He kept going, taking hold of the door handle. “Your dad said this place was incredible,” Ash said. “No good?”
“It’s good.” But she wouldn’t budge.
“Then we should go in. Where it’s warmer. And there’s food. Since you didn’t eat this morning.” He paused. “And the baby—”
“Stop. Now. Ash,” she cut him off, looking over her shoulder, brushing past him into Pop’s Bakery.
Ash was chuckling, damn him.
“Renata, good to see you, young lady.” Carl Stephens, the owner of Pop’s Bakery, gave her a firm hug. “Out and about in this cold?”
“I was hungry. A little cold won’t stop me from eating your delicious cooking.” She smiled. “Besides, I had to bring our newest resident by. Carl Stephens, this is Ash Carmichael, the new veterinarian out at the university’s veterinary hospital.”
“Nice to meet you.” Carl shook his hand. “Can’t think of a better tour guide than Renata.”
“All part of the job.” She hoped that would end any further speculation Carl and his wife, Lola, might make about the pair. She knew better, but she still hoped.
“Let’s get you two fed.” Carl led them to a table in the middle of the room.
Considering there were plenty of other tables in far less prominent locations, she was tempted to ask for another one. But Ash was pulling a chair out for her.
“This is great,” Ash said.
Damn, if he wasn’t charming. His dark wind-blown hair, strong jaw and ruddy cheeks. And that smile. Her heart thumped—as if she needed further proof that she had no immunity to this man. She sat.
“Is that deer wearing a Christmas hat?” Ash asked, pointing to one of Carl’s annual decorations: a taxidermy head mount of a whitetail deer—decked out with a Santa hat and blinking Christmas lights.
“It is. Folk around these parts sort of expect it this time of year. Guess I do, too. Wouldn’t be Christmas without it.” Carl nodded. “You two look over the menus while I get Lola. If I let you leave without meeting her, I’ll be in the doghouse for a week.” Carl winked and disappeared into the back.
“You look ready to bolt,” Ash murmured.
“Lola Stephens is the loudest, nosiest busybody in town,” Renata whispered, leaning across the table. “Do not mention a thing about...well, you know what.”
He leaned forward. “My judging the Gingerbread Festival? Or the baby?” Ash whispered back, eyes sparkling. “Why did you want to eat here then?”
He was teasing her now? Grinning like that? “Ash Carmichael.” Her voice was shaking. “You are, without a doubt—”
“Wishing I’d kissed you proper before I left this morning?” he finished. “I am. I’ve been regretting it all morning.”
Renata was speechless, again. She was never speechless. Ever. But any attempt at a witty comeback fizzled out. Those gray eyes burned so hot her body shuddered from the heat. Which would be fine if they weren’t where they were... With Lola Stephens standing by their table, watching the two of them, all wide-eyed and with an even wider grin.
This is bad.
“Lola.” She sat back quickly, hoping the older woman hadn’t heard him. That would be so bad.
“I was waiting for one of you to see me.” She was delighted. Just delighted.
This was very bad.
Ash was on his feet. “You must be Lola Stephens? Clara said I had to meet you while I was in town.”
“She did?” Lola smiled.
“Ash Carmichael,” he said, taking her hand in his. “It’s a pleasure, ma’am.”
“Oh, poo, sugar. The pleasure is all mine.” Lola Stephens was blushing. Because Ash Carmichael was good. “Sit down, please. Now, why did Clara say you needed to meet me?”
“If anyone knew of a place for sale, you’d probably have heard about it. She also said I needed to have one of your husband’s raspberry tarts, if there are any.”
“He’s the new veterinarian, Lola,” Carl filled in.
“Oh, that’s wonderful,” Lola said, glancing back and forth between them. “You’re staying in Stonewall Crossing? And looking for a home. A family home? Or more of a bachelor pad?”
Renata wanted to kick him under the table when he looked her way. It wasn’t just any look—it was loaded with all sorts of meaning.
“Family,” Ash answered, his gaze falling from hers. “I have a son. He’s busy—the sort of busy that needs room to run and play and grow.”
What was his name? Did Ash’s son look like him? Or his mother? Chances were, he was adorable. He was half Ash, after all.
“Oh, I see.” Lola’s smile dimmed. “And when will Mrs. Carmichael be joining us?”
Considering the context of the conversation, it didn’t sound invasive. Except Renata knew Lola Stephens. She had a heart of gold, helping everyone who needed it—while collecting and distributing all the little bits and pieces of information she regularly collected. Like now. Ash Carmichael was a mystery and Lola was about to get the inside scoop on the town’s newest resident.
“My wife passed when my son was born,” he said.
With that sentence, the world fell away. Pain reached inside her chest and squeezed her heart, the edge to his voice slicing deep. If ever there was a reason for a person to hurt, this was it. And there was no denying the pain in his eyes, no matter how hard he tried to hide it. “Ash, I’m so sorry,” Renata murmured, devastated on his behalf. “I had no idea.”
“I don’t talk about it.” His gaze found hers, the haunted torment she glimpsed gutting her. “Tends to make people feel bad. And for long awkward silences. Like now.”
He was doing his best to be blasé, but she saw through it. And she longed to reach for him. His hand lay there, on the table—close enough to touch. It seemed like the right thing to do. Covering his large hand with her own out of sympathy. It was the human thing to do, surely? His hand turned, catching hers and squeezing gently. How could she let go then? When he held on to her?
“It’s just me and Curtis, for now.” His chuckle was forced. “My mother-in-law and mother have been taking care of him and helping out whenever I need. Like now.”
“Sound like good folk,” Lola said. “Family matters.”
“Yes, ma’am. Nothing is more important.” His gray eyes fixed on her. “Family is all that matters.”
“When will they be joining you?” Lola asked.
“Tonight,” he answered, smiling. “It’ll be good to have him with me.”
Tonight she’d meet Ash’s son. Tonight she’d meet the boy that would be her baby’s big brother. And she couldn’t wait to meet him. “At the Lodge?” she asked.
He nodded.
“Well now, tragedy strikes at all ages. You’re young, son,” Carl spoke up. “Good-looking and, if you were hired at the university, hardworking and sharp. You keep your heart open and you’ll find love again.” He draped his arm around Lola’s shoulder.
Lola was watching them again, like a hawk. But the hurt in Ash’s eyes had Renata holding on to Ash’s hand until their food arrived.
* * *
Ash pushed aside his empty plate and sat back, offering Lola Stephens a smile as she placed his dessert in front of him.
“Hope it lives up to Clara’s praise. You sure you don’t want anything, Renata? You barely touched your food.” Lola tsked. “Sugar, you need to eat something or you’re going to waste away. We wouldn’t want that, would we, Dr. Carmichael?”
“No, ma’am,” he agreed, moving the napkin dispenser from the middle of the table and pushing the plate into the middle. “Maybe we can get another spoon?” he asked.
Lola winked and hurried across the diner. But when he looked at Renata, she was glaring at him—blue eyes blazing.
“Don’t like your salad?” He’d watched her poke through the strawberry, chicken and s
pinach salad for the last forty minutes.
With a sigh, she mumbled, “My stomach has been a little unpredictable recently, Dr. Carmichael.” One brow arched high.
“Your father said this was the most stressful time of the year for you. Stress can take a physical toll on the body,” he suggested. “Not to mention it’s not good for a pregnancy—”
“What else did my father tell you?” she cut him off, eyes narrowed.
“A bunch.” He smiled, taking a large bite of tart. “He worries you’ll move to Fire Gorge now that your best friends are there? Worries you take on too much for others. He wants you to settle down and have a family. He wants you to take care of yourself. Said something about the vow tree?”
She choked on her water. “He mentioned the vow tree?”
“Some family secret I gather?” He waited, hoping she’d elaborate.
“Which is why I’m surprised.” Her long blond hair moved in time with the shaking of her head. Her coloring was off. A little pale. A little green.
“It’ll get easier further along. The nausea, I mean.” He paused. “Which reminds me, I wanted to talk to you.” The instant stiffening of her spine reminded him to keep it light.
“We’re not talking here,” she whispered. “Ash, please, Lola probably has the table bugged and hidden cameras all around this place. You have no idea...” Then those blue eyes blazed a little brighter at his smile.
Teddy and Clara had recommended the raspberry tarts—but they’d told him all about Lola Stephens and her predilection for gossip. He needed Renata to listen, without arguing. Pop’s Bakery seemed like the perfect place to do just that.
“Maybe you do. Why, exactly, are we here?” She sat back, crossing her arms over her stomach.
“Clara told me about the tarts.” He spooned a mouthful of the powdered-sugar-topped confection into his mouth. The flavor erupted on his tongue, buttery sweetness that he would have been able to enjoy a little more if Renata wasn’t shooting daggers his way.
“Here you go.” Lola placed the spoon on the table, her eyes sweeping over them both before she headed back to her place at the counter.
“I’m sure Clara also told you Lola knows everything about everybody? That her favorite pastime is sticking her nose into other people’s business. Nicely, but nosy all the same.” Her blue gaze darted over his shoulder “It’s no accident that she’s now stationed herself at the cash register. I don’t know what you’re after, Ash, but why don’t you cut to the chase?”
She was sincerely upset—something he’d wanted to avoid. But there was no help for it. Might as well be direct. “Did you sleep last night?”
Her fingers wrapped around the spoon handle and Ash pushed the plate closer to her. “No.” She took a small spoonful of the tart.
“Neither did I.”
One bite tempted her to lean forward for another spoonful.
“There’s no easy solution here, Renata. We both know that.” He paused long enough for her to nod before he went on. “In fact, as far as I can tell, there’s only one solution.”
She took another bite of tart. “By all means, share.”
“You were right when you said we don’t know each other well. What I do know, I like.”
Her gaze drifted from the tart to his face. “Agreed.” Red stained her cheeks before her gaze returned to the tart.
“We need to decide what’s best for the baby.” He intentionally lowered his voice, leaning forward for another spoonful.
Her spoon clattered to the tabletop and she kicked him under the table.
He frowned and rubbed his calf. “That won’t draw attention.”
“I’m pretty sure it’s too late to avoid that,” she snapped back.
“Then I guess it won’t matter if I get down on one knee to ask what I’m going to ask?” He set his spoon down, searching those blue eyes for even the tiniest sliver of encouragement.
“You spend breakfast talking to my father and decide to...to... You do realize what year it is, right?” She hugged herself. “I mean, I know my dad’s charming and all, but you cannot be serious, Ash?”
“About marrying you?” He nodded. “Absolutely. It’s best for the baby.” Her kick was a bit harder this time. Only saving grace? She wasn’t wearing her cowboy boots.
“Sorry,” she mumbled, appearing just as startled as he was. “Involuntary reflex that time.”
“What’s best is two parents. A family. Under the same roof. Stability. Being there for each other, no matter what.”
“And love?” she asked, her voice going up an octave. “What about that?”
“I love my son.” He frowned. “I will love this child, too. Deeply.”
Her gaze fell away. “That’s not what I was talking about.”
Everything Teddy had said this morning—love and family and the right man—burned a hole in the middle of his forehead. Words clogged his throat. “I know.”
Seconds ticked by, long enough for her to glance his way. “Exactly.”
“You said it. We don’t know each other yet—”
“For all you know, we’ll end up...hating each other. And what about your son? What if he doesn’t like me? Or... I’m a terrible mother.” She shook her head. “Not that I’ll be a terrible mother. I’ll be an amazing mother—with or without a husband. This isn’t a solution, it’s taking a difficult situation and making it ten times worse.” Her eyes were blazing and her nose wrinkled in frustration.
He couldn’t imagine hating Renata Boone or how marrying her could make this worse—but now wasn’t the time to argue. Or to point out that the very fiber of his being rebelled at the possibility of another man parenting his child. From the set of her jaw to her ramrod posture, he could tell he was losing this argument. “Maybe take some time to think about it.”
He hated the sheen that filled her blue eyes.
“I don’t need to think about it, John-Asher Carmichael.” All the color drained from her face. “Marrying you isn’t an option.”
Her reaction surprised him. More than that, it was one hell of a knock to the ego. He hadn’t expected her to light up like a kid on Christmas morning or anything but she was acting like he’d insulted her.
“And your family? You think they’ll agree with that answer?” He tapped his fingers on the table. “This isn’t just me and you we’re talking about—”
She bolted to her feet. “Oh—ah—um,” she stammered. “I’m so sorry. I forgot. An appointment. With...someone.” Her mouth opened, then closed, before she headed toward the door, tripping on one chair leg but managing to slip from the restaurant before he could reach her.
“Everything okay, son?” Carl Stephens appeared. “I’ve known that girl a long time and I’ve never seen her worked up like that before.”
Ash stared blindly out the large picture window that took up the front of the bakery. There had been no hesitation—no room for negotiation. She’d turned him down flat and walked away. What the hell had he expected? She was right. They were strangers. No, not strangers. Not after the night they’d spent together. And now, this baby? This baby deserved more than a knee-jerk reaction and a rapid dismissal.
“Son?” Carl repeated, sharper this time. There was no denying the suspicion on the man’s face—or the disapproval in his tone.
“I’m out of practice, I guess.” He shrugged, shooting for humor. “Need to up my charm. Or something.”
Carl Stephens chuckled. “Damn but that woman gets it right every time.”
Ash frowned. “Sorry?”
“My wife.” The older man clapped him on the shoulder. “She said she saw something between you two the minute you walked in. Don’t give up hope. My wife swears that little lady you were having lunch with is sweet on you.” He sighed. “Lola’s never wrong—something she never lets me forget.”
As
much as Ash wanted to believe Lola Stephens’s intuition, he knew better. If Lola was never wrong, Renata wouldn’t have been so quick to turn him down.
Chapter 7
Family dinner meant extra tables and chairs to accommodate her brothers, their wives and all their offspring. She enjoyed the chaos and noise and overlapping conversations that lasted through dessert. The happiness on her father’s face filled her with love. That was what family should be. Loud and unpredictable, messy and invasive, heartache and the occasional squabble—but, always, love. Why didn’t Ash get that?
The pain he still felt over losing his wife spoke volumes. He’d loved her. Renata wanted that. No, she deserved that. Marrying a man who didn’t love her, who didn’t light up when he saw her, was unfathomable.
Baby or no baby.
Instead of dwelling on Ash and his ridiculous behavior, she put a roll on each plate, butter and honey on the table, and made sure there was an abundance of extra napkins. All was well, until Clara pulled the turkey from the oven. Something about the aroma of all that golden-brown deliciousness had her unobtrusively hurrying to the closest bathroom.
She washed her face and hands, ran a cool cloth along the back of her neck and stared at her reflection. “We’ve got to work on this throwing up thing,” she murmured, pressing her hand to her stomach. “Clara’s turkey is delicious.” She sucked in a deep breath, smoothed her hair behind her ears and went back to poke at her food.
But Fisher was waiting for her in the great room—wearing no less than a scowl. He’d been out of sorts all afternoon, sullen and quiet. He was acting more like Archer than her easy-to-laugh twin.
“What’s wrong?” she asked. Her bear of a brother was a gentle giant, for the most part. But when something riled him up, his temper was a force to be reckoned with. He looked plenty riled up at the moment. “You look upset.”
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