by Holly Rayner
I search for hotels in the area and find that the only hotel in Willow Creek, a beat-up old inn, is relatively affordable.
Within a few minutes, I’ve booked a room for Saturday night and made a plan: I’m going to drive to Texas tomorrow, and have a good, long discussion with Garrett, face-to-face. It’s going to be uncomfortable, but it’s the best plan I can come up with at this point.
Hopefully, by tomorrow, Garrett will be willing to listen to me.
Chapter 10
Garrett
I walk to the far corner of the barn, where a water spigot is located, and begin filling two large buckets.
Colt seemed happy, earlier this morning, when I dropped him off at the Basketball Skills camp that Cinda enrolled him in. It’s at the little Willow Creek school, and Colt has always had a good time going to programs there in the past. I think it’s because the school is so much smaller than the private school he’s enrolled in back in Oklahoma City.
It’s more down-to-earth and less stuffy, too. Colt is a boy after my own heart—he doesn’t like fancy or formal things. He’s much more comfortable with simplicity.
We had a talk before I dropped him off. I told him that this time at the ranch was going to be good for both of us. I told him that I wanted him to be kind to the other kids at the camp. “No fighting,” I said.
He looked into my eyes. He nodded. He smiled. Then he ran off and joined the other kids on the little outside court, which was still covered in morning mist.
I think it’s going to be good for him… days at the camp, and evenings here with me.
The bucket at my feet begins overflowing, spilling water out over my boot. I step away, pull the first bucket to the side, and then position the second bucket under the spigot.
Yes, this time out here is just what Colt needs. I saw his eyes light up when I picked him up from school yesterday afternoon and told him about the trip. I saw him smile, for the first time in months. And then this morning, that look of happiness was back. He likes it out here. More than that, he likes it that we’re out here together. It’s the father-son time he’s been needing.
Heck—it’s the father-son time I’ve been needing, too. I need this getaway just as much as Colt does. I should be happy, out here in the barn, caring for the horses. This should feel relaxing.
Then why do I feel so distracted? So tense?
I know why. It’s because of Karla.
Is she really even pregnant? She didn’t look pregnant. Then again, women don’t begin to show until at least a few months have passed. It was April when Karla and I spent the night together. If she is pregnant, she’s only six weeks in.
The second bucket begins to overflow. I quickly reach for the spigot, crank it to the right, and stop the flow of water. Then I lug the two full buckets over to my horses. I slosh the water from the first bucket into the trough that holds their drinking water, and I’m about to lift up the second bucket to add its contents, too, when I hear the crunch of gravel under tires, out in the driveway.
Someone is here.
Who?
I place the bucket down, exit the stall, close the door behind me, and then step out of the barn.
The mid-morning sunshine is glaringly bright. I squint through the blinding rays and examine the beat-up old Honda coupe in my driveway. One of the front tires is nearly flat, and the body of the car is covered in a layer of fine red dust. I don’t recognize the car, but I do recognize the woman in the driver’s seat: Karla Moretti.
Oh, no.
She’s upsetting me enough without even being here. My state of mind is chaotic, confused, and tumultuous because of her and how she’s handling this situation we find ourselves in. I do not need her toxic presence here, in the one place in my life that is supposed to be peaceful.
I frown and lift my chin. I’m going to tell her to leave. I have nothing more to say to her. Talking to her will only make me upset again, and that’s not how I want to feel. Not here. Not now. Not ever.
From now on, she can communicate with me through my lawyers.
I walk toward her car, intent on telling her this in no uncertain terms, without getting worked up.
But before I can open my mouth to speak, she gets out of her car, clutching her stomach. Her face looks pale, and she emits a soft moan. She’s looking down at the ground, so it’s hard to see her eyes, but I do see worry lines, creasing her usually smooth brow.
“Karla?” I say, hurrying forward. “Are you okay?”
“Ah…” she says, looking up at me and wincing. When she meets my eye, I see concern there. “I think I need some water. Could you—ah!” she moans again.
I usher her toward the house. “Right in here,” I say. “I’ll get you a glass.”
She follows me inside, and I lead the way into the kitchen. All thoughts of turning her away from my property have evaporated. All I care about right now is her safety. I pull a chair away from the kitchen table and motion for her to sit.
She does. When I bring her the glass of water, her face looks more relaxed.
“Oh… I think they’re passing. I’ve never had stomach cramps like that before… this will help, thank you.” She reaches for the glass and gratefully sips the water.
“What did they feel like?” I ask, suddenly afraid that something might be wrong with the pregnancy. “Sharp? Mild? Did they last long?”
“Sharp,” Karla says, wincing again. “There’s another one.” She looks up at me, fear in her eyes.
“I think it’d be best to have a doctor look at you,” I say.
She nods. “You’re right. Where is the nearest hospital?”
“In Barry, a town east of Willow Creek,” I say. “It’s about an hour from here.”
“I’d better get going then,” she says. She takes a few more sips of water and then stands. As she walks toward the exit to the kitchen she says, “East, you said? So I go through the town and then keep going down Route 102?”
I nod. She’s already making her way down the hallway now.
“I’ll take you,” I say, hurrying to catch up with her.
She turns. “That’s not necessary,” she says, a cool edge to her tone. “I can handle a one-hour drive. I just drove four to get here, after all.”
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “We’ll take my truck. The roads are all rutted out from the last rainstorm. I don’t know how you even made it out here in your little car. It barely has any clearance.”
“I’ll be fine,” she insists, moving faster. She reaches the front door, yanks it open, and steps outside. “I’m a grown woman, Garrett,” she says. “I think I can handle a one-hour drive.”
I know she’s trying to assert her independence. She’s probably doesn’t want to be stuck in a vehicle with me for a whole hour, given the state of things between us. Heck, I don’t really want to be in a vehicle with her. But I do want our child to be safe, so I make one more offer.
“Karla, your tire’s almost flat. You’re not even going to make it to Barry on that tire. And your cramps are concerning me. It’s not safe for you to go alone. Let me go with you. Don’t put yourself and our baby at risk, just to keep your pride intact.”
She avoids my gaze and instead looks over at her car. Another cramp grips her, and she bends over slightly. Her face crumples up, and she inhales sharply.
“Yeah,” she says at last. “Okay. You drive. Let’s hurry.”
“Let me pull the truck around,” I say. “I’ll be right back.”
I take off at a run, heading for the garage to the side of the ranch house. I open one of the bay doors. Within, I have several pickup trucks, as well as shelves of supplies and gear. I pull a few bottles of water off of one of the shelves. I hop into the new Chevy, turn over the engine, and back out of the garage. When I pull up in front of Karla, I leap out of the car and jog around to open her door.
The passenger seat has a little step up to it, and I stand behind her to make sure she gets in okay. My mind feels clear as
I place my hands on her lower back, guiding her up. My earlier confusion is gone. My only purpose, now, is to get Karla safely to the hospital. The email she sent and my response to it are far from my mind. I close the passenger side door once she’s inside, and then hurry around to the driver’s side.
As we pull out of the driveway onto the narrow road that leads out to my ranch, the truck bumps and jolts due to the potholes. I look over at Karla. “I’m sorry about the bumps,” I say. “I’ve been petitioning the town to get a grader out here for years.”
“It’s okay,” she says.
I motion to the handle that juts out of the truck’s roof, next to the window. “You can hold on to the grab bar if you need to. It’s only really bad like this for about two miles, and then I’ll get us onto a road that’s smoother. You sure you’re okay?”
She looks at me and one corner of her mouth turns up. “I’m okay,” she says.
I steer with one hand, and with the other I reach to the back seat and fumble around until my fingers touch a water bottle. “Here—drink some of this,” I say.
“You want me to float into the emergency room?” she says.
Now I feel a smile play on my own lips. “No,” I say. “Nothing like that. But I do think you should try to stay hydrated.”
“Thanks,” she says, accepting the bottle. Our hands touch briefly as she takes the bottle from me. She pulls away quickly, and I do the same. With both hands on the wheel, I look straight ahead. In my peripheral vision, I watch Karla twist open the bottle, and then sip it while looking out her window.
I glance over at her.
I can see the edges of her profile. I forgot how beautiful she is. After we spent the night together, I woke up to the sight of her sleeping in my bed. I remember clearly the way the early morning light hit the soft, pale curve or her cheek, nose, and chin. I remember lying on my side, just admiring her beauty. Her dark, lush lashes… the curves of her lips. I remember how her lips tasted. The gloss she wore was sweet, and berry-flavored. When we kissed for the first time, she tasted faintly of wine. I can almost taste it now; the memory is so vivid.
She must feel me looking at her, because she turns and meets my eye.
I quickly avert my gaze and look back to the road ahead.
“We’ll be off of this bumpy road in no time,” I say. “The next stretch will be much smoother. Hang in there.”
For the next while, we drive in silence. The tension in the truck is palpable. No matter how hard I try, I can’t keep my mind from wandering back to that night we spent together. Everything about being here with her, in this small, closed compartment, makes my memories come alive. It feels almost torturous to be flooded with so many intimate emotions, while knowing at the same time that Karla wants only money from me. The email she sent was so formal. So cold.
It’s a relief to pull into the hospital parking lot. I remember where the emergency room is. I had to take Colt here once, when he was seven, after he fractured his wrist by falling off of his bike. I help Karla out of the truck and then lead the way to the ER. Thankfully, the waiting room is almost empty, and we’re quickly shown to a back room, where Karla is asked to undress and put on a hospital gown, so the staff can perform some tests.
Wanting to give Karla some privacy, I step out of the room and wait in the hallway.
Please, I pray, as I lean against the wall just outside of her room. Let the baby be okay. Please, let the baby be healthy.
Chapter 11
Karla
Please let the baby be safe, I pray as another intense cramp grabs my insides, wrings them out, and leaves me gasping for air. The pain doesn’t bother me—it’s the fear that comes along with it that is making me feel absolutely awful.
I bend down to pull off my boots and then shimmy out of my jeans. While I pull off my top, I glance to the door. Garrett is waiting just outside. The hospital staff seems to think we’re a couple. Didn’t they see that neither of us is wearing a ring?
I reach for the hospital gown that the nurse left lying on the bed for me. I thread my arms through the sleeves and reach behind me to tie the back. Then I sit anxiously on the edge of the bed.
There’s a soft knock on the door. For some reason, I want it to be Garrett. I feel safer when he’s by my side.
It’s not Garrett. Instead, it’s a male nurse dressed in maroon scrubs and bright white sneakers. He smiles in a friendly manner and informs me that his name is James. He’s going to administer a few tests, if it’s okay with me.
I peer around James, looking for Garrett in the hallway.
James seems to guess what I’m thinking about because he says, “Do you want your husband to be here for the tests?”
“He’s not my husband,” I say, just as Garrett steps into view. My eyes lock with Garrett’s, and I can’t pry them away as I say, “He’s… he’s the baby’s father.”
“Ah,” James says, looking between Garrett and me.
I hold Garrett’s gaze. He looks right back at me, for longer than I expect. Then he stuffs his hands in his pockets and says, “I’d better give you some privacy. I’ll go down to the cafeteria, grab a cup of coffee. I’ll be back in a few.” He steps back. As he backs up, he looks into my eyes again. I see pain there, but I don’t know why. What is he thinking about? Is he as worried about our child as I am? Is he worried about me?
He was so quiet in the truck. It’s hard to guess what he’s thinking.
He seems to genuinely care about the safety of our child, though. That much was made evident when he offered to drive me here.
As James begins administering a battery of tests, I let my mind mull over Garrett’s actions. Is he maybe more interested in being a father to this child than I’ve assumed?
There was something about the way he looked at me when we were in the truck together. It was with… genuine care.
Impossible.
He doesn’t care about me. He barely knows me. It’s not likely that it was care for the baby, either. Garrett barely seems interested in being a father to the son he already has.
A few hours pass, during which I get an ultrasound as well as a physical exam from an experienced female doctor named Dr. Rothschild. She’s very kind and comforting, and the more she talks to me, the better I feel.
“Let me go see if those scans are back from the imaging room yet,” Dr. Rothschild says. “Just relax, if you can. You’re doing great. I think these cramps are due to your uterus expanding to make room for the baby. The ultrasound will give us more information, but right now I want you to know that everything is looking good.”
“Thank you,” I say, sighing with relief. “Everything is so new. I was so scared that something was wrong.”
“Not as far as I can tell,” she says in a reassuring tone. “I’ll be back in a few moments.” She slips out through the door, leaving it ajar behind her.
Before she’s gone for more than a few seconds, the door opens slightly and Garrett peeks his head in.
“How is it going in here?” he asks.
“The doctor seems to think I’m okay,” I say. “She’s going to get the results from my ultrasound.”
He steps into the room and closes the door behind him. He’s so tall, he fills the room in a way that the petite doctor that was just here before him certainly did not.
He exhales a sigh of relief. “Thank God,” he says. “You had me scared there for a minute.”
“A minute?” I say. “We’ve been here for hours.”
He glances down at his watch. “We have, haven’t we?” he says. “It’s already three thirty. Shoot! I’d better make arrangements for Colt. His camp ends at four.”
He pulls out a phone, and as he begins pressing buttons I say, “He’s at camp?”
Garrett nods. “For the whole week. I’ve got a few babysitter contacts for the area. I’ll have one of them pick him up and take him back to the ranch.”
Of course you have babysitter contacts in Willow Creek, I think to myself, as
I watch him dial his phone. Leave it to Garrett to put his son in camp from morning to night instead of actually spending time with him. I bet Colt doesn’t even like the camp. Poor Colt, always being handed off to other people. He’s probably used to having babysitters. I think I remember Garrett mentioning that he has a live-in nanny for the boy back in Oklahoma City, too.
As Garrett makes arrangements, I remind myself that this handsome cowboy is not father material. He’s an expert at one thing only: getting other people to care for his son.
I remember Christy’s advice to me: I have to protect myself… myself, and my child. I can’t let my memory of my night with Garrett tempt me to let my guard down.
The truth is, the memory of our night together has been surfacing non-stop. It’s hard to suppress it. I can’t stop recalling the way it felt to fall into his bed with him, his lips pressed into mine. I remember the way he—
“Miss. Moretti?” a man dressed in a technician’s uniform pokes his head into the room, interrupting my thoughts, thank goodness.
“Dr. Rothschild requested a second ultrasound. The results from the first aren’t quite conclusive, and she wants a few more angles just so she can be sure of what she’s seeing. If you don’t mind…?”
I tell the technician that it’s fine. While he spreads the cool gel on my abdomen, Garrett’s phone rings and he excuses himself to take a call.
For the next hour, while we wait for the second set of ultrasound images to be read, Garrett takes at least three more phone calls. See? I tell myself. He’s a workaholic—far too busy to be a proper father.
Finally, Dr. Rothschild enters the room. Garrett is in the middle of a phone call with one of his employees, but he ends the conversation and stuffs his phone into his back pocket.
The bed I’m sitting on is positioned so that the back is up. I’ve been leaning back against it, half lying down and half sitting, for a while, trying to relax. Now I scooch forward and sit on the very edge of the bed.
