She stopped, glanced down at her belly and waved a hand, in royal fashion, down the front of her. “You do see this, though, right? You do know I’m pregnant?”
“Mikayla, anyone could spot that belly two miles away.”
He got a harder punch on the arm for that.
“Clearly, you’re very pregnant and about to have a baby. I know that. And you’re beautiful and glowing and fun to be with. We’re both single. We both find ourselves with some free time, I might add. So let’s enjoy ourselves.”
She nodded. “You know, when you put it like that, it makes sense again.”
With all that settled, they started walking, past people looking into windows of shops. Downtown Kalispell was busy as usual with pedestrians, joggers, dog walkers and a bit of traffic. Their conversation was, thankfully, halted by a man coming toward them with a leash in each hand, one connected to a majestic Great Dane and the other to a waddling little pug. Mikayla fussed over both of them and had to know their names and how old they were, and as he saw the joy in her eyes, Jensen wished he could give her a houseful of dogs. He would, too, if she had a house. And if she wasn’t about to have a baby.
As they moved down the sidewalk, they stopped to watch a young street performer play a cello bigger than he was and did some window-shopping of their own, but Mikayla didn’t want to go into any of the stores. “Just looking,” she’d say when he’d encourage her to go in any store she wanted. It finally dawned on him that she didn’t want him buying her everything she expressed the slightest interest in.
As they headed past another shop, he heard a slight gasp and glanced at Mikayla; she’d stopped dead, staring at the window display. Baby stuff, Jensen realized. He glanced up at the sign—Littlest Memories. Next door was a lingerie boutique that he hoped would catch her interest. He could see her in the little lacy black number on the mannequin.
But there was something off again about Mikayla’s expression as she looked at the display in Littlest Memories. She seemed almost lost in thought, her gaze on what looked like a small yellow boat.
“It’s a baby cradle in the shape of a canoe,” Mikayla said, her voice so wistful and whispery that he moved closer. “When he was alive, my dad loved to go canoeing. He took me fishing every Sunday and then we’d canoe down the river. I can’t believe my child won’t get to meet such a wonderful man.” She sniffled and turned away.
Jensen reached for her hand and held it. “In spirit, maybe he or she can. You can take your little one canoeing down the river every Sunday and tell him or her stories about Granddad Brown and how special he was. That would probably mean the world to your son or daughter, hearing all about the grandfather he or she didn’t get the chance to know.”
Mikayla turned to Jensen, her expression happier. “You’re absolutely right, Jensen. Thank you. Did you spend a lot of time doing dad-son stuff with your father? Canoeing and fishing and camping and all that?”
Now it was Jensen’s turn to frown. “With my dad? Ha. Walker Jones the Second is only interested in business, not family.”
“He did have five kids,” Mikayla said. “He must have liked children.”
“Nah. He was only in it for the ‘heirs and spares’ aspect.”
“Ouch. Did it bother you as a kid not getting to spend time with him?”
He nodded. “It did. My brothers tried to make me feel better about it, and when they were around, they’d toss around a football or take me to the movies. But the older my brothers got, the more my father could relate to them. I was always the youngest and told to ‘listen and learn.’”
“I guess having all the money in the world doesn’t buy everything, does it?” she said.
“No. Definitely not.” Still holding hands, they began walking again. “The man I was telling you about, Davison, my mentor, used to take me fishing at least once a month. He loved doing all that stuff. He had no kids and enjoyed teaching someone the ropes.”
“I’m glad you had him,” she said.
“Me, too. Did I tell you I’m planning a surprise fortieth anniversary party for my folks in a couple weeks? I have to come up with some crazy lie to get them here for it. Inviting them for a visit would only result in excuses about them being too busy. But Davison used to take his wife to a different country every year to celebrate their anniversary. The anniversary before she died, she’d discovered a late love of sushi, so he took her to Japan for the best in the country. My dad doesn’t even know what my mom’s favorite food is.”
“What is it?”
“A salad, of course, balsamic on the side.” He grinned. “My dad would guess filet mignon when my mother hasn’t eaten meat in years.” He shook his head.
“So how did a guy raised by him get to be so in tune with what I want?” she said, raising her eyebrows. “You should be completely clueless.”
“Told you. Because I’m hot for you. Very hot for you, Mikayla.”
“Nut!” she said, laughing.
He grinned back. How weird was it that he could talk to her about anything? His parents. Davison. Business. His off-the-charts attraction to her.
“So...” she began, biting her lip and looking away for a moment.
“So...what? And please don’t say buttons.”
“Huh?” she asked.
“My family’s housekeeper had a thing with this expression. Anytime one of us would say ‘So,’ she’d say, ‘Sew buttons.’”
“You know, Jensen, you might have grown up in a mansion with cooks and housekeepers, and your belt buckle probably cost more than a car, but sometimes I don’t think we’re all that different. Like when you talk about Davison and what the distribution center means to you. Or when you talk about your parents and the party you’re planning. None of that really has anything to do with wealth. It’s just about here,” she said, tapping her heart with her palm.
“Are you accusing me of being a nice guy?”
She grinned. “Sometimes, yes, you are.”
He laughed. “What were you really going to say before? The ‘so...’”
“Oh,” she said, her cheeks turning pink. “I guess I thought you’d booked a room at the fancy hotel.”
He stared at her. In a split second, he was picturing her naked on a bed. “Did you want me to have booked a room?”
Now the cheeks were red. “No! I mean, I don’t know. I don’t know how this hot no-strings affair is supposed to go. I’ve never had one of these before.”
“I guess we just do what we want,” he said. “I’d be more than happy—okay, ecstatic—to book a room and carry you into our suite and lay you on the bed and ravish you.”
“As if you could lift me,” she said with a grin.
“Oh, trust me. I could.” Before she could say a word, he slid a hand underneath her and one around her and had her in his arms. “Told you.”
“Get a room!” someone called out from across the street.
Mikayla giggled, glancing at the pack of young women smiling at them. “Weren’t we just talking about exactly that?”
He smiled. “Shall we, then?” He started back toward the direction of the hotel, Mikayla in his arms.
“Well, actually, I’m not sure I’m ready for bright-light-of-day sex, Jensen. Some romance, some buildup, the sun long set, and that’s a different story.”
“Sounds good to me. And I’m not necessarily talking about tonight. I’m not interested in rushing you into bed, Mikayla. When you’re ready, you’ll make it clear.”
She kissed him on the cheek, so tenderly that it went straight to his heart and affected his knees to the point he had to set her down on her feet.
He wasn’t sure what all this off-balance stuff was about. Maybe he just felt extra protective of Mikayla. That had to be it.
* * *
“Mikayla!” Eva called from downstairs. “Delivery!” she added
in a singsong voice. “Hurry. I’m dying to see what else he could possibly have gotten you.”
Mikayla felt her cheeks burn. Jensen Jones was a gift buyer—three days in his company had made that clear. If he passed a store and saw something his brothers might like, he bought it. Without asking the price. A few days ago, after their amazing breakfast in Kalispell to celebrate their new status as a no-strings couple—which, honestly, Mikayla wasn’t sure was something to celebrate—they’d passed a gift shop and Jensen had said, “Hey, check out those cute chairs in the shapes of animals. I’d bet Just Us Kids would love those.” He’d called his sister-in-law to ask how many preschoolers were enrolled, then ordered that many to be delivered to the day care, plus a few extra for good measure. He did stuff like that all the time.
Take yesterday. Mikayla and Jensen had been on a picnic and she’d taken off her sandals, since her feet had been kind of achy and swollen. Not only had Jensen taken her feet in his hands and massaged them until she purred, but the next day, he’d booked her the “supreme” pedicure with a half-hour foot massage at the hotel spa in Kalispell. She’d never experienced anything like it.
After the massage, when she’d mentioned she was craving so many ice cream flavors she couldn’t figure out which one would soothe the itch, she’d arrived home to find a note on the freezer from Luke: “M: Twelve pints of Max’s Creamery ice cream in every flavor imaginable were delivered for you this afternoon. Eva and I are invited for sundaes tonight, right?” Max’s was a famed ice cream shop in Los Angeles with celebrities constantly being photographed going in and out. Now Mikayla had twelve pints in her freezer.
Earlier today, when she’d already been thinking the man had gone way overboard and needed a talking-to, he’d gone and done something extra wonderful that didn’t involve his wallet. As they’d been leaving Daisy’s Donuts with their coffee drinks, a boy, maybe seven or eight, had been trying to get his foam airplane to fly in the adjacent grassy area, but he kept crashing it. Jensen had shown him how to angle it and flick his wrist so that the plane would soar upward. It had taken the boy three tries and Jensen showing him again and again, but finally the plane had soared. The look of happiness on that little boy’s face had made Mikayla’s knees wobble.
“You just did for that boy what Davison did for you,” she’d said. “Even just one time. He’ll never forget it.”
Jensen had waved it off, but she could see he was touched by her comment. The man had a good heart. He was just operating in his own universe. And those very different universes would make it a lot easier to walk away when it was time for Jensen to go.
Mikayla and Eva watched as the delivery guy walked up to the house carrying a long box with a red ribbon around it. “Mikayla Brown?”
“That’s me,” she said, signing the receipt. What on earth could it be? she wondered. Too wide to be long-stemmed roses. Too narrow to be much of anything else.
“What is it?” Eva asked as she closed the door behind Mikayla and followed her into the living room.
“I can’t imagine.” With Eva’s help, they tore open the box, and what was inside, under packing paper and foam, made Mikayla gasp.
The yellow canoe cradle she’d almost sobbed over in Kalispell.
“That man,” Mikayla said, shaking her head as tears poked her eyes.
“This is the cutest cradle I’ve ever seen. You can take your baby boating his first day on earth.”
Mikayla laughed. She recalled what he’d said about her father always being there in spirit when she would take her own baby canoeing. Jensen wouldn’t be around, of course, but his kindness and generosity would be, in the form of the cradle that her infant would lie in.
Sometimes, this thing with Jensen gave her the warm fuzzies and she felt totally deserving of the moniker Eva had given her: Her Royal Highness, Princess Mikayla of Rust Creek Falls. Or for short, Lucky Beyotch. Then other times, her chest tightened and she could hear her mother giving her a warning from above. Are you crazy? That man is going to break your heart. Walk away now and focus on what’s coming—not what’s leaving.
He couldn’t break her heart if she didn’t fall in love with him. And yes, she knew you couldn’t decide to love or not love someone; that happened with or without your permission. But you could make a choice to put yourself in the position to fall. Which was what Mikayla was doing. So was her mama right? Should she tell him they’d had some fun, some amazing kisses, but she needed to keep her head level and not in the clouds?
She couldn’t imagine walking away from him just yet. Or before she had to.
Which meant that like it or not, she was falling for him.
* * *
Jensen sure had his work cut out for him the next day. Mikayla had insisted on a wallet-free twenty-four hours. They could not participate in a single thing that cost money. Not even a cup of coffee from Daisy’s or the local newspaper. No ordering, no delivery, no family jets. He’d heard the challenge in her voice, as if he couldn’t handle such a thing. Ha. The woman had no idea. Jensen could spend a day locked in a utility closet with Mikayla and have the time of his life.
Knowing Mikayla liked picnics, he suggested a little feast in Rust Creek Falls Park. He scavenged from his brother’s well-stocked fridge and pantry, then met Mikayla at the park’s entrance.
“I like this no-money thing,” he said, setting down the blanket she’d brought and then laying out fried chicken and potato salad. “I didn’t think it was possible to go an hour without spending a few hundred bucks.”
She grinned and grabbed a chicken wing. “All we need is this beautiful day, this lovely park and our good conversation. And this incredible fried chicken. Mmm.”
He smiled and took a drumstick and a heap of potato salad. They did have good conversations. Too good. Mikayla was so easy to talk to. There was never an awkward silence.
Until the tail end of their lunch. Mikayla had been telling him about Cheyenne and that her favorite park there, which had been right on her way to work, had a fenced dog run. “I could barely drag myself away some days. I could watch dogs play and run for hours. But then—” She stopped talking.
He paused in reaching for his bottle of soda. “But then?” he prompted.
Her expression tightened and she glanced away. He thought she was going to say, “Eh, it’s nothing,” and change the subject.
“But then,” she said, reaching for her ginger ale, “I started seeing Scott and his new girlfriend there with her dog. One of those little white yippy types.”
“Scott?” he repeated, then realized she had to be talking about her ex-boyfriend.
Her baby’s father.
“You know what? I feel like going home,” she said, shifting to her knees to collect their containers and plates and cups.
He put a gentle hand on her waist. “Mik, you can talk to me about anything. Including your ex.”
She frowned, the sadness in her eyes making him want to hold her. “Talking about him will just remind me that I can’t trust anyone, Jensen. Including you.” She quickly stuffed everything back in the picnic basket, then stood. “Thank you for lunch. Everything was del—” She gave a tight smile and then started walking toward town.
He jumped up, collected the blanket and stuffed it into the basket with a little too much force. He hated her rat bastard of an ex with all the passion of a thousand burning suns. Damn the jerk for hurting Mikayla. For making her close herself off from what she needed. People. Him.
Love.
He froze, taking a breath and shifting the picnic basket in his other hand. Love in general, he amended. He wouldn’t want hurt and anger and bitterness to keep her from opening up to a relationship. To having a good man love her. Not that he wanted any other man near her heart, mind, soul or delectable body.
And like he was one to talk? He was still bitter over his ex.
He quickly c
aught up with Mikayla in the parking lot. “My last girlfriend did me in. I know I told you a little about it. But I don’t talk about it for the same reason you don’t. So I get it, believe me.”
“Oh, I know you get it,” she said, turning to him. “You proposed this temporary no-strings affair because you don’t believe in love anymore.”
I want to, he thought out of nowhere. Whoa there! Where had that come from? He wanted to? Since when?
Since the first moment he saw Mikayla sitting down in Daisy’s Donuts, eating a custard cruller.
They drove to Sunshine Farm in silence. The big yellow barn came into view, and he felt Mikayla physically relax beside him now that she was almost home. As they arrived at the farmhouse, he couldn’t bear the idea of leaving her.
Stop being selfish. Mikayla’s had enough of selfish to last her a lifetime. Think of her needs, not yours. “I’ll just bring this in for you,” he said, gesturing at the heavyweight picnic blanket. “And then I’ll let you get some rest.”
She nodded and opened the door. He put the blanket in a big basket near the door and turned to go, wishing he could stay, wishing he could just sit on the sofa with her and talk. Or not talk. Just be.
“Scott is a class-A jerk,” she said, staring at the floor.
He held his tongue, knowing if he didn’t blurt out something stupid, she’d go on. Open up, even if just a little.
She took his hand and led him upstairs to her bedroom and closed the door behind them. “The jerk knew I loved that dog park even though I didn’t have a dog. He knew I stopped there every single day and that it was a real highlight for me—especially given how distant he’d been since I told him I was pregnant. But the day after—” she hesitated and expelled a long breath “—the day after I walked in on him and his paralegal going at it on his desk...” She paused, shaking her head. “The very next day, Scott and the paralegal were at the dog park with her little yippy pup. They were holding hands and smiling as they watched the dogs play.”
The Maverick's Baby-In-Waiting Page 9
