The Texan's Baby Bombshell

by ALLISON LEIGH,

  There wasn’t an inch of space to spare and the way the bathroom fixtures were separated was a head-scratcher, but Ed hadn’t exaggerated about his sister’s establishment. The room did possess the essentials.

  With nowhere else to look, Laurel finally studied the bed.

  A patchwork quilt covered the top and an additional blanket sat folded in the middle of it. At the head, four pillows in white cases were stacked two high beneath a window covered by a plain brown curtain.

  Nothing was new. But everything looked and smelled spotlessly clean.

  She placed the key on the desk. Then, because she couldn’t imagine what might fit inside such a small refrigerator except a takeout container, she opened the door.

  Three label-less beer bottles sat inside.

  She smiled faintly. She had no doubt the contents had been brewed by Ed. And the beer explained the church key sitting in the drawer next to the Bible.

  She heard the car and quickly went into the one cube of a room to use the toilet. She was just washing her hands in the sink when Adam came in with her canvas tote bag and his overnighter.

  He set both on the desk and closed the door.

  The sound of the dead bolt and the safety latch snapping into place seemed very loud.

  Then his dark gaze landed on her. “Well?”

  She realized all of the towels were in the other closet by the shower, but there wasn’t enough room for her to get to it with him standing where he was. “Well?”

  He looked toward the bed.

  She wasn’t going to blush. But telling herself that didn’t stop her cheeks from feeling warm.

  She swiped her wet hands on the seat of her jeans. “This isn’t a big deal.” She managed the words she’d rehearsed in her mind in a creditably calm tone. “We’re adults.” He had an Ashley who texted him ten times a day and she had a baby and whatever mess existed between her and the baby’s father. “There are plenty of pillows to put between us. Me on one side. You on the other.”

  “A very proper arrangement.” His voice dripped irony.

  She pressed her lips together. Her hands still felt wet. “All of the towels are on the other side.”

  His eyebrows rose but he moved three steps toward the head of the bed. “I see.” He held a towel out to her and while she listened to him sliding one door and then the other, she finished drying her hands.

  “Weird setup,” he said a moment later. “Tight as hell, but it’s better than the car.”

  “That was my thinking.” She folded the towel over the edge of the sink then sidled over to sit on the foot of the bed.

  Now that she’d seen the shower, she realized she wanted one in the worst way. She pulled the tote onto her lap and rummaged inside it for her toiletries and realized as she did so that her nightgown was still hanging on the bathroom hook at Fresh Pine.

  It wasn’t that she cared deeply about the nightgown. But it did mean she’d have to wear one of her shirts to sleep in.

  “You can take the shower first.” His words broke the uncomfortable silence.

  She looked over at him. He’d brushed aside the curtain and was looking out the window.

  But since it was dark outside and light in, she knew all he would see was the reflection of the room behind him.

  Adults, she reminded herself. With nearly a decade between the present and when they had dated.

  With a T-shirt clenched in one hand and clean panties balled in the other, she slipped into the shower.

  When she pulled the folding door closed, there was barely enough room to turn around and reach the faucet to turn on the water. She should have done it before closing the door.

  From beyond the thin, pleated plastic panels, she heard the television. He was flipping channels.

  The prosaic noise helped mask the incredible awkwardness she felt.

  With some bumping of elbows and knees, she succeeded in undressing, only to realize she still needed the towel. She opened the door just enough to stick out her arm. “Can you hand me the towel again?”

  A second later, it was pushed into her palm.

  “Thank you.” She pulled the door closed again.

  She draped her clean shirt and underwear on the wall hook, then turned on the faucet and flipped the lever for the shower, tugging the flowered curtain into place. The tub wasn’t very large, but it still looked inviting. And if Adam weren’t three feet away on the other side of a wall and a vague excuse for a door, she’d use it.

  But he was, so she didn’t.

  The water quickly turned hot and she got in.

  She couldn’t keep from groaning a little as the needling spray rained over her.

  Two small bottles sat in the soap niche along with a paper-wrapped bar of soap and a plastic-wrapped disposable razor. Nothing was remotely spa quality, but she didn’t care. She washed her hair, and then, because the water was still running hot and strong, did it again just for the sheer pleasure of it.

  At Fresh Pine, the water had always run lukewarm after three minutes.

  But aware of Adam still waiting for his turn, she made herself finish.

  She dried off while standing in the tub, and since it offered the most real estate in the confined space, she pulled on her clean shirt and underwear there, too.

  She rubbed as much water from her hair as the towel would take, then wrapped it around her shoulders before opening the accordion door.

  Cooler air immediately accosted her and she clutched the ends of the towel together in front of her as she took the only step needed to leave the cube. “All yours.” She didn’t look at him as she scooted to the foot of the bed and pulled her tote onto her lap once again. “You won’t have any room to turn around in there unless you’re standing in the tub, but the water’s good and hot.”

  He made an indecipherable sound and tossed the remote on the bed.

  She pressed the towel to her face when she heard the door closing and let out a long, shaking breath.

  Then, because she had no idea how long he would take, she rapidly brushed her teeth at the sink and combed her hair. She left the towel once more draped over the edge of the sink.

  She couldn’t imagine him wanting to sleep against the wall, so she made the executive decision to take that side of the bed. Chills bumping all over her skin, she flung the quilt toward the wall and left the folded blanket for him, arranged two pillows down the center of the mattress and crawled into the bed.

  She’d just arranged the quilt over herself when she heard a loud thump and a louder curse from the shower. “I warned you.” Then she turned on her side to face the wall.

  The sheets were cold but the quilt was warm and she yawned so hugely her face felt like it could split. With the TV news accompanying the sound of rushing water, she closed her eyes and snuggled into the pillow.

  Staying there had definitely been the right choice.

  Chapter Eight

  Staying here was the stupidest thing he’d ever done.

  Adam eyed the quilt-covered bump lying between a dam of pillows and the wall. Laurel was entirely still, but until he turned down the television and heard the faint rasp of her deep breaths, he wasn’t entirely convinced she was asleep.

  He still didn’t know why he’d gone along with her decision to stay here.

  It damn sure wasn’t the bargain-basement room rate. He wasn’t rolling in dough but he could swing a few nights in a chain hotel.

  Moving as quietly as he could, he pulled his shaving kit from his duffel and brushed his teeth. He left the electric razor inside the leather pack.

  Unlike Laurel, who’d packed the entire contents of her closet—meager though that was—he’d left Texas with only one change of clothes.

  It occurred to him that Sis might have laundry facilities she let her lodgers use, but he wasn’t going to go back up to
the house to ask her. She was already charging too little for the room, even considering its quirkiness. He’d worked in more than a few hotels over the years. He wasn’t sure how she managed to stay in business charging such a low rate.

  With Laurel sound asleep, he checked his phone again for new messages. He’d already dealt with Ashley’s texts regarding the problem she was having with one of Provisions’ new suppliers.

  Dealing with a simple enough work problem, though, hadn’t done a hell of a lot to keep him distracted from the fact that Laurel had been in the shower. Nude. Flowing water making her limbs slick and—

  He grimaced. Pushing away the thought wasn’t easy. How many times had she slipped into their shower after he’d gotten home from his shift at The Yard?

  Now, here they were in a room that was smaller than the bedroom had been in that tiny apartment they’d shared.

  He’d obviously lost his freaking mind.

  If he had any sense at all, he’d sleep on the floor. But after hours of driving, his back couldn’t handle it.

  He didn’t have any new messages. He hoped that meant things were more or less stable where Linus was concerned.

  He rubbed the back of his neck and turned off the television and the light. The room plunged into unrelieved darkness and he carefully sat on the side of the bed. Every cell in his body was attuned to the woman sleeping on the other side of the pillows.

  She didn’t so much as twitch.

  He slowly eased himself down. His feet hung off the end of the bed and his shoulder hit the pillow she’d set in the middle. It felt like he’d landed in some screwball scene from one of the old black-and-white movies his mom loved.

  He reached up and swiped the curtain aside. Moonlight shafted brightly through the window, but it was better than trying to sleep with a curtain that was exactly the right length to hit him on his nose.

  He closed his eyes. He was tired down in his bones. He supposed it could still be the lingering effect of the bone marrow harvest. But far more likely the reason was the woman sleeping next to him.

  He lifted his arm above his head, trying to find more room for himself, but his knuckles hit the wall and Laurel murmured something indecipherable. Beyond the reach of the stupid pillows, he felt her foot graze his calf.

  She’d always started out bundled in a ball. And she’d always ended up sprawled all over him. Silky hair splaying over his chest. Silky legs tangled with his.

  There weren’t many days back then that they hadn’t begun by making love.

  He curled his fingers into a fist as his body stirred.

  He really wasn’t strong enough for this.

  Swearing under his breath, he kicked the folded blanket off the side of the bed and followed it.

  Yeah. Driving back to Texas had been a really brilliant idea.

  * * *

  The wall got in the way of her elbow and Laurel opened her eyes.

  Sunlight streamed through the window above her head.

  She couldn’t believe it. She’d actually slept the entire night through. Not one nightmare. Not one gut-wrenching attack of pure panic that kept her awake for hours and hours and hours.

  The other side of the bed was silent. The pillows she’d arranged in the middle of the bed were still there, though slightly askew now.

  She lifted her head to peek over them, but the stretch of smooth white sheet only confirmed what she already knew.

  Adam wasn’t there.

  Both of the accordion doors were open. Spaces beyond unoccupied. Nor was he standing in the other alcove at the sink.

  He’d probably gone to sample Sis’s cranberry muffins.

  Which was a relief. They could avoid more of the awkwardness of the night before.

  She unwound the quilt from her legs and rolled across the mattress, sliding off the bed.

  But her feet didn’t encounter the expected floor, and she jumped back, screeching instinctively. “What on—”

  Adam sat up, blinking blearily. “What’s wrong?”

  His dark hair was rumpled and spiked and boyishly endearing.

  But that was the only thing about him that was boyish.

  From the dark blur of whiskers that didn’t do a lick to soften his chiseled jaw to the very, very bare torso, he was nothing but all man.

  She quickly looked away but still felt as if the sight would be seared on her brain for life. Particularly the long fingers he’d spread over the hard abdomen that she’d nearly trod upon.

  She took refuge in tartness. “What on earth are you doing down there?”

  “I was sleeping,” he muttered and planted one hand on the mattress to lever himself upward. But he stopped abruptly and sank back down, looking even more disgruntled. He clawed his fingers through his hair and raked his palm down his face. When he looked up again, his dark eyes were more alert. “What time is it?”

  “How would I know?”

  “I see you’re still sweetness and light when you first roll out of bed in the morning.”

  She opened her mouth to deny it, but nothing came out. Mostly because her addled brain realized the implication behind his words. “What do you know about my mood when I first roll out of bed? You said we weren’t serious.”

  His dark eyes were suddenly shuttered. “That’s right.” He rolled to his feet, the blanket bunched in front of him. “If you were on the way to the bathroom, get to it.”

  She flushed and nearly obeyed. But she wanted to remember her life. Which meant facing questions she was afraid of asking. And the sooner, the better. “We slept together, didn’t we?”

  His lips compressed as though he didn’t want to answer. And she was more convinced than ever that “not serious” had been on his part, alone.

  “Often?” she prodded.

  A noise from outside the window drew his attention and he yanked on the curtain, sending the hooks careening back across the window. “You want a number?”

  Her stomach dipped and swayed. Cowardice toppled her spurt of bravery. She shook her head and looked away, sliding rapidly off the bed.

  But she didn’t make the two steps required before reaching the paltry privacy of an accordion door, because as soon as her feet hit the ground, Adam swore and caught her hand.

  The jagged scar he was staring at wound from her inner wrist, over her forearm and up to her elbow. It was red and ugly. How could he be anything but repulsed?

  She yanked her hand free and shut herself into the toilet room.

  She was shaking.

  “Laurel.”

  She slapped her hand against the door, holding it firm. “Leave me alone.”

  “Laurel—”

  “I said leave me alone!” She could hear the tears in her voice as surely as they burned her eyes.

  He was silent. But she knew he was standing on the other side of the plastic door. Imagined she could feel the very beat of his heart.

  He’d been nothing but kind to her. While she felt barely in control of her life.

  “Ten minutes,” he said quietly and she felt him walk away.

  She heard rustling.

  The slide of the dead bolt on the room’s door.

  And then silence. Real silence.

  Tension drained out of her, leaving her feeling dizzy and weak.

  Moving as slowly as if she were a hundred years old, she used the toilet and stepped across the square of carpet to close herself in with the shower. She reached out to turn on the faucet, her eyes on her left arm.

  It might have been her right arm she’d broken in the accident. But it was the left that had been torn to pieces by jagged metal.

  She should have worn a long-sleeved blouse to sleep in. He’d never have seen it, then. She didn’t like seeing the scar and she lived with it.

  She undressed, then stepped into the tub, tu
rning her face up to the water. This time, though, the needle-like spray felt punishing. Cold.

  When she stepped out, she realized she’d once again forgotten the towel.

  Naturally.

  She pulled open the accordion and stepped out.

  Adam was sitting, fully dressed, on the bed. He extended the towel he was holding.

  Mortified right to her marrow in her bones, she snatched it away and whipped it around her torso. “So much for ten minutes!”

  “It’s been twenty,” he said quietly.

  “And it’s still despicable.” She grabbed her clothes and brushed past his knees, turning into the sink area. In the cold light of day, the floorplan felt even more ridiculous. “You could have turned your back at least.”

  “I could have.”

  She grabbed her toothbrush and toothpaste, her teeth set on edge all the more by his calm agreement.

  “You were forever forgetting your towel when we lived together.”

  Mint-scented green gel spurted all over the white sink.

  She slowly looked up at her reflection in the mirror. She opened her mouth to say something but closed it again because her brain had gone blank.

  “We were seniors in college.”

  She realized she’d squeezed the tube in her hand right in half. Swallowing, she fit the cap in place with shaking fingers. “And a-after college?”

  “I told you.”

  “Separate paths,” she whispered. When she’d taken a fellowship in Europe. An idea that felt so deeply foreign to her that she couldn’t even fathom it. She thought of the sketch pad filled with his image. “Was I in love with you?” The words were out before she thought to stop them.

  “No.”

  The frown between her eyebrows paralleled her scar.