Beth sat at her workbench and stared at the small piece of silver she was currently filing. She was in the process of making a pendant, but she couldn’t quite get the right shape. To make things worse, her brain was still fuzzy and her stomach was starting to roil once again.
She’d gone home when Indigo had arrived at the gallery at lunchtime, then had a shower before determinedly trying to push everything out of her head and have a nap.
But her brain wouldn’t let her sleep.
You’re a coward, it said. You know what this is and you’re going to have to do something about it.
Beth put the piece of silver down on the workbench and stared at it.
It was true. No matter how much she wanted to hide, she couldn’t, not from this. And there was only one way to be sure she was really pregnant and that was to take a test. But the thought of going into Bill’s and asking him if he had any pregnancy tests…
Ugh. She could only imagine the gossip that would spread, since gossip was Bill’s lifeblood, and the very last thing she wanted was everyone knowing. There would be questions about who the father was and that would drag Finn into it.
He’s going to be dragged into it whether you like it or not.
Yes, but only if the pregnancy was a viable one. It might not be. So surely it was better to leave him out of it until everything was certain?
No, she couldn’t get a test from Bill’s. She’d have to get one from somewhere and the most logical place for that was Queenstown, which was the closest large town. Except Queenstown was two hours away by car, so not exactly the place for a quick trip.
You could, of course, keep on pretending everything’s great, the way you always do.
Beth let out a soft breath, put her file down, and shut her eyes.
She could pretend. That had gotten her through in the past. And sometimes, if you kept pretending long and hard enough, eventually the pretense became the reality. Could she do that with this though? After what had happened the last time?
So much for your brand-new life.
Her eyes stung, a sick fear tightening its grip.
She’d lost her first baby. A little girl, born far, far too early. And afterward she’d fallen into a depression so bleak and black it felt like being trapped at the bottom of a cold, dark lake with the weight of the water pressing down on her.
Postpartum depression without a baby and it had nearly destroyed her. Troy hadn’t been able to deal with it and had left, and her parents had been no help. “Just like your mother,” her father had said. “Crying about it doesn’t help. Pull yourself together and get on with it.” Then he’d absented himself the way he always did when things were hard.
So that’s what she’d done. She’d pulled herself together and gotten herself out of that pit on her own—with the help of Deep River’s doctor, medication, and her newfound interest in jewelry making. And a determination within herself never to fall into that pit again.
Which was why she was here. To get as far away from it as possible.
Except now it had followed her.
Dear God, what a mess.
“Beth?” The voice was deep, male, and came from the doorway.
Sucking in a sharp breath, she turned her head.
Standing in the entrance of the corrugated iron shed that currently housed her jewelry workshop and Indigo’s dyeing operation was Finn Kelly, because of course it was Finn Kelly. Who else would it be? Who else could possibly make this situation even more difficult? And naturally he hadn’t taken her at her word earlier today when she’d told him she was fine. No doubt he was here to check on her, which would then mean her having to lie.
She certainly couldn’t tell him the truth, not yet. Not when she could barely cope with it herself, let alone having to deal with him as well. Besides, pregnancies were precarious, as she of all people knew.
It was barely a month from conception and nothing could be counted on until at least three months after that date.
And not even then.
No. Not even then.
Her hand crept to the curl of silver at her throat, her fingers closing around the warm metal, the feel of it sitting in her palm reassuring.
“Hi,” she said with a forced brightness she didn’t feel. “You need anything?”
He came into the shed, giving her a brief, impersonal scan as if he were a doctor assessing her for injuries. “Not specifically. Just wanted to see how you were doing.”
“I’m fine.” She let go her pendant and picked up her file again. “Trying to do some work, as you can see.” With any luck he’d get the hint and leave, and she wouldn’t have to deal with him.
Except he didn’t move away, coming closer to stand beside her workbench instead, watching her.
“You still look pale,” he said after a moment. “Are you sure you should be sitting up?”
She lifted a shoulder, concentrating on the piece of silver in her hand and not on the man standing at her elbow. “I was going to have a nap, but I couldn’t sleep. So this is a nice distraction.” Which was absolutely true. “Hey, where’s Karl?”
“He’s probably saying hello to Jeff.” Finn was apparently not picking up on the “please go away” note in her voice. “Have you had anything to eat this afternoon?”
“No,” she said. “Why would I when I’ve been puking my guts up every time I put something in my mouth?”
There was a silence, and she could hear the sharp note in her voice echoing.
Crap. He was going to know something was up now. Snapping at people was unlike her.
God, she needed to get it together.
Putting down the file yet again, she glanced at him, fixing her usual bright smile to her face. It had never felt more fake.
“Look,” she said, “I appreciate the concern. But I’m really fine, Finn. I mean, if you keep coming to check on me, I’m going to think you might want something else.”
She’d hoped the terrible attempt at flirtation would send him packing.
She was wrong.
Finn ignored the comment and stared at her, his gaze very dark and very direct. “You’re not fine. You’re far too pale, you have huge dark circles under your eyes, and you still look green.”
Oh great. This was going well.
“So?” Beth smiled harder, trying for a more jokey tone. “You probably would too if you’d spent the morning hunched over the toilet.”
He ignored that too. “You looked terrified down in the gallery today. Why?”
All the breath left her body in a rush and suddenly she didn’t feel like joking anymore. Her lungs felt heavy, laboring to draw in air.
How had he seen that? How had he known?
Somewhat desperately she said, “I’m not—”
“Don’t do that,” he interrupted, his voice quiet. “Don’t pretend like you always do. You were sick. You threw up and then came out of the bathroom looking frightened. Why?”
She swallowed. She couldn’t tell him she was fine, not again, not when he hadn’t believed her the first time around.
He will need to know eventually.
Yes, but only if that eventuality happened, which it might not. In which case, why cause him more stress that might end up being pointless anyway? She didn’t want that. She didn’t want anyone to have to deal with that if they didn’t have to, which was why she didn’t want anyone to know, not even Indigo and Izzy.
She’d gotten herself into this mess and it was her problem to fix. No one had pulled her out of that black pit. She’d done it herself and she’d do the same now. That’s what strong, positive Beth would do.
So she forced that smile back in place and opened her mouth to tell him that yes, she had been feeling sick, but it was getting better, when abruptly the look on his face changed, his dark gaze intensifying.
“What are you not telling me, Beth?” His gaze narrowed. “Wait…”
Oh no, he couldn’t be guessing. How could he? Why would he?
“Finn,” she said quickly. “It’s nothing. It’s just a virus—”
“Are you pregnant?”
The words hung in the air between them, a crushing weight.
“W-what?” Beth stammered, everything inside her going into free fall.
“I think you heard me.” He took another step. “Could you be pregnant? I know you said you were on the pill, but is that a possibility?”
Her mouth was dry, her heart beating so hard it felt like it was going to come out of her chest. She wanted to keep smiling, wanted to tell him that of course she wasn’t pregnant, don’t be silly.
But she was tired, and she felt ill, and his eyes were glittering like sharpened pieces of obsidian, the expression on his face hard, and all she wanted to do was cry.
Everything was falling apart, and the bright dream she’d had about what her life in New Zealand would be like was in jeopardy.
And it was all her fault.
She hadn’t been strong. She hadn’t been looking to the future. She’d let her desire and her passion do her thinking for her, and now look what had happened.
The need to run away swamped her, and she shoved her stool back, slipping off it and making to stride past him, but his hand shot out and he grabbed her arm. His fingers were warm and strong, stopping her in her tracks.
Beth faced the doorway, breathing very fast. She didn’t want to look at him, didn’t want to see the expression now on his face.
Coward.
“Beth,” he said quietly, “I think it’s time you and I had a chat.”
***
She’d gone rigid in his hold and her face was chalk- white, and if her sudden break for the exit hadn’t been enough of a giveaway, the mere fact that she wouldn’t look at him now told him all he needed to know.
It was a guess. He’d been thinking about her symptoms and why she’d lied to Indigo about having a migraine and why she’d looked so afraid in the gallery that morning. Plus she hadn’t wanted anyone to know, it was clear, and that made no sense. Why would she not want people to know she’d picked up a virus?
There was only one explanation that would cover all of those things. And either she had the plague or she was pregnant, and he was pretty sure there was no plague in New Zealand.
Shock at the confirmation gripped him, along with a host of other more complicated emotions, but he couldn’t take any of that in just yet. Because this was a crisis, and one of the first rules of managing any crisis was to deal with the immediate problem.
So first things first.
Beth was obviously in some kind of shock too and he didn’t like that. He didn’t like that she was so upset either, though it was understandable. Whatever, he needed to take care of her until she was in a better space.
Which is your job?
Hell yeah it was his job. If his guess had been correct, and judging from her face right now it was, then looking after her would be his responsibility for some time to come. And he wasn’t going to walk away from that.
It took two to create a child, after all.
Are you ready to be a father though?
An emotion he didn’t care to name twisted inside him, but he shoved it away for the moment. He’d deal with his own issues later. Right now, he had Beth to deal with.
“We don’t need to talk.” Beth still wasn’t looking at him. “Nothing’s certain yet. I haven’t had a test or anything.”
But he didn’t let her go. She was still too pale, and he didn’t like how fast the pulse at the base of her throat was beating. If she hadn’t had anything to eat all afternoon, then that wasn’t going to help her feel any better.
“Yeah, we do.” He let go of her arm and took her hand instead, threading his fingers through hers in a way he hoped would be reassuring. “Come on.” And before she could protest again, he moved toward the workshop exit, pulling her gently along with him.
She resisted for a moment, then followed without a word.
Outside the sun was bright as he led her from the shed and across the gravel turnaround in front of the farmhouse, the silence broken only by a kereru, a wood pigeon, cooing contentedly on the roof of the porch, its iridescent feathers gleaming in the sun.
“We can chat in the workshop,” she muttered behind him. “We don’t need to go into the house.”
Finn ignored this, going up the steps and opening the front door.
When Clint had owned the place, the housekeeping had been rather haphazard, since he wasn’t a man who particularly cared about such things. But it was obvious from the moment Finn stepped into the hallway that a new sheriff was in town. Things had changed. Radically.
For a start, the place was spotless, the wooden floors gleaming, the little hall table that had once been piled high with an assortment of items and never dusted now home to a small peace lily and all the dust gone. As were all the cobwebs.
Before, the house had smelled of mustiness and damp parka with a tinge of unwashed socks, but now all he could smell was lemon furniture polish, the faint traces of freshly baked bread, and the loamy scent of the fields outside.
It was certainly a welcome change.
Finn went into the front living area, which was also spotless, and sat Beth down on the old couch positioned in front of the big wood burner that dominated the room. Her fingers were cold in his, and since he didn’t want to stand over her like a disapproving father, he crouched in front of her instead, taking both her hands in his.
Her attention was on the floor, her usual brightness dimmed. It made his chest feel tight, which was odd considering he’d always thought her brightness way too fake.
Then again, he hadn’t that night in her arms. That night she’d been nothing but sunshine.
And look what happened.
Irritated by the thought, Finn told his brain to shut the hell up.
“Okay, so, want to tell me what’s going on?” He kept his voice quiet and his tone very neutral.
She gave a short laugh but didn’t look at him. “Not really.”
“Beth.”
“Okay, okay. Yes, I think…I think I’m pregnant.” Her lashes lifted, her green gaze flickering with what he thought was defensiveness. “And before you ask, no, I haven’t been with anyone else but you.”
An unfamiliar sensation caught him, one that felt almost like possessiveness, which was strange when he’d never felt that way about a woman before, not even with Sheri.
“I wasn’t going to ask that,” he said mildly. “I know you haven’t.”
Beth scowled, which was an expression he hadn’t seen on her face before, and it made him stare. She was even pretty when she scowled, which was quite something.
“Hey,” she muttered, “I could have been with a lot of men, you don’t know.”
“You haven’t though.” He rubbed her cold fingers absently in his to warm them. “Which men would you have been with? I mean, have you been carrying on a secret affair with Bill that somehow no one knows about?”
She gave a little snort of disgust, her gaze returning to the floor once again. “I might. It would be worth it for the sausage rolls.”
“Hey, I’d have an affair with him for the sausage rolls.”
As he’d hoped, the tightness around her mouth eased. “Don’t try to make me smile. It’s not going to work.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
A breath escaped her, and there was a silence he made no attempt to fill, allowing her a couple of moments to get herself together.
At last she said, “I haven’t had a test, so nothing is certain. It might not even be true.” She left her hands where they were. “And if I am pregnant, I might not stay that way because it’s early days.”
It occurred to him, almost idly, that he could be angry about this, because if things were certain and she did stay pregnant, there would be a child at the end of it. And it would be his child.
He and Sheri had always planned on having children. A couple of years to enjoy a child-free marriage first, Sheri had said, and then they could get on with the business of trying for a baby. He’d been fine with it and hadn’t minded waiting. Both of them had thought they’d have all the time in the world…
But you didn’t have that time, and now the child you might potentially have isn’t Sheri’s.
That was true. And yeah, he could be angry about it, about all the missed opportunities and futures he would never get to have.
But he couldn’t find it in himself to be mad about it, at least not now. And he certainly couldn’t be mad at Beth.
There had been two of them that night on the couch at HQ. And he was the one who’d lost control. He should have thought about condoms and he hadn’t; while she might have missed a pill, it could also have failed. Either way, no amount of recriminations would help now.
Besides, apart from anything else, even if he had been angry, pacing about and shouting would only make things worse since Beth was clearly shocked and upset, not to mention ill.
He couldn’t do that to her. He wouldn’t.
Finn squeezed her hands, then let them go, rising to grab the thick woolen blanket that hung over one arm of the sofa, then wrapping it around her shoulders and tucking it in firmly.
“You don’t have to do that,” Beth protested weakly, “I’m not actually sick.”
“You are,” he said. “You’re as white as a sheet and having nothing to eat all day is only going to make you feel worse.”
She looked up at him, green eyes shadowed, the circles under her eyes pronounced and very much not the Beth she usually was. “Why are you being so nice about this?”
“Because getting angry and upset won’t help. Plus it doesn’t change the situation, so what’s the point?”
“But I—”
“One step at a time,” he interrupted gently. “That’s the way we’re going to deal with it. And right now, the first step is making sure you’re warm, that you’re hydrated, and have something in your stomach. Then we’re going to talk about where to go from here.”
“Yay,” she said with some sarcasm, clearly trying to make a joke out of it. But he could see the fear in her eyes. The same fear he’d seen down in the gallery earlier that day.
Before he could think better of it, Finn reached down and cupped her cheek, her skin soft and warm against his palm. “It’ll be okay,” he said, rubbing a reassuring thumb across her cheekbone. “I promise. Whatever happens, we’ll handle it. But first, you need something to eat.”
She stared at him for a long moment, and this time he couldn’t tell what she was thinking. Then she sighed. “Thanks, but I don’t want anything.”
“Oh, you’ll want this.” Finn dropped his hand, trying to ignore how the warmth of her skin lingered on his fingertips. “Now why don’t you lie down and rest for a bit, while I get you a little something?”
Beth muttered under her breath, but he decided to ignore that, striding out of the living room and going down the hallway to the kitchen.
He’d do his special chicken soup for her. That was easy on sick tummies but contained plenty of liquid for hydration and some protein too. Sheri had liked it when she was in the middle of chemo.
You’re going to make her Sheri’s special soup?
An old pain coiled in his gut, and for a moment, he stood in the kitchen doorway, grief gripping him tight.
Sheri had loved the soup he made for her, and he’d loved making it because it helped him feel like he was doing something. As if he could make a difference somehow. It was her meal, so really, what right did Beth have to it?
Except he couldn’t think like that. It would be making far too big a deal out of it if he could only make it for Sheri. It was only soup, for God’s sake; he couldn’t be precious about it.
Anyway, Sheri would be appalled. It wasn’t her soup, she’d tell him. Don’t be so bloody sentimental, Finn. She’d been a very down-to-earth, practical sort of woman, yet one with a big heart. She wouldn’t want to deny Beth the soup.
She wouldn’t want him mooning around feeling sad about it either.
Shoving thoughts of his wife away, Finn started opening and closing cupboards in the small kitchen, poking around for ingredients.
Luckily all the things he needed were there—it was a simple recipe—and soon he had a big pot of soup on the stove. While it was simmering, he went out and sorted through the equipment he needed for the trek the next day, then checked on the horses and Karl, who was saying hello to Jeff since the mutt liked the horse for some inexplicable reason. Then he finished up any remaining chores.
After he’d done that, he looked in on Beth and was pleased to see she’d fallen asleep on the sofa. A good thing. She’d looked exhausted, and no wonder—all of this had to have been a big worry for her.
Not long after that, the soup was done, so Finn filled a bowl for her, grabbed a spoon, and went back into the living room. There was a small, very rustic-looking wooden coffee table near the sofa that he put the bowl and spoon down on before going over to where Beth still lay asleep.
Her hair had come loose from its ponytail, lying in a pale tumble over the old, worn dark-green upholstery of the couch, and she had her hands curled beneath her chin like a child. She looked very small and vulnerable, and a protectiveness he didn’t want to acknowledge gathered inside him.
He looked after people, that’s what he did, and it was fine with clients—there was nothing emotional about the way he looked after them. With his brother and Levi, it was a bit different because them he did care about. But they were grown men, big enough and ugly enough to look after themselves. Then there was Gus, and he’d lay down his life for her. But again, that was different. She was his niece, and he had no choice in the matter.
He didn’t understand this protectiveness that filled him now as he looked at Beth, that also had an element of possessiveness to it that was alien to him.
He didn’t like it. Possessiveness assumed that she was his or that he had a claim on her and neither of those things were true. They’d slept together once, then had decided to be friends, and they’d both been happy with that—or at least, he was happy with that.
You think you can just be friends with her now that she’s expecting your child?
The feeling coiled tighter, making him aware that if he didn’t like it, he liked the thought of Beth being “just a friend” even less. Though he really didn’t have any idea of what else she could be, or not right now at least.
One thing was clear though: they were going to have to talk it through and figure out where they were going to go from here, and they were going to have to do this together.
Responding to an impulse so deep he didn’t question it, Finn put a hand out and touched her hair. It felt silky against his fingers, just the way he remembered. Her hands had felt good in his too.
Sensing his presence, she sighed, her lashes fluttering and then lifting, the deep, shadowed green of her eyes meeting his.
“There’s soup here for you, honey,” he said, the endearment slipping out before he could stop it. “And then you and I need to talk.”