by Anna Lowe
Yes, she was kidding herself again. Yes, she knew the feeling wouldn’t last. But damn it, she’d take the little bits of goodness as they came and try to forget about the rest.
“Thanks, honey,” a man said, signing his bill.
Soren glared — Honey? — and all but showed his teeth.
That was just like the good old days, too, when he couldn’t stand seeing any other man come too close to her. So why, oh why, did he ever let her go? Why had he insisted on breaking up when he’d left Montana? Why did he tell her to find someone else? It didn’t add up.
She glanced over at Soren exactly as he turned away. When he turned back, he was inscrutable as ever. Maybe even more than ever. The man wore emotional armor thicker than buffalo hide. There’d been a time when he let her in, but now…
She closed her eyes, feeling all the regrets well up.
“Tip is for you, sweetheart,” a man at the bar said, and she snapped herself back to attention.
“Thanks.”
Janna winked from behind the man’s back. She’d brought the tip jar over from the café, and it was working its magic again. A born hustler, that Janna.
Sarah could sense Soren bristle every time a customer called her honey or sweetie or even peaches — which just about made her gag — but she put up with it because it was part of the job.
“Thank God we’re in the fourth quarter,” Jessica said, eyeing the TV screen.
They’d long since run out of spare ribs and desserts, but the crowd stayed on, drinking and cheering at the football game.
“Tip for the pretty lady,” the next customer said as he staggered up to the bar.
“Thanks,” she said in a flat voice while she made change.
“And for the baby,” the guy added, waggling his eyebrows.
She counted to five slowly. God, she hated the gleam in people’s eyes when they so obviously speculated about the act that created the baby rather than the child itself. As in, when and how and with whom.
Soren stood looming behind her — she could feel him there, with more than just body heat radiating off him — but the customer was too drunk to let up.
“That the lucky guy?” the man asked.
If Sarah could have wished herself to another part of the continent — or to a tiny cave where she could curl up and die, she would have.
Soren growled so deeply, she could feel it in her bones. She could picture the scene that was sure to unfold if she didn’t do anything. The customer would make another stupid remark, and Soren would lose it. He’d grab the guy by the collar and jeans and pick him up straight off the ground. Chairs would scrape as people hurried out of Soren’s way, and with a mighty heave, he’d launch the guy right out the door. Or worse, right through the window of the saloon.
Oh, God. He wouldn’t. Would he?
A glance to her right showed her Soren’s face, the scariest shade of red she’d ever seen.
Jesus, she could see it all now, right down to the hush that would fall over the bar as the glass shattered. The crowd in the saloon would gasp. The pianist would break off midnote, and the referee on the television screen would raise both arms in a mute call.
Touchdown!
She pictured Soren dusting his hands off and everyone backing up a step or two. Then Jessica — good old Jessica — would hurry the pianist into another tune and invite everyone to drink a discount round. It wouldn’t take long for everyone to focus back on their drinks, but it wouldn’t take long for the police to show up, either. Probably just as they were all kicking back and counting up the profits from the night.
“Well, that might have gotten us our new bathroom,” Janna, ever the optimist, would say.
A cool breeze would whisper in around the jagged edges of glass hanging in the front windowpane.
“Minus the shower, maybe,” Simon would add.
Then the toothy fragments of glass would flash red and blue as a police car pulled up outside, and when the cops asked Soren what he’d thrown out the window, he’d answer in a flat voice.
“Trash,” she could imagine him grunting. “Trash.”
A scenario she really didn’t want to see unfold, so she pointed the customer to the exit. “Have a nice night.”
“Bye, sweetheart.”
She put a hand on Soren’s arm and felt the tension coursing through him. Closing her eyes, she sent him calming thoughts, because Soren was Soren, and though he had a long fuse, she sure didn’t want to see him get anywhere close to the limit.
She thought of the golden grove of aspens on the way up Cooper’s Hill. The whispery sound of snow tumbling off pine boughs. The taste of honey, nibbled right off a chunk of honeycomb in summer. The soul-nourishing energy of sunlight pulsing over a south-facing meadow swaying with wildflowers. And slowly, surely, she felt the pent-up frustration bottled under Soren’s skin ease.
The bar faded away — the crowd, the din, the malty smells — until it was only her touching him. Soren turned his forearm and slid it back until his fingers tangled with hers and played across her palm. For an instant — the briefest of instants — they were like one. The way she sometimes imagined it, when the boundaries between her and him melted until there was only them. A perfect, limitless unit of two.
“Uh, Sarah, you ready to ring up this bill?” Janna asked, cutting into her reverie.
As Sarah jerked back to reality, her hand slipped out of Soren’s and went to her belly instead.
Soren’s gaze followed, and for a moment, his armor slipped. His eyes locked on hers, so wistful yet so full of pain and longing that she could have cried.
I never cheated on you, she wanted to protest.
Except, of course, she had, in a roundabout way.
I never wanted anyone but you, she nearly cried out. But if she had, he could easily retort with something like, Then why the hell are you pregnant? And then what would she say?
His eyes asked her exactly that question as he took her in. Begged her, almost.
Did he really want to hear? Did he really want to know?
She wanted to take his hand — to stop everything, there and then — and hold it close. Please, she’d beg him. Please let me explain.
She’d wanted to do so ever since her first day but never quite got the words past her lips. Even now, she couldn’t quite push them out. So she thought it, as hard as she could.
Please. Please let me explain.
Soren’s eyes swirled at her, and for a moment, she thought he’d say, Yes. Yes, please explain.
But then a customer called for another drink, and Soren shook his head at her.
Not here. Not now.
And just like that, her chance was gone, if it ever existed at all.
“Um, Sarah. The bill?” Janna asked.
By the time she rang up the bill and turned back to Soren, his face was just as stony as it had been before, and another little fissure spread through her heart. She loved him so much, it hurt. Missed him so much, she could burst.
Drawing a weary hand over her eyes, she told herself to give him up and concentrate on the baby. That was her future. Her and the baby.
And emptiness, too? the little voice inside her cried.
An eternity later, the football game ended, and the crowd finally started to clear out. There was a rush of bills to ring up, but then a lull, and everyone who had been working the saloon stared blankly into space, catching their breath.
“Wow,” Janna murmured. “What a crazy couple of hours.”
Sarah stared through the warped pattern thrown by the water glass Soren had silently placed in her hand and nodded to herself.
No kidding. What a crazy couple of hours.
Chapter Ten
Soren wiped the last glass and put it in its place while Janna rinsed the sink.
“Holy crap,” Simon sighed, flipping the last chair onto the last table that Jessica had just wiped down. “What a night.”
What a night could apply to a dozen different thing
s, but whichever Simon meant, Soren heartily agreed.
For him, that list of a dozen things could have started with Sarah, Sarah, and Sarah. Having her so close to him. Sensing her honeysuckle scent waft pure and clean above all the other smells in the bar. Hearing her voice and catching glimpses of her smile. Seeing the light shine off her hair. The natural red hue was peeking through the auburn dye, and seeing that made it seem even more like old times. They’d both been too busy working to feel the awkwardness that stood between them these days, and that felt good. Really good.
“Can I just say, we totally rocked?” Janna added. She gave Emma a high five and grinned at Cole, who was wringing out a mop.
“We make a good team,” Cole agreed.
Soren nodded. They had been a good team. A great team, in fact. Their ragtag little troop of wolves and bears was carving a future out for itself in this unlikely corner of the world. Him, his brother, his clan mates, and Sarah.
God, she fit right in.
Her and the baby, his bear said.
He looked up, wondering if she was already asleep. Jessica hadn’t allowed Sarah to help with cleanup, no matter how hard Sarah insisted, which was a good thing. Sarah was tough — supertough — but a seven-or-eight-months pregnant woman shouldn’t pull as many hours as she had that day. There was no way in hell he’d let her help with clean up. It was a damn good thing Jessica had done the talking, because if he’d had to, he would have ruined everything.
He was no good at talking. No good at explaining. No good at saying all the things his bear had been trying to get him to say over the past couple of weeks.
Like, Sarah, we need to talk.
Or, Sarah, I wish I’d done a hundred things differently.
Or, Sarah, I love you. Do you love me?
His bear was so sure she loved him, and he was starting to wonder himself. She hadn’t said a word about the father of the baby. Maybe the bastard had taken off? The way Sarah looked at him sometimes gutted his heart. Her eyes would fill with hope and wonder and regret — exactly the things that bottled up his throat every time he looked at her and tried to produce anything more than a choked sound.
But tonight had been a little more relaxed — if he could use relaxed to describe the hubbub in the saloon that night. A little more normal, almost. Well, normal was still nowhere near right, but better than before, anyway.
“I’m not sure if I ever want the sports bar’s business again,” Jessica said as she slumped against the wall.
Soren cleared his throat gruffly. He was alpha here; time to pep up his clan. “Good job, everyone. Thanks.”
He locked the front door behind Cole and Jenna, who were driving Emma home. Then he waved a silent good-bye to old Harry, the cook, who left through the back door. Jessica’s and Simon’s footsteps dragged wearily up the stairs, and the saloon went silent for a while.
Soren took a last look around, turned off the lights, and headed to the office in the back, dreading the numbers he’d have to crunch at some point. He had money to put in the safe, tonight’s receipts to drop off, and—
When he opened the door to the office, his thoughts broke off, and he growled. Not a growl of warning or anger, but a throatier, possessive sound. Sarah was there, sitting in his chair. She’d folded her arms, laid her head down in the nest of paperwork on his desk, and fallen asleep.
My office. My desk. My mate, his bear hummed.
He rubbed a shoulder against the doorframe, marking his turf the way he wished he could mark Sarah. He used to spend hours scrubbing his chin along her neck and cheeks until she went pink all over. Until she’d finally trap his head and guide his mouth to hers, and they’d get started all over again with deep kisses that were much more than just the prelude to another round of sex.
He watched her for a good minute, breathing the peaceful feeling deep into his soul. Not that he liked the fact that she’d gone right on working instead of going to bed — she’d started on the saloon accounts, from the look of it — or the fact that it couldn’t be comfortable, sleeping like that. But still, something about the scene warmed his soul.
Sarah, in his place. Sarah, as part of his clan.
A dream come true, if only in a convoluted way. Still, he’d take what he could get these days.
The envelopes and papers spread around her were covered with sticky notes and pencil marks. Jesus, she’d already started color-coding stuff. He could just see the office a week down the line if he didn’t stop her. There’d be stacking trays, calendars, and folders. Lots and lots of folders, all arranged in neat rows. Or worse, hanging files. Alphabetized. All that, and a chart printed in big, clear letters so his dyslexic brain could figure out what went where and why.
He smiled in spite of himself.
“Sarah.” He tapped her on the arm.
Her shoulders rose and fell with every peaceful breath, and his heart raced from the warmth shooting through his hand where he made contact with her.
Mine! his bear sang. My mate!
“Sarah,” he whispered, touching her hands. He rubbed the burn scars gently, aching inside. If only he’d been there that night. If only he’d never left Montana. If only…
He clenched his jaw and shoved the thoughts away. He’d beat himself up about that later, not ruin this precious moment with it.
“Sarah,” he whispered.
Her fingers twitched, but she didn’t wake up. So he slowly, gently rolled the desk chair back and lifted her gingerly in his arms. He cradled her good and close and spent a minute relishing the sensation of so much of her pressed against so much of him. She was too thin, but it was her. Still Sarah and still his, at least in his heart.
He sniffed her scent deeply, savoring it. Yes, it was a little different than he remembered, though he’d finally figured out why. She was pregnant, and that changed her scent. It changed everything.
Not everything, his bear murmured.
He held her a little closer and found himself nuzzling her gently. Almost humming with pleasure at being able to do that again. Maybe the bear was right.
Of course, I am.
Weary as he was, he wished the staircase was longer or that Sarah’s room was farther down the hall so he could hold her for a little longer. But her room was right there, so he pushed the door open with one shoulder and knelt slowly by the mattress. The sheets were pushed back, so easing her into bed was easy. Letting go of her, though, was hard. Damn near impossible.
Just another second, his bear begged.
God, another second would be nice.
He finger-combed her hair behind her ear and settled down behind her, closing his eyes.
Just for a second, his bear promised. Not long at all.
God, what he would give to hold her longer. A night. A whole night. He wished he could hold her for the rest of his life, but even a second would do.
A second ticked by, then another, and he made excuses to linger every time.
Just making sure she’s okay.
That was all he was doing. Checking that she was okay. And hell, it was nice and cozy there, and he was so tired. So, so tired.
So they lay there, spooned together, just like old times, and he had almost drifted off to sleep when something bumped him.
His eyes snapped open. The room was dark, but the streetlamps outside cast enough light to make out the contours of her back. The room was sparsely furnished, just like his, and nothing moved. Nothing but that funny little pulse under his hand. His hand was curled over her waist, his fingers wrapped around hers just north of her big belly and just south of her breasts. Neutral territory, so to speak
And there it was again, that bump. Not her heartbeat. More like a kick.
His eyes went wide as he realized what it was. The baby was moving inside Sarah. Kicking.
He froze, making sure his hand didn’t sneak any closer. It wasn’t his baby. He shouldn’t touch or marvel or wonder. He really, really shouldn’t.
But dang, the little guy kicke
d again, more insistently this time. Like it wanted to be touched. Maybe even needed to be comforted in some way. So Soren opened his hand and rested it on the curve of Sarah’s belly. Resting it on the baby, in other words, and—
Holy crap.
The baby kicked, and he felt something between nausea and amazement.
He held his breath, wondering if the baby might do it again. Wondering why the baby kicked. Wondering if the baby felt his hand.
And bump! — another kick.
Strong little guy, his bear chuckled inside.
Alarm bells should have gone off all over, but all he felt was a warm and fuzzy haze.
Do it again, he wanted to tell the baby. Do it again.
Bump! went the baby in response.
It was ridiculous to think the baby sensed him, of course, but it still gave him a crazy shot of pride.
He’s listening! His inner bear all but clapped his paws together in joy. He likes me!
Yeah, totally ridiculous, but it was past midnight and he was tired as hell. So if he was hallucinating a little, well, so what?
Bumpity-bump-bump, went the baby, drumming in two different places now. Was that an arm over there? A leg on this side?
Bump! Bump! The baby seemed to be warming up for a whole session of gymnastics. How did Sarah get any sleep?
He stroked her skin gently, trying to calm the baby down. Clearly, the kid was getting excited by something.
Mommy has to sleep. Soren sent the thought out as if it were his brother across the room and not a baby under his hand. Shifters could shoot their thoughts right into the minds of their clan mates, but most humans were deaf to that form of communication. Still, he did it anyway. Why not?
Mommy’s been working really, really hard, and she needs you to be a good boy.
Why he’d figured the kid was a boy, he had no clue. But somehow, it just felt right. The way calling Sarah Mommy felt right. The way holding her felt right.
