by Claire Cain
“I’m pregnant.”
I blinked.
She shook her head, her eyes pooling before she cleared her throat. “Like I said, bad timing—theme of my life these days. I’m sure you wanted to be married first, I know this isn’t—”
I pulled her close with my free hand, pressing my lips to hers as the words exploded through my mind. Tore through every bit of me, burned up like paper doused in lighter fluid. She pulled away, eyes searching mine.
I’m going to be a father.
She’d already made me the happiest man on earth by saying she’d marry me, but this? A child made up of her and me, us together?
“I know it’s not ideal. The album’s barely out. The tour’s supposed to start soon…”
Her voice had that strained, almost-crying quality I hated to hear because it meant she was hurting. She had no idea—no idea how much joy was pouring through me, and I couldn’t find words fast enough to tell her.
I shook my head, willing my damned molasses-coated brain to function. I cupped her cheek with the one hand.
“It’s perfect. It’s better than ideal. It’s a dream come true.” I hoped she’d feel the urgency, the truth there.
Her mouth worked, but she didn’t speak. The emotion on her face—relief, joy, maybe a little frustration—made my throat lock up, so I cleared it.
“If you doubted for a second that I’d be anything less than overjoyed about this, I apologize. I know we didn’t plan for this right now, but I have to tell you, I am not a bit sorry.” I gripped the back of her neck and touched her forehead with mine. “I want nothing more than a family with you, whenever it happens. If that’s now, all the better.”
She sniffed, then let out a watery breath. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner that I was even thinking it was possible, but I just couldn’t wrap my head around it. And I had this whole puppy thing going on, and then I took a test earlier, and… yeah.”
Her brown eyes met mine, and I had to kiss her again. But properly. So I nestled the pup into a cozy spot on the blanket we’d laid out, then pulled her to me. Our lips met in relief and wonder and so much emotion, we both had wet cheeks when we pulled back.
I had to know how she felt. Not in terms of me, but for her. She’d be the one carrying this child. She’d bear the brunt of this, at least for the coming months. “Are you okay? With this?”
She nodded. “I am so okay with it, it’s stupid. Like I’d wished for it when I really didn’t, not yet, but the second I saw the positive test, it settled into me like it was meant to be. And knowing you are too, I’m just… I feel like I’m almost bursting with how happy I am. Like I shouldn’t be able to be this happy.”
I chuckled, though the sentiment was familiar. It’d snaked through me the second she’d said the word pregnant. “I understand that. But what’s our rule?”
Her gorgeous smile spread slow and sure on her face. “We live each day. We live it to the fullest.”
“With open hearts,” I added.
“With open hearts,” she echoed, then kissed me.
Thank you for reading Wyatt and Calla’s story! I hope you loved reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Grab Almost Real, Warrick Saint’s book, today!
If you’re wondering about Leo and Jonas, or any of the Morrison family, check out the Silver Ridge Resort Series for their love stories!
If you enjoyed the read, please consider leaving a review wherever you purchased the book.
ALSO BY CLAIRE CAIN
Back to Silver Ridge Series
Almost Perfect, Book 1
Almost Real, Book 2
Almost Sure, Book 3 - 2022
Almost Home, Book 4 - 2022
The Silver Ridge Resort Series
Unexpected Love at Silver Ridge, Book 1
Second Chance at Silver Ridge, Book 2
Patrolling for Love at Silver Ridge, Book 3
Fire and Ice at Silver Ridge, Book 4
The OCONUS Bonus Series continues
The Problem with Planning Love, Book 1
Finding Happiness in a Hoax, Book 2
Learning to Fight after Flight, Book 3
The Bright Side of Brooding, Book 4
Holding On to Hope, Book 5
The Rambler Battalion Series
Where You Go: The Rambler Battalion, Book 1
As You Are: The Rambler Battalion, Book 2
Don’t Stop Now: The Rambler Battalion, Book 3
Home With You: The Rambler Battalion, Book 4
All of You: The Rambler Battalion, Book 5
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Ah, back to Silver Ridge we go!
Thanks to the many new readers for taking a chance on this first in series book, but thanks even more to those who have been patiently waiting for Wyatt’s book! I hope you love him with Calla as much as I do.
Thank you to my husband for being patient as I wrestled with this book! I know I got grouchy, but I think it was worth it. Thanks, also, for being the best sexy cinnamon roll hero ever.
Thank you to my editor, Zee Monodee, for your faithful labor in this book. I know you poured yourself into the edits here and I can’t thank you enough.
To my amazing Beta readers Amanda, Ashely, and Kimberley, thank you for spending time to both read an early draft and give me your thoughts to make the book better. Your feedback really does make the book stronger, and I appreciate it so much!
Thank you to Emma Robinson for being patient while I agonized over photos for the cover, and for creating the beautiful spine and back cover designs for the print version, which I know readers will love!
Thank you Amanda Cuff for cleaning things up and helping clarify. Though I will never know how I wrote with so many thoughs, though.
Thanks to Jamie McGillen, as always, for being my writing bestie, and for her helpful insights on horse ownerships. Thanks to her mom for her important corrections on horses living in cold weather.
Thanks to my reader group for voting on fun things like store names and horse colors, and for being a fun, happy part of the internet for me! Thanks especially for the bookstagrammers and ARC readers who take the time to read early copies and share the book to help it succeed.
Finally, but certainly not last in order of gratitude, thank you to you, reader. Thanks for giving this new series a shot. Thanks for wading through the slow burn with me. Thanks for spending your time in Silverton when you could be a million other places. I am so grateful for your time, and I hope it has made you smile. Come find me and let’s chat.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Claire Cain lives to eat and drink her way around the globe with her traveling soldier and three kids, but is perhaps even happier hunkered down at home in a pair of sweatpants and slippers using any free moment she has to read and cook. Or talk—she really likes to talk. She has become an expert at packing too many dishes in too few cabinets and making houses into homes from Utah to Germany and many places in between. She’s a proud Army wife and is frankly just really happy to be here.
You can also join Claire’s facebook reader group for exclusive content and fun: https://www.facebook.com/groups/clairecain/
Website: http://www.clairecainwriter.com
E-mail: [email protected]
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http://www.clairecainwriter.com/newsletter
SNEAK PEEK: ALMOST REAL
Chapter 1
Sadie
I made the grave and utterly irreversible mistake of looking up today.
This might not sound like a problem to a casual observer—doesn’t everyone look up to see where they’re walking, or to avoid running into cabinets? And sure, yes, you bet they do. At least, I assume they do, or they’d all have bruised foreheads like I did last week after a run-in with a particularly pointy and aggressive cabinet door.
But today, I looked up from kneading a small batch loaf I’ve been experimenting with and gazed right
out the glass panels that cover one long stretch of my new, gigantic industrial kitchen.
The glass that looks directly into Warrick Saint’s gym.
Yes. Him. Warrick Saint who used to play professional football. Pride and joy of Silverton who’d come home with his head held high after a career-ending injury four years ago. The same Warrick Saint who’d just stripped off a sweaty shirt when his last client left, and then proceeded to sit on a rowing machine and start another workout because apparently, he was inexhaustible. That, and had no awareness that his chest and arms and back and abs and, well, his everything made focusing on anything other than him while he pushed and pulled and worked himself into oblivion an absolute impossibility.
That said, I envied him.
Granted, envy was admittedly not the first feeling I had upon seeing the man. Not even close. Shirtless or zipped up in a puffy coat midwinter, a sixty-quart mixer’s worth of emotions swarmed me every time—one of myriad reasons I didn’t normally look up.
Generally, I did my best to block out the gym scene playing before me. Most of the time, I was nestled in my coffee shop and bakery’s small kitchen, headphones on, scrambling through prep for the day, so I didn’t have this front row seat to the insane people who spent their mornings exercising.
My scene—the actual one I created in Rise and Shine, my shop, and the one I sometimes let myself dream about when exhaustion hung too heavy around my shoulders—was something in between. Maybe a combination of both, really, though I couldn’t imagine working out as hard as these people did so early. Yoga, maybe some jogging in decent weather, yes. Plus I had no desire to sweat and groan and collapse into an exhausted heap in front of a dozen other people. Warrick’s brand of workout seemed to be readying attendees for the zombie apocalypse with a side of fitness modeling.
But back to Warrick, who was still sprinting away on the rower, every single muscle in his giant torso and arms on full display as he swooped forward, then stretched and pulled back, his legs extending out from the crouch of the forward motion.
Dear sweet cinnamon roll, the man had muscles previously never before discovered. I never thought of myself as a woman who liked that build, but having the parade of beautiful discipline on the other side of the glass every day had changed my mind about that quickly enough.
I chuckled and blew out a breath—honestly, he was too much. Too many muscles. Too much personality. Too much energy and social butterfly charm. Too much… everything.
Essentially my opposite, where the opposite of too much was definitely not enough.
I shook myself from the view and focused on tucking in edges and nestling the loaves into their tins where they’d rise until this afternoon.
A wisp of anticipation swept through me—this one would be good. A lemon blueberry loaf, it would hit the late spring feel of the week just right, if all went to plan. I hadn’t made a new sweet bread in a while—just hadn’t had the motivation. This wasn’t anything revolutionary, but the edge-of-summer flavors made me happy, and I hoped they’d do the same for my customers.
I covered the loaves, cleaned my workspace, ran through the to-do list on my counter, all the while steadfastly keeping my eyes within the four feet of my typical visual bubble. Limiting what I took in helped control the slow creep of anxiety that spun out when the world got too big. Granted, that’d gotten so much better lately, but the old habit had stuck.
When my gaze clawed its way back up to look out the window that separated his part of the mill building from my kitchen, Warrick was zipping up a thin hooded sweatshirt and studying his phone as he scratched at his stubble-covered cheek. He’d been going longer between shaving, and I wondered if he had plans for a beard.
Then I gave myself a stern internal tsk because I did not need to be observing him so closely to develop thoughts and feelings about his facial hair. Obviously, I spent way too much time thinking about Warrick’s face and body and general existence if I was over here considering the length of his hair.
Seconds later, Quinn Darling, Dahlia Price, Sarah James, and Callaway Rice aka pop star Miss Mayhem entered the gym. Warrick held up a bear paw of a hand to each of them, and somehow, they all knew just what to do in response. They swatted at his hand for a high-five, and I imagined a loud smack! from the contact reverberated around the room with each slap of palms.
My chest twisted, and those confounded feelings knotted themselves into an unignorable ball. I want that.
The thought hit any time I saw him with someone. I didn’t need it to be him, not that I’d say no to him if he asked me for just about anything, really, but I wanted that. The easy way he had with people, the comfort and self-confidence that set everyone at ease when they entered his radius.
I’d seen him charm grumpy old men, coax shy kids out of their shells, and waylay the awestruck, lusty looks women and men alike gave him here at the gym by simply being so darn approachable, kind, and good at his job. He was flirty and fun and generous with his words and assistance and smiles with everyone.
Everyone but me.
It’d started in school well over a decade ago. Warrick Saint was a legend on the football field and in the halls of Silverton High thanks to his size and skill on the field and his supreme likeability. He was the hot, charismatic jock who was friends with literally everyone.
Not a huge shock when factoring in the size of the school—graduating class of one hundred fifty my year—and the small town effect. Everyone already and always had known everyone else. For all of them, it must’ve been a kind of idyllic school experience.
For me? Not so much.
But I’d grown too used to that way of thinking as I grew up, and I’d worked for the last few years to combat it. The idea that everyone else’s experience had been easier or better had snuck in through little cracks in my mind, and before I knew it, I felt like I was alone in my anxious, unsure little high school world. I used to feel guilty for being so far in my own head that I didn’t see how many other people felt awkward and stressed and overwhelmed too, but I’d worked through that. Mostly. Sort of.
That I constantly failed to actually win the battle infuriated me more often than not, but better this than the quiet, stifling resignation that’d been a hallmark of most of my twenties.
A fluttering of hands and flashing white smiles broke my thought process, and my eyes focused enough to realize the small group at the far side of the gym could see me and was waving.
Nerves immediately took my stomach in hand and squeezed. My throat clogged up and I couldn’t swallow when I saw them walking toward the door. That one small little portal between Warrick’s world and mine. It was locked from my side, so I unstuck my feet and scuttled to it to flip the deadbolt. Without physically stuttering, though my mind had gone blank, I pulled it open to find them standing and smiling.
“Pretty sure this is the second time this door has ever been open,” Warrick said, smiling one of his gigantic sunbeams of a smile while looking around at the pristine kitchen. “I feel like I’m walking on sacred ground or something.”
“Is it okay that we’re here? We won’t touch anything, but I wanted to see your space. Warrick mentioned you’d taken the lease the other night at dinner and I got so excited.”
Calla’s smile shined bright and her dark eyes really did seem genuinely thrilled to be looking at all the stainless steel surrounding me. If I didn’t feel tight with nerves, the international pop star’s awed expression at the sight of my kitchen would’ve made me laugh.
“Sure. Have a look. Not much to see just yet.” The frog in my throat shrunk up a bit now that I’d spoken, so I pushed past it and my racing heart for more. “If you can swing by in a few hours, I’ll have some blueberry lemon loaves. They won’t be fresh for tomorrow and I hate selling new recipes as day-olds.”
Quinn, fellow local business owner and extremely talented musician, responded first. “Oh, I’m in. I’ll circle back when I grab Cara from my mom’s.”
I couldn�
��t imagine life as a single mom, especially at only a few years older than I was, but clearly my life and Quinn Darling’s had taken rather different paths.
“I’ll have to sample yours because I have a committee meeting, but thanks, Sadie.” Dahlia looked genuinely regretful. I’d hardly ever seen the local florist without a smile on her face.
“I have a class, but if it wraps up early, I’ll be by. If not, I’m going to stalk Rise and Shine for when you have that one in store because it sounds amazing.”
Sarah’s kind words stroked that feeble part of me that craved adoration. I didn’t know her well at all, so no idea what that class could be about, but anytime she’d been into the shop, she’d been chatty and nice.
Calla’s face dropped too. “Shoot. I’m catching up with Wyatt and we’re heading back up to the ranch after a quick meeting in a few. We just stopped by to see the place, but I so wish I could come back because that sounds delicious. I love anything lemon.”
Warrick cleared his throat lightly. “I can grab one for you and bring it with me when I come home, if you want. I know how you feel about Sadie’s baked goods.”
He glanced over like it was up to me to decide.
“Uh, sure.”
Calla brightened. “Yes! Perfect. We’ll have it for dessert.” She hitched her purse over her shoulder, then turned back to me. “Also, we’re doing lunch tomorrow afternoon. You should join us! I don’t know what your Sunday work hours are, but if you can, we’ll be at Guac at noon.”
My mouth levered open unnaturally wide. Like, so wide, it didn’t make sense. What word did one’s mouth plan to make at that width? By the time I said, “Oh,” the women no longer stood in front of me.
