His breath ruffled the top of her hair. Beneath her cheek, his heart beat fast and steady. His arms were warm and tight around her. The perfect hug.
“I’m glad to hear it. Can I see her later on?”
“Absolutely. It’ll make her happy.” He drew back. “I missed you.”
“I know. I should have come with you. I’m a terrible person.” She pressed her face to his shirt. “Next time you need me, just grab my arm and pull me along.”
“Your stubbornness is one more thing to love.” He circled his arm around her waist. “How are you doing? Was the drive a pain in the ass?”
“No, I’m good. We’re good.” She smoothed her hand over her stomach. “A little tired and definitely hungry.”
“I’ll buy you some lunch. After that, you get the meet the kids. They are twin barrels of trouble. You’re going to love them.”
He took her to the cafeteria where they had grilled cheese and shared fries.
She sat as close to him as she dared without actually sitting on his lap. “I didn’t sleep much last night either. Too worried about Clara and about whether you were going to fire me because we got into an argument. Is that stupid?”
He frowned. “Why would I fire you?”
“‘Cause you were mad. Seems like a good reason.” She dipped a fry in ketchup. “Things could get awkward at work if we broke up. I tried to warn you.”
“Good grief, London. I’m not that petty. Even if we break up, you have a job. Don’t worry about that, okay? You’re not getting the boot any time soon.”
“Okay.” She ate the French fry, but it lodged in her throat as Darren came through the cafeteria door. She coughed, then got a drink of milk. “Your dad.”
Dean waved at Darren.
The older Trulove headed toward them.
“Great,” she muttered at the French fries. “Hi, Mr. Trulove.”
His mouth pinched, but he gave her a nod. “Miss Bingham.”
“Too much noise in the waiting room?” Dean took a drink from his water bottle.
“I love those boys, but they’re full of energy after that car ride. I needed to stretch my legs. Not used to sitting so long.” Darren removed his cowboy hat and laid it crown-down on the table as he lowered himself into a chair. “Your mom more or less threw me out of the room. Said she was tired and needed some sleep.”
“You look like you could use a nap yourself.” Dean pulled his wallet out of his pocket, then opened it. He slid a key card from one of the pockets. “This is where Chrissy and I stayed last night. I’m going back in a while to take a shower, but you might as well get in an hour or two of sleep if you can.”
“That’s real nice, but I’m okay for now.” Darren waved the key card away. “I need coffee more than anything.”
“There’s a pretty decent coffee shop near the lobby.” She peeled at the label on her milk container. “I should know. I used to work there for a while.”
Dean raised an eyebrow. “You worked at the coffee shop in the lobby?”
“It might have something to do with my slight addiction to coffee.” She shrugged. “Just a recommendation if you get sick of that burnt kind that comes out of the machines around here.”
“Probably that frothy frou-frou stuff.” Darren’s mouth twisted. “Can’t stand it.”
Of course not. “I need to visit the restroom.” She stood. “Be back in a few minutes.”
The stubborn old fart. Knock her favorite kind of coffee just because he couldn’t stand her. It was ridiculous. She walked to the bathroom down the hallway. Her face burned with anger. She needed a moment to cool off. Everything was going so well between her and Dean, but Darren couldn’t let it be.
She splashed water on her face at the sink. “This is nuts. I’m not going to let him ruin this for me. I want Dean. I’m not running away.”
She jerked the restroom door open.
Darren stood outside of it. “Miss Bingham.”
“Darren.” She held her head up. “Something I can help you with?”
“It’s a grand gesture, you coming here with the intentions of supporting my wife, but I feel like I got to say it seems you’re doing this to keep your grip on Dean. I know you’re looking for someone to support you and the baby, but it would be in your best interests to look elsewhere. If it’s money you want, I guess you know I’ve got some tucked away. What’s it going to take to make you move along?”
Her mouth opened, but she couldn’t do anything except blink.
“Don’t pretend you’re shocked by the offer. We both knew where this was headed.” He straightened his cowboy hat. “I’ll cut you a check when we get back to Swells. Put it in the mail for you. I’m sure Patty will be able to come back long enough to find and train your replacement.”
London’s hands curled. “How dare you? That is not what I want. It’s never what I wanted. You are—you are just a product of your generation, aren’t you? Thinking that every pregnant, single woman wants to find some man to exploit. That’s not me, buster. I’m not dating Dean for anything he can give me except laughter and chivalry and maybe fixing up that crib I bought, but that is it. I’m not in it to divorce him and steal half the profit from the stockyard. I love him because he’s kind and funny and a decent human being, unlike you. And for some crazy reason, he likes me, even though I slept with the wrong guy. You’re going to have to accept that right now, me and Dean are together. You go sit on your end of the waiting room and I’ll sit on my end and we can throw each other all the dirty looks we can stomach, but that’s it. Not another word out of you about what I’m doing with your son. He’s worried about his mother and I’m worried about him and her. If you upset either one of them because I’m here, then…then, you’re a terrible person.”
Darren blinked and took a step back. “Well, that was a very big speech.”
“It was two weeks too long in coming.” She pushed hair behind her ears. “Excuse me. I’m going to find Dean now.”
“For the record, I was hoping you’d tell me where to stick that offer.” He removed his hat and smoothed his gray hair down. “I do appreciate you coming here for my son.”
“You have a funny way of showing it.” She crossed her arms. “I hope you’re proud of yourself, treating me like I’m some money hungry maniac who wrapped your son around my finger. I’m not, Mr. Trulove. What I want most in the world is for my baby to be born healthy and fat and adorable and to keep building my relationship with Dean. For the record, Dean encouraged me to get involved with him. I thought it was a bad idea, but I’m so glad I let him talk me into it. Except when you come around. Because you make me feel like I don’t belong with him. And that is not true.”
“You’re saying I’m an asshole.”
“Yeah, you’re an asshole. I’m glad you said it first.”
Darren put his hands on his hips and held her with his gaze. “Well, you might just be stubborn enough to keep Dean in line. I don’t like spineless people, men or women. The way Clara talks you up and down, I thought the Second Coming had happened. Patty says you do real good work in the office.”
“Oh my goodness. That was very nearly praise.” She fanned her face in mock surprise.
“You keep on doing good work. And making Dean happy.” He turned on the ball of his foot, then walked away.
“You are so weird,” she muttered.
“London?” Dean came down the hall. “Where have you been? Did you see my dad go by?”
“I’ve been right here. And yes, I did. Or it might have been an alien. I’m not sure.”
“What?”
“I think your dad just gave me his blessing to keep seeing you. I’m kind of confused.”
Dean glanced up and down the hallway. “Okay. Did he go back toward the elevators?”
“Yeah, probably to see your mom. But I want to see her too. Can we go?”
“Sure. If she’s asleep, you can meet the boys instead.” Dean took her hand and folded their fingers together. �
�You all right? You look a little shocked.”
“I’m fine. Just struggling to figure out what your dad was really trying to tell me. I think we’re good to keep seeing one another.” She squeezed his fingers. “I honestly think he was trying to apologize for how he acted, but only once he was sure I wasn’t going to marry you and then take half the company in our divorce.”
“You wouldn’t do that.” He frowned. “Did he say that?”
“No, thank goodness. I don’t know if I can forgive him for what he did say, but that’s neither here nor there. Right now, we focus on your mom’s health.”
“And yours. I want to go to your ultrasound when you find out if it’s a boy or a girl. Would that be okay?” He glanced at her stomach.
“Yeah. We’d like that.”
CHAPTER TEN
The gel used to do the ultrasound came out freezing cold. London shivered as the technician smeared it over her stomach.
Dean clung to London’s hand, his gaze on the monitor that didn’t yet have a picture on it.
The technician laid the transducer on London’s stomach. “Sometimes babies are stubborn, so we might not get a peek at the gender today. Sometimes they cooperate. If that’s the case, do you want to know?”
“Yes. We’re dying to find out.” London held her breath as the fuzzy form of the alien-type creature living inside her appeared on the screen.
“Give me a minute here.” The technician moved the transducer around. “Hear that? That’s the baby’s heartbeat. The heart rate can be an indicator of the gender too. Girls tend to go faster than boys.”
“What do you think?” Dean squinted at the number on the screen. “Boy? Girl?”
“If I was guessing…” The technician moved the transducer again. “There we go. Looks like you’ve got a son. See?” She pointed to the blob. “Boy parts.”
London’s heart raced. “A boy. Oh, I’m happy about that.” She grinned at Dean. “That’s good.”
“If you’re happy, I’m happy.” He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “Congratulations, London. You want me to paint the crib blue?”
Happy tears formed in her eyes. “No, white is fine. We don’t want to gender stereotype the little peanut before he even gets here.”
“You can start thinking up names.” Dean’s smile was brighter than the image on the screen. “We’ll get a baby name book on the way home.”
“This should be fun.” London tilted her head toward her bump. “Hey, little guy. I hope you like the name we pick for you.”
“Mom was hoping you’d have a girl. She wanted to crochet some frilly girl clothes. At least Chrissy will have the boys’ stuff. She already said she’d be happy to help you get whatever you need.”
“That’s so sweet of her. Anyway, maybe we’ll have a girl next time.” She met his gaze. “You know, if you decide you like sticking with me and little Peanut here.”
His gaze went back to the screen. “There is nothing I’d like better than sticking to you and Peanut. Trulove Stockyards is a family affair. The only thing missing from it right now is the family.”
“We’re happy to be included in the family.”
* * * *
Patty snatched a pair of scissors from the cup on London’s desk. With a few snips, she had the notice cut out. She carried it to the copier and blew it up fifty percent on a piece of light blue paper. She took a red Sharpie and drew little balloons around the notice.
“Perfect.” She carried it out of the office to the big bulletin board by the cantina. With two shining brass thumbtacks, she pinned it into place for everyone who came into the stockyard to see. She smoothed it out with her palm, then lifted her reading glasses to her face to read it one more time.
Dean and London Trulove are excited to share the birth of their baby boy, Alexander Dean Trulove with the Swells community. Alexander weighed seven pounds, eight ounces, and measured twenty inches long. The proud papa is overjoyed to expand the family business, which has been run by a Trulove since 1920.
Below the announcement, a black and white photograph showed Darren holding Alexander with Dean next to him. Both the men were grinning like they’d won the lottery.
EXCERPT FROM WILDWOOD SPRING
Eureka Springs, Arkansas—1885
Celia Landry blew on her numb fingers. Snow lay on the road a foot deep, unbroken by sled runners or foot traffic. It soaked through her shoes and stockings, leaving her feet even colder than her uncovered hands. The temperature was right at freezing and snowflakes drifted around her in mad swirls, driven by the biting wind.
Her destination loomed before her on a hill, dark and foreboding, surrounded by skeletal trees and a wrought-iron fence. At the end of the road, a set of heavy gates blocked her path. Two elaborate W’s formed from brass, circled by copper vines green with age, were mounted at the top of the gates. Everything about the hilltop manor screamed at her to turn around. No one willingly went to Wildwood Manor for fear of never returning.
She didn’t have a choice.
Her sole chance for saving Mama depended on convincing Mr. Wildwood to give her a bottle of spring water.
Celia shivered as much from trepidation as the cold. According to rumor, the manor’s owner hadn’t been seen in over six years. The townsfolk claimed he’d come from overseas and settled in the area long before any other white man. He owed his longevity to the spring bubbling up from the limestone cave on his property. He didn’t permit visitors, so no one could disprove the stories. Worse still, people whispered about human sacrifice and devilry in connection to Mr. Wildwood’s name. She almost believed he’d conjured this weather just to keep her away.
She loosened the scarf wrapped around the lower half of her face and marched up the hill. Her breath come out in white puffs. Nervous, she drew a little silver key on a chain out of her coat and rubbed the metal between her fingers.
If her task had been for anyone else, she’d have lain down in front of the gates and let the cold take her, but this was for her mother, the woman who’d cared for her unconditionally. With her determination dwindling, Celia studied the gates. They appeared to be locked. Someone would need to admit her from the other side.
The wind howled, causing bare tree branches to rub together with an unpleasant groaning. Some folks said it was the shrieks of the souls Mr. Wildwood had imprisoned for trespassing. Another noise pulled her attention away from the dark house. A wooden handle attached to a long cord banged against a metal pole. The cord stretched up the driveway via a series of poles. A doorknocker of sorts, she guessed, as no one stood watch at the gates.
She reached up, flexing her stiff fingers and gave the handle a few yanks. In the distance, she heard a bell ring. She kept pulling, praying someone would come to her aid. Tucking her hands inside her sleeves and under her arms, she waited, and hoped Mr. Wildwood was in the mood for company.
The last time the blasted bell started ringing with so much force a pair of squirrels had been courting in the tower. Turner Wildwood didn’t think rodents were to blame this time. The bell was sheltered from the wind, so that couldn’t be the culprit either.
He pushed the heavy velvet drapes at the window aside. He was in no mood to run up to the south tower to figure out why the bell was ringing. Though it was truly an ingenious design with pipes built into the wall allowing the noise to echo throughout the house, the clatter gave him a first-rate headache.
The bell went quiet. There was nothing of interest outside, no signs of life beyond the fence. Maybe it was squirrels after all.
Lest he be mistaken, he reached for the spyglass on the window ledge and extended it before lifting it to his eye. The forest rushed up to him through the lens, and with it, the glimpse of a person in a dark brown coat waiting beyond the gate.
Turner bristled and slammed the spyglass down. “Benson!”
The study door opened as an elderly man with stooped posture and snowy white hair entered. Benson, Turner’s longtime butler, waited for his e
mployer’s command.
“Fetch my rifle.”
“Of course, Master Turner.” Benson shuffled from the room with his usual molasses-slow gate.
By the time he returned, the intruder would either have given up, or would have managed to slip inside Wildwood’s boundaries.
“Never mind, I’ll get it myself.” With his luck, the old man would accidentally shoot himself, or a priceless antique. He gave the butler wide berth as he strode down the hall to the armory. Besides current weaponry, the room displayed guns from the American Revolution and the Napoleonic Wars. His father’s interests had been wide and varied. Old arms weren’t the strangest thing about the rooms at Wildwood, but not the tamest either.
“Don’t forget your coat, Master Turner,” Benson advised. “The wind is biting with more force than a riled jackass today.”
Turner loaded his favorite rifle, tucked it into the crook of his arm, and then took the stairs two at a time.
Mrs. Southard, whose hearing rivaled a hound’s, met him at the door with his heavy winter coat held aloft. “Is it coyotes again, Master Turner?”
“The worst kind, one on two legs.”
She frowned. “Must you greet visitors with a gun?”
“You can lecture me later, Southard. I have to take care of this now.” He leaned the rifle against the wall, shrugged into his coat then waved away the scarf she’d tie tight as a noose around his neck if he let her. He opened the door and an icy gust of wind swept snowflakes into the foyer.
Mrs. Southard pulled her arms close to her body for warmth. “Don’t be long. You’ll catch your death.”
He tugged on his gloves as he slipped across the yard, wishing he hadn’t refused the scarf. His skin would be wind burned by the time he returned to the house. Although he’d grown up here, and knew Wildwood’s two hundred acres as well as he knew his own bedroom, he seldom ventured out when the weather turned bad.
Long strides carried him down the slope to the heavy iron gates. The bell-ringer had vanished. Perhaps he’d given up and started down the road again. There were no new footprints on this side of the fence.
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