From Coming Home to Texas

     Jodie Marsh gathered her courage along with her Kate Spade tote and umbrella, preparing to make a mad dash toward Travis Whitaker's front porch. A mad dash toward her immediate future. With one last sigh, she pushed open the door to her rental car and swung her legs out. Her feet landed in a puddle, soaking her Manolo Blahnik sandals. The cute heels disappeared in a small pool of muddy water. Great. Now she would squish when she walked up and confronted him.
     Travis wasn't expecting her, and she doubted he'd heard the car pull into the driveway over the persistent rain, she thought as she ran toward the porch. His house appeared spacious and new, although it evoked a feeling of the old rock homes and weathered wood barns she'd seen dotting the countryside. She assumed he'd designed it since he was an architect.
     She stopped and folded the umbrella, then shook out the water. Frowning, she wiggled her sandals, but enough water remained to make her feet feel slippery. And cold. She'd assumed Texas would be warmer . . . and drier. Now she was mentally and physically uncomfortable. She took another deep breath and tried to look inside the house.
     The windows appeared dark and rather intimidating beneath the leaden sky and narrow porch, but she wasn't going to let rain or her imagination stop her from finding the man with whom she'd shared one spectacular weekend almost five weeks ago. He'd been a blind date, but a fantastic one. They'd shared an immediate attraction -- and much more -- for two and a half days in Monte Carlo.
     She'd hesitated long enough. After placing a hand on her stomach, she rang the doorbell. And waited. And waited.
     Where was Travis? She'd called from the airport, but hung up as soon as he'd answered. Calling had been a mistake. She couldn't talk to him on a crackling, staticky cell phone during a thunderstorm. What she had to say needed to be done in person, so she'd driven here as quickly as possible from the San Antonio airport.
     "Where are you, Travis Whitaker?" she whispered as she pressed the doorbell again, then added a few knocks in case the electricity was out. The lunch crowd at a quaint diner in downtown Ranger Springs had told her how to find the ranch, and she had to assume he hadn't left in the past hour.
     Just when she thought she might have to search elsewhere on the property for the elusive architect, the door flew open.
     "Jodie?"
     "Hello, Travis." She stared at his disheveled, sun-streaked hair, slightly disreputable University of Texas sweatshirt, and faded jeans. His beautiful feet were bare. He looked so much like he had just after they'd made wild, passionate love that her heart skipped a beat.
     "What are you -- Never mind, that was rude, and not what I meant. Please, come inside."
     She leaned her umbrella against the house, shook more water from her sandals, and slid past him into the warmth of his home. Umm. He even smelled the same, like clean, warm male and Mediterranean sunshine, despite the rainy, cool Texas day.
     "Can I get you something? You look a little cold."
     She wasn't about to tell him she was practically shaking from nerves. Instead, she shook her head. "I'm fine."
     "Come into the great room. I have a fire going."
     She followed him down the slate-tiled hallway, her wet sandals slapping against the floor like a prisoner being led to the gallows. Not that they really used gallows anymore. Not that she'd done anything wrong, or wanted to feel like a criminal . . . or a victim.
     Not that she was so nervous that she was babbling inside her head. With each step, an unaccustomed sense of panic increased, until she couldn't stand the tension a moment longer.
     "Wait," she said, grabbing his arm as they reached the doorway. "I have something to tell you, and I need to do it now, before we get comfortable in front of the fire." Before he'd made her feel welcome in his home.
     "What's wrong?" He looked so handsome, so concerned, as he reached out to steady her. His hands felt strong and comforting on her shoulders, as if he'd reached out to her many times before. As if they'd had more than a couple of fantastic days together.
     She wanted to wrap her arms around his neck, hold him tight, and whisper the truth. But she needed to see his face, not retreat to his warmth and strength, when she broke the news.
     "Not quite wrong," she began, "but . . . Well, I'm not sure how you're going to react, so I need to just tell you this. Right now, right here."
     "What's going on, Jodie?"
     She took a deep breath, then rushed the words past her cold, trembling lips. "I'm pregnant. The baby is definitely yours. And we need to get married right away." He looked as stunned as she'd felt when the doctor confirmed the pregnancy kit test result. America's new "girl next door" was going to be an unwed mother unless she could get Travis Whitaker's immediate cooperation.