“Pregnant?” Deacon echoed, stunned.
“You really didn’t know?” Sierra asked skeptically.
He shook his head slowly. “How could I have known?”
“Because you saw me at the prenatal clinic.”
He remembered seeing her in Battle Mountain when he took his sister-in-law to her appointment, but... “I didn’t realize it was a prenatal clinic.”
“What did you think it was?”
“A woman’s health clinic. For all I knew, you were having an annual exam or renewing a prescription for birth control.”
“I was there for a four-month prenatal checkup,” she said. “The baby’s due in August.”
Baby. She was going to have a baby.
This wasn’t just another brush-off—this was real.
“And the baby’s father?”
“I’m not sure what you’re asking,” she hedged.
“Where is he?” It was probably none of his business, but he wanted to know.
“Las Vegas.”
“Is that why you left?”
She shook her head. “I left because I wanted to make a career change—and to put some distance between me and my ex.”
“Does he know about the baby?”
“No. And there’s no reason for him to know. He’s not the baby’s father.”
His brows lifted at that. “Rebound relationship?”
“No.”
“One-night stand?”
“No,” she said again.
“I’m not sure what options are left,” he admitted.
“Does it really matter how this baby came to be? The fact is, I’m pregnant. But I haven’t told anyone else yet, so I’d appreciate if this stayed between us for now.”
He nodded.
“I’ll probably share the news with my boss and my coworkers in the next week or so.”
The news being that she was going to have a baby.
And while she was talking matter-of-factly about her next steps, he was trying to stop his head from spinning.
“And Sky, of course,” she said. “I don’t want her to hear about it from anyone else.”
“You and Sky seem to be pretty chummy,” he noted, latching on to a topic that was completely unrelated to pregnancies and babies. “Did you know her before you came to Haven?”
“No.” Sierra shook her head again. “In fact, I met her the same day I met you. And the same place—the cereal aisle of the grocery store.” Now she smiled. “But she didn’t steal my Frosted Flakes.”
“You’re never going to let me forget that, are you?”
“Probably not.”
But thinking back to that day now... “I guess you wanted the cereal to satisfy a pregnancy craving?”
Now she nodded.
“And that’s why you don’t drink coffee,” he realized.
She nodded again.
“And also why that kiss should never have happened,” she told him.
“Maybe,” he acknowledged regretfully. “But I’m not sorry that it did.”
The hint of pink that colored her cheeks told him that she wasn’t sorry, either. That in that moment, she’d wanted his kiss—maybe even wanted him.
But, of course, her pregnancy changed everything.
As her next question proved.
“Do you think... Can we be friends?”
The tentativeness of the request tugged at his heart.
“As long as being friends doesn’t require me to abandon my shower emergency fantasy.”
She laughed then, as he’d hoped she would.
“Trust me, in a few more weeks—maybe less—you won’t want to picture me naked.”
“I guess time will tell. And speaking of time, I really should be going.”
She walked him to the door. “Thanks again, for all your help with Remy. And all the stuff you brought for him.”
“It was my pleasure.”
He donned his boots and coat, then paused at the door. “I guess I’ll see you Monday. If not at court, when I come over to walk Remy.”
“That reminds me—” She dashed off and came back half a minute later with a key.
He slid it onto his ring, then took off his own house key and gave it to her.
“Don’t you need this to get into your house?”
“There’s a spare in my garage.”
She tucked the key into the front pocket of her jeans.
Slim-fitting dark denim that hugged her feminine form.
On top of the jeans she wore a soft knit sweater the color of ripe plums.
She certainly didn’t look like a woman who was going to have a baby in five months.
She looked hot. Sexy. Desirable.
But she was going to have a baby, and that changed everything for Deacon.
Everything except how much he wanted her.
Having a dog waiting for her at home was giving Sierra a taste of what it meant to be a working mom. True, she didn’t have to worry about day care for her canine dependent, but she did worry about other things. Such as if he was hungry or thirsty (despite the fact that she fed him in the morning and made sure his water bowl was full before she left the house) or scared or lonely (even though she left the television on so that the house wouldn’t be too quiet) or getting into mischief. (The vet had recommended crate training to avoid this potential problem, but Sierra hadn’t seen any hints of destructive behavior that made her think confinement was necessary. She had, however, blocked off the stairs to the upper level so that he wouldn’t hurt himself trying to climb them when he was alone.)
But by the end of the first week, she was starting to feel more comfortable with their routines and confident that when she said goodbye to Remy in the morning, he didn’t spend the rest of the day stressing about whether she would come back again. But he was always at the door when she walked in, and he’d bark happily when he saw her, not just his tail but his whole back end wagging. And it was kind of nice to have someone make a fuss over her, so she made a fuss over him in return.
He was just as excited to see Deacon, too, when the other lawyer showed up to take him for his evening walks on Monday, Wednesday and Friday. And it was a relief to Sierra to know that Remy would be not just taken care of but happy when she went back to Las Vegas and left him with Deacon.
Sky texted while Deacon was out with the dog Friday night, and Sierra exchanged a few messages with her friend while she cooked chicken and vegetables for her dinner. She was fluffing the brown rice when they returned.
“I made stir-fry,” Sierra told him. “And there’s enough for two, if you wanted to stay for dinner.”
“That sounds a lot more appealing than what I had planned,” he admitted.
“A microwaveable meal?” she guessed.
“Yeah.”
“I’ve eaten my share of those,” she confided. “But yes, this should be better.”
He washed his hands at the sink while she dished up the meal.
They chatted mostly about work while they ate. In general terms, of course, not discussing any details of any particular case that might breach confidentiality or disclosure rules.
“You’re tiptoeing around something,” Deacon remarked, as he set his fork and knife on top of his now empty plate.
She didn’t deny it. “I want to ask a favor.”
“Because it’s not enough that I’m already walking your dog three days a week?” he teased.
“Our dog,” she reminded him. “And I was hoping you might be able to dog-sit tomorrow.”
“You do know it’s okay to go out and leave the dog alone?”
“I know. But he’s been alone every day this week when I’ve been at work, and I hate the idea of leaving him alone again tomorrow just so that I can go shopping with Sky.”
“I’m surprised you don’t want to take him with you.”
“I guess I could,” she said. “But a crowded mall might be too much stimulation for him.”
“Or good socialization,” he countered.
“If you don’t want to look after him—”
“I didn’t say I didn’t want to look after him,” Deacon interjected. “I said I didn’t think he needed looking after. But I’m happy to have him over to my place for a few hours—or however long you’re going to be gone.”
“Thank you. I’ll drop him off on my way out.”
So that’s what Sierra did, and then she drove to Battle Mountain to meet her new friend at a store called Baby Bump. Sky had recently been lamenting the fact that none of her clothes fit comfortably anymore. Of course, the other woman was nearing the end of her second trimester now and happy to show off her growing belly, while Sierra was doing everything in her power to hide hers.
She wasn’t ashamed of her pregnancy, but she also wasn’t ready to be the subject of any more local gossip. It had been a hot enough topic that the DA had hired an attorney from Las Vegas, and while she felt confident that she’d proven herself capable of doing the job, she was still an outsider and, therefore, a more likely target of scrutiny.
“So what’s going on with you and Deacon?” Sky asked, as she rifled through a rack of tops.
“Nothing,” Sierra said quickly.
Maybe too quickly, she realized, as her friend’s gaze narrowed thoughtfully.
And then she compounded the error by asking, “Why? What did you hear?”
Sky smiled as she selected a dark blue peasant-style blouse. “What do you think I might have heard?”
“Nothing,” Sierra said again, though she suspected that the heat filling her cheeks belied her words.
“So it’s not true that you went to his birthday party last Friday night?”
“I didn’t go to his party,” she denied. “I went to Diggers’ not knowing that there was a party.”
“But then you stayed and hung out with him all night.”
“I left before ten o’clock, so I’m not sure it’s accurate to say all night,” she hedged, handing a pretty paisley top to her friend to consider. “And how do you know any of this? You weren’t there.”
“No.” Sky added the paisley top to the growing pile of clothes she intended to try on. “But my sister was.”
Sierra had forgotten for a minute that everyone in Haven knew everyone else—and that Katelyn Davidson, formerly Katelyn Gilmore, was Sky’s sister.
A salesperson took Sky’s selections to a dressing room while she continued to browse.
“I also heard that you and Deacon are sharing custody of a dog,” her friend continued.
“Did you hear that from Katelyn, too? Because I know you didn’t hear it from Deacon, who refuses to admit that Remy is a dog.”
Sky made a face as she considered—and rejected—a pair of stirrup pants. “What does he think Remy is?”
“A rat,” Sierra admitted.
Sky chuckled. “I’m guessing he named the dog?”
“He did,” Sierra confirmed. “But how did you guess that?”
“Because it’s the name of the main character in Ratatouille.”
“What’s Ratatouille?”
“An animated movie about a rat who dreams of being a chef.”
“I’m going to kill him,” Sierra muttered under her breath.
“Don’t tell me,” her friend cautioned. “I’m not a lawyer, so our conversation isn’t protected by attorney-client privilege.”
“A threat to do harm isn’t protected, anyway,” Sierra informed her.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Sky promised, dragging her friend into the changing room with her so their conversation wouldn’t be put on hold while she tried on clothes. “But tell me how you and Deacon found this dog—and was it before or after the kiss?”
Sierra felt her cheeks burn. “How did you know about that?”
Her friend grinned as she quickly shed her clothes, showing no hint of self-consciousness. “Jake and I stopped by to pick up food for my cousin MG and saw your lips locked together. And you cannot know how much I’ve been dying to ask you about it.”
She wanted to ask about MG, curious to know if Sky’s cousin was the same man she’d heard the whispers about in the coffee shop several weeks earlier, but she felt compelled to respond to her friend’s comment about the lip lock first. Because she knew if Sky had seen them kissing, anyone could have. And that Haven rumor mill might be running out of control if she didn’t do some damage control. Fast.
“It was just a kiss,” she said, because she knew she couldn’t let it be more than that.
“A kiss that practically steamed our windows.” Sky wiggled into a pair of maternity jeans.
“I’m sure you’re exaggerating.”
“Only a little.” She donned the paisley top, studied her reflection in the mirror and made a face.
“It’s a cute top,” Sierra said.
“More your style than mine,” her friend said. “So I guess you were mistaken when you said that he’d lost interest in you.” Sky somehow managed to sound smug even with a shirt over her head.
“I was mistaken then,” Sierra acknowledged. “But I’m sure of it now.”
“Why? What happened after the kiss?”
“I told him...that I’m pregnant.”
Sky hesitated a beat, then offered the paisley shirt to Sierra. “You should try this one on.”
Deacon had just slid the pan of pork chops, potatoes and carrots into the oven when Sierra texted to let him know that she was on her way back from Battle Mountain—which meant that she should arrive just about the same time that dinner would be ready.
“How was your shopping trip?” he asked, when she showed up at the door.
“You wouldn’t need to ask if you saw the mountain of packages in the back of my car.”
“A success, then,” he guessed.
“It was.” She crouched down to pet the dog who, upon hearing her voice, raced to the foyer to greet her.
“I bought a few things for you, too,” she said, opening the bag she carried to show Remy a buffalo plaid hooded pullover, a soft gray cable-knit sweater, a fuzzy blue sweater and a dark green faux suede coat.
“That’s quite the wardrobe for a tiny dog,” he remarked.
“I’m glad to hear you say that he’s a dog,” she said. “Because you named him after a rat.”
Busted.
Deacon tried to keep his expression neutral, his tone casual. “You said you liked the name Remy.”
“Because I didn’t know it was the name of a rat in a kids’ movie,” she retorted.
“Ratatouille is a family movie,” he felt compelled to point out. “Have you honestly never seen it?”
“I’ve honestly never seen it.”
“We should watch it. If you saw the movie, you’d understand that naming our dog Remy isn’t the insult you apparently think it is.”
“I have no interest in a movie about a rat.”
The oven timer buzzed, drawing him back to the kitchen.
“We’ll watch it after dinner,” he decided, ignoring her protest.
“Dinner?” she echoed, her attention momentarily diverted from the indignity of Remy’s name.
“It’s nothing fancy—just sheet pan pork chops, potatoes and carrots.”
She breathed in the scent of the meat and veggies when he took the pan out of the oven. “Fancy or not, it sure smells good.”
He retrieved a couple of plates from the cupboard and began to dish up the meal.
She found the cutlery drawer and got forks and knives.
“This is a really nice surprise,” she said. “Thanks.”
“You’ve cooked for me twice—it seemed that I had some catching up to do.”
After dinner was done and the kitchen cleaned, Sierra suggested that it was time to be taking Remy home.
“Not just yet,” he protested. “We’ve got a movie to watch.”
“You were serious about that?”
“Of course.”
“How are we going to watch it? Do you have Disney+?”
“I have twin almost-four-year-old nieces,” he reminded her. “Of course I have Disney+.”
“Do you have popcorn?”
He grinned. “And I have popcorn.”
Over the next few weeks, Sierra spent a lot of time with Deacon—and Remy. They had interesting conversations about all manner of topics, and though he never hesitated to challenge her opinions, he always listened to her. But the more time they spent together, the more she found her thoughts wandering down paths it had no distance wandering.
Such as when he warned her against letting Remy sleep in her bed, because there was no way he would share his with the dog when she went back to Vegas. It had been a casual comment that somehow got Sierra thinking about Deacon in his bed...wondering if he wore pajamas or boxers...or nothing at all.
But she knew it would be foolish to get romantically involved when she was only going to be in town a few more months. And while Deacon had once flippantly suggested that they could skip the romance and go straight to the sex, that had been before he knew about the baby.
The revelation of her condition might have effectively quashed his attraction to her, but the actual condition seemed to have the effect of amplifying her own desire. She’d read that pregnancy hormones could increase a woman’s libido, but she’d been certain it wouldn’t be a problem for her. After Eric’s betrayal, she’d vowed to take a break from men and dating. She hadn’t anticipated meeting Deacon Parrish—or that their interactions, no matter how brief, would stir her up inside.
And while her hormones were in favor of stripping him naked and having her way with him—if he was still amenable to the idea, and that was a big if—the rational side of her brain kept reminding her that her body wasn’t currently her own.
In addition to the conflict between her hormones and her head, there was another battle happening inside her heart. Because being with Deacon, and seeing him interact with others—especially his adorable nieces—only served to escalate her attraction to him.
So she tried to focus her attention on other things—doing her job, exploring the town, meeting new people and making sure Remy knew he was loved. She walked the dog every morning and every night after work—except the days that Deacon came by to take him out, per their agreement.
They generally exchanged only quick hellos and goodbyes in the early part of the week, but he usually hung around a little longer on Fridays. Occasionally to share a meal and sometimes long enough to watch the hockey game together if the Golden Knights were playing.
After a few weeks, Sierra realized the extended Friday night visits were more regular than occasional—and often the highlight of her week. Especially when he sat close to her, so that she could tip her head against his shoulder when she started to feel sleepy.
“You don’t have to come every Friday,” she told him, as they tidied up the kitchen after dinner. “I know that was the original deal, but this must be putting a kink in your social life.”
“You seem to have all kinds of ideas about my social life, most of which bear little resemblance to the reality,” he told her.
“I’m just saying, if you wanted to make plans that didn’t include walking the dog, we can manage without you.”
“Since subtlety doesn’t seem to work very well with you, I’m going to be blunt,” Deacon decided. “I don’t want to make plans with anyone else. I want to make plans with you.
“And yes, I know why you don’t want to get involved. But respecting your decision doesn’t miraculously stop me from wanting you.”
She was stunned. “You still want me?”
“Every minute of every day,” he said, with an intensity that made everything inside her quiver.
And yearn.
Oh, how she yearned for him.
Was it the pregnancy hormones?
Or was it Deacon?
She couldn’t be sure. But she knew that after only one kiss, she craved more.
More kisses. More touches.
So much more.
Not that she could admit any of that to Deacon, so instead she said, “Perhaps this shared custody thing was a bad idea.”
“You don’t have to worry about me jumping your bones, Sierra. I can control my urges.”
“Maybe I’m worried that I can’t control mine.”
Okay, apparently she could admit it to Deacon—though the flare of heat in his eyes warned her it might not have been wise to do so.
“I promise not to fight you off,” he told her.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”
“Because you don’t want me?” he asked, almost challenging her to backtrack now. To lie.
“Because nothing can happen between us,” she said, sincerely regretful. “Because... I’ve been advised to abstain from sex until after the baby is born.”
His gaze immediately sharpened. “Is everything okay—with you and your pregnancy?”
“I’m fine. The baby’s fine. It’s just...complicated.”
He considered her response for a moment before he nodded. “Then I guess we’ll have to suffer together.”