Fifty Ways to Say I’m Pregnant

by Christine Rimmer

  After Tess left, Starr took a while choosing the clothes she would wear that night. Once she’d decided, she laid the clothes on the bed and took clean jeans and a T-shirt out to the bathroom, a makeshift affair housed in a lean-to off the back of the cabin. She had a nice, long soak in the old clawfoot tub out there and tried not to think of some of the things Tess had said—the part about lying to herself, about how she cared more for Beau than she was admitting…

  Well, maybe she did. Maybe she was going to end up with her heart ripped in two at the end of the summer.

  So be it. She’d meant what she said to Tess: she wasn’t giving their summer up. No way.

  And five weeks? Was it really only five weeks until the summer ended? Mentally, she counted the days and discovered that Tess had it right.

  Dang it. You’d think Tess might have just kept that little bit of information to herself….

  So you can lie to yourself?

  “Oh, shut up,” she said to that self-righteous, prissy little voice in her head. She ducked under the water to get away from it, and when she came back up, she turned up the boom box she’d set on the wicker stand by the tub. She sang along to a favorite CD—loudly—to keep herself from thinking any more depressing thoughts.

  Back in the cabin, she did battle with the old wood-stove, got the fire laid and lit. Once the temperature had more or less stabilized, she stuck a chicken in there to roast, opening all three of the windows to keep the place from overheating. She had carrots and new potatoes. Those, she wrapped in foil with butter and spices. They’d go in a little later….

  When the green pickup appeared, right on time, rolling toward her from the road that led around the horse pasture, she was sitting on the front step waiting for him in the clothes she’d chosen earlier. She had a sort of rising feeling, a kind of lightness that made her want to lift right up off that step and float on out to meet him.

  She let the thrill shimmer through her and she stayed right there on the step. He pulled to a stop in the clear space next to her Suburban. She stayed right where she was, grinning like a long-gone fool, as he got out and came around the front of pickup. He strode toward her on those long, muscular legs and her stomach hollowed out, then flooded with a lovely warmth. He stopped right in front of her, one hand held suspiciously behind his back.

  “Welcome to my new home.” She braced her chin on the heel of her hand and went on grinning.

  He sniffed the air. “Something cookin’ in there?” His eyes spoke of intimate things.

  The warmth in her belly went more or less molten. “Oh, yeah—and what are you hiding?”

  “Nothin’ much.” He held out a bouquet of black-eyed Susans. The cheery yellow flowers with their velvet-brown centers grew wild in open pastures and along the roadsides. He must have stopped to pick them for her….

  “Oh, Beau.” She took them, rising. “They’re beautiful.” She reached for his hand. “Come on.” She tugged him up the two steps, across the slightly rickety porch and in the door, where she gestured at the table. “Sit down.”

  He pulled out a chair and watched as she got another jar, filled it with water, and set it on the counter by the sink. She put the flowers in it, taking a moment or two to pull at the stems, so none of the golden daisylike petals were bent. Once she had them arranged to her liking, she put them at the place of honor on the table and moved the others to the top of the bureau.

  He caught her hand as she went past his chair. One little tug, and she was sitting in his lap, her full black skirt, printed with red cherries, falling all the way to the rough planks of the floor.

  He put his hand on her knee. “Nice skirt.”

  “Why, thank you.” It was fifties-style, what they used to call a circle skirt. On top, she wore a black camisole with a built-in bra and a sheer lawn shirt, also black. She was going for a sort of hostessy look—but sexy, too.

  The light in his eyes said she’d hit the mark on the sexy part, at least. He took a handful of the skirt in his tanned fist and started pulling, gathering it up, peeling back all those cherries to reveal her bare legs, inch by slow inch.

  Her breath caught. He only smiled and kept on sliding the skirt up and up. And up some more…

  When he got it past her knees, she caught his wrist. “I should probably check my chicken….”

  He nuzzled her neck. “I’ll check your chicken for you.”

  She punched his shoulder. “Oh, I’ll bet you will…” His mouth was right there, not an inch from hers. She whispered, “That chicken can wait…”

  “You sure?”

  She nodded. Slowly. “Kiss me.”

  He didn’t argue, just covered her lips with his own.

  Chapter Seven

  With a long, shuddering sigh, Starr wrapped both arms around Beau’s neck and gave him her mouth. That knowing hand of his stroked her thigh, pushing her skirt back, moving higher, inch by slow inch, leaving pleasured goose bumps in its wake.

  A husky giggle rising in her throat, she slid off his lap. He made a protesting sound against her lips. But then he sighed when she only sat right back down, facing him this time, one leg to either side of his hips, her big skirt falling around them, covering the place where her black lace panties pressed against the bulging front of his jeans.

  Shamelessly, she rocked back and forth on that bulge. His kiss deepened even more, his tongue sweeping her mouth. He moaned as he clutched her bottom in both hands and yanked her up all the tighter against him.

  Then his lips slid down, over her chin, along her neck. He nipped little kisses against her throat and she stretched it back for him, moaning his name.

  Right there at the table, he unbuttoned her see-through shirt and pushed it over her shoulders and tossed it away. He took the silky camisole and guided it up, over her head. He tossed that away, too, and put his big, warm hands against her rib cage, up tight under her breasts, lifting….

  His mouth swooped down and captured a nipple, sucking it in, his tongue swirling around it. She speared her fingers through his hair, throwing her head back on a moan, holding those pleasuring lips tight against her, moving her hips along the rigid length of him, the lovely friction driving her wild.

  He pulled back from her breast and looked at her, his eyes heavy-lidded, his mouth swollen and wet. “Let’s go to bed.” He slid forward on the chair. She curled her arms around his neck and he stood, his hands lifting her, settling her against him. “Wrap your legs around me….”

  She hooked her sandaled feet behind him. They kissed as he carried her across the room. When they reached the curtain, she stuck out an arm to push it out of the way. In the small space beyond, there was the bed, a nightstand, and another curtain against the added-on side wall, masking off a closet of sorts.

  Beau carried her to the bed and gently laid her down. The space had no window and the light that bled in from the main room was minimal. Starr reached over and turned on the bedside lamp.

  They undressed, fast, unzipping and unbuttoning and tossing things away with wild abandon, all the while looking into each other’s eyes. Naked at last, he stood before her at the edge of the bed.

  She rose to her knees and took his hand—and then hesitated, admiring him. He was all lean, work-hardened muscle, broad in the shoulders, narrowing down to that tight, ridged belly. Instead of pulling him onto the bed with her, she scooted closer, pressing herself against him, feeling his warmth, excited all the more by the differences between her own softness and his strength.

  His manhood stood up, straining, fully erect against her stomach. She couldn’t resist sliding a hand in, wrapping it around him. He twitched in her grip and she giggled in delighted surprise.

  Oh, he was so…silky. So silky and thick…

  He groaned and pumped his hips against her. She experimented, grasping him fully and sliding her hand up—and then down the length of him.

  He said her name, low, on a guttural moan. She looked up at him, watching his face, moving her hand on hi
m, up and down, very slowly….

  He grabbed her shoulders. “Wait…” It came out on a groan.

  Shameless as always with him, she grinned. And she held on. Firmly. She felt him kick once more. Flushed with excitement and a lovely newfound sense of sexual power, she went on stroking him….

  His fingers, still at her shoulders, dug in a little. “Just wait,” he commanded through gritted teeth.

  With a reluctant sigh, she let go. He released her shoulders and bent to scoop up his Wranglers, feeling in a front pocket and pulling out three small packets.

  She might have been a virgin until a week ago, but she’d been to health class. She’d seen the ads in magazines. She’d even had a couple of girlfriends at C.U. who carried packets like those in their purses at all times. Condoms.

  She sank back to her knees and put her hands over her mouth. “Oh. Guess I should have thought of that….”

  He dropped the jeans to the floor again. “You make me crazy, you know that?” His hot gaze ran over her.

  She rested her hands on her knees—flagrantly pressing her breasts together with her arms—and slanted him a hopeful smile. “That’s good, I hope?”

  “We’ve got to be careful.” Now he was looking extremely severe. The fact that lower down he was still hard as a fence post made her cover her mouth again to keep from letting out a silly giggle. “You think it’s funny?” he demanded. Clearly, he didn’t.

  She composed herself. “Sorry. It’s just…you look so stern. And yet, well, not that stern…”

  “Starr, we have to face facts. We can’t afford for you to get pregnant.”

  Her urge to laugh vanished. “I know that.”

  “I really blew it, that first time.” His expression had softened. Regret shadowed his eyes. “I could shoot myself for that.”

  “Don’t blame yourself. Please. We’ll be careful from now on.” Shyly, she held out her hand.

  He set two of the condoms on the nightstand and slid the third beneath the pillow nearest him. Then at last, he let her pull him onto the bed with her. They stretched out on their sides, facing each other.

  She stroked his hair, traced the shape of a golden brow. “I’m sorry I made a joke of it. I know it’s no joke, I do….”

  He touched her shoulder, first with the pads of his fingers, then with his palm. He brushed it, that palm, back and forth against her skin, a caress that tantalized and teased.

  “When I’m with you,” he whispered, “it’s too damn easy to forget the precautions.”

  “I’ll help you remember. I promise I will.” She kept her eyes open, looked straight at him, though she wanted to let them drift shut, to get lost in the wonder of the two of them, here, together. At last.

  He gave her his slow smile, his brushing palm moving downward along her arm. At her elbow, he transferred his attention to her waist, clasping it, as if testing the shape of that inward curve, then tracing the slope of her hip, coming to rest at the topmost swell. His thumb brushed the ladybug. “You never told me how you got this….” Her breath caught at the feel of his thumb so close to the place she was wishing he might touch. That thumb brushed back and forth. It was maddening. In a thoroughly delightful way. “Tell me,” he whispered.

  “Now?” Really, she would have very much preferred to concentrate on what his thumb was doing.

  His fingers moved a fraction closer to where she longed for them to be. “Now’s as good a time as any.” His touch moved lower still.

  She gasped. “That’s assuming…”

  “What?”

  “Assuming I can talk…”

  “Give it your best shot.” He cupped her.

  “Oh!”

  “Yeah?”

  “Beau…”

  “Tell me.”

  “I…”

  “Yeah?”

  “I was…fifteen…”

  “And?”

  She moved her hips toward him, let her thighs part just the slightest little bit. And then she moaned. “I…ran away, for the fifth or sixth time…from my mother, in San Diego. I…went with some friends who were…about as messed up as I was. I…oh!”

  “Yeah?”

  “Mexican tattoo parlor.” She groaned. “On a dare…” She reached out and wrapped her hand around the back of his neck. Through gritted teeth, she demanded, “Happy now?”

  “Oh, yeah.” He kissed her. And down there between her slightly parted thighs, his knowing fingers continued their maddening play.

  Urging her over onto her back, he canted up on an elbow beside her, lifting his mouth from hers—only to lower it to her breast. He sucked the nipple in. His fingers kept up their magic dance, sliding along every secret, wet fold, slipping inside….

  She cried out and lifted her hips off the bed. He muttered something low and hot and needful. And then he took that tormenting hand away. He reached under the pillow and got out the condom, quickly dispensing with the wrapping, sliding it on over himself.

  And then he was rising above her, settling himself between her parted thighs. He braced his elbows on the mattress, supporting the upper half of his body. She smiled a little at that. It was so like him, to be careful not to crush her beneath him. His hands were pressed to the mattress, her hair spilling over them. He tangled his fingers into the black strands.

  She felt him, there, the silky head nudging her. Staring into his eyes, she reached down and guided him.

  “Slow,” he whispered, the sound so needful, his breath coming ragged, warm across her cheek. “Careful…”

  She was very wet. And ready—or so she thought.

  Still, her body tightened against him. It hurt—just a little. But he was so gentle, entering by slow degrees, holding himself in check each time he pushed in a little more, waiting for her to relax and accept him. She strained her head up, hungry for his kiss.

  He gave it, his mouth closing over hers, a groan rising from his throat as she took him in—a long, slow, ever-deepening slide.

  And then, at last, she had all of him. She moaned into his mouth.

  He lifted his head, fingers tightening in her hair. “Shh. Starr. It’s okay, it’s all right…just…please. Don’t move….”

  Forever hung on a heartbeat. They stayed like that, so still, locked together for the longest time. Slowly, the tightness subsided. She felt herself opening, growing eager again.

  She squirmed beneath him, wanting…more. “Beau. Oh, please…”

  He began to move, a slow, rocking motion. Instinctively, she raised her legs and locked them around him.

  The wonder began. She held on tight, taking her cues from him, pressing herself so close, meeting each thrust.

  Oh, it was happening—that gathering sensation. It spread out in ripples, upward, down and out…until ever inch of her vibrated with pleasure. She rolled her head on the pillow, moving with him, calling out his name as that wonderful, soft pulsing began.

  Chapter Eight

  Beau came to her at the cabin at least three times a week. He couldn’t come every night—after all, he did have to get up to work every day before dawn.

  Starr invented ways to see him more often. She carried meals over to Daniel’s place—sometimes at midday, sometimes in the evening—and the three of them ate together.

  Daniel praised her cooking. She called him an old flatterer and he beamed in pleasure, as if she’d granted him the highest of compliments. She really was becoming so fond of the old guy.

  The first weekend in August, Tess threw a family barbecue. They set up a couple of canopies out in the yard and put two long threshing tables together and they all sat outside to eat slow-cooked ribs—and steaks and burgers, too.

  The cousins came—Nate and Cash Bravo—with their wives and children. The three Bravo cousins owned the Rising Sun jointly. Nate lived and worked on his wife Meggie’s ranch nearby. Cash and his wife Abby and their two sons had a house in town. Cash was an entrepreneurial type, always making some deal or other—and successful at it, too. Abb
y, who was Edna’s daughter, managed the money Cash made.

  Starr always got a kick out of seeing Abby and Edna together. The love between them was obvious, but still, they tended to get on each other’s nerves. Edna did like to run things. And Abby was a woman who refused to be run. Edna was a portrait in womanly virtues; she could whip up a home-cooked meal with one hand tied behind her back. She liked things neat and tidy and she loved to sew. Like Tess, she could sit for hours making baby clothes or doing the mending, each stitch a marvel, tiny and perfect as the next. Abby, who worked hard managing her husband’s investments and raising her boys, would order takeout instead of cooking; if a sock needed mending, she’d toss it in the trash and buy another pair. She got zero satisfaction from all the details of running a house. She had a cook/housekeeper—which, if you asked Edna, was a “needless extravagance.”

  Daniel also came to the family party—and Beau, too. Starr and Beau sat together when it came time to eat. Once, Beau’s leg brushed hers and she sent him a questioning look. He only smiled his slow smile—and brushed her leg a second time.

  Funny, how sometimes a random moment will snag on your heart and you know you will treasure it always. That moment was one of those. With her family all around them, and Edna and Abby arguing over whether Abby’s toddler should be allowed to have a pacifier, Starr and Beau shared a private look. Surrounded by all those Bravos, they were, at the same time, the only two people on earth.

  The night of the barbecue, after he took Daniel home, Beau came back to see her at the cabin. He hung his hat on the hook by the door, swept her into his arms and carried her to bed.

  A little later, as they lay there all wrapped up together, he said how much it meant to him, just to be around her family. “Before you Bravos,” he said, “I never saw a real family up close. I never believed, deep down, that there could even be such a thing, kin who…took care of each other, who all worked together to make a better life…”