Knocked Up By The Other Brother: A Secret Baby Second Chance Romance

by Ashlee Price

  He sits back and shrugs. “Do you honestly expect me to remember our wedding vows? Heck, I can’t even remember to put down the toilet seat, which you always scold me for, by the way.”

  I can imagine that.

  “And yet you remember that I promised to believe you?”

  “What? You’re not the only one with a selective memory.”

  I frown.

  “Where did we meet?”

  “What?” His eyebrows go up.

  I sit on the edge of the bed. “Tell me how we met. Or have you forgotten that, too?”

  “No. I remember it like it was yesterday.”

  I lean forward. “And?”

  “It was at a cafe.”

  A cafe?

  “I, um, walked in and I… ordered coffee, and you jotted it down.”

  “And?”

  “You brought my coffee. It was the best cup I’d ever had. Just the right amount of sugar.”

  My eyes narrow. “And we started dating after?”

  “No, no.” Travis shakes his head. “I asked for your number and you wouldn’t give it.”

  I feel confused. “You asked for my number just because I made you an excellent cup of coffee, which was probably part of my job?”

  “You had the most stunning eyes I’d ever seen,” he says. “Still do.”

  In spite of myself, I blush.

  “Plus, you looked good in that apron you were wearing.”

  Apron? I don’t remember ever wearing an apron at work, unless they changed the uniform, which I doubt.

  “Wasn’t I wearing overalls?” I ask.

  “Overalls, apron, same thing. Fashion’s your thing, not mine.”

  I roll my eyes. Men.

  He did say something right, though—that fashion is my thing. That’s one thing I remember.

  I shift my legs. “What happened next?”

  “You weren’t into dating, you said,” he goes on. “But I’m no quitter. I kept going to that cafe until you finally gave me your number.”

  “What’s my number?” I ask him.

  His eyebrows crease. “Sorry, but I don’t remember. You swore off phones even before we moved to Hope Creek.”

  “Hope Creek?”

  “This town.”

  “Oh.”

  Come to think of it, no one’s told me that.

  “I swore off phones? Why would I do that?”

  “Because having a phone made you sad. It reminded you that your family was gone.”

  My heart stops. “My family’s gone?”

  No. My Mom? My Dad? Katie? They’re… gone?

  Travis stands up and sits beside me. “I’m sorry, Grace, but yes, your family’s gone.”

  I turn to him with wide eyes. “How?”

  “Accident.”

  “Even Katie?”

  Travis nods.

  I clasp my hand over my mouth as I try to digest the shocking news. Then I walk over to the wall and beat it with a fist before resting my forehead on it.

  “Come here.” Travis grabs my shoulders and pulls me into his arms.

  I don’t fight him. I don’t have the strength. I simply press my cheek against his chest, and for the first time, I become aware of his scent. It’s the scent of sweat and something earthy, maybe his cologne.

  I close my eyes.

  It smells good. And this feels good.

  In his strong arms and against his broad chest, I feel my sadness gradually slipping away. They make me feel comfortable, safe, less alone.

  How many times has he held me like this?

  At that thought, a blush coats my cheeks and I pull away.

  I know he’s held me before. I know we’ve probably had sex, as married couples do, but in my mind, I’m still a virgin.

  “Are you alright?” Travis asks.

  “I’m fine.” I fold my arms beneath my breasts and rub them. “I’ve just had enough shock for the day.”

  It’s one thing to learn you’ve just lost your memories from the last seven years. It’s another to learn you’ve lost your entire family.

  Travis nods. “I understand. There’s no need to rush. We can continue this at home for as long as we have to.”

  My eyebrows arch. “Home?”

  ~

  The steps leading up to the front porch creak beneath the sneakers Nancy lent me. At the top of them, I pause to look at the swing, which is sitting still without a breeze to rock it. I close my eyes as I try to remember sitting there, but nothing comes to me. I frown.

  Is this really my home?

  Something warm and wet swipes against the back of my hand and I look down into the deep brown eyes of a golden retriever.

  Toby. That’s what Travis said his name was.

  “Hey.” I pat his head. “You know this place better than I do now, huh?”

  He just looks up at me.

  Travis holds the front door open. “Well, aren’t the two of you going to come in?”

  I take a deep breath and enter the house.

  The first thing I see is the living room. There’s a teal couch, a red armchair, a wooden coffee table atop a rug, and a TV mounted on the wall below a clock and above a small rack.

  It’s quaint, but…

  “Are you sure we live here?” I ask Travis. “Because I’d never allow teal and red to go together.”

  He chuckles. “And I happen to like the color combination. I’m sorry to disappoint you, but you don’t always get your way here.”

  “Oh.”

  “That’s the dining room, which we only use at Christmas,” Travis points to the adjacent room, which has a rectangular table and six chairs, as well as a dusty chandelier and a dish cabinet.

  “And that’s the kitchen.”

  I peek inside the door that Travis just gestured to and see a wooden counter in the middle of the room with pots and pans hanging above it. I see cupboards above the sink and the stove as well, along with the fridge and two doors, one that must be to the pantry and another that seems to lead to the backyard.

  “Shall we go upstairs?” Travis asks.

  I nod and follow him up the flight of stairs, which creak just like the front steps. At the top, I see a corridor covered in a worn carpet with doors on both sides and at the end.

  I start to go down it, but Travis grabs my arm. “Those are just guest bedrooms and a bathroom that’s not working.”

  “Oh.” I step back but look at the door far ahead. “And the room at the end?”

  “Storage.” Travis says in a serious tone. “It’s locked and the key has been lost forever.”

  I glance at him and see a flicker of annoyance in his eyes. Is it just my imagination, or does it seem like he’s hiding something in that room?

  He leads me up another flight of stairs to the attic.

  It’s just one big room with a canopied bed in the middle, a bookshelf against a wall and a rocking chair and a lamp on either side of the fireplace with a bean bag on the rug between them. Toby settles beside the bean bag.

  “This is where we sleep,” Travis announces.

  My eyebrows arch. Really?

  It’s not a bad room. I like it, actually. But I don’t see any signs that this is a couple’s room, apart from the matching rocking chairs.

  I go into the restroom and see just one toothbrush beside the sink.

  “Are you sure I sleep here?” I ask him as I glance over my shoulder. “Because I don’t see my toothbrush.”

  “You threw yours out,” Travis says. “You were about to get a new one.”

  “Oh.” I glance at the towel hanging on the rack. “And my towel?”

  “We share.”

  I blush but try to hide it as I open the closet. To my disappointment, I see only jeans, sweaters, shirts and briefs.

  “Where are my clothes?” I ask.

  “Oh. They’re downstairs,” Travis explains. “They wouldn’t fit in the closet.”

  I narrow my eyes at the limited closet space. I guess I can underst
and that.

  “I’ll get you some clothes,” Travis offers as he goes back to the stairs.

  “I’ll go with you,” I tell him as I follow him.

  He goes back to the second floor and into one of the rooms. He opens the closet there and starts to rummage through it.

  “I’ll pick my own clothes, thank you,” I say.

  He stops, silent for a moment. Then he nods and walks out of the room with a frown.

  Confusion washes over me. What did I do to put him in a bad mood?

  ~

  Travis still seems to be in a bad mood in the evening as he grabs a blanket from the top of the closet in the attic. In fact, he barely spoke all through dinner.

  “Is something wrong?” I finally ask him as I sit on the edge of the bed.

  “Nope,” he answers as he grabs a pillow.

  “Then where are you going?” I ask him. “I thought this is where we sleep.”

  “This is where we used to sleep,” he says. “But given the fact that you don’t remember me, it’s not a good idea to share a bed, is it?”

  My eyebrows furrow. “It’s not?”

  He plumps the pillow in his hands. “Do you really want to have sex with me even though you can’t remember me? Because I’ve never been good at keeping my hands off you, and once I start, there’s no stopping me.”

  My eyes grow wide in surprise as my cheeks grow warm.

  “I don’t…”

  “I thought so.” He heads to the stairs. “Good night.”

  He disappears from sight and I climb into bed.

  Is that why he’s grouchy all of a sudden? Because he knows we can’t have sex? Or is he trying to act cold towards me so that he won’t feel like trying?

  I shrug, then pull the covers up to my chin as I stare at the canopy. As I do, Travis’s words flood back into my mind.

  I’ve never been good at keeping my hands off you, and once I start, there’s no stopping me.

  Without warning, an image pops up with them—his large hands on my skin, all over my skin…

  I shake my head and pull the covers over my head.

  Stop it, Grace, I scold myself.

  Travis may be good-looking, and he may even be your husband, but you don’t know him. You can’t just spread your legs for him.

  Even as I say that, though, I feel something tingle between my legs at the very thought. I turn on my side while squeezing my thighs tightly shut.

  A woman with a brain that can’t remember what it should and a body that acts the way it shouldn’t.

  I’m such a mess, aren’t I?

  Chapter 9

  Travis

  This is a mess, I think as I drop down on the red armchair in the living room.

  I shouldn’t have agreed to this crazy plan conceived by people who are already done living. I shouldn’t have let Phil, in particular, talk me into this.

  Yes, I understand his sentiments and intentions. I know that I should probably move on and that it’s easier to do so with someone else. I know Angie would have wanted that, too. What I didn’t realize was that by letting Grace in, I’d have to throw Angie out. How can I not when Grace doesn’t even know who Angie is, when I’m not even allowed to tell her? It’s as if Angie is being overwritten, and I hate it.

  I tap my fingers on the arm of the chair and wish that I had a bottle of beer between them.

  I should have thought this through some more. What the hell was I thinking?

  On the couch, Toby rests his head between his paws and sighs.

  “My thoughts exactly, buddy,” I tell him.

  Suddenly, his ears perk up and he lifts his head.

  My eyebrows furrow. “What is it, boy?”

  Then I hear it—a neigh from the stables and the stomping of hooves. I stand up and mutter a curse as I realize that my mare may be about to give birth. Today was so hectic that I’d forgotten how close she is. I grab my boots and run out the front door.

  It seems like tonight is going to be crazy, too.

  ~

  “Easy, girl,” I chant to Duchess as I squat a few feet away from her inside her stall.

  Roughly ten minutes have passed by and she’s still standing up and kicking at the hay. In the stall beside her, the stallion, Joachim, has grown restless as well. I can hear his nostrils flaring from the other side of the wall.

  “Easy,” I repeat. “Both of you should relax. Everything is going to be fine.”

  As if to express her lack of confidence, Duchess shakes her head as her bulging belly, which seems to be on the verge of exploding, contracts once more.

  I swallow the lump in my throat.

  To be honest, I don’t know if things will turn out fine. I’ve never actually seen a mare give birth before, much less assisted one. This farm doesn’t belong to me, after all. It was Martin’s and Angie’s. Frankly, I don’t have a clue about what’s supposed to happen next, and with no Google and no veterinarian to call, I’m starting to feel a little scared.

  Please let everything be alright.

  “Is everything alright?” a voice startles me from behind.

  I get on my feet and place a hand on my chest. “Jesus, you startled me.”

  “Sorry,” Grace says. “I heard the commotion.”

  She approaches me tentatively and stands beside me.

  “Is she…?”

  “About to give birth?” I finish her question. “Yes.”

  “Shouldn’t she be lying down?”

  I glance at her. Don’t tell me she knows something about horses giving birth?

  “Have you done this before?” I ask her.

  Her eyebrows crease. “Have I?”

  Right. She doesn’t remember.

  “I think it’s fine if she doesn’t lie down,” I say.

  After all, Duchess isn’t showing any signs of wanting to lie down, and shouldn’t she know what’s best?

  “I guess.” Grace shrugs. “Shouldn’t you catch the baby, though?”

  Good point.

  I approach Duchess slowly and kneel beside her. Grace joins me.

  “That’s going to be one big baby, so you might need help,” she says.

  I don’t protest. She has a point.

  “What’s her name?” Grace asks.

  “Duchess.”

  “Duchess,” Grace repeats as she strokes her. “There, there. I know it’s not easy, but you’re going to be just fine and it will all be worth it, you’ll see.”

  To my surprise, Duchess seems to calm down.

  “Do you think you can lie down?” Grace asks her.

  She shakes her head and stomps her hooves again.

  “Okay. Okay. It was just a suggestion,” Grace says. “Do what you think is best and we’ll help you however we can.”

  Again, Duchess calms down. For a few minutes, she stays still. So do I as I wait for the foal to come out. Beside me, Grace takes deep breaths.

  She’s nervous, too, and yet she’s doing her best to be brave.

  Finally, I see a small hoof coming out of her, then the tip of a white muzzle.

  “That’s it,” Grace encourages. “Keep pushing.”

  The other hoof comes out, then the head. I lift my arms and brace myself to catch the foal, but the rest of it comes out so fast I almost fall back. It’s a good thing Grace is there, supporting half of the foal’s weight so I manage to keep my balance.

  “Hi there,” Grace greets the foal with a slightly strained voice.

  Carefully, we put the foal down on the floor of the stall. Grace strokes its head with a smile that seems to make her whole face glow.

  “Welcome to the world, perfect little one,” she coos.

  Duchess turns to lick her foal and I pull Grace away to give them room. A few moments later, the foal makes its first attempts to stand as it tries to get to its mother’s milk. When it succeeds, I let out a sigh of relief while Grace hugs my arm and presses her head against my shoulder.

  “This is so amazing,” she whisper
s.

  And I have to agree. Now I understand what Phil was telling me. If the birth of a foal can bring so much hope, how much more could the birth of a baby bring?

  I glance at Grace. “I guess you can be useful.”

  I thought she’d be a spoiled, prissy brat since she’s a Pioneer, but she doesn’t seem to shrink from getting her hands dirty.

  She frowns as she looks at me. “What does that mean? Wasn’t I useful before?”

  “I mean that you can still get things done,” I correct myself.

  “I’m an amnesiac, not a paralytic,” she points out with her hands on her hips. “If you can teach me the ropes again, I can help on the farm like I used to.” She looks at Duchess and the foal. “In fact, I think I’d like that. Very much.”

  I guess there’s no harm in it. Besides, Jerry’s right. I do need help on the farm.

  “Sure,” I tell her. “Your training starts tomorrow.”

  ~

  “And you’re done.”

  I clap my hands together after all the chickens are back in the coop. The task has taken Grace nearly two hours.

  It’s her final task of the day, following milking Rosie the cow, feeding Rosie, collecting the eggs, feeding the chickens, cleaning the stables, taking Joachim for a walk, weeding the vegetable garden, and feeding the horses.

  She wipes the sweat off her brow. “You’re saying I have to do this every day?”

  “Only when I can’t,” I answer.

  “Or we can take turns.” She stretches her arms. “That definitely beats a trip to the gym.”

  My eyebrows go up at that. So she used to go to the gym, did she?

  As I recall, only two kinds of people went to the gym—people with physically demanding jobs and rich people with too much time on their hands. She doesn’t seem like the former, so I’ll go with the latter.

  “Don’t forget that there are house chores, too.” I point to the house behind me.

  “Right.” She nods and looks at the house. “I have to clean the house, do laundry and cook, don’t I?”

  I blink. “You do all that?”

  “What?”

  “I mean, you can cook?” I ask her. “Because you didn’t before.”

  “Really?” She looks even more puzzled.

  “I mean you’d try, but…” I grimace.

  “I was that bad, huh?”

  I nod.

  “Well, who knows? I practically got a new lease on life at the cost of some memories. Maybe I’ve got some cooking skills now, too. In fact, I have a good feeling I do.”