Montana Homecoming

by Law, Kim

  “I am fully aware of who Cord is, E.” She stood and walked away from the man in question, wishing with all her might that he wasn’t there. How embarrassing that he’d heard that. “And anyway, it doesn’t matter because I’m not staying here tonight. I have no idea why he said that. I’m going to get him to take me into town to pick up a rental, and then I’ll be fine.”

  Cord’s cell phone, with his big wide hand wrapped around it, lowered over her head and stopped in front of her eyes. A weather app displayed on it, showing the swath of snow not going anywhere fast. Then he put his mouth to her ear. “She’s right. You have no business driving in this. And I’m not taking you anywhere until it stops.”

  A shiver shot down her body.

  “What did he say?” Erica asked, but Maggie was incapable of uttering a sound.

  Cord had pulled away, yet the aftereffects of his nearness hadn’t gone with him. Her body remained on red alert, waiting for another heated breath against her skin. Or maybe a hot brush from those lips on her neck.

  Good grief. Hormones due to pregnancy was a real thing.

  She squeezed her eyes closed, willing the images from over seven months before to leave her, and continued to ignore the man.

  “Are you really going to stay there again?” Erica whispered now, as if she’d finally clued in to the fact that Cord could hear every word being spoken. “Isn’t he in one of the one-bedroom cabins? And you’re—”

  “So pregnant,” Maggie finished drily. “Yes, I know.”

  “No. I mean . . . is your staying there wise? Your emotions are all over the place these days. I know you might have done . . . things with another man back in the spring, but this thing you’ve had for Cord . . . it—”

  “Is nothing.” God, she was mortified. She had to end this conversation before Cord heard any more of it. And seriously, did Erica expect Maggie to put the moves on Cord in all her huge pregnancy glory if she stayed another night? As if. “It’s never been anything, E. And it never will be anything. It was nothing more than a ridiculous teenage crush, so please . . . just drop it.”

  Erica finally quit talking, not a single sound coming from the other end of the line, and Maggie couldn’t have been more grateful. Obviously, Cord had known she’d had the hots for him back in April. She’d made that fact clear the way she’d come on to him. But wanting to spend a night or two heating the sheets with a guy was far different than a crush lasting for over a decade. And probably closer to two.

  She’d hoped he’d never learn about that.

  “You’re staying here,” he said again. He still spoke from behind her, but this time he kept his distance. No mouth to the ear. No leaning in. And he said the words with a surprising amount of calm. Was he offended at the thought of her crush? Horrified, maybe?

  Would he once again wonder if she’d planned the whole seduction thing and gotten pregnant on purpose?

  Her never-elusive tears took that moment to fill her eyes, and continuing the conversation became impossible. “I’ll be fine, E.” She wiped at her cheeks. “I’ll call you in the morning.”

  Chapter Seven

  “Go,” the pregnant woman said.

  “She’s fine,” Cord managed, but he started toward the asphalt. The responding police officers had stopped traffic on the two-lane road, and Cord turned his head as he reached the double yellow lines painted down the middle. A tow truck rolled slowly toward him on the wrong side of the road. The sheriff’s vehicle passed the truck on the shoulder.

  Cord’s feet stopped moving.

  He stood in the middle of the road, knowing he had to finish crossing and get to his mother. He always had to check on his mother. But his feet wouldn’t go forward.

  He turned back to the pregnant woman.

  “Bailey,” he called out the name the woman had given him, but this time when she looked up, it wasn’t Bailey sitting in the car. It was Maggie.

  “Help me, Cord.” Maggie reached one hand out the open door, stretching her fingers toward him. “Help the baby . . .”

  She looked down at her belly then, and as she did, the back side of the car shifted. It slid at an angle, the front two tires coming up off the road.

  “Maggie!” he shouted. He told his feet to move yet again, but still, they remained stuck in the middle of the road.

  Chunks of the ground began disappearing behind the vehicle, dropping out of sight as if a hole had opened up, swallowing everything in its reach. The car shifted once more, one back tire hovering over the opening. A front tire spun freely.

  Maggie’s eyes went wide as her car continued to rock. “The baby, Cord. Please . . .”

  His feet released at the same moment the car lurched for the last time, and as he lunged, reaching frantically to catch hold of any part of the vehicle, it disappeared over the cliff. A scream started low in his gut, rising up and out of him like a wounded animal. He fell to his knees.

  “Cord!”

  Cord heard his name being called, but he couldn’t make himself look up. The car was gone. He hadn’t made it in time.

  He shoved away hands that reached for him.

  “Cord. It was a dream.”

  He pushed again, but that time, the words began to register.

  “You’re dreaming. It’s okay. You’re safe.”

  The hands on his shoulders were soft. The voice gentle. Female.

  He’d been dreaming. He let out a harsh breath.

  Forcing his eyes open, he stared into the darkness, not seeing anything at first, but eventually Maggie’s face came into focus. She was hunched over him, where he lay sprawled on the sofa, her face pale in the remaining flicker of the firelight.

  “Maggie?”

  “Yes.” Her hand stroked over his shoulder. “It’s me. You were having a bad dream.”

  Of course he was. Only, this dream had been even worse than his normal one. It was also the first time it hadn’t progressed through what really happened. The pregnant woman had never been in any true danger. She’d only had a couple of bruises. The side of the road couldn’t possibly have broken away and disappeared the way it had in his subconscious. Yet it had felt so real.

  “Are you okay?” Maggie spoke softly, and Cord realized he’d reached up to his shoulder and grabbed hold of her hand. He was squeezing it as if it were a lifeline. He’d also broken out in a sweat beneath his T-shirt.

  “I’m fine.” He pushed up, releasing his hold on her, and moved over on the couch. “Have a seat.” She looked uncomfortable hunkered down the way she’d been.

  She looked uncomfortable, period.

  And she looked that way because she was swollen with his baby.

  He gulped as the thought rolled through his mind.

  Would that ever not terrify him?

  He looked up at Maggie, who hadn’t sat, but no longer remained hunched as she had been. She didn’t seem to be in a hurry to leave. “Sit,” he said again and nodded toward the couch. “Please.”

  He breathed a sigh of relief when she lowered onto the opposite end of the couch. As unfair as it might be, he wanted to keep her there beside him. He didn’t want to be alone with his own company tonight. Not with the memories—nor with the new fear his subconscious had apparently decided to add in. And he was low enough to take advantage of Maggie’s niceness by keeping her with him.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” she asked.

  She shifted on the seat as if trying to find a more comfortable position, and he immediately shook his head. “It was just a nightmare.”

  The fire had burned to mostly cinders with only two small flames continuing to fight for survival, and he stared into that movement instead of looking at Maggie. His heart beat wildly in his chest. She hadn’t pushed for more, and he knew she wouldn’t. He’d discovered that back in April. He’d returned to her place after checking in on his dad that Saturday afternoon, and though an initial update had poured from him, when he’d clammed up, she’d immediately changed the subject. He’d ended up he
lping her rip carpet out of her living room instead.

  He’d liked that about her.

  She also knew how to sit in silence and just “be.” He appreciated that, as well.

  “Did I call out your name?” The question slipped out before he thought to stop it. He remembered screaming for her in the dream.

  When he looked over, Maggie simply nodded. Her eyes were hooded, as if his dream had pulled her from a deep sleep, and he found himself wanting to reach over and touch her. Not in a sexual way. Just as a connection to another person.

  “I’m sorry,” he muttered. He clenched his fingers into his palms. “I have odd dreams sometimes. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

  “It’s okay.”

  Her spine finally relaxed, and her body curved into the couch. As it did, he let his gaze drift down over her. She was so rounded and full.

  The top she wore was white and stretchy, opening in a V above her chest. She wore no bra. Her bottoms were dark-blue flannel with smiley faces covering them. The waistband had to be tucked somewhere below her belly because her shirt clung in a way that if a band of elastic were positioned underneath, it would be obviously visible.

  “I’m glad we were able to get your clothes,” he told her. After she’d finished her conversation with Erica earlier, he’d cleared the snow from the driveway, then they’d driven into town. They’d retrieved her suitcases from her car, as well as a crammed-full bag she needed for school, and he’d watched her involuntarily cringe as she’d reviewed the estimated bill for the car.

  “Me too,” she murmured. Her eyes blinked closed. “I appreciate you doing that for me.”

  “My pleasure.” He really should let her go back to bed. It was obvious how tired she was.

  Instead of using common sense, though—or being anything less than self-serving—he leaned over and reached down for her feet. Her eyes cracked open, and she watched him as he moved. When he lifted her at the ankles, tugging slightly in his direction, her brows went up in surprise. But then she shifted, helping him to turn her on the couch.

  She slid lower on the cushion, her belly inching closer, and when he tucked her feet securely into his lap, her eyes closed once again. A soft breath escaped from her, and this time when Cord found himself wanting to reach over and touch, it was to put his lips against hers.

  He wouldn’t do that, though. He did have enough control not to be that selfish. But he also didn’t take his eyes off her. Her lips had swelled, along with the rest of her body, and merely looking at them made Cord want to peel her clothes away to see all the other changes. To see if she was as beautiful everywhere as were her lips.

  “It wasn’t a dream about you.” He spoke in an almost whisper, not sure if she remained awake or not, and totally unsure why he’d brought the dream back up.

  When her eyelids drifted open, he couldn’t very well sit there and not say anything else.

  “I dream about my mother sometimes,” he explained. “The day she died. I think the stress of everything”—his eyes lowered to her belly—“of the baby, of . . .” He finished the next thought with a shrug. “I guess it all must have contorted together, putting you into the dream.”

  “Oh.” She watched him through slitted lids.

  Her belly moved, and his gaze shifted back to it again. The baby had kicked.

  Swallowing, he dragged his gaze away from her stomach, and he absolutely did not let himself reach out and touch it.

  “Do you have the dream often?” she asked. One hand went to her stomach.

  “Only recently.”

  He saw the question in the squint of her eyes, and he knew that his answer had been telling, but he offered nothing more. What he found, though, was that just by saying that much . . . that he dreamed of his mother’s death . . . the bands that continually tightened around his chest felt a little looser.

  He didn’t want to talk about the dream anymore. At the same time, he didn’t shy away when Maggie said, “You were the first one to come upon the wreck?”

  “I was.”

  “And you were just a kid.” Her free hand lifted, as if she intended to reach for him, but it drifted back to her side. So, he reached for it. He wrapped his fingers arounds hers, the backs of his knuckles sliding along the side of her swollen belly, and he noted that her hand was chilled. The temperature in the room had dipped too low, but he didn’t want to break the moment by getting up to stoke the fire.

  He leaned over and picked up the blanket he’d likely lost while thrashing during his dream and spread it over her. After tucking the ends around her feet, he rested one hand at her ankles, enjoying the weight of her pressing down on him. Then he reached for her hand again.

  “I was sixteen,” he confirmed. “Not exactly a kid.”

  He’d been old enough he should have known better than to walk away.

  “And the dreams just started again recently?”

  It took him a moment to answer, even with a nod. Because that wasn’t a direction he was willing to let the conversation go. “I don’t want to talk about that anymore,” he said, and in return, she mimicked his nod.

  “Did you want to talk about something else then?” She tilted her head on the armrest as she asked the question, and he found that he did want to talk more. About anything, really. As long as it would keep her there with him.

  “How about that crush that Erica mentioned?”

  Her eyes went wide at his question, and he couldn’t hold back the chuckle. He honestly hadn’t meant to bring it up. They’d been avoiding potentially uncomfortable conversations all afternoon, and he’d told himself that teasing her about a crush would serve no purpose. He’d seen how embarrassed she’d become earlier, knowing he could overhear the conversation. Yet like what so often happened around her, his mouth opened, and words spilled out.

  She did her best to look down her nose at him. “A polite man would have left the room when he realized a woman was having a conversation about him.”

  He really did like her. And he liked the friendship he suspected they could have. “I’m not a polite man, Maggie.”

  As his tone dipped, the soft timbre matching the quiet mood of the room, he took pleasure in watching the way her lashes fluttered. He’d bet her cheeks turned pink, too, but it was too dark to be certain.

  “Surely you knew that from before,” he added. He hadn’t been at all polite the weekend they’d been together. Not in the passionate sense. He’d taken her up against the wall, over the back of the couch, and basically, every way a man could take a woman. And he’d still wanted more.

  “Cord . . .” She let the word trail off, averting her gaze instead of saying anything more.

  “I’m sorry,” he apologized immediately. He hadn’t meant to go there. Flirting was the last thing either of them needed to be doing right now. “Mags.” He squeezed her ankle, where it lay beneath his palm, hoping she’d turn back. And when she did, he repeated his statement. “I’m sorry. Talking like that is inappropriate in this circumstance. It won’t happen again.”

  She studied him as if trying to determine if he could be trusted, and though he expected her to declare that she needed to get back to bed, she didn’t. Instead, she nodded. And stayed where she was.

  The mood went back to quiet, and Cord found it as comforting as before. “We never talked about those expectations you mentioned.”

  He held his breath after making the statement. He wasn’t entirely certain he was ready to hear her expectations. At the same time, the matter had been on his mind since that morning. But since they’d formed some kind of unspoken second truce to get through the day with the least amount of conflict as possible, the topic had never come up.

  “No, we never did.” She started to push to a sitting position, but he held tight to her foot.

  “Stay where you are.” He nodded, hoping she’d comply.

  “Cord.” She swallowed and again looked away. But this time she brought her gaze back on her own. “This feels . . . wrong
.”

  He played dumb. “Your lying down feels wrong?”

  “Me lying down with my feet in your lap. Us together . . . like this.”

  He looked around then, taking in the room. A chill remained, the light from the fire barely aglow, and the snow, though it had finally stopped coming down several hours before, was plastered to every window. The moment felt as if they were cocooned inside an igloo together.

  As if they were the last two people on earth.

  “Still,” he said. He loosened his grip on her foot and released the hand still in his. He let her know without words that if she wanted to get up, he wouldn’t stop her. “I like it,” he finished.

  When she made no additional moves to rise, only eyed him from her end of the couch, he brought both hands back to her ankles and shifted around so that he faced her.

  He nodded. “Now, tell me about these expectations.”

  * * *

  Maggie stared at her feet. Cord’s hands had slipped under the blanket and were now slowly massaging her left foot.

  A freaking moan tried to slip out.

  “Maggie?”

  She lifted her gaze.

  “The expectations?”

  What was going on right now? First of all, she’d awakened from a dead sleep to her name being shouted; Cord had then “somewhat” opened up to her again; he’d flirted, and now he planned to massage her feet while she explained to him how she wanted absolutely nothing from him ever again.

  Was she dreaming?

  She had to be.

  “Ooooh.” She couldn’t hold in the moan as Cord’s thumbs stroked from her heel to the ball of her foot. It had been too long since she’d been able to do anything more than slip her shoes on, and dang it, that felt good. “What are you doing, Cord?”

  She couldn’t just let him do this.

  His hands stilled over her sock-covered feet. “Your feet swell all the time. I thought this might feel good.”

  There was a question in his eyes, as well as his voice. He wasn’t trying to seduce her. He seriously just thought this would be a nice thing to do.