Cod wasn't actually a cape, Amanda learned as Mrs. MacDonald drove her over the Bourne Bridge. It had been at one time, but the Army Corps of Engineers had dug a canal to provide shorter transit for ships, and now the Cape was a long, narrow island off the coast of Massachusetts.
Traffic on the bridge was light on a Monday morning in early June, but Amanda could imagine it would be hellish on a Friday afternoon in July.
She hadn't asked Mrs. MacDonald any questions about Logan's home, but, clearly, the older woman was familiar with the route. They drove past miles of scrub pines and then along winding lanes lined by neat homes. A half hour after they'd crossed the bridge, they reached a charming New England village, with gray shingled shops trimmed in nautical white.
"I'll go out later and buy food and supplies," Mrs. MacDonald said. "We're almost at the house."
Amanda was surprised to feel a spurt of excitement. This would only be a temporary home. No need to get too enthusiastic. But there was no denying the fact that her body was already beginning to relax.
She smiled at Mrs. MacDonald. "I like the way the other half lives."
"You won't find a better place to endure bed rest."
They pulled into a short driveway and Amanda gasped. "Wow!"
Mrs. MacDonald turned off the car. "The house probably needs airing out, but Logan had the caretaker in to do the basics."
Amanda got out of the car, stretching. The Atlantic Ocean was visible a short distance away, a rippling sheet of gray beyond a narrow beach. She wanted to walk down to the beach, but her instructions from the doctor had been clear. Get in bed, and stay there.
"I didn't expect Logan to own something so unusual," she said, starting up the white pebbled path.
"Where are you going?" Mrs. MacDonald asked. "The house is over here." She pointed to an enormous, three-story mansion on their right. Amanda looked back at the tall, lighthouse-shaped building she'd been aiming for.
"We aren't staying there?" She waved at the smaller building.
"It's not a real lighthouse."
"But it's so cute!"
Mrs. MacDonald smiled. "Most folks would prefer the main house. The one you like is the guest house."
"Oh." She hung her head a little. For some reason, the lighthouse had spoken to her as soon as she saw it. With its storybook appeal, it seemed like a special place to await the birth of a baby. She was a guest, though. She wouldn't complain. Slowly, she turned to face the mansion.
Mrs. MacDonald peered at her. "I suppose," she said, "that we could stay in the guest house. I hadn't planned on it, but—"
Amanda beamed with excitement. "Do you really think we could? Does it have any kitchen facilities?" She didn't want to make extra work for the housekeeper.
"Oh, yes, it's a fully functioning home. I always thought Mrs. W—"
She stopped. "Well, no need to waste time reminiscing when there's work to be done."
Amanda wondered. Had she been about to say Mrs. Winter? Logan's mother? Why was there a cone of silence around the subject of his family?
***
Two weeks passed with little more than a few calls from her friends, her mom and Julie. Amanda had finally confessed her predicament to her mother, and was met with the love and acceptance she'd expected. It made her feel even guiltier for adding to her mom's burdens, but reality couldn't be denied forever. They'd decided that her mom would look for a slightly larger apartment when she returned from Denver. Amanda would move in with her and Julie after the birth. In the meantime, she resolved not to feel sorry for herself.
She didn't hear from Logan during that time. Of course, she didn't expect expect to. A lie. Which she only admitted when she saw his number pop up on her cell phone.
Then her stupid heart lurched with excitement when she heard his voice. Which was only natural, as he had a very sexy voice and any woman would feel a shot of adrenaline just to hear it.
"How are you feeling?" He opened the conversation casually. No hint of a threat in his tone.
"Pretty good." Mostly, she felt like a fraud, lying around in bed all day, doing nothing more taxing than reading the novels Mrs. M. brought home from the library. In the evening, they might watch a movie, or a show on TV.
They kept the windows open if the weather was warm enough, so she could smell the ocean, and hear