Their Nine-Month Surprise

A thousand responses bounced around his head, but all he managed to get out was one crude word.

Burying his fingers in his hair, and unable to control his gaping mouth, he stared at her stomach. He was versed in domestic animal gestation, not human, but that bump had to be around the six-month mark. He didn’t need to count backward to know what that meant.

Her lip started to wobble and indecision swam in her green eyes. “Say something.”

Get it together. He coughed, then croaked, “Is it—I mean, did we—But we used—” He ended the nonsensical half sentences with a blitz of expletives.

A nervous smile kissed the edge of her full lips. “Not quite sure if I caught what you meant, but I think it was along the lines of ‘yes, it’s yours.’ We made a baby. And we did use condoms. But that one time, we started without...”

“Without,” he echoed, dropping his hands to his sides. “Weren’t you on the pill?”

“Yep. And I’ll save you from asking—I used it correctly. The chances of pregnancy were miniscule. And yet...”

He coughed again. The desk creaked as he let it take more of his weight. “And you didn’t say anything? It’s June, Marisol.”

He dealt with distress all the time. Pet owners and ranchers, pale and shaking when their animals were in need of care. Idiot hikers, defensive and cranky when they had to admit they should have taken a compass instead of relying on their now-dead cell phone’s GPS. But nothing he’d run across in either job quite matched the mix of ire and dread flashing in Marisol’s green eyes.

“You have got to be kidding me.” Her clenched teeth muffled her words.

“Am I kidding you? Try the other way around.”

“I’m clearly not.” Mouth tight, she waved a hand at her stomach.

Son of a... He’d run his hand over her abdomen dozens of times before. Back when it had been flat. And now it wasn’t. His baby was in there. “Last time I checked, ‘mind reader’ wasn’t anywhere on my résumé.”

“So learn how to return a goddamn message!”

His tongue lay useless, thick in his mouth.

What was she talking about? None of this made sense. He massaged his still-numb lips with his fingers, stopping himself from reaching out and touching the bump, so damned foreign. Something niggled in his gut. The need to learn her new form until it was familiar again.

And whatever she’d just shrieked at him, too, about returning his—

Oh. Oh, Christ.

“What message?” he asked quietly.

Twisting her hands, she fidgeted with her clothes, straightening the summery blouse and skirt. “The ones I left you in January.”

January, when he’d been in the mountains outside of Santiago. “I was having a hard time getting service, so there were a few times I went a few weeks without checking. They must have gotten automatically deleted.”

“Deleted.” She mouthed it more than spoke it.

“Why didn’t you call back? Once I left Chile, reception was way better.”

Thank God she was sitting down—she started shaking hard enough he’d have worried she’d lose her balance.

Concern jolted through him. He could deal with being pissed off later. Right now, her rapid breathing ranked as way more important.

He knelt on the floor in front of her and turned her chin to catch her gaze straight on, and pressed a fingertip to the notch in her wrist. Her pulse fluttered, way too fast.

Then again, his was about the same.

“Deep breaths,” he said.

“Chile... As in the Andes?” she murmured. The regret braided into her dawning understanding sucker punched him. “And Australia? And Korea?”

“And New Zealand,” he said. “But if you knew...”

“I didn’t. I thought he was lying.”

“Zach?” Who else but Marisol’s brother would have told her where Lachlan had been?

“No, whoever answers the phone here.”

Evan. Evan, who had no qualms about enforcing a “no personal calls on my phone line” policy, and did so with his patented level of sarcasm.

He reached out to pull her into him, one hand on the base of her skull, the other at the small of her back.

Holding her again was a goddamn gift. Holding her while she was pregnant with their child... Indescribable.

The child she didn’t manage to tell you about for half a year. His brief haze of amazement evaporated.

“What about online?” The question came out a snap.

She startled and stepped away, falling back into the desk chair before he could get a hand out to steady her. “What about it?”

“I’m on Facebook. And checked my email regularly.”

“Facebook? I’m supposed to send you a message about this on social media?” she said, pointing to her belly. “No way. You were avoiding my voicemails, so what was the point? I figured I’d have to do it face-to-face the first chance I could get.”

“I wasn’t avoiding you,” he emphasized.

Though the set of her jaw suggested she was having a hard time adjusting to the knowledge. “I thought you had instructed your receptionist to lie to me. I wasn’t up for being ignored electronically, too. I was puking my...”

She slammed her lips shut.

The dog plastered herself to Marisol’s side. She flattened her liver-brown ears and glared at Lachlan. Fudge clearly didn’t need the adjustment time that Lachlan did. She seemed to have appointed herself Marisol’s protector.

And Lachlan understood that. The need to ensure Marisol’s safety seeped into his bones, into every corner of his soul. It didn’t erase his questions, though. Even if he did extend her the benefit of the doubt, understanding why he was finding out she was pregnant when she was six months along was only a glimpse of the trail they were now going to have to hike together.

“How long are you here for?” he asked.

“Here...in the office?”

“Uh, no, in town.”

“Right. Baby brain,” she whispered, closing her eyes.

“Do you expect to raise our child in Vancouver? Away from me?” he prodded. “I can’t just up and move my business before the shovels even break ground.”

“Lachlan,” Marisol cut him off softly. ”I know we have lots to talk about—”

“You think?”

A warbly throat cleared from behind him, on the other side of the half wall that separated the reception desk from the waiting room. “Lachlan Reid, that boarding school your parents sent you to may have been lax on manners, but your grandmother did not allow you to speak to ladies like that.”

Damn it. The last thing he wanted was for half the town to be up in their business before he’d had the chance to discover exactly what that business was. Lachlan cocked a brow and turned to regard Gertie Rafferty, the silver-headed dynamo who’d been keeping the Sutter Creek gossip chain going for most of her eighty-plus years. Mrs. Rafferty’s Russian blue peered up at Lachlan from her perch in the woman’s arms.

He didn’t bother to remind Mrs. Rafferty that his workplace wasn’t the most appropriate of places for a dressing-down. He’d dated her granddaughter one teenage summer, and had stolen too many cookies off the trays in the back of the older woman’s bakery to ever be considered fully grown.

“Boarding school was fifteen years ago, Mrs. Rafferty,” he said.

“So you’ve had plenty of time living here to lose those entitled habits.” She turned her attention to Marisol. “Hello, dear. You look as pretty today as you did when you last visited. That baby’s all out front. Must be murder on your back. And thank goodness Lachlan is finally home so you can bring him to task.”

Marisol blushed. “Oh, well, we’re not together...”

He cringed. Was Marisol even going to want to publicly acknowledge him as the father? He sure as hell was going to insist on it, but until they’d had the conversation, it wasn’t any of Gertie’s business. “Mrs. Rafferty, it’s not what you think—”

“A handsome devil like you, dear? It’s exactly what I think. I had four children. I know how reproduction works.”

“You’re making assumptions—”

She cut him off with a piercing look, punctuated with a mew from her cat. “And you’re making your grandmother roll over in her grave, letting your sweetheart walk around without a ring on her finger.”

His brain scrambled to get caught up. Sweetheart? Ring? Both words he could get used to when Marisol was on the receiving end, but the flat look on her face indicated she did not agree.

“We need a little time,” he said.

“Doesn’t look like you have much left,” Gertie said with a pointed glance at Marisol’s belly.

He coughed. “Well, we—”

“He didn’t know about the baby,” Marisol said between gritted teeth. “He didn’t know I was coming.” She looked at Lach with all the honesty in the world in her eyes. “Talking to you was my number one priority, though.”

“Instead, everyone’s been talking about her all morning,” Gertie added. Marisol groaned, and the older woman’s pale cheeks flushed. “Just curiosity, dear.” She eyed Marisol from behind thick-lensed glasses. “The buzz in the bakery is that you’ve signed the lease on Mackenzie Dawson’s old place. And Lachlan’s name has come up a few times, too, given how he was squiring you around before Christmas.”

Marisol sighed and splayed her fingers on her stomach in what looked like an unconscious gesture. Her cheeks reddened. “We’ve had all of ten minutes. Surely Sutter Creek can extend us a few hours, days maybe, before people start calling caterers and booking churches? Because I don’t want to—”

He put a hand on her shoulder, and she stopped talking. Good. Because for some reason, he didn’t want to hear that she didn’t want to marry him. Especially not with an audience. Not that he was going to suggest that. Marriage wasn’t something to jump into, even with a baby involved. But having her confirm she’d already written off the idea... It was as if a handful of the mealworms they kept in the supply room were inching up his spine.

The room had filled up some during Mrs. Rafferty’s questioning. Two more people with their animals sat in the waiting area, and shoes squeaked on the floor down the hall. Maggie called Mrs. Rafferty into a treatment room, but the older woman’s pointed observation of him made it clear he should expect more of the same during Kittay’s appointment.

Evan, their twentysomething receptionist, came behind the desk and shooed them out of his space with a flick of his wrist. “You’re a minute late already, Lach. You have a presurgical exam on Petunia in room three, and after Dr. Mags does her thing with Mrs. Rafferty’s cat, you’re up with her vaccinations.”

“Evan,” Lach said gruffly.

The willowy man paused. “Yes?”

“Marisol tried to call the clinic while I was away.”

“Lots of women called, as per usual. I told them exactly where you—” Evan stopped talking as his gaze landed on Marisol’s stomach.

Lachlan had seen Evan dangling by one hand from the underside of a cliff overhang. The guy was fearless.

Except in the face of an irritated pregnant woman, apparently.

His face turned whiter than his platinum blond hair, and he scrunched his nose apologetically. “Oh. Well. You should have told me why you were calling, honey.”

“What, announce I’m knocked up to someone I don’t know?” she said. “I wasn’t going to tell anyone before I told Lachlan.”

The explanation stilled some of Lachlan’s shaky parts. He wanted to be mad. Wanted to wallow in having been kept in the dark. But the reasons for her silence made that hard.

“Besides,” she continued, “you were cranky, sure, but you were being honest. I was the one who didn’t believe you, because Lachlan hadn’t...” She didn’t finish the thought. Nice of her to hold back from blaming him in front of an audience.

Even if it was starting to look like he deserved some of it.

But no—how would he have known?

“There was no way for me to call back given I didn’t get the message,” he said testily. The last thing he wanted was for it to get around town that he’d actually sloughed off the mother of his child.

“Right,” she mumbled.

“Uh, truly sorry if I complicated things.” Evan petted Fudge, who was mooching for treats. “Try again, dog. The only being in these parts who’s allowed to have a round belly is Marisol. Or should I say, your mommy?”

“I’m not Fudge’s mommy. Lachlan and I aren’t...” Marisol closed her eyes. Her previous blush was turning into a green tinge.

Lachlan took her hand and pulled her down the hall. “I’ll correct everyone.”

“I think the cat’s out of the bag. Or rather, the cat’s in the treatment room with a cell phone–wielding senior citizen.”

“You don’t look well,” he said. “Do you need to sit down? Water? Crackers?”

“I’m fine. Just overwhelmed.”

He snorted. “I know that feeling. I have more questions than I can count, but they’ll have to wait.”

“I should have waited until this evening to come tell you,” Marisol murmured, leaning into him a little.

You should have persisted and told me months ago.

The mental picture of Marisol suffering from morning sickness and hurting because she’d assumed he was avoiding her kept him from spitting out the retort.

She glanced at her flip-flop-clad feet. “I have a plan.”

“You don’t think I should have a say in that plan?”

“No. I mean, yes, but... I honestly didn’t think you’d want to.” Her posture slumped. “We don’t need to make any decisions today. We have until September. The sixth, to be specific.”

So two and a half months, give or take. He blew out a breath. “I want to make decisions, Marisol. I’d prefer to do it without everyone and their dog—or cat—interfering, but—”

A throat cleared, and he spun toward the noise. His sister stood in the doorway to the operating room, knuckles white around a tray. “You found out, then.”

“I thought you were waiting to tell me first,” he said to Marisol.

Marisol let out a sound of throaty regret. “I was. But Maggie let me in this morning. She guessed.”

Maggie eyed Lachlan. “Are you going to be okay?”

“Yeah—No—I mean—” He swore again, and his profanity-averse sister cringed.

Marisol’s mouth tugged down at the corners. But he knew her displeasure had nothing to do with his language.

His heart sank. “We’ll figure this out, I promise.”

“I have it figured out.”

He blinked, irritation heating his neck. If she already had everything solved, her definition of talking did not line up with his.

“Lach, Petunia is not going to dictate her medical history herself,” Evan called from down the hall. “And, Dr. Mags, you have the Franklins’ Weimaraner waiting for you after you’re done with Kittay. Do not throw my schedule off today, folks.”

“On it, Ev,” Maggie called, whirling into the exam room to a waiting Mrs. Rafferty.

“I don’t know who looks more miserable, you or my sister,” Lach said.

“Go,” Marisol said firmly, ignoring his observation and pushing on his shoulder with a finger.

“You won’t leave town before the end of my shift?”

Her expression turned thunderous. “I’m not leaving ever. I’ve moved here, in part so that you can be close to the baby. So I’d appreciate less assholish snark!”

Frozen in place by the magnitude of her announcement, it was long after the side door slammed behind her that he realized she’d mentioned him being close to the baby, but not to her.

Chapter Two

“Don’t even think about lifting that box.”

Marisol froze at her brother’s command, then ignored it, toting the offending collection of pots and pans into the galley kitchen. “It’s light. Calm down, Zach.”

Her brother scowled at her through the pass-through of the wall connecting the kitchen and dining area, and resumed assembling the desk she’d had delivered this morning. No way was she kneeling on the floor for an hour with a screwdriver—her back would be furious from the strain. So she owed her brother.

But she bristled at the suggestion she didn’t know her limits.

Not that Zach didn’t have plenty of reasons to doubt her judgment. She only needed to look as far as her credit history for a reminder that she’d made her fair share of terrible decisions in her life. But she would not trust so easily this time. She’d get a coparenting arrangement set with Lachlan and would be well settled in her new apartment by the time the baby arrived. She’d have her PhD prospectus presented and approved by then, too.

Panic teased the base of her skull, and she gripped the counter as a grounding exercise.

One step at a time. Kitchen first.

The lack of space—she only had the dining-living area and two bedrooms to fill—made for easy unpacking. With a little elbow grease, she’d have all her boxes emptied by the time Lachlan came over after his shift ended. Not that she was in a hurry to resume that awkward conversation.

Only to be outdone by the one I have to have with Zach.

Ugh. Would he understand her reasons for telling him someone other than Lachlan was the father of her baby? Zach was more forgiving than most, and before finding love with his fiancée, he’d kept secrets himself...

Yeah. Secrets. Not dishonesty.

Probably best to wait until after he’d finished building her desk, though. She wouldn’t want to knock him out of his construction groove by announcing she’d been lying to him about her child’s paternity since she found out she was pregnant in January.

Shoving down the guilt, she bent over awkwardly to load frying pans into the drawer under the oven. Her new apartment had come mostly furnished—with some of her brother’s furniture, given he’d lived in the same unit for a few months with his soon-to-be wife. Knowing Marisol would be taking over the lease, they’d left behind some essentials that didn’t fit in their new house. They’d moved in the spring so that Ben would have a yard to grow up in. Zach was going through the process of adopting Ben, Cadie’s son from her first marriage. Cadie had been widowed, and her son wasn’t yet two, so Zach would be the only dad the boy remembered.

Watching Zach love someone else’s baby as his own had been one of the reasons Marisol had believed Lachlan might come around to parenthood.

So why are you upset that it’s something he’s apparently wanted all along?

Good question. Maggie’s assertion that Lachlan had wanted a family his whole life had been jostling around Marisol’s brain since this morning. She wanted him to have a connection with their child.

But I don’t want him to want one with me.

She shoved a stack of bowls into one of the cabinets with too much emphasis, and the porcelain clattered.

Right. For all the effort she intended to put into helping him establish a bond with their baby, she’d put the same into making sure he didn’t form one with her.

He doesn’t want strings. It’ll be okay.

“Everything under control in there?” her brother mumbled around the couple of screws he had sticking out of one corner of his mouth.

“Mmm-hmm. I have all of three cupboards’ worth of crap. Once I’m done in here, all that’s left is loading my books onto the shelf you’ve yet to build,” she said.

He looked at the ceiling in exasperation. “No better way to spend my day off.”

She cringed. She’d been in town all of twenty-four hours and was already a burden. “Never mind, I can do it.”

Shaking his head, he spat the screws into his palm.

“Marisol.” Their parents had prioritized speaking their first languages around the house—Spanish for their dad and German for their mom—and Zach was hands-down the best linguist of their generation. He always pronounced her name with perfect Spanish inflection, unlike their sisters, who anglicized the hell out of it. “I want to help you make this place a home. Some of my best memories are from this apartment, and hopefully it’ll be the same for you.”

“I do want that.” She’d do her best with what she had. Renting a house was out of the realm of student-budget possibility. And the apartment wasn’t huge—an open-plan dining-and-living area and two bedrooms—but there was a park nearby.

Plus, she could take the kid to her brother’s yard for playtime.

Zach growled at the sheet of directions, then leaned back against the dining room wall. He stared through the rectangular space in the wall, suspicion written in his green eyes. God, he looked like their dad sometimes. Acted like him, too, which usually brought on the waves of younger sibling inadequacy...

Marisol’s stomach turned, and she focused on unpacking her plates instead of making eye contact.

“Cadie said she saw your car at the vet clinic this morning,” Zach said.

Spectacular. Talk about a fishbowl. Maybe she wasn’t up for small-town life. As fast as she’d unpacked, she could repack—

No. This move was a good one for her PhD candidacy, and a necessary one for her baby. She couldn’t chicken out now.

Not with staying in Sutter Creek, or with apologizing to Zach for having lied.

“Mari?” he prodded. “Thought you and Lachlan were a onetime thing. Especially given...”

“We were.” The baby chose that moment to shift, as if in communion with Zach. She laid a hand on the tiny foot kicking her navel and cocked an eyebrow at her brother. “You have some major uncle vibes, you know that?”

“The kid and I are going to be best friends.” His smile faded. “I promise, okay? I want him or her to know nothing but love from our family. Father or no father.”

Oh, frick. There was the guilt again, snaking its way up her spine. Family can have many definitions. She’d tried the traditional route once before, and look how that turned out—she’d had to sign divorce papers before receiving her bachelor’s degree. She’d just managed to pay off her parents last year. They’d bailed her out when her ex’s creditors had come after her. And even though she thanked the universe every day that he was no longer in her life, she’d never forget the pain of him walking out on her post-miscarriage. She wasn’t up for another epic fail. Finishing her PhD and raising her baby were going to take her all.

“I appreciate the help. I moved here for that.”

Would need the help, in fact, depending on how much Lachlan wanted to contribute. He’d seemed surprised when she’d told him she had a plan.

Be fair—you dropped a lot on him.

“So if you aren’t wanting something permanent with Lachlan, why would you go...” Zach’s mouth fell open.

Marisol’s throat closed over.

“Oh. No goddamn way, Mari.”

She crossed her arms between her breasts and her bump, the anatomy of being pregnant still so unfamiliar at times, especially now when the only thing that mattered was the betrayal darkening her brother’s face.

“Zach. I—”

“Choose your words carefully,” he warned, rising stiff-shouldered from the floor.

“I can explain—”

A knock sounded at the door, and she jumped so high she almost knocked the bar of halogen lights from the ceiling.

“That’s Lachlan, isn’t it?” Zach said through gritted teeth.

“Probably.”

He swore. “He’s the father?”

“Yeah,” she whispered.

“You told me it was another grad student.”

“I did.” Holy Mother, it was hard to talk around the lump in her throat.

“You lied.”

“I did.”

“You didn’t have to lie.”

“I—”

“Do not say ‘I did.’”

“—did.”

Zach dragged both palms down his face. “Why?”

“I couldn’t get a hold of him. I tried, and I thought... Well, that’s not important, crossed wires and all that.”

“The guy’s one of my SAR buddies, Mari. We messaged every week or so while he was away.”