Lana paced.

She was getting good at it. Too bad it wasn't the kind of hobby that well-adjusted, truthful people tended to take up.

She walked the length of the hallway. She rounded the island in the kitchen and needlessly reached out to tuck the dining chairs closer to the table as she passed. She mulled around the living room, even alighting on one or another piece of furniture a few times, but always some new thought carried her up off the couch or chair and drove her into the foyer. She would turn, walk, turn, walk, back and forth in the confined space, until the brightening day outside drew her onto the porch.

But the porch couldn't escape her constant pacing, either. She was liable to tread a hole in the wood at the rate she was going. Every passing car made her glance up quickly, made her heart stutter and stall.

But it wasn't Hank. He wouldn't be back for a while, yet. She still had time.

Time to what?

The situation was hopeless. No matter how many times she turned it over and over again in her mind, there was simply no hope for it. She would tell Hank the truth, and it would feel like the worst ultimatum. Like a trap.

But he had to have known pregnancy was a possibility, right? Especially considering they hadn't used protection once since he had returned to Cedar Springs. Unless he assumed she was on birth control . . .

Oh, God. Lana's hand flew to her mouth at this latest possible horror, and she sat down hard on the porch swing.

God, was it possible he thought that? The conversation had never come up. They were adults now, but they were still carrying on like the youthful sweethearts they used to be . . . hell, they were worse, because back then, Hank had always used a condom.

"What am I going to do?" Lana asked weakly. She held her head, fingers forking through her hair in distress, but there was no one real in front of her to pose the question to.

But she could do the next best thing.

She bolted into the house and returned to the porch, hitting the speed dial before the screen door could bang closed behind her.

Her cell phone was already ringing. Lana sank down onto the swing. She sucked in an unsteady breath as Alex picked up.

"Did you tell him?" Alex still somehow managed to beat her to the first word.

Lana expelled a long sigh. "No. I'm not sure how."

"Easy. I'll give you the script. 'I'm pregnant—it's yours.' Four words. I can write them down if you like."

"That won't be necessary." Lana's fingers were pushing at her hair again. She stilled them, and then her knee started to jog. She took another deep breath and fought to remain calm. "Alex, so many things could go wrong. Are you sure just telling Hank straight is the best way to approach this?"

"No," the nurse admitted.

Lana's heart sank. She had been expecting more reassurance, but she should have known better. She had called Alex for a purpose. She wanted her friend's real advice, not just blind, one-dimensional support.

Alex continued. "You're right to think that things could go wrong. But they can go wrong at any moment, with or without your intervention. You can't steer things perfectly, Lana."

"I guess you’d know that better than anyone," Lana said. "But, Alex, what if Hank doesn't want this baby? He knows how much I love him. What if he thinks I got pregnant on purpose?"

There was a long pause. Lana was about to ask Alex if she was still there when the other woman spoke. "You want my opinion?" Lana nodded before realizing it was useless. Alex couldn't see her nod of agreement through the phone.

"Yes. More than anything."

"I think you're overreacting. I think you're coming up with reasons to be worried," Alex said. "It's only natural, Lana. But you've got to stop yourself in the act. Telling Hank you're pregnant with his baby is the last thing you probably ever expected to have to do, but you're strong. You've got this."

Lana clenched her free hand into a fist in her lap. "Yeah. I've got this."

But as they hung up, Lana wasn't sure she had anything at all under control. Worst of all, she wasn't even sure that Alex was right. Was she overreacting? She was doing her best to consider—and prepare for—every possibility. She had been blindsided when Hank had left her the first time, and it had taken years to build back up any sort of trust she might have in the world.

The world was an unfair, cruel place. She tended to look for the best in the people who inhabited it, but people were still unknown players. Who could say for certain how a man like Hank might react to her news?

Hadn't she thought him constant before? Wasn't that one of the reasons she had fallen in love with him in the first place?

Once upon a time, Hank had walked out of her life. He had disappeared once, and he was perfectly capable of disappearing again. What if, when she told him, he was gone the next day, with only a note left behind on the door? Lana, sorry, couldn't stay. Super complicated. Hank.

"Ugh!" Now both hands were in her hair, clenching it into a snarled mess. It wasn't just her heart but her brain that felt like it was about to split in two.

What was the matter with her? Wasn't she the steady soul that everyone came to with their problems?

She could fix things for others, why couldn't she fix this for herself? It was like her clarity had vanished the moment Hank came back to town. Her superpowers were gone, and everything had gotten itself into an awful tangle.

Especially her hair.

Lana removed her hands from her poor abused scalp, closed her eyes, and breathed. She opened them again and began to tease out the inadvertent knots she had made.

A rumble further down the road roused her attention, and she looked up just in time to see the Alaska squad's loaner coming around the corner.

Lana rose and smoothed out the front of her dress. She hitched the hand that clutched her cell behind her back as if she had been caught in a criminal act and lifted her other hand in a wave.

"That was quick!" she called as Hank got out of the pickup. It was a lie. His trip had felt like anything but. She’d had an entire existential crisis in the relatively short time it took him to get his belongings, and she wasn't even sure she had come to its conclusion yet. "Need help with anything?"

"Nah." Hank lifted one bag down out of the truck bed, then patted its side like it was a steed to be commended for carrying him this far.

At his signal, Landon backed the truck out of the driveway.

Chase hung out of the passenger window and offered her a grin and a thumbs-up. "See you later, Lana! Hank told us to fuck off!" he crowed.

Lana had to laugh at this, and at the ugly expression on Hank's face as he waved them off. She had no doubt that what Chase claimed was absolutely true.

"Is that really everything?" she asked curiously as Hank dropped his bag at her feet.

"Told them to take the rest over to the rental for me," Hank said. "But now that you mention it, I always try to pack light."

"Oh." It was easy to hide her worry as Hank kissed her on the forehead. It became less easy as he next kissed her on the cheek, then softly pressed his lips against hers. By that time, though, her concern about his lack of baggage (literally speaking) was forgotten easily enough. "Have you eaten?"

"You're always trying to fatten me up. You're like your mother."

Lana grinned as she led him back inside. "She was always so worried about you. You and Sookie were such skinny kids. She didn't think you were getting the proper amount of nutrition at home."

"She was probably right." It was no secret in Cedar Springs that the Logans had been absent parents to Hank and Sookie. After the house fire claimed them and left the two children orphaned, well . . . not a lot changed. Hank became even sterner, if that was possible, and came down a bit harder on Sookie, but Lana had always intervened in the worst of it.

Lana shook her head at the memories. "We were all skinny kids back then. Even Michael."

"Especially Michael," Hank agreed.

Lana watched his face carefully as he kicked his boots off, and she followed him as he went to her bedroom to unpack. She noticed again how the subject of Michael seemed to put him on edge. Was Hank just terrible at dealing with death?

But any mention of his own parents didn't inspire the same reaction. Strange . . .

Hank deposited his bag on the bed and turned back to her. His stance became expectant, even awkward, as Lana continued to stare at his bag. "What is it? What's wrong?" His voice sounded bewildered. When Lana looked at him, she saw his dark eyebrows were drawn together. He looked ready for the worst.

And Lana hated that. She hated that the man whose job was to expect the worst might feel ambushed, and subsequently ready for it, at all times. "It's nothing. It's . . . I was just thinking about how light you pack. You can borrow one of my drawers to put your things in, if you like."

"That won't be necessary."

Lana nodded and bit her lip. Her eyes felt hot. Damn hormones. If she started to cry over a little thing like this, Hank might suspect . . .

He crossed to her and took her hand unexpectedly. He seemed surprised, himself, by the move and dropped it again the next instant, although he didn't step back from her.

Lana accepted the clumsy overture. Hank was an emotionally restrained man, and it was more than she had hoped for.

"Lana, what we're doing . . ." He trailed off and raked a hand through his hair.

"It's crazy," she offered.

"It's good," he insisted. "I wasn't sure at first, but I think it is good. For the both of us."

Lana stopped biting her lip. She nodded.

Tell him! screamed an inner voice that sounded an awful lot like Alex, but Lana had no idea what the next few seconds would hold.

She never did, when it came to Hank.

"Please don't read too much into the little things I do. I pack light because I have to be ready to up and leave at a moment's notice. That's how my life has been for years."

"I wish you'd tell me more about your time in Alaska," she said wistfully. "I want to know all about it, Hank. I want to know everything about the place you call home."

His expression tightened a little, and Lana wondered: What could it mean? Was 'home' as touchy a subject for Hank as Michael's death seemed to be? "Alaska is . . . it's complicated," he allowed finally.

Lana gave a small smile. "Seems to me you're not an uncomplicated man, Hank Logan."

Hank chuckled. "You may be right about that. In regard to Alaska, it's a place I feel responsible to. There are people there who rely on me. Not just my squad, but the people in the town it's my job to protect."

"You sound like you're describing Cedar Springs," Lana said. "Or, at least, how I always thought you felt about our town. Hank, do you feel as if you have a home there?" Or could you possibly feel like you have a home here? But she didn't dare bring herself to ask.

Hank mirrored her smile. "It's complicated." Then, at her crestfallen look, "But . . . that old porch swing I found you sitting on looked pretty inviting. Want to sit with me for a while? I'll tell you all about Alaska."

Lana's heart leapt. "Really?"

"You're right. I misspoke. What I'll do is bore you all about Alaska."

She laughed and socked him gently in the shoulder. "I'll grab us some iced tea."

Maybe now wasn't the right time after all, Lana thought to herself as she made her way into the kitchen. Maybe that was why telling Hank the truth was so difficult. Maybe it was the wrong thing to do. Maybe she had sensed that, deep down, Hank was still uncertain about where he belonged . . . and that the man who never hesitated to make hard decisions still doubted his place in Cedar Springs.

And by her side. And in her bed.

Hank had to make a decision. And he had to do it without her telling him about the pregnancy. And if he decided Alaska was calling him home, and he left town again?

She supposed she would just have to cross that bridge when they came to it.

"Damn you, you complicated man," Lana muttered to herself as she pulled the pitcher of tea out of the fridge. She shook her head grudgingly, lovingly, as she pulled down two glasses and joined him outside on the porch.