by Leslie North
He peered down and found her watching him avidly, like she hung on every word. Clearing his throat, he summed the rest of his history up as fast as he could to get back to her. “Tension was high in the house, and my dad turned to the bottle. He didn’t drink to the point where he couldn’t work, but it didn’t help his relationship with my oldest brother, Chance.” God, did those two fight. Constantly, loudly, and to the point Chance would disappear until way beyond when he should have come home. “Ultimately, that’s what killed my dad. He died when his liver gave out. Chance was the only one who was able to get home to be with him at the end.”
“I’m sorry.” Rachel dropped her hand from the back of his head and placed it on his shoulder.
“So.” He shot her a wry smile. “We’ve established that I’m not from a high-class family. Tell me what happened and why you’re bringing that up.”
“My mother came by to see me today, towing her new friend, Darryl, along. He’s pretty much obsessed with this property. You see, there’s this lore,” she continued, drawing an abstract pattern on his upper pec and shoulder. “Involving my land.”
“Okay.” He shifted to keep his thighs from falling asleep. “You’ve got me intrigued.”
“Supposedly a pirate buried his treasure somewhere on this property,” she announced, her eyes flying up to meet his.
“Seriously?” He sat straighter. “That’s awesome.” He couldn’t stop the grin from taking over his face. How cool would it be to dig up a real buried treasure chest?
“I see what you’re thinking.” Her finger pressed against the crease between his eyebrows. “And you can stop imagining finding a treasure chest.”
He laughed. Impulsively pecking her forehead. “Can’t help it. It’s too much fun to contemplate.”
“Well, it’s a myth.” She went back to drawing random patterns. “I’ve researched the lore to death and found nothing that substantiates the story. But that hasn’t stopped my mother from trying to get her hands on it anyway, nagging me to let her do whatever digging she wants since technically, we’re equal owners.”
She explained how they’d been living together in a rundown single wide when they were contacted a year back and informed that they were, however distantly, the next of kin for the owner of the property who had just passed away. “The house was in such bad shape that we couldn’t have made any money selling it, so Mom was more than happy to dump the problem on my lap when I said I wanted to renovate it myself. I did all the work, except for when contractors were absolutely necessary to bring things up to code. In exchange for Mom’s agreement to let me take out a mortgage to pay for everything, I offered her a small percentage of the business. She was fine with cashing the checks and staying out of my way right up until someone convinced her that the treasure was real and could net her a truckload of easy money.”
All the mirth drained out of him. “Is this where Darryl comes in?”
She nodded and explained how he was a smarmy man who touted himself as a treasure hunter. She had to chase him off her land more than once, including today, and it didn’t help that her mother kept insisting that Rachel should hunt for a fairytale instead of growing her business. “His latest scheme is to buy me out, but I’m not giving up the bed-and-breakfast. When I made that clear, he got pretty nasty—said some things about my family’s reputation in town, basically saying I’ll never be worth anything, so I should just give up trying to make this place a success.”
“I don’t blame you for getting worked up,” Harris agreed, his instincts awakening. “But let me make one thing very clear. You’re amazing. Your worth is priceless. It’s just been a confusing day and you’re upset.”
The tiny amount of light that had crept into Rachel’s eyes fled and she bit her lip. Flattening her palm, she pushed against him until she sat up on his lap. He grabbed her hips to keep her from fleeing as his instincts flared with warning alarms.
“Rachel?” He couldn’t hide the strain in his voice from reacting to the tension overtaking her body.
“Harris. I—Something else happened today.” She visibly swallowed and the color drained from her face. “I’m…I’m pregnant and the baby is yours.”
White noise filled his ears and his vision shorted out.
“…ease up.” Rachel squirmed and he instantly relaxed his grip.
How long had he checked out?
Rachel jumped off his lap and paced the expanse of the couch. “You don’t believe me.”
He didn’t have a thought in his head enough to believe or not believe her.
“I only just found out right before you showed up, so I’m still processing the news too, but it’s definitely yours. I haven’t been with anyone else in the last year,” she tossed at him like a grenade, and he wanted her to pause so he could stop his mind from reeling. “I swear. It wouldn’t even take one hand to count the number of men I’ve had sex with before then. The baby’s yours, but you don’t have to worry about it. I don’t expect you to upend your life.”
Her steps picked up, and she was practically jogging as her words flew out of her mouth. “We barely know each other. We don’t have a relationship and I know your military career is important to you. Your unit spends a lot of time away from the base, and you’re required to go wherever you’re deployed.” Pace, pace. “I don’t have any expectations and I’m fine doing this on my own. If the most you can offer is visits when you’re in town, then that’s not a problem.”
Not once did she look at him as she hurled this litany of statements at him.
“I’m willing to raise the baby by myself. You don’t need to worry about us, we’ll be okay.”
The shock of hearing “I’m pregnant” had finally worn off and the rest of her words started to seep in. “Are you pushing me out the door?”
Her pacing ground to a halt and her head snapped up from staring at the rug. “What?”
Hurt laced with anger curled in his gut and he slowly rose from the couch. “I get that you’re trying to reassure me, but what I’m hearing is how you don’t want me in your life, and you don’t want me involved in raising this child.”
Her blue eyes widened and she blinked.
“Is that what you’re saying?”
“Of course I’m not saying that.” Rachel snapped her mouth shut and cringed. “Okay. I guess that is kinda how it sounded, but it’s not because I don’t want your help. I just don’t want you to think I did this on purpose or am trying to trap you into marriage or anything.”
The anger gripping his chest like a vise dissipated, and he loosened his tense muscles. “Look.” He carefully closed the distance between them, giving her plenty of time to stop him if she didn’t want him near her. “We’ve got time to figure this out.” He swiped a lock of pretty blue hair over her shoulder and admired the beautiful, colorful tattoo art it revealed. “My CO’s deactivated me because of the trauma of my best friend and father’s deaths. I’m not allowed to be reinstated until after I pass a mental health evaluation.”
Her swift intake of air sounded as loud as a gunshot. “I’m so sorry. You don’t need this on top of everything else.”
“Hey.” He clasped her biceps, trying not to focus on the smooth skin beneath his palms. “You didn’t need to find out you’re pregnant while you have a mother and treasure hunter sniffing around your place and a business you’re still growing.” He cupped her cheek. “We’re now a team, Rachel. How about we spend time together? I could help set up the nursery, and make sure everything’s in place, and in that time, we can get to know each other better, too.”
A hesitant smile parted her lips, and the light that had been extinguished for too long began to radiate brighter. “I’d like that.”
“We’re going to be parents.” Holy shit. Had he really just uttered those words? “I think the least we can do is learn to become more than casual friends.”
“You’re right.” Her small hand encircled his wrist from him still touching her face. “Want t
o come by tomorrow morning?”
“Absolutely.” Harris pulled out his car keys from his front pocket. “Be prepared for me to spend the whole day.”
Rachel nodded and he left, but he didn’t remember driving back to the base.
I’m going to be a father, kept circling inside his head.
3
Rachel lifted her head off the toilet and groaned. Her arm felt like it had an anvil attached, but she managed to depress the flush lever.
“I don’t even remember eating peas,” she croaked, grabbing the edge of the sink’s counter and pulling herself up. For the second time that morning, she brushed her teeth. Studying her reflection in the mirror, she scowled at the sight of the pasty white skin tinged slightly green. The lovely dark bags under her eyes really added the cherry on top. Did she bother fooling with makeup? Foundation would help give her color back, but she’d probably end up sweating it off when she found herself hugging the toilet again later. Morning sickness had not been kind enough to stick to just morning if yesterday was any indication.
Between long crying jags, hours filled with unmitigated terror over the logistics of raising a child, and disbelief, she had only managed to get a few hours of sleep.
Yanking her makeup bag from under the sink, she brushed some rouge on her cheeks and added a few swipes of waterproof mascara. “That’ll have to suffice.”
Maybe she should look into having her makeup tattooed on. She’d contemplated taking that step off and on for years. Pregnancy sickness and motherhood were sure to put a crimp on her having the energy to fix herself up every day.
Panic seized her gut and she swayed inside her bedroom. Motherhood. Oh holy God. How in the hell did she end up pregnant? Harris had used a condom every single time. She knew for sure her condom contributions were years from their expiration date. She had bought the box not long before that epic night.
Okay. Fine. When she found out that Harris’s unit had come back from their mission, she’d gotten the supply in hopes that she and Harris would finally take their flirting to the next level.
That left his condom. How long had he kept it in his pocket?
Does it matter? her conscience asked.
Not really. What’s done was done. Buttoning her denim shorts, she settled her rainbow-colored tank top over the waistband and pulled back her blue hair into a ponytail. Mid-August in South Carolina came with a heaping side order of humidity on top of the heat. Once she had her cross-trainers on, she hustled down the stairs to put a pot of coffee on. A quick search on the internet showed she was allowed a little caffeine a day, and she thanked God for it. If she had to give up coffee completely, she wouldn’t survive the pregnancy.
She wasn’t sure what time Harris planned to arrive, but she needed a cup—or ten, if she ignored the warnings—before they tackled how they wanted to set up the nursery. Another bout of panic drove her to clutching the carafe’s handle tighter. What if she bought the wrong stuff or didn’t buy something important?
Stop. Breathe. Focus. She filled the coffeepot with water and forced herself to think about something else. She needed to find time today to set up for the bachelorette party coming in this evening. The group had rented the ocean-facing veranda and the entertainment room to kick off the festivities, and she had to get ready for their cocktail-palooza which could lead to them renting rooms for the night. She wouldn’t say no to more business and money in the bank. Lord knew she needed to hoard every penny now.
A car door slammed, sending a jolt of excitement through her. Harris? She hoped so. As stupid as it was to get her hopes up, she couldn’t help feeling giddy at Harris’s immediate acceptance of the pregnancy. Not once had he shamed her, questioned her, or made her feel like he thought she’d set out to trap him. He’d been poleaxed for sure, but she didn’t blame him. She threw up when she saw the answer on the pregnancy test. Of course, that could also have something to do with everything making her sick and not just the news itself.
At the sound of the front door opening, she shoved the coffeepot back into its place and hit the button for it to start brewing.
“Coming,” she yelled as she wiped her hands on a dish towel, then exited the kitchen located in the back of the house.
The hardwood floors squeaked under a heavy weight and she smiled, unable to stop her grin from widening to the point of showing all her teeth. Had to be Harris. Reaching the main hallway that led to the foyer, she picked up her pace, then stopped short at the sight of a strange man in his mid-fifties standing near the bottom of the staircase that led to the second floor.
A pair of khaki pants and a navy polo shirt made up his uniform along with a clipboard and a dour expression.
“Can I help you?” Trepidation crept through her blood, and she had the urge to wipe her suddenly sweating hands on her shorts.
The man jerked his chin down from staring toward the ceiling and his eyes widened, then narrowed the closer she got. His gaze lingered on the tattoos covering her arms, then moved to the ones showing on her chest and collarbone before taking in her blue hair. The corners of his lips drew down, and he flicked a gaze at something on the clipboard then met her eyes again. “Are you Rachel Winchester?”
Alarm bells dinged in her head. “Yes. And you are?”
“One of the building inspectors for Beaufort County,” he snipped, his wrinkles deepening as if they found associating with her distasteful.
“Building inspector?” she parroted, unable to stop the question. “What? Why? All my licenses are approved and up to date.”
His chin tipped upward and that sour frown deepened. “Yes, well, we’ve received an anonymous tip that your bed-and-breakfast is not up to code. We take all such calls seriously, so I’m here to find out if you’re in violation or not.”
Her stomach bottomed out, and she fought the compulsion to barf on this man’s scuffed loafers. Her mother had to be behind this. How else could this man suddenly have an anonymous tip right after Rachel declined her mother’s latest scheme? The timing was too coincidental. Rachel swayed and had to blink at the dots crowding her vision. Did her mother hope this man found enough violations to force Rachel to sell to Darryl?
Fury mingled with the anxious fear clogging her veins. As if she’d ever allow that man to buy her home. “I see,” she managed to utter without snarling…or throwing up. “Where do you want to start?”
Leading the inspector back to the foyer, Rachel couldn’t keep her spine straight or the fear from strangling her voice box. With every room they had entered, he had scrutinized the space with such intensity, Rachel wondered if he strained his eyesight. But he still managed to constantly tick items off on his checklist and make notes.
In her opinion, the problems he pointed out were all minor. Normal wear and tear, or just outright ridiculously nitpicky, but in the overall scheme of the inspection, they really added up.
“I’m going to need to inspect the exterior too,” he announced after adding another note to his list.
Of course you do. Rachel swung the front door open and noticed Harris climbing out of a gorgeous, restored Mustang. Her heart thundered against her rib cage as she gobbled up the sight of him in khaki cargo shorts and a well-loved T-shirt.
She closed the door behind the inspector as he moved to study the railings and boards that made up the porch spanning the length of the house.
Harris waved, his focus divided between Rachel and the inspector with a question on his beautiful face as his long gait ate up the cement walkway.
Slipping to the steps, she was trotting down the treated wood when her foot punched through the second stair.
“Ahhh,” she cried, her arms flailing for something to stop her from falling.
“Rachel!” Harris barked just as a strong grip kept her from pitching forward onto her face. “I’ve got you.”
Heart relocated to her throat, Rachel clung to Harris as he gathered her against his body.
“Can you pull your foot out on your own or
do you need help?”
It took Rachel another second before she managed to answer his question. “I don’t know.” Using him for balance, she gently attempted to extract her foot and found that she could free it with just a few scratches.
“Ms. Winchester,” the inspector barked, sidling to the top of the steps. “That is a serious violation and dangerous to your guests.”
No shit.
“I’m going to have to mark this down. If you don’t have it fixed before your next scheduled guests arrive, you could face losing your license.” He proceeded to do just what he’d said, his clipboard jiggling with his pen flying over the paper.
“What the hell is going on?” Harris demanded, crouching in front of her.
She kept a hand on his shoulder, not trusting herself to stand on her own yet. The adrenaline racing through her veins made her jittery. He lightly smoothed a finger over the scratches and she shivered for multiple reasons. Thankfully, none were bleeding excessively.
The moment the inspector strolled out of hearing range to continue studying the exterior, Rachel filled Harris in on her fears of her mother’s attempt at sabotaging her business.
Harris’s mouth flattened and he stood. “Speaking of sabotage.” He pointed to the broken step. “That is no natural break.”
“What?” Rachel’s hand flew to her throat as if to massage the heart still pounding inside. “It can’t be. I would have heard someone—”
He shook his head. “Your apartment’s on the second floor in the back of the house. No way would you hear it if someone snuck on-site and rigged this to fail.”
“My God,” she breathed, disbelief robbing her of a better response. Her gaze flew to the board pieces that were skewed unnaturally. Could her mother and Darryl really go that far to get their way? The inspector was surely their doing...but what did rigging the step mean?
“Ms. Winchester.”
Rachel jumped at the inspector’s abrupt voice.
