“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.”
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.