by Lexy Timms
Morgan was a travelling man. Her subconscious jumped in and said, No, that wasn’t fair. He’d been a travelling man. Big difference.
Coming close to dying did that to a person. She rolled her shoulder experimentally. It had healed enough to start physiotherapy. Whoever said such a thing was good for you obviously wasn’t going through it. The bottom line was, physiotherapy hurt.
Maybe it was good for her in the long run, but right now, she hated going. Still, to get the full function of her arm back – she’d do anything she had to. She had work piled up at her tattoo shop and with her out and Roxy running the place, they were backed up even more.
Roxy had hired an extra person to help, and he appeared to be doing a good job. Jazz went in when she could, but her intricate designs were taking longer to complete and she was pushing herself to do more and more, which impacted her healing.
Maybe she shouldn’t be doing so much, but a life of uncertainty with Morgan was part of it. She didn’t have that same confidence in her future that she thought she’d have at this point.
The pregnancy test had sent her hard-earned calm off the wall.
A baby. She smiled, a tender emotional smile that she could feel down to her toes. A son like Morgan? Or a daughter. She couldn’t help but imagine the tiny footsteps.
Oh Lord. How could such a life event happen without planning? Of course that’s likely how most pregnancies happened – without planning. But she was on the pill. Had been for years. She turned the little stick in her fingers around, wondering at the validity of the results. Should she do a second test again?
No, she’d wait and do it again tomorrow.
And worry about it all day today. With a heavy sigh, she got up and dressed. She might be a part owner of the business, but she still had to show up to keep the money rolling in.
Today, she was starting on Stengel’s latest piece. He’d finalized the design just before the chaos that blew her world apart, and he’d wanted to wait until she was healed enough to do it.
Now that she was strong enough to start working again, he was up first. This design memorialized his brother, who’d died in a biking accident years ago. She’d known Dormer as well. A good man, if a bit rough around the edges. He’d had a heart of gold. She was doing this as a contribution to Stengel’s healing and as a good-bye for Dormer. The two brothers had been close.
His appointment was at eleven, a half hour after her physiotherapy finished.
Hopefully her arm was up to the job. She knew it was, but like any artist, she worried about screwing up. It was a little hard to fix if she did. Not impossible, but when something like this meant so much, she wanted it perfect.
And that meant getting her ass in gear. A quick glance at the night table clock confirmed that niggling sensation she’d been ignoring.
She was late. She dressed quickly and headed downstairs. Surely no one could blame her if she kept the little stick in her pocket. She’d cleaned it off but hadn’t been able to throw it away. It wasn’t proof – but it was damn convincing.
There was no sign of Morgan in the kitchen. Then since she’d been sleeping so heavily, he was often up ahead of her. She’d have to work harder on keeping to a routine. It was hard enough getting used to going back to work full-time as it was. She loved her work, but after the excitement and panic she’d been through, she was starting to look at her former sixty-hour work week in horror. Nothing like several weeks of recovering from a health issue to realize that her schedule would have killed her eventually, too.
She wanted to spend more time with Morgan, if that’s what he wanted. But he was building a business of his own here at his house. Motorcycle repairs and customization. He’d do well at it, but it would likely take a fair bit of time to build up. She should know. She’d built her tattoo shop over the last many years. Her and her partner Roxy had both invested a lot of sweat, blood, and tears into their baby.
Baby. Her face flushed with heat then washed out. Oh Lord. Her hand once again went to rest protectively against her non-existent belly.
What the hell would Morgan say?
She didn’t want him to offer marriage because she was pregnant, but he was so damn likely to she didn’t even want to mention it. She hated to be old fashioned about it, but a huge part of her wanted him to want to be with her for her sake alone. He was an honorable man and would do what he’d consider the right thing, but she didn’t want to marry for the ‘right’ reasons. It wasn’t necessary in today’s society either.
Marriage was something she hadn’t considered until these last few weeks in the aftermath of almost losing her life. To think of Morgan offering it because of the baby made it something less than what she’d hoped for. Silly perhaps.
She snorted. Hell, she could ask him to marry her, but knowing she was possibly pregnant made it less than upfront and honest unless she told him about the pregnancy, and she couldn’t have the baby discussion at the same time if she wanted to see his honest reaction about the marriage topic.
Damn. Talk about timing.
She wanted this baby. Hadn’t known she wanted it until it came into being, but she really wanted Morgan’s child. So how to proceed?
Walking out into the garage a few minutes later, two mugs of coffee in her hands, she found him bent over a motorcycle tire. She loved that long, lean muscled look to him. With a smile, she held out the cup she’d brought for him. “Here.”
He lifted his head and grinned when he saw her. “Finally woke up, did you?”
She flushed. “I had a bad night.”
Of course now that she’d seen the stick change color, her heavy sleep was likely due to a different reason.
“Sorry, baby. Nightmares still getting to you?” He walked over, took the mug from her hand, and gave her a gentle hug. “You looked tired when I got up so I didn’t wake you, but I knew you had physio this morning and wasn’t sure how long to let you sleep.” He took a sip of coffee, his gaze intent as he studied her features. “When is your appointment?”
“In an hour. I’ll go straight to the shop afterwards.”
He nodded. “Just don’t overdo it, you know how you feel after the therapy sessions.”
“Yeah, wasted,” she retorted, “but it doesn’t matter. Stengel is coming this morning. I want to get his tattoo started today.” She wandered the shop, looking at the black gas tank on the bench and the incredibly beautiful sunset scene in progress on the side.
Morgan said he hadn’t done much painting before, but if so, he was truly gifted. This custom work alone would make his business shine. “This is beautiful. Who is it for?”
“It’s for Cash. He’s building a new rig.”
“Interesting. I hadn’t taken him for a sunset and roses kind of guy.” In truth, Cash was an enigma. He’d gone from being a morgue orderly to a therapist working in the same hospital. Like how did one make a change like that? She hated to think of his first job and could understand wanting to make a change, but to a therapist? The last time she’d seen him, she’d asked. He’d given her the sweetest smile and said he was going to keep the numbers in the morgue down.
That made perfect sense.
He was a hell of a man, too.
“I think he’s full of surprises in many aspects. But a customer is a customer, and they are generally always right.”
She tossed him a smile. There was nothing like being in the service industry to give you a different perspective on clients and their wishes.
“Did you eat?” Morgan asked.
“No time.”
She heard his barely suppressed sigh. He figured she didn’t look after herself well enough. She was just never hungry in the mornings. And lately that had been worse.
“I’ll grab something at the shop.”
“Make sure you do. Therapy always makes you nauseous.”
Great. Like she needed more of that.
“Another reason I don’t mind not having time to eat. It’s worse when I eat beforehand.”
/>
She walked out of the double doors to stand on the paved driveway. He really had chosen a perfect family spot here. The first time she’d seen the house, it struck her oddly that her travelling biker man had picked a family house in a residential area, like the inside of him yearned for the whole society package that the outside of him wasn’t ready to acknowledge.
She’d never asked him about his choice of location. Now as she studied the small cul-de-sac that was set away from any main streets and the large fenced yard with the big house, she realized it was the perfect place for their future.
If he wanted a family.
If he didn’t, she’d be moving back to her small bungalow and looking at hiring a fencing company to come in and fix up her back yard.
Such a lonely plan.
***
Morgan watched her stand and stare at the sky, her arms wrapped around herself as if warding off a chill. She’d been more melancholic lately. Tired, as if all she’d been through had finally hit her and she just needed some down time.
As long as that didn’t mean time without him, then he was good with that.
There was something different about her lately that made him feel separated from her. He hated it. Walking closer, he slipped an arm around her shoulders and dropped a kiss on her forehead. “You okay?”
She nodded, gave him brief smile, and said, “I am. Just tired.”
Tired, yes. But it was more than that. He searched her gaze, but she lowered her lashes, not letting him in. Shit.
With no choice but to back off, he said in a gentle tone, “Maybe leave the shop earlier today and have an early night?”
“Maybe,” she said noncommittally. “I have to get ready to leave.” She reached up and kissed him warmly. “See you later.”
And she was gone.
The kiss went a long way to reassuring him, but there was definitely something upsetting her.
He did a mental recap to see if he’d done anything but came up blank. That usually meant he had but hadn’t noticed. Living with her had been a wonderful experience, but he was new to cohabitating and hadn’t had the easiest time adjusting.
Normally she said something before things got too big and became an issue. The issues were always little things that he’d done as a bachelor, like leaving the beer bottles on the counter instead of putting them away in the pantry with the others. He didn’t mind changing that habit, but the problem was it was a habit, so he did it without thinking.
There were a few other things that made her look at him sideways when he did them, and that was usually enough for him to change directions before he followed through on the habitual action. Those were small things. As for the big things, he hadn’t a clue.
There hadn’t been any that he knew of.
But there was obviously one now.
Chapter 2
The physiotherapy session left her in tears. Shit. She sat in the cab of her small truck, waiting for the painkillers to kick in. She couldn’t work on her art if her arm hurt with every movement.
If she could, she’d drive home again and go to bed. But somehow that felt like quitting when in reality, it was giving in to the insidious thoughts that had dominated her mind all morning. If she was pregnant, then there was a reason her body needed more rest and she should be giving it what it needed. But women had been having babies since time began, and it’s not like any of them had the option to go to bed until they felt better.
She was being a wimp. Time to buckle down and get real. Babies were expensive. She was going to need to work no matter what happened or how it happened. Feeling better, she drove to the shop and parked down the large lot so she could walk past the deli on her way. Inside, she ordered a large sandwich loaded with meat, pickles, and veggies, then had them wrap the halves separately.
With her lunch in hand, she entered her tattoo shop and greeted Grant, another artist that had just moved into Kelowna from England. He seemed happy to just be working in the shop, even if he wasn’t designing. She hadn’t had much chance to work with him yet or see his work, but Roxy had raved about it and him.
Given she might need more time off in the future than she’d expected, it would be wonderful if he was talented. She’d seen more than her share of tattoo artists who thought they were wonderful but were only barely passable.
And that wasn’t good enough for her place. Her clients depended on her quality and artistic ability, and she refused to let them down. All their designs were unique and customized to the person’s wishes. Roxy was a fabulous painter in her own right but thankfully was happy using the human body as her canvas. The two of them worked well together.
“You look tired,” Grant said the moment he saw her.
“Great. And here I thought I was doing so wonderful at hiding it,” she joked. “I just came from my physiotherapy session, so can’t say I’m feeling a hundred percent.”
He winced. “Sorry, not a good thing to say to a woman, I suppose.”
“It’s fine. Besides, it’s the truth.”
She gave him a gentle smile, letting him know she wasn’t offended.
“Hey girl, nice to see you,” Roxie called from her corner where she was working on someone Jazz didn’t know.
It was the little things like new customers she’d never seen before that gave her this disconnected feeling to her business now. Normally not a face went through the shop without her seeing them at least briefly.
She always tried to greet regulars and at least smile at new ones if they were Roxy's clients. But since being injured, there were many new people here. Both good and bad. Good that business was continuing and bad that she'd missed so much. Still, she was here now.
"Did I beat Stengel in?" she asked, looking around. She couldn't see him anywhere, but he might have come by, seen she wasn’t there yet, and left again.
"You did. And you might even have time to eat that sandwich you brought with you before he gets here if you get at it," Roxy said with a big smile.
That was when Jazz realized she was standing in the middle of the store, doing nothing. Boy did she need to get her head in the game. And fast.
With a heavy sigh, she tossed her coat over her office chair and sat down to eat a half sandwich. While there, she brought up her computer and emails. She flicked through them, a couple she'd been expecting, a few she hadn't. She winced at the one from the cops. She needed to answer a few more questions to do with her house and the several break-ins she'd experienced. Sigh.
She wanted that shit over with and gone from her life.
At least there wasn’t going to be a trial. And that was something to be grateful for. It also meant tidying up the paperwork so the cops could close their files. She'd do what she needed to do and then she could close this stage of her life forever.
She opened a browser and started looking at designs, just random off the cuff ideas, like she always did. Like any good artist, ideas could come from any source for her and often came without warning.
Taking another bite of her sandwich, she stared at it, checking if they'd put pickles on it. It seemed like half the normal amount. She pouted. Right now she wanted twice as much.
Oh well. She polished it off and glanced up at the screen. Her breath caught in her chest.
The monitor was full of tattoos of babies. Ones with dates of births, others with dates of their deaths, and still others showing beautiful bouncing bundles smiling back at her from shoulders, breasts, and even one that had been tattooed on the women's belly.
Shit.
She quickly shut off her monitor, then feeling like a fool, turned it on and closed the webpage. She had it bad.
The reminder had her looking at the second half of her sandwich and her wish for more pickles. That was just too cliché. At least she hadn't picked up ice cream to eat at the same time.
She shuddered and wrapped her coat around her. What the hell was happening to her? Was she really pregnant?
Really? So confused, she wasn't sur
e if she was happy or not. Well she was, but she also wasn’t. Oh God, she was a mess.
"Hey, are you okay?" Roxy stood beside her, a worried look on her face.
Jazz opened her mouth then snapped it shut again. What could she say? I might be pregnant? Like how useless was that? Still, Roxy was her best friend. But didn't Morgan deserve to know first?
Needing someone to talk to, she reached inside her pocket and pulled the stick out that she brought with her. Maybe that's why she'd brought it. To show her best friend. Roxy would understand.
With a glance to make sure no one was looking their way, she held it out for Roxy to see.
Silence. Then she exploded. "Oh my God," she squealed, almost dancing in place.
"Shh. No one knows yet." Jazz sent another warning glance in Grant’s direction. "Morgan doesn’t know," she added in an urgent whisper. "I'm not sure I believe it yet."
"So take a second test." Roxy positively beamed at her.
Jazz scowled. "I was going to. I figured I'd do it tomorrow to make sure."
"To make sure what?" Roxy scoffed. "To make sure you're more than a little pregnant?"
“Sometimes these things give false positives."
Grant looked their way. She smiled at him and quickly stuffed the stick back in her pocket.
"Well, you must have had your suspicions if you went and bought the damn test in the first place," Roxy said in exasperation.
Jazz nodded slowly. "Not a suspicion, but I was just so tender and I was late, you know."
"How late?" Roxy questioned and after that answer, she fired off a half dozen more. As the answers all lined up with the stick results, she grinned and said, "This is fantastic."
"Is it?" It was and it wasn't. But hearing Roxy's wild instant enthusiasm was very heart-rendering. She wanted to feel the same way, but not until she talked to Morgan.
"You can't think this would upset Morgan, do you? That man is crazy about you."
