“Don’t joke about that,” Nash groused. With death being so fresh around them, he didn’t like the idea of it striking again.
“Who said I was joking?”
“We’re going to the doctor,” Nash answered her initial question.
“Ugh, I hate doctors. They’re worse than the dentist.”
“Like ‘em or hate ‘em, you’re gonna see one.”
Nash left her waiting on the porch while he retrieved the truck from where he’d had to park it clear at the end of the property down by the road, then he stuffed her complaining self inside and drove into town. Come hell or high water, he was going to make sure she got better. He would be damned before he lost another person he cared about.
TWENTY-ONE
Dr. Kutter, or as he preferred to be called, James, appeared concerned, but not overly so, as Nash was. He kept trying to read the elderly man’s expression, as if by that alone, he could determine the level of severity of Vivian’s condition.
That man had a hell of a poker face.
Nash couldn’t read anything. All he knew was that Vivian was certainly ill, but the verdict was still out on what it could be.
As per standard, they ran a urine test to make sure she wasn’t pregnant, despite her cycle having been only a couple of weeks ago and still little more than a week out. It came up negative, as Vivian told him it would. Apparently, it was too early to determine pregnancy, and she didn’t think she could be anyway because she said it was too early for symptoms to sprout up. Nash didn’t know a thing about any of that, so he just nodded and tried to remember to breathe. He certainly didn’t think he was ready to be a father, not that he was too young. He’d just never put a lot of thought into it, and after Carlene died, he shoved the possibility out of the window entirely.
A baby had been the furthest thing from his mind since he and Vivian started having sex, and now he thought about how irresponsible he’d been that protection hadn’t crossed his mind for a nanosecond.
It was the first lesson boys and girls got when they reached puberty, and it was one that Ms. Gretta drilled into his head repeatedly throughout adolescence. Clear into her sixties, she claimed she was too young to be a granny.
“Well, our options in the office are limited,” Dr. Kutter told them as he took a seat on a rolling stool that all doctor’s offices seemed to have. “I have a couple of guesses as to what this may be…” He appraised her, stroking his thin, white beard in contemplation. “But I’m not prepared to make a diagnosis until I have something more solid to go on. So, I’ll tell you what I’d like to do.” He stood, his arthritic knees crackling like rice crispies. “I’m going to have the nurse come in and take some blood and send it to the labs. We don’t have one here in town, so we’ll send the samples to one a few miles away. They’re good and fast, so it shouldn’t take more than a few days. Technology has really come a long way. It’s really very fascinating.”
Nash felt a long-winded story coming on and stood up. “Thanks, doc. That’s perfect. The sooner we get answers, the better.”
Thankfully, Kutter took the hint. “I’ll go ahead and have the nurse finish up so you two kids can get out of here then.” He reached out to shake Nash’s hand and then Vivian’s. “Take care. I’ll give you a call when the results come in.”
“Thank you, doctor.” Vivian was looking a little flushed again, and once the doctor left the room, she laid back on the tall bed and moaned. “I hate being sick.”
“I think everyone does,” Nash commiserated. “Once we figure out what’s goin’ on, we’ll have you back in tip-top shape in no time.”
“God, I hope so.”
There was a knock on the door as it opened, and the nurse, a plump older woman wearing a pair of scrubs with colorful cats on it and her deep auburn hair twisted into a sloppy bun walked in saying, “Hello, hello! I hear we have a sick young woman here today. How ya feelin’ hon? Oh, my.” She must have seen something on Vivian’s face that alerted her to an immediate problem and lunged for the wastebasket on the floor, thrusting it at her just in time for Vivian to twist sideways and vomit into it.
Nash’s level of worry skyrocketed. He wanted those results now. Yesterday. A week was far too long.
“Oh, you poor thing,” the nurse soothed, and retrieved a wet paper towel for Vivian to clean up with.
She blotted her mouth and the beads of sweat that dotted her upper lip, breathing heavily. After a few moments, her color began to return.
Nash had never been so scared in his life. Well, maybe that wasn’t entirely true, but this was a close second or third. His insides had knotted into a ball of fear and made his stomach churn just to witness her in this state.
“Now don’t go passin’ out,” the nurse ordered, pointing a finger at Nash. “We don’t need to be scoopin’ you men off the floor every time your woman experiences a little sickness.” She shook her head, all what are we gonna do with them as she shared a private look with Vivian.
After the sample was properly labeled and taken off to be mailed out, Vivian and Nash were free to leave. He was both relieved and afraid to take her home, unsure what may happen once they got there.
Vivian was in better spirits by the time they entered the front door, and her sudden desire for food was promising. If she had an appetite, whatever was wrong with her couldn’t be that bad, right?
“I would kill for a cheeseburger right now.”
“How about a bit of tuna casserole instead? I spotted some earlier. And maybe a strawberry pie? Oprah brought it from the diner, I think.” Nash wouldn’t mind a slice of that himself.
Vivian sighed with disappointment. “I guess I could go for that.”
Nash sprang into action, eager to take care of her and see her through to good health. God willing. Ordering Vivian to sit and relax, he headed for the kitchen, sending up a silent prayer to Ms. Gretta and Pete and even Carlene, and anyone else listening, to look out for her and make sure everything turned out all right.
***
As with anything that required a bit of waiting, the week that passed took forever. Too antsy to sit still for long, when Nash wasn’t waiting hand and foot on Vivian—she was a good patient who didn’t ask for much, no matter how willing and prepared he was—he was outside getting things tended to that needed tending.
The most important thing was the tractor. He’d finally gotten that hunk of ancient machinery up and running. Not that it mattered much anymore. Ms. Gretta wasn’t in any position to use it. But he could use it to maintain their combined land. That was always an option. Or maybe he’d sell it. He wasn’t really sure yet what he was going to do about it all.
More than likely, the lawyer who’d contacted him yesterday would iron it all out in fine detail. They had a meeting with one Thomas J. Redford in Charlotte in two weeks for the reading of the will. Nash hadn’t known that Ms. Gretta even had a will, let alone what might be in it, but he figured she must have left him something or wanted him to act as the executor of it; otherwise, he wouldn’t have been called to witness it.
What he didn’t understand was why Vivian had been asked to attend with him. Maybe she had something for the two of them? Would anyone else he knew be attending? Again, he had no way of knowing.
“Nash? Dr. Kutter just called.” Vivian was standing in the opening to the barn, her expression stricken, as if she’d just seen a ghost.
Nash was immediately filled with worry, his head spinning with the worst thoughts and ideas, certain the news was grave. His mood took a nosedive as he rose from his work bench where he’d been cleaning his tools and placing them back in their exact right order on the pegboard walls.
“What is it? What did he say?” he asked warily, unable to get his feet to move. A bout of dizziness struck him, and he reached out a stabilizing hand to brace himself against the table, so he didn’t fall over.
“He said…” She trailed off, taking a single step into the barn. “I can’t believe I’m going to say this…”
She bit her lip, and the anticipation was so strong, the tension so thick, that Nash had a good mind to shake the answer out of her if she didn’t spit it out already.
“I-I…my God.” She met his eyes. Nash’s heart hammered in his chest. “I’m pregnant.”
The world suddenly stopped spinning. Nash’s ears were stuffed full of cotton. The pressure in the air grew to dangerous levels, pressing in on his skull. He could hear the stickiness in his throat echo in his ears when he swallowed.
“I…don’t think I heard you right?” He laughed humorlessly, stuck a finger in his right ear, and gave it a jimmy. “Run that by me again.”
“I said the test came back positive. I’m pregnant, cowboy,” she said more confidently, approaching him slowly, cautiously.
Nash. Couldn’t. Breathe.
Stumbling back, his feet hit the legs of the stool and he dropped his backside down onto it with a grunt. What had she just said? “How?” he asked dumbly. Of course, he knew how. He understood the mechanics of sex. Knew the consequences even better.
But it had been the last answer he’d expected to hear.
“Do you really want me to answer that?”
Vivian was taking this awfully well, and he told her so.
“Well,” she said softly, using that soothing voice, he’d bet, in hopes that she didn’t send him running clear into the hills, “I don’t see where I really have a choice. Do you?”
Nash knew of only two, and while some would take the easy route and run, Nash wasn’t a man who ran from responsibility. And he sure as hell wasn’t going to run out on his kid. Not like his father had, and certainly not like his mother had.
He could see it in her eyes that Vivian knew what he was thinking, and she finished the journey between them. Nash opened his arms and folded her up against his chest, breathing in her scent as they hugged each other tight.
“Well…” he sighed. “I’m glad you’re not dyin’.”
She petted his hair and kissed his crown. “Not today, cowboy.” She paused while they both digested the news. “Are you happy or having a little heart attack like I am?”
“Definitely havin’ a heart attack.” He tilted his head back to look up at her. “But I’m also happy. Well, once I get used to the idea of bein’ a father.” His eyes rounded. “Holy hell, I’m gonna be a father. And you’re gonna be a mother.”
“Yep, looks that way, doesn’t it?”
Nash had a lightbulb moment, and he hoped Vivian would humor him. Taking her by the waist, he set her back enough that he could stand…
And then he dropped down on one knee.
“I don’t have a ring,” he said as he fished into his oil-stained pants pocket and produced an octagonal bolt that was too big for her petite fingers but would serve his purpose in that moment. “Vivian Parish, would you marry me?”
Clasping her hands over her mouth, she nodded vigorously, tears springing to her eyes.
He took her hand and slid the piece of hardware onto her ring finger, leaving behind a smudge of grease. “I promise I’ll get ya a better ring as soon as I can.”
“No, this is perfect. I love it.”
Nash was skeptical. A city girl like her, used to all the fine things, with her fancy designer shoes and clothing, couldn’t be happy with such a mundane thing over a glittering diamond. Could she?
“No, you deserve the best. What do you want, canary diamonds? Round cut, diamond cut? Tell me, and I’ll do my best to provide it.”
Vivian appeared pained by his insistence, and she got down on her knees before him, clasping his face between her soft, delicate hands, the “ring” cold and hard and bulky against his scruffy, unshaven cheek. “I don’t want a diamond. I want this because you gave it to me, because of what it represents. That means so much more to me than you can imagine.”
Nash could hardly believe what she was saying…but he would have to. Ms. Gretta always taught him that more so than the customer always being right, a woman’s word was solid gold. You didn’t question it; you just rolled with it.
“Then it’s settled.” Nash returned her touch, bringing them closer. “We’re gettin’ married, darlin’.”
“I know. It’s crazy. I think this is the second time we’ve agreed to agree.” She laughed, and Nash joined her.
“If we keep this up, who know what we might accomplish.”
“World peace?”
“Guess we’ll have to wait and see.”
Vivian touched her forehead to his and sighed deeply and contentedly. “I love you, cowboy.”
“I love you too, darlin’. Promise me ya won’t be runnin’ away again.” Nash thought of when she’d take off on him, and he wasn’t eager for a repeat. He needed to know she was staying put this time.
“Never again,” she swore. “This is my home now, and this is where I’m going to stay.”
“Then kiss me like ya mean it.”
She grinned, her arms tying around the back of his neck. “I won’t ever stop.”
And she sealed the promise with the most devastating kiss Nash had ever been given.
EPILOGUE
The reading of the will was brief but enlightening. Nash and Vivian sat side by side in padded office chairs, listening to the lawyer go over each point in detail.
Ms. Gretta left her entire estate to Nash…and Vivian. She’d made them dual owners in the event of her death as a last ditch effort to force them together. Nash didn’t even have to guess on that one. She’d had it stated in so many words in a legal document addressed to them.
She also left what little was in her bank accounts to Nash for the upkeep, as well as a bit of insurance money to be divided among the farmhands, as they were “the sons she never wanted but got stuck with.” Of course, she’d said that with humor and love, as all things that left Ms. Gretta’s mouth were.
Nash’s heart was light by the time the lawyer finished up, and he couldn’t help feeling a little victorious. If Ms. Gretta were here now, he’d rub it in her face how her little ploy of tying them both to the house wasn’t needed, because they’d already decided to be together indefinitely, that they were starting a family even. She would be happy with them, beside herself with joy, to be sure, but she’d also have to eat a bit of crow, too, and you didn’t get much better revenge than that.
“Thank you both for coming in today,” Mr. Redford said as he rose from behind his overlarge mahogany desk and reached to shake their hands. He was the epitome of Southern and reminded Nash of the KFC guy.
“Thank you for seeing us today.” Nash gave his hand a firm pump and then placed it on Vivian’s lower back to show them out. They had much to discuss, much to sort and plan out. No doubt, they’d bump heads a few times in the process. That’s just how they were—too much alike, yet so very different.
“Have a wonderful rest of the day, folks. I hear it’s a nice one.”
Spring was coming early, its roller coaster of temperature rises and falls staggering. Today they were having a warm spell, and Nash planned to take Vivian out and enjoy it.
“Oh, where is my head?” The colonel was halfway to the door to show them out when he turned and rushed back to the open briefcase on top of his desk. He retrieved something and returned with a bright smile, holding out a plain white envelope. “Almost forgot to give this to ya. Came in the mail just yesterday by currier.”
Nash took the envelope and looked it over. It had his name scrawled on it in Ms. Gretta’s perfect, albeit slightly shaky cursive.
He chanced a quick glance at Vivian, his throat constricting. “Thanks,” he told Mr. Redford, then turned back around and got the hell out of there before he broke down in front of the man.
He hadn’t expected the letter, nor his reaction to seeing something as intimate as her handwriting. That was the worst thing about losing someone. Just when you thought you had it under control, some little reminder cropped up and made a liar out of you.
Nash didn’t utter a word as they drove home, an
d he knew that it worried Vivian, but he just couldn’t bring himself to speak. He was too busy digesting everything and wondering what Ms. Gretta had to say that was so important that she had to send it by currier, which Nash thought meant it had to have been sent last-minute.
Her final, final last will and testament, to be opened and read by him.
The letter lay on his thigh, his hand over top, pinning it down so it didn’t go missing. He wasn’t even sure he could summon the courage to read it.
So after an hour of sitting on the living room couch, staring at the blank TV screen, Vivian had finally had enough.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, would you just open it?”
She was impatient. Probably pregnancy hormones, Nash thought. Definitely not something he wanted to mess around with.
His expression crumpled as he admitted, “I don’t know if I can do it.”
Vivian’s face softened. “Do you want me to do it?”
She was being nice about it, but she was impatient to see what was inside. Knowing that was her motivating factor and that he would never do it himself, Nash handed it over.
Vivian mellowed out as the weight of the responsibility was realized, and she took care sliding her finger underneath the sealed edge, tearing the paper carefully so that it didn’t ruin the writing on the front.
She shot him a look, as if asking for permission to continue.
Nash nodded infinitesimally, and cast his gaze to the carpeted floor, dread and anticipation warring inside of him. He wanted to know what it said, but he also didn’t.
Vivian took a moment to read it over first, and then another, and another. When so much time had passed that Nash grew anxious, he finally risked a look up at her…
He wasn’t sure what to make of it—the smile on her face, that is.
Vivian was smiling, borderline laughing, and he couldn’t imagine why.
Although, when it came to Ms. Gretta, there was no telling what the old crone would say and do.
“Well, what does it say?” he asked curiously.
Staying Home (Roped by the Cowboy Duet Book 2) Page 15