by Laurel Greer
“Really? I’d have killed my sisters—or Zach—if I’d had to share with them.”
He shrugged. “Maggie and I have always been close. We’re only eighteen months apart, and we share an outdoor gene. We have an older half sister, Stella. Spent summers with her here. She moved to New York after she graduated, rarely comes back. She’s...ultradriven. Citified.”
Marisol put a hand to her chest and gasped in mock horror. “God forbid.”
With a sheepish grin, he laid a hand between her shoulder blades. “I forget you’re a city girl.”
“I wasn’t until I went to university. Whistler’s small. But I found living in the mountains suffocating. Wanted nothing but to get away and bury myself in books.”
Concern rang in his chest. That reminded him of Stella, too, though his sister was more about making money at her hedge fund firm than succeeding in academia. “You’re sure you’re okay moving here?”
She bit her lip. He steered her toward the staircase that led from the path up to the pedestrian-only Main Street. Their footfalls echoed on the wooden treads, driving home her silence.
“Priorities change,” she answered finally.
“That they do.”
“Why didn’t you live with your parents?”
Startled by the question, he cleared his throat. “Bit out of left field.”
“You brought it up.”
“Guess I did.” They exited the staircase through a short lane that led to the street. He pointed down the block, to one of the clapboard, two-story buildings that couldn’t decide whether it belonged in a Bavarian village or on an Old West film set. “Pie’s there.”
She shied away from his hand and picked up her pace along the wooden sidewalk. Her wary gaze locked on him.
Damn. He needed her to trust him, and if she heard about the abysmal parenting he’d been treated to, she was bound to get the wrong idea about the kind of father he’d be.
“My mom and dad—”
“Lach!” An open-armed blur of auburn curls and freckles flew out of the outdoor goods store.
“Garnet.” He caught his SAR colleague’s offered hug. “Your ears must have been burning. I was just recommending to Marisol that she come see you.”
“Oh, you should.” Garnet smiled, wide and guileless, at Marisol. “First session’s on me. Welcome to town—Caleb tells me it’s for good. Zach must be over the moon.”
Marisol tugged at her thin cardigan, tucking it over the straps of her sundress. “He’s happy, yeah. And thanks for the offer. I’ll call your clinic.”
Garnet smacked Caleb in the abs with the back of her hand. “Look at you, Daddy. That, and getting your doggos up and running—quite the year for you.”
“It is.”
“You still going to have time for SAR?”
“Of course.”
She tilted her head toward the store she’d just exited. “Just spoke to Jack. He’s still going to give us all our personal equipment at cost. Winter stock’ll be arriving within the next month or so.”
“Mine’ll do me for another year.” His bank account balance, tenuously hovering between black and red with all he was squirreling away for upcoming operating costs, blinked like a strobe light in his mind. And now he’d have to factor in support for Marisol and the baby, especially while she was off work.
His shirt felt a little tight around his neck, and he flicked open a second button. “We’d better get going, Gee. I’m starving, and I’m betting Marisol is, too. She was in Bozeman all day.”
They said their goodbyes, Marisol promising again to call for an appointment, then resumed their stroll down the sidewalk.
“You’ve got a lot on your plate,” she murmured.
He lifted a shoulder. “We should figure out expenses, how much you’re going to need from me.”
“Now there’s a fun conversation,” she said, gaze on her pink-painted toenails as she walked. A muscle ticked in her jaw.
“I want to make sure you have a cushion.”
Taking away his own, but providing for his child mattered the most.
She grabbed his elbow, halting him in his tracks. “What’s entailed in your business expansion?”
“We’re renovating the barn out back of the clinic. I’ll be transitioning to training search and rescue animals—I get funding from outside agencies, who then donate the dogs to various SAR organizations. Area-search, cadaver, trailing, avy... Of course, then the dogs have to train and cert with their handlers, but it speeds up the process. And I’ll teach courses for established teams, too.” Adding a baby to that mix—well, there wasn’t anything to do about it. He’d have to manage all of it. He wasn’t giving up on the dream he’d been working toward for a decade. Nor would he be anything less than a fully involved father.
“Sounds pricey,” she commented.
“Any new business is. That’s why I was away this spring—saving up money, and also putting myself in an organization’s good books in hopes of being a shoo-in for a grant I’ll be relying on.”
“Ugh, that, I know. Grants, that is. Not saving up money. Being a student—I’m on a bit of a shoestring.” Her eyes widened. “Not that I won’t be able to support the baby. I can. I’m not expecting a check from you.”
“You should.”
“That’s not why I’m here. I don’t want to be a burden.”
“You’re not.” Her coming to town, having her job lined up and plans for a nanny and an apartment—he was more worried that she wasn’t going to involve him at all rather than relying on him more than he could handle.
“And you’ll still be working at the clinic?” Worry rode her tone.
“Some, yeah,” he said. “It’ll be a balance.”
“Start small, okay?”
“With the expansion?” As if a person could do anything other than dive headlong into a new business endeavor.
“No, with the baby. I’d rather have you commit to help out a little and stick to that rather than taking on too much and backing out.”
The words whipped at him, stinging, leaving welts. “I’d never...”
She started to walk again.
“Marisol.”
The wounded expression she laid on him when she stopped and turned flayed him open. “I can survive being let down, Lachlan. Have survived. But I won’t let it happen to my child.”
His mouth gaped and he scrambled for a reply. Christ, her ex must have done a number on her.
“Whatever happened in your marriage? I won’t repeat that pattern.”
* * *
“I never thought this was possible, but I am too full of pie. I miss eating normal-sized meals,” Marisol complained.
Lachlan was showing her around the town square, and between dinner and the baby, she was full-on waddling.
He sent her a half smirk and tucked her bangs behind her ear. She tilted her cheek toward his palm, then caught herself.
Gah! Instinct was a pain in the ass.
“Can’t say I thought I’d get the chance to stroll around the gazebo with you again,” he said.
“Gotta agree with you there.” Her hand brushed his. Okay, how had she ended up walking so close to him? Was he magnetized or something? Crossing her arms above her stomach, she scrambled for a neutral topic. “Summer looks good on the town.”
Eventually she’d get used to Sutter Creek in greens and browns instead of white and holiday decor, but today, it seemed incongruous. Back in December, she’d soaked in the few romantic, Christmas-themed dates they’d gone on, assuming she’d never see him again.
Arching a brow as if to challenge the inanity of discussing the seasons, he checked his phone quickly, then the cloud-streaked sky. “How tired are you?”
“Somewhere between ready to fall asleep and needing to prove I’m not boring. Why?”
“This isn’t a date, right?” she blurted.
“Of course not. I just want to show you the best the area has to offer.”
“Can’t say no to that,” she said. Sadness tinged his smile, and her heart panged. Don’t let those puppy dog eyes get to you. He works with them. He can’t help the similarity.
Puppies. Focus on puppies. “Tell me more about your business plan.”
Discussing floor plans and training techniques worked as an excellent diversion on the walk to his apartment. But the second he helped her into the car, and the strength of his hand against her forearm zinged straight to her core, reality rushed in. She’d agreed to be stuck in a close-quarters cab with his shirt tugged tight across his hella-hot pecs. Making her mouth water. And even if he kept his hands firmly on the wheel, she didn’t want him to. She wanted him to reach over and link fingers with her.
He’d developed a habit before, drawing little circles with his thumb on her wrist and the back of her hand.
She missed it.
I can’t miss it.
He’d confided his goals about the training center. She’d no more stand in the way of those than she would her own. She had to focus on her degree, her dissertation, and he needed to focus on his plan. Not push it aside. But starting a small business—the financial risk in that made her stomach turn. She was glad she wasn’t depending on him for money, because if he was already relying on grants and loans, anything he gave to her would have to come from somewhere less reliable.
“I don’t remember you being this quiet, Marisol.” He pulled up to an old-fashioned diner and cut the engine.
“I didn’t have as much on my mind when I was on holiday.” Lies. She’d totally been consumed by the way he filled out his shirts. Then it had been the undershirts he wore to go skiing, but still.
“I’m going to get us a treat. To go, though.”
“I’ll stay in the truck,” she said. “Too much effort to get in and out.”
Too much chance you’ll touch me again.
He jerked his head in confirmation and headed for the glass front door. With the diner’s wide windows and fluorescent lighting, watching him was easy. He sidled up to the front counter and leaned to whisper something to the middle-aged waitress pouring coffee for a pair of senior gentlemen wearing cowboy hats.
The waitress tossed her head back in a laugh, and disappeared through a set of swinging doors.
Lachlan turned his head, grinned when he caught Marisol staring.
Crap. She dropped her gaze, stared at her phone and skimmed through her Instagram without really seeing any of the posts.
A couple of minutes later, movement flashed in the corner of her eye, and the driver’s door opened. Lachlan leaned in and set two lidded soda cups in the console between the front seats.
“Hello, dear.” A slate-gray head poked around from behind him.
“Oh, hello, Mrs. Rafferty,” Marisol said.
With a beleaguered look just for Marisol, Lachlan climbed in. “Gertie was just telling me she’s moving in a few weeks.”
“My grandson finally convinced me it’s time to downsize. A place came up in the independent-living building, and I’m making him a trade.”
“What’s that?” Marisol asked.
“He’ll work on getting me grandchildren, and I’ll work on worrying him less.”
Pain flashed across Lachlan’s face, which seemed out of place for what Mrs. Rafferty had just said. Marisol raised a brow at him. He shook his head quickly and forced a smile. “I’m sure you’ll get into more trouble—er, I mean, be busier—if you’re at Sutter Gardens, Gertie.”
She grinned and put a hand on the edge of the truck door, preventing Lachlan from closing it. “If you’re needing more space than that shoebox you’re living in, my house would be perfect for you.”
“I’m not looking to upsize,” Lachlan mumbled, taking a sip of whatever was in his condensation-frosted cup.
“Oh, but you’ll have to. I know the apartments in your building. They’re made for chairlift operators and seasonal staff, not people about to welcome a baby.”
An audible grind filled the car as Lachlan clenched his teeth, and Marisol couldn’t decide whether to laugh or groan.
“Vet techs don’t make much more than lifties,” he said.
The older woman pressed her lips together. “I’d charge you excellent rent.”
“Thanks, Mrs. Rafferty, but I don’t think I’m in the market. Marisol has her own place, so it’ll just be me and the baby on the days I have him or her.”
“Hmph. You young people...” She narrowed her eyes at them. “I’ve half a mind to call up your grandfather and Carol, tell them to knock some sense into you.”
“Please don’t,” he said, voice low.
“Half a mind.” She harrumphed again. “Well, you two go on your date—”
“It’s not—”
“—and think about the house. There’s plenty of space for a couple and a child. More than one, in fact.”
Before either Marisol or Lachlan could protest the audacity of that statement, Mrs. Rafferty slammed the door.
“Wow,” Marisol croaked. “The woman has force.”
“Oh, she’s something, all right. Sorry about that. She was just finishing up with her bridge club as I was putting in my order. Followed me out of the restaurant.”
“No worries.” Except now she was extra worried he’d overextend himself. She wasn’t going to judge him for not having a substantial salary—she was glad he did what he loved—but was he promising financial support he didn’t have? She had just enough to make ends meet.
Having this baby was her choice. But that didn’t remove his responsibility... Would this put him in debt, though? Being beholden to monthly payments beyond one’s means was something she’d experienced for too many years.
But didn’t you come here in part so he could step up and be a father?
Argh.
He passed her the second soda cup. “Sutter Creek’s finest.”
Popping off the top, she peeked in. A scoop of vanilla ice cream bobbed in brown soda.
“I made sure the root beer didn’t have caffeine.”
She took a sip of the sweet, creamy drink. “Caleb would chastise me for drinking this because of the sugar, and I don’t know where I’m going to put it—I’m still stuffed—but holy crap, it’s delicious.”
“It’s the perfect accompaniment to the show I’m going to take you to.”
“A show?” She didn’t know if she had it in her to go see a movie. Sitting in a darkened theater, brushing against Lachlan’s built biceps in that mouthwatering shirt... She kept from groaning, but barely. “Not sure how much longer I’ll be able to stay awake.”
“I’ll have you home by dark.”
“Deal.” She poked at the foamy layer on top of her float. “You’re really patient with Mrs. Rafferty. Even if she seems to say stuff that doesn’t sit right with you.”
“Yeah.” He turned the key and the truck roared to life. The tires crunched as they turned out of the parking lot onto the road. “Lot of history between my family and the Raffertys. Not mine, Stella’s. And being the only veterinary practice in town, we have to interact with them. Maggie and I work with the sheriff—Mrs. Rafferty’s grandson—a lot with SAR, too. I’ve made my peace with him.”
“So mysterious.”
“Nothing that needs to be dredged up.”
There were those sad eyes again. More unresolved-past-hurts than puppy-dog, though.
She plunked her drink in the cup holder and laid a palm on his shoulder. “Not your story to tell?”
“Nope.”
She rubbed a slow circle, trying to release some of the
tension from his posture. A soft smile crossed his face, and he kept his right hand on the wheel, reaching across his chest with his left to cover her fingers. “You have a magic touch, Marisol.”
You make me want the magic back.
The tires hit gravel again as he turned onto a dirt road that bisected wide swaths of grassy ranch land.
“Uh, where are we going?” she asked.
“You’ll see.”
They drove for another twenty minutes. He plied her with questions about her prospectus and the intensive summer courses that would start in a few weeks. And she kept her palm on his shoulder, his big hand blanketing the back of hers, unable to bring herself to pull away.
The soft stroking of his thumb along the tendons of her hand soothed, mesmerized.
He only let go when he stopped the truck at a gate, hopped out, opened it, pulled the truck forward onto an even narrower dirt road and exited one more time to close the gate behind them.
Driving slowly, he grinned. “Hopefully we don’t bounce the baby out early.”
“If I end up going overdue, I’ll ask you to bring me out here and play NASCAR driver.” They hit a pothole, and she grabbed the holy-crap handle on the truck ceiling. “Where is it we’re going?”
“Best view in town.”
“View of what?” The road veered west, putting them in the glare of the sun, which was almost kissing the horizon.
“The sunset.”
She held up her hand to shade her eyes, and he flipped up the console and rummaged, then handed her a pair of aviators. “Thanks. When you said show I thought you meant a movie.”
A corner of his mouth crept up. “Nah, we did that already. That’s a cold-weather activity. I want to show you all the glory of a Montana summer.”
Yeah, long days and short nights could lead to a whole lot... Anticipation fluttered behind her breastbone. Easy, killer. Not that kind of glory.
Though the man had a way with his mouth...
And the only thing I’m going to enjoy about his mouth is the conversation that comes out of it.
He pulled the truck into a makeshift parking lot of sorts, a round patch of dirt big enough for a few cars to park.
