Their Nine-Month Surprise

Damn it. Maybe Lachlan had been right about trying Facebook. Maybe she’d let her fear guide her decisions too much.

And lay my heart out for a guy to stomp on again? No, thank you.

The framed psychology degrees still in a box on the floor taunted her with the point that she might have some teensy-weensy commitment issues.

Damn right, I do. And she wasn’t going to apologize for them. Nor was she stupid enough to set herself up for another failed relationship. Not with a baby involved.

“I couldn’t ask you to contact him for me, because then you’d have guessed, and he needed to be the first to find out,” she said.

Zach’s chin dropped a fraction and he closed his eyes in resignation.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

Another series of raps sounded.

“Answer it,” Zach mumbled.

“Okay.” She made her way to the door, wincing as one of her hip ligaments pulled. Hurray for carrying around a soccer ball on her front. At least all the super attractive—eye roll—pregnancy stuff would keep Lachlan’s hands off her.

Her brother followed. His hand landed on her shoulder, a wordless gesture of always having her back, no matter how much she screwed up. When she hesitated, hand hovering near the knob, he yanked it open for her.

Lachlan stood in the hall. He took his hands out of his pockets and straightened. He pinned her with a questioning gaze, then lifted his chin at her brother. “Zach. Hey.” Nerves flitted across his face as he attempted a smile. “Seems we’re going to be family.”

Zach let out a noise so close to a growl that Marisol planted an elbow in his gut.

“Ow.” His grip on her shoulder tightened. “Real talk, Reid. I get you not knowing was a misunderstanding. And that this is new to you. But now you’re aware. And if you screw up here—” he shuffled around Marisol and jabbed Lachlan in the chest with a finger “—it won’t matter that Fudge is a skilled-as-hell cadaver dog. No one will ever find your body.”

Skirting past Lachlan, her brother started down the hallway.

“Hey!” Marisol yelled. Her brother’s protective streak was legendary, but she could tell the threats were bravado. “You didn’t finish my desk!”

“You have bigger fish to fry than a desk, little sister,” he called back before disappearing into the exit staircase.

She did. Six-feet one-inch of muscular male “fish,” To be specific. And the life they’d created together.

“You’re off early.”

Lachlan nodded. He gripped the sides of the doorjamb with both hands, standing on a bit of an angle and making his T-shirt stretch across his tall, lean frame. Any attempt he’d made to finger-comb his hair had only made the thick, caramel-colored strands messier. His eyes hooked into her core, threatening never to let her out of their deep brown spell. But the crooked smile that usually lit up those eyes was nowhere to be found. Had she ever seen his mouth set so grimly?

“I can build your desk,” he said.

“So can I. That’s not the point. Zach just found out about...you...and he—”

“Pretty familiar with that feeling.”

“I... I’m sorry.” A knee-jerk apology. But hell, she was Canadian. Came with the territory. And something about those flat lips demanded it.

One side of his mouth curved up. “For what?”

“This hasn’t gone well.”

Relief crossed his face. “Ah. Not sure there was a good way to go about it, Marisol. But I’m just glad you’re not apologizing for the baby.”

“Of course not.”

His fingers whitened on the wood frame. “You didn’t consider termination?”

“I did. Decided it wasn’t right for me.” After losing one baby, choosing not to have this one hadn’t been an option.

“Okay. Then it’s not right for me, either.” He tentatively reached toward her stomach, catching her gaze in wordless supplication.

It’s about touching the baby. Not me.

She nodded.

Lips parted, his breath caught audibly as he rested his big hand on her belly. The air hitched in her own lungs. He shifted forward a little, until they were only a foot apart. Placing his free hand on the other side, he framed her bump.

The warmth from his palms seeped through the thin cotton of her blouse. God, her skin was too sensitive there. The heat of the caress spread downward, pooling between her legs. She bit her lip. Hopefully he wouldn’t want to touch her often. They’d gotten into this because they couldn’t keep their hands off each other.

It was tempting to pull away, but the awe on his face... He was clearly having a moment. She wasn’t going to take that from him.

“How often does it—uh, he? She?—move?” His hands shifted, little circles of torture that necessitated she swallow to get any words out.

“A lot in the middle of the night. Or when I’m sitting. And I don’t know what the sex is.”

“You want to be surprised?”

She shook her head. “I’m dying to know.” Had gone so far as to have the ultrasound tech mark it on the file. But she’d never asked her doctor for the information. “It didn’t feel right to find that out without you.”

He straightened, hands falling to his sides. Dark doubt clouded his expression. “If you thought I was avoiding you, why would you want me to be involved?”

A hundred reasons clogged her thoughts. She waved him inside to the living area, currently populated by Zach’s worn, corduroy couch and the Ikea coffee table she’d jammed Jenga-style into her hatchback. “Getting involved with the baby is different from getting involved with me.”

“Getting involved with the baby will mean getting involved with you.”

“Not how we were.”

A breath hissed between clenched teeth. He flopped on the couch, challenging her with his gaze. “It pisses me off that you’ve been alone in this, Marisol.”

She sat on the edge of the sofa, leaving a chunk of distance between them. Safety in inches. Or feet. “All you missed was puking and naps.”

“And ultrasounds. And first movements,” he said softly.

“I didn’t think you’d care about that, to be honest.”

His head tipped back, exposing a strong column of tanned skin over strong neck muscles. “I shouldn’t have fed you that line.”

“What line?”

“Whatever I told you about being too busy for a relationship. It was self-preserving nonsense, and I almost lost out on knowing my kid because of it.”

Her pulse drummed in her chest, racing hard enough for her to feel the rapid, irregular beat at her wrists and under her jaw. “I don’t want strings.”

“Yeah, I get that, but what if I do?”

Her stomach knotted. “No, that’s what you told me. That’s what you said.”

He swore. “And you believed me.”

“Why wouldn’t I have?”

“Because I was lying.”

Information that would have been useful yesterday.

The bastardized quotation from one of her favorite films, The Wedding Singer, popped into her head, but she kept it to herself. Hell, she wouldn’t have been able to speak if she tried. Her heart hammered in her throat. What was she thinking, moving to a new town, a new country, making all sorts of adjustments and arrangements with her doctoral program for the sake of a guy she’d had a fling with for a couple of weeks? Had she lost her mind?

No. I’m doing this for the baby, not for Lachlan. And my plan is going to work.

“We have time to figure each other out.” His voice rasped, still at half volume.

He had to stop with the suggestion that they were a “we.” They didn’t have anything to figure out beyond visitation days and parent-and-tot swimming lessons and whether or not to baptize the baby Catholic. Getting closer to each other was just asking for trouble. She coughed, clearing her throat. “That’s why I came now. So we can decide how we want to coparent.”

Glancing around the half-unpacked apartment, he shook his head. “And you’ve moved here?”

“I did. It’s a boon for my degree—there’s a professor in the psych department at the university in Bozeman who’s a canine behavior expert. She’s willing to supervise me. You might know her. Jennifer Wiebe?”

His brows shot up. “I’ve heard the name. But hang on, you’re switching schools?”

“Yeah. I have just enough time to finish and present my prospectus before my due date. I’m going to be lecturing this summer—some freshman psych courses running in July and August—and starting again in the winter session. I won’t teach for the semester after the baby’s born. And with moving here—I’m closer to Zach and Cadie. We’re planning on sharing a nanny.”

“I don’t get a say in that?”

“Do you want one?”

“Yes.” He coughed. “What if I hadn’t wanted to be involved?”

Defensiveness ran up her spine. “I know! I gambled, okay? I get that. But the thing is, dogs don’t lie. Fudge loves you as much as I’ve ever seen a dog love. I was hoping that loyalty would transcend your claim about not wanting ‘strings.’ And getting to be around my brother, and working with Dr. Wiebe... Even if you wanted nothing to do with the baby, I was still better off.” She smiled. “Minus the loss of universal health care. That’s a bit hard to take.”

His eyes widened. “Do you not have health insurance? Do you need to get on mine? Damn, I wonder if it counts as a preexisting condition, or if it matters that we’re not married. Should we get married—?”

“Take a breath, Lach. I’m covered through the university,” she assured him. “I was joking.”

His laugh came out forced, jagged. “Sort of.”

“Sort of.” She settled into the back of the couch and drew her knees up as best she could. “And no, we shouldn’t get married. Been there, done that.”

“Huh?”

It appeared today was the day for owning up to all her flaws. Awesome.

“I got married when I was in second-year university.”

“You did?” He scrubbed a hand through his hair and blew out a breath. “Wow. I, uh, assume you’re divorced?”

“Years ago.” She could have offered up details, but they hovered in her throat, refusing to come out. The years it had taken to process the grief of her miscarriage, and her ex’s lies...

She wasn’t up for risking that kind of devastation again.

Lach was just going to have to redefine what “family” meant. He could have the kid part. Hell, he could have a wife, too. Just not Marisol.

She crossed her arms over her breasts. They’d been full before pregnancy, and now they were ridiculous. Credit to Lachlan, he hadn’t checked them out yet. Or maybe he just wasn’t interested in her anymore. That would save a lot of time and angst. “I have a bad track record. It’s a good thing we’re going to keep this platonic.”

“We are?” He blinked, clearly bewildered.

“Yeah, Lach. We are. We need to be friends, make sure we’re functioning as parents.” Not giving in to the monkey-sex urges they’d had back in December. If they did, they’d flame bright for a few months, and then crash and burn, screwing over their chances to coparent.

“Friends.” His gaze, purposeful now, landed on her lips, and flicked down to the rest of her body before returning to her face. He crossed an ankle over a knee and spread his arms wide on the corner of the couch. Jeez. He looked more at home in her living room than she felt. “You really think we can keep this platonic? Isn’t it a bit of the cows already getting let out of the barn situation?”

“Come up with all the cute analogies you want, but these barn doors are staying shut.” She closed her eyes, not wanting to give away any hint of the desire she felt for him. It was all physical. Just dregs from their fling. And pregnancy. God, as soon as she’d gotten over her morning sickness, she’d gotten all needy and it hadn’t gone away.

“Okay, sweetheart. If you say so.”

“You think you’re that irresistible?”

“I think we have a spark.”

“Then we need to put it out.”

Bemusement flickered on his lips.

“What?”

“You let me know when you figure out how to do that.”

She stiffened. “I think I know how to control my thoughts. Might have read a book or two about cognitive processes over the years. And don’t try to tell me you’re going to convince me otherwise. We need to focus on getting ready for the baby, not trying to cobble together a romantic relationship that will invariably fall apart.”

She’d never trust someone so blindly as she had her ex-husband. His financial dishonesty was almost mild compared to the scars he’d left when he accused her of getting in the way of his goals and ambitions.Lachlan shook his head and gripped his knees hard enough to make the tendons rise on the backs of his hands. “Given I’ve known about the baby for all of five hours, I don’t think it’s unreasonable to ask for a little processing time.”

“True.” The word wobbled on her lips.

What if processing meant deciding he’d push for something she didn’t want?

He looked at her sharply. “I’ll always respect what you want.”

Oh. She’d said that out loud. Oops.

“And we will focus on getting ready for the baby,” he continued.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“Nor am I going to try to coerce you into a relationship. I have no interest in being with someone who isn’t wholly into being with me.”

“Okay.” Frick, why couldn’t she get her voice up to its normal volume?

His gaze pierced her again. “I’m a good guy, Marisol. I’m not like my—”

She blinked at his abrupt cutoff. “Like your...”

“Nothing.” Bitter regret edged his words. He cleared his throat and smiled.

The dim replication of what was usually a megawatt grin took her aback. She didn’t know what to do with any of that—not the shadows in his eyes, nor his insistence he was a good guy.

Talk about a recipe for temptation.

Her stomach growled audibly. “I need a snack.” Or a second lunch. She’d been on the six-meals-a-day plan lately given she could only eat about half what she normally could. “And I’m sorry, I’m not set up for company yet.”

“Let me take you out.”

“We’re not going on a date.”

He rolled his eyes. “It’s not a date. I’m feeding my kid.”

My kid. Hearing someone else speak in possessive terms was super weird. And sexy.

No. Not sexy.

“If we go out, it’s going to be this morning all over again, isn’t it?” she asked. “People up in our business?”

He sent her a wry smile. “Pretty much.”

She shook her head. Running into more nosy neighbors didn’t appeal. She’d spent the last six months contemplating what it was going to be like to be a single parent. And after she’d figured out how to make it work to come to Sutter Creek, she’d had the thought that people would make assumptions. Even so, she’d underestimated how interested people would be in her pregnancy and her relationship with Lachlan.

“I’m not up for that particular level of intrusion this afternoon.”

“Order in, then?” he suggested.

Staying in her apartment and sharing pizza, having to keep her eyes off his “I lift large dogs for a living” chest muscles? Yeah, not up for that, either. “I don’t think so.”

A hurt expression clouded his eyes. God, she couldn’t look at him when he started to resemble one of the puppies he treated. “I just need to be alone. But maybe tomorrow—oh! Tomorrow. I have a doctor’s appointment. Would you like to come?”

His face lit. “Abso-goddamn-lutely.”

“I wasn’t sure.”

He caught her under the chin with his thumb. “You can be. When you need me, I will be there for you.”

Which was a big part of why she’d come here. So now that she knew he’d help, why was she scared as hell to accept?

Because I’m being logical, keeping my distance.

“You’ll be there for the baby, you mean.” She’d absolutely include him in that. But when it came to things that only involved her—she’d have to stake out space.

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