by Laurel Greer
“I did. Your doctor in Vancouver included a record.” Caleb cleared his throat. “It’s something to watch. The family medicine team here is well prepared to provide care and to ensure your pregnancy remains uncomplicated, and I know you want to stay local for your appointments and delivery. But if complications pop up, we may need to refer you to an ob-gyn in Bozeman.”
Both Marisol and Caleb glanced at Lachlan. Crap, he was breathing too fast. Noticeably so. He forced a shrug. “Complications. Not a pleasant word to hear.”
“Perils of being in a medical profession.” Caleb’s nod was sympathetic beyond usual bedside manner. “Being a vet tech, you know too many ways that conditions can go sideways. Even if the chances are low.”
“Don’t get me wrong, I’d lie down in the road for my patients. But there’s a big difference between Mrs. Rafferty’s cat and Marisol.”
“I dunno,” Marisol said lightly. “That cat was pretty cute.”
“You’re more than cute. And our baby...”
Biting the inside of her lip, she studied her hands. A hint of red colored Caleb’s tawny cheeks, and his smile went mushy.
Well, crap. Way to stay objective, Reid.
Was he really being fair to himself, though? He could bury his feelings for Marisol, but not for the baby. And given they were intrinsically tied through gestation... Damn. How was he going to do this?
He fisted his hands. He’d have to. For her to trust him, he had to stick to his word. And he’d promised to respect her limits.
Focus on the science. On finding a way to coax out answers on Marisol’s blood pressure without giving away that he knew nothing about her medical history.
“What’s the probability of her numbers worsening?” he asked.
Caleb shrugged and wrapped a cuff around Marisol’s arm, then studied the display as the electronic device inflated, then deflated. “They’re not in the danger zone right now. And it’s not something we can predict. Home monitoring, regular appointments to check for protein in the urine, exercise, a balanced diet—hopefully we never get to the point of doing more.”
Lachlan’s heart skipped a beat. If something happened to Marisol or the baby... This was too much to process, learning about the baby a day ago and now having to contemplate complications—
“Lach.” Marisol cut off his thoughts. “I’m healthy. So’s the kid. I’m taking care of things.”
“I know.” He screwed his mouth up. How to say the right thing... “I just want to help where I can.”
Clearing his throat, Caleb effectively broke the tension in the room. “Have you heard the heartbeat yet, Lach?”
He shook his head. No pretending on that one.
Caleb brought over a fetal Doppler and applied gel to the wand. Marisol scooched up her T-shirt. One swipe of the device, one faint, rapid lub-dub, and Lachlan was a goner. His jaw went loose, and he stared at Marisol’s bared belly, the rhythmic beat of their child’s heart filling the room. Filling his soul.
“One-forty-two. Nice and strong.” Caleb withdrew the wand and handed Marisol a small towel. He gripped Lachlan’s shoulder for a second. “Take a minute if you need it. And make an appointment for two weeks from now, Marisol.”
“You got it,” she said, cleaning the gel off her belly.
Good thing Caleb had addressed Marisol, because Lachlan couldn’t make his voice work. He’d have to text his friend to have a good camping trip later. Wow. He would not have predicted he’d react this strongly—he listened to heartbeats on an hourly basis at work, would have expected to be at least a little desensitized. Apparently not.
Caleb left the room with a smile and a wave.
Marisol fixed her T-shirt and sat up, legs dangling off the high bed. She patted the table next to her, crinkling the paper. “Come here. Baby’s moving. You should feel it.”
He hitched himself from the chair to the space next to her, and braced a hand on the table so he could reach across and palm her stomach.
A little pop tickled his palm.
His heart skipped again.
“It’s okay to be affected by it. It’s a lot to absorb in twenty-four hours,” she said.
He shifted his hand lower, following the pattern of bumps and nudges as the baby wiggled. “Twenty-seven hours.”
“Right.” Marisol splayed her hand across his.
“The kid’s active.”
“The Doppler always gets her going.”
He did a double take. “Her?”
“Better than ‘it.’”
“Could we find out?” he croaked, vocal cords straining with yearning.
“Let’s ask at my next appointment. If you want to come.”
“Of course,” he said.
The scent of Marisol’s body lotion cut through the odor of sanitizer. Last time he’d caught a whiff of that sugary confection smell, it had been fading on his sheets as he woke up alone after she returned to Vancouver. He swallowed down the urge to nuzzle the crook of her neck. Withdrawing his hand from her stomach, he gripped his knees.
“Hey.” She slid her fingers along his jaw and gently turned his face to her. “Don’t worry. I have this under control.”
“You’ve mentioned.”
Worry muted the green in her eyes. “I need that control, Lach.”
“Okay. I—” He ran his teeth over his lower lip. “I haven’t figured out where I fit into your plan yet.”
“I haven’t, either. Not entirely.”
The truth stung, but he appreciated it nonetheless. Honesty mattered. How many times had he and Maggie borne the brunt of his parents’ lies? Getting pulled between their mother’s guilt trips and their father’s ambivalence and living in the no man’s land of constant parental battles. Their half sister, Stella, had escaped it some by living with her mom in Sutter Creek. But their dad had been a jerk to her just as much as to Maggie and Lachlan. Thankfully, their grandparents had filled the parental gap some before his grandmother passed away. And if he was lucky, he’d find a woman who looked at him the way Grams had smiled at Pops for close to half a century. A woman he’d go to bed wanting to please and wake up next to with a grin on his face because she was snuggled in his embrace.
Love’s a joke, son. Don’t be weak.
Ignoring the echo of his father’s voice, he jammed his hands in his pockets. “Parents need to be a team, Marisol.”
“Sure. And I’ll work with you on that. But there’s not much you can do while the kid’s still uterus-bound. Beyond getting the nursery ready, preparing my prospectus presentation is my biggest priority until I deliver.”
Frustration tingled along his spine and he hopped off the table. “I know you’re used to doing things yourself. But you don’t have to be alone. I’ll come along to appointments, help you get the baby’s room ready. I’ll need one at my place, too.” Though where he’d put a baby in the tiny apartment he rented to maximize how much he could save for his dog training facility, he didn’t know. He’d figure something out, though. “Hell, I can help you with your prospectus if you like. You know my background with avy—avalanche—dogs. And Maggie’s been training assistance dogs since she started college.”
She slid awkwardly to the edge of the table and he caught her elbow, easing her down to the floor. Her gaze shifted to his hand and her lips formed a grim line.
“What? You can’t tell me I didn’t make that easier for you right there.”
“Things haven’t worked well for me in the past when I tried to share my life. And I have too much on the line to screw up again.”
“Then you didn’t have the right partner.”
“No, I did not.”
But clearly, she didn’t believe he deserved that title, either.
Well, for the sake of the feisty little being who’d punched the heck out of his hand, he’d have to show her he did. T
hat even if they weren’t a couple, they could create a kick-ass life for their kid. He’d been the ten-year-old abandoned at boarding school. The fourteen-year-old who’d pieced together a birthday party for Maggie because his parents were somewhere in Europe on business and forgot to call. The fifteen-year-old who’d provided Kleenex and company when his half sister, Stella, had miscarried and her high school boyfriend had been long gone.
No child of his would go through anything similar. He and Marisol had to learn to communicate and work together.
So she didn’t know how to share her life?
Well, he’d share his with her until she believed she could do the same.
“When do you start at the university?” he asked.
“Tomorrow. I have to maximize my time.”
“You’ll be tired. Let me cook dinner for you.”
She bit her lip. “Give me a few days before you act as the welcome committee, okay?”
He frowned. “Okay, but I don’t like the idea of you sitting alone all week.”
“I’ll be fine. Tell you what. If you’re meeting the SAR crew after work on Friday, I’ll come join.”
That was usually the routine. Won’t be for long. I’ll be dealing with diapers and feeding routines on the weekends.
Jarred by the thought, he shook his head. That was going to take some getting used to. Maybe a few days to adjust wouldn’t be a bad idea. He’d wait until the weekend, and then make sure he helped her get acclimated to Sutter Creek.
And to having him in her life.
Chapter Four
By the end of the workweek, Lachlan was climbing the walls to make contact with Marisol. But he forced himself to be patient, waited until he was about to dig into his lunch before he called.
“Hey there,” he greeted, stomach warming as he absorbed her “hello” for the first time since he last saw her. Tuesday felt like a lifetime ago. Every second pet owner that walked into the clinic had reminded him of his impending parenthood. But the flood of congratulations and curiosity only made him want to be around Marisol more.
“What’s up?” she asked.
“It’s Friday,” he pointed out.
“I noticed.” A hint of humor tinged the word. Tiredness, too.
He’d know better why—adjusting to a new university? Or just the pregnancy?—were it not for her insistence on space. This whole “you can be connected to the baby, but not to me” thing she had going on was, in his mind, impossible.
And in his heart, undesirable.
As promised, he’d tolerate her drawing that line. But he didn’t like it. And he’d jump on any opportunity he had to develop their own relationship, hence dialing her number instead of mowing down his burrito the minute his lunch break started.
“You’d mentioned coming out with me and the SAR crew after work this evening.”
“I did.”
Yep, definitely tired. But also mildly amused, so maybe she would still be up for getting together. Provided she didn’t mind a change of plans. “So, it seems it’s the one week where everyone’s off doing their own thing. We had a call last night. Got sick of each other’s company after being up until the wee hours together.”
“Oh—you sure you shouldn’t be catching up on sleep, then?”
“I’m used to it,” he assured her, keeping the phone pressed to his ear as he leaned back in one of the mismatched rolling chairs that surrounded the table in the clinic’s staff room. “Can I convince you to do something else? When will you be back from Bozeman? We could grab a bite. Pie, maybe. You can’t call yourself a real Sutter Creek resident until you’ve had a hand pie from the Aussie place. It’s only a few blocks from your apartment.”
“Uh...” Lead-heavy doubt weighed down her pause. “Sure. I’ve been sitting a lot this week. I could use a walk.”
“Perfect. Text me when you’re home and I’ll pick you up.”
He worked the rest of his shift and then split for home to shower off the dog slobber and cat hair. Fudge, still tired after their late night spent tromping through the bushes searching for—and successfully finding, thank God—a man with Alzheimer’s who got away from his nursing home, sacked out on her dog bed. He almost envied her nap, but going for a walk with Marisol beat out sleep any day. After his shower, he didn’t shave—she’d mentioned liking his stubble one night when she’d been kissing her way up his throat. He took an embarrassingly long time settling on the right shirt to pair with his shorts. His choice needed to give her enough to look at, to enjoy, without coming across as trying too hard. He picked his nicest golf shirt, counting on the thin material catching her eye.
Much like her curves and long limbs were his favorite flavor, she’d once made it clear she appreciated his body. And if reminding her of that helped to weaken some of her defenses? He wasn’t above making sure his shirt showed off his pecs a little. Not going-to-the-club tight—that wasn’t close to his style, either the tightness, or clubbing. But thin, technical material didn’t hide anything.
And he was okay with that.
He threw on a pair of shorts and his stainless steel watch, decided on his canvas slip-on shoes—he had a feeling Marisol wasn’t walking anywhere quickly these days, not with that cute pregnant sway she had going on—and sat down at his kitchen counter. Was she going to make him wait long? He was liable to sweat through the shirt it just took him twenty damned minutes to pick out.
Christ, if Maggie heard that, she’d never let him hear the end of it. Evan, too. The two of them never passed up a chance to harass Lachlan. Though the receptionist had been unusually demure this week, hadn’t even corrected Lachlan’s technique when they ran into each other at the bouldering gym yesterday. Evan probably still felt guilty for not helping Marisol out more when she’d called in the winter.
That made two of them.
If he never missed another call from her again in his life, it would still be too many.
Tonight, however, it seemed she was going to make him wait for it. The minutes ticked by on the microwave display, and he did the circuit of his small-as-anything apartment. Flipped through a magazine sitting at the Formica kitchen bar, moved to the bed and made it through a comedy special he’d been meaning to watch on Netflix, and spent a good ten minutes giving Fudge a belly rub while scrolling through his Facebook and Twitter feeds.
Damn, had she stood him up? It was almost seven; surely she was home by now. Maybe he should call her—
His text notification went off, saving him the decision.
Sorry. Got held up. Give me ten, and I’ll be ready.
Suppressing the concern that she’d worked late on a Friday when her yawns made it sound like she should have cut out early, he replied that he’d be there ASAP. He confirmed his dog was snoring and out for the night, then hoofed it over the elementary school field and down one of the trails that followed the creek that gave the town its name. The trip between their apartments took nine minutes at a quick pace. Good to know. No matter what, he’d always be close by whenever she needed him.
Though where he was going to put a baby in his tiny home, he had no idea...
He didn’t need to buzz up; she was waiting for him outside the front door to her building.
Her back was to him. Couldn’t tell she was pregnant from that angle. But when she turned... What had Mrs. Rafferty said the other day? Marisol was all out front?
Whatever the term, she was adorable. She wore a summery, dark-blue dress and flat, leather walking sandals. Simple, but hinted that she’d put some effort in, too. His chest warmed a little.
“Hungry?” he called, jogging the rest of the way up the sidewalk.
She smiled, twisting her hands in front of her.
“Relax, Marisol,” he said, slowing as he got within a few yards. He held out his arms for a hug.
She didn’t reach back.
Discomfort ran through him, and instead of forcing the embrace, he squeezed her shoulder.
Not awkward at all, champ. Nice going.
She bit her lip, which was painted a bright pink. Familiar, that color. He’d washed it off his abs the morning after the first time she slept over.
“So...pie?” he said, mouth dry from the memory.
“You’re not the first person to tell me it’s required eating.”
He jerked his head in the direction of the town center, back along the path in the opposite direction from where he’d come. “Follow me.”
She did, bracing her hands against her back and kneading her thumbs into her lower spine as she walked. “I’ll be honest, I was really tempted to go straight to bed. It’s been quite a week. But I need to move. I’ll seize up if I don’t.”
“I could—” Put a pause on that. No way would she take him up on a massage offer. Not even a therapeutic one. “I mean, I could put you in touch with someone at the holistic health center. Caleb’s girlfriend—you remember Garnet, right? You met last time you were here—anyway, she’s an acupressure practitioner. Cadie’s sister swore by the treatments when she was pregnant.”
She looked a little dazed, stared at the asphalt-paved trail. “Uh, okay...”
“I know. Sutter Creek is a lot to take in. I can help with that. I didn’t grow up here, but I lived with my grandparents every summer after I turned ten, so it was close enough.” He’d literally crossed off the days on a calendar during the school year, waiting to return to Montana.
“Where were you during the rest of the year?”
“Boarding school.”
She shot him a sympathetic look.
“Enh, it wasn’t awful—better than being in Chicago with my parents. But it wasn’t as good as being here. Eating care packages of my grandma’s brownies was a world away from digging into a tray fresh out of the oven. And the boys’ dorm was all the way across campus from Maggie, too far for my liking. She and I shared bunk beds during the summers at my grandparents—I loved that.”
