. I accept my responsibilities, Maura.”
“Well, don’t I feel warm and treasured. A responsibility. Surely that’s a word every woman longs to hear from a man.”
“Not five hours ago, you were pissed at me because I wasn’t taking responsibility. Now I am.”
“I don’t want you to.”
“That’s a shame.”
The ewes scuttled uneasily in their pens again as if picking up on the tension in the air.