“Are you going to hold her for takeoff, or do you want me to buckle her car seat into a chair next to you?”

“Which is safer?” Logan asked.

“Car seat,” he answered promptly.

“Then let’s do that.”

“Has she ever been on a plane before?”

Logan shook her head. “We don’t...go out...much.” And seeing his expression she added, “We don’t need the attention.”

“Have things been that difficult?”

“You’ve no idea.” And then she laughed because it was all she could do. The haters and shamers would not win. They wouldn’t. She’d make sure of that, just as she’d make sure her daughter would grow up with a spine and become a woman with courage and strength.

* * *

Rowan glanced at his watch. They’d been flying four hours but still had a good four to five hours to go. He was glad that the toddler finally slept, though. Earlier she’d cried for nearly an hour when she couldn’t have her blanket. Joe had brought the blanket when they met up at the Santa Monica airport. The blanket was either in a seat or on the floor of the helicopter or perhaps it got dropped on the tarmac during the transfer to the plane. Either way, the baby was inconsolable and Logan walked with Jax, up and down the short aisle, patting her little girl’s back until Jax had finally cried herself to sleep on Logan’s shoulder.

Now Logan herself was asleep in one of the leather chairs in a reclined position, the little girl still on her chest, the child’s two miniature ponytails brushing Logan’s chin.

Seeing Logan with the child made him uncomfortable.

He didn’t like the ambivalence, either. He didn’t like any ambivalence, preferring life tidy, organized, categorized into boxes that could be graded and stacked.

He’d put Logan into a box. He’d graded the box and labeled it, stacking it in the corner of his mind with other bad and difficult memories. After he’d left her, after their night together, he’d been troubled for weeks...months. It had angered him that he couldn’t forget her, angered him that he didn’t have more control over his emotions. He shouldn’t care about her. He shouldn’t worry about her. And yet he did.

He worried constantly.

He worried that someone, somewhere would hurt her.

He worried about her physical safety. He worried about her emotional well-being. He’d been so hard on her. He’d been ruthless, just the way he was with his men, and in his world. But she wasn’t a man, and she wasn’t conditioned to handle what he’d dished out.

He’d come so close, so many times to apologizing.

He’d come so close to saying he was wrong.

But he didn’t. He feared opening a door that couldn’t be shut. There was no point bonding with a woman who wasn’t to be trusted. Trust was everything in his world, and she’d lied to him once—Logan Lane, indeed—so why wouldn’t she lie again?

Maybe the trust issue would be less crucial if he had a different job. Maybe if his work wasn’t so sensitive he could be less vigilant...but his work was sensitive, and countless people depended on him to keep them safe, and alive.

Just as Jax depended on her mother to keep her safe.

He wanted to hate Logan. Wanted to despise her. But watching her sleep with Jax stirred his protective instinct.

At two years old, Jax was still more baby than girl, her wispy blond hair a shade lighter than her mother’s. They both had long dark eyelashes and the same mouth, full and pink with a rosebud for an upper lip.

Sleeping, Jax was a vision of innocence.

Sleeping, Logan was a picture of maternal devotion.

Together they made his chest ache.

Rowan didn’t want his chest to ache. He didn’t want to care in any way, but it was difficult to separate himself when he kept running numbers in his head.

March 31 plus forty weeks meant a December birthday.