Wicked Choice (The Wicked Horse Vegas #4)

by Sawyer Bennett

  “You hear me?” Bodie asks, getting so close our noses are almost touching.

  I finally give a tiny cough, clear the fear from my throat, and whisper, “Okay.”

  “Good,” he says before leaning in and pressing his lips to my forehead. “Now let’s go see what’s happening.”

  Bodie does an admirable job getting us to the doctor’s office. Even though he’s giving me an air of calm, I can tell by the way he pushes the speed limit and runs questionable yellow lights that he’s worried.

  When I tell the receptionist what’s going on, we’re immediately ushered into an exam room. Within five minutes, Dr. Anchors is there.

  “Rachel… Bodie,” he says as he walks in and goes straight to the sink. I’m already in a gown and on the examination table, ready to throw my feet in the stirrups. “I understand you have some spotting.”

  “It was in my underwear this morning,” I say. To my embarrassment, Bodie grabs my panties from my pile of clothes and shows it to the doctor.

  Dr. Anchors leans over and examines the blood while he puts gloves on. “Is that all?”

  “Some on the toilet paper after I peed this morning,” I choke out. “About the same amount, I think.”

  “All right, Rachel. Let’s get you in the stirrups. I’m going to have a look.” His voice is like Bodie’s. Composed. Relaxed. Positive.

  It doesn’t calm me down at all, and I can feel my heartbeat ringing in my ears. My blood pressure was high when we came in, but the nurse took it again after I laid on the table, and it started to come down a little. She assured me it was probably stress.

  I get in the stirrups and brace while Dr. Anchors gives me an examination. He even pulls a wand with a light attached to the table and shines it up inside. Surprisingly, he doesn’t spend a lot of time down there.

  When he pulls back, he says, “I don’t see any cervical polyps, which can often be a source of spotting since they can get agitated from increased estrogen. But doesn’t mean there wasn’t one that was bleeding, but isn’t right now.”

  He pulls his gloves off, and I take my feet out of the stirrups. Bodie helps me to sit up on the table.

  When Dr. Anchors turns around, he asks, “Any cramping? Pain? Extra nausea?”

  “No,” I say with a shake of my head. “I feel fine.”

  “Well, spotting can come from many sources. It could have been from the vaginal ultrasound we did yesterday. It could come from sex, especially if it’s vigorous.”

  Bodie and I exchange guilty looks.

  “Let’s do another vaginal ultrasound just to check the heartbeat. As long as that looks good, there’s really nothing to do.”

  “Bed rest?” Bodie asks. I nod my head up and down enthusiastically over this suggestion. I’ll sit on my ass in a bed for the next five months if I have to.

  Dr. Anchors chuckles. “Most likely not. Let’s see what the ultrasound shows, and then we’ll make a plan.”

  ♦

  Bodie and I walk out of Dr. Anchors’ office, our hands clasped tightly together. I’m not sure at what point we joined them together, but it feels natural and necessary. We walk silently to his truck.

  My heart rate has come down somewhat, and while I don’t have the panic of impending grief bubbling inside of me, I’m still not quite assured.

  Even though Dr. Anchors did his best to make us feel better. The baby’s heartbeat is strong. There are many benign things that could cause spotting. Like he said… polyps, sex, the ultrasound wand. He told us that spotting of that amount was really not something to be worried about, but that I should take it easy for a few days and keep watch. He told me to return or go to the emergency room if I started cramping or bleeding heavily.

  He gave me a pointed look when he described what he meant by heavy bleeding, because he knows I know exactly what that means since I’ve miscarried before.

  “You okay?” Bodie asks as we reach the passenger side of his truck.

  “Not really,” I reply glumly. “That scared the shit out of me.”

  “Me too,” he admits and for the first time, he allows me to see how this affected him. Prior to this moment, he was a rock. Solid to the core and exhibiting all the strength that would be needed for the worst news we could potentially get.

  Bodie releases my hand to open the door, but I don’t turn to get in. Instead, I look down at the pavement for a moment before I get up the nerve to look him in the eye. “Can I… um… think I can stay with you for a few days or you stay at my house? Just in case… you know… something happens?”

  “Fuck yes,” Bodie says on an expelled breath of relief that I’d ask such a thing. “Of course. I’m not going to leave you alone. Would you prefer to stay at my house or yours?”

  “Mine if that’s okay with you?” My voice is whisper soft. Fatigued even.

  “Then that’s what we’ll do,” he says as he takes my elbow to help me in the truck.

  We go back to Bodie’s house, and it takes him all of ten minutes to pack up a bag that will get him through the next few days. He’s set to go on a security detail on Monday, but that’s five days away. We agreed if all was fine with me, he’d go.

  At my house, Bodie asks me if I’m hungry and surprisingly, I am. He takes charge of my kitchen and makes us breakfast. It’s just a simple scrambled eggs and bacon meal, but I find myself so thoroughly drained from the stress of this morning that I do nothing more than sit at my kitchen island and watch him work.

  While we eat, I take stock of the last few hours. I pay particular attention to the range of emotions that totally played havoc on me, and I realize something very, very important.

  The depth of fear I felt today is the clearest of indications that I am attached to this baby. That knowledge is troubling, because it means my decisions have to be reevaluated. When I told Bodie I’d carry the baby and then he could raise it, it was because I hadn’t felt much in the way of a bond. But that’s certainly not the case now. I’m not even sure when it happened, or if it’s just been building, but I knew I was in for a big spiral downward if I lost the baby today.

  “What’s wrong?” Bodie asks softly, and I look up at him. When I do, I feel a tear run down my cheek and realize I’m crying.

  I drop my fork, and it clatters on the table. Pressing my face into my hands, I take a shuddering breath. I can hear Bodie’s chair scrape along the floor, and then he’s squatting by me.

  When he gently pulls my hands away, I’m forced to look at his warm brown eyes filled with abject worry.

  “What’s wrong?” he repeats again.

  I dash my tears away and suck in air through my nose. When I let it out, I bring Bodie into my circle of trust. “I’ve been pregnant before. And I miscarried. It was thirteen years ago.”

  “Oh, Rachel,” Bodie breathes out with so much sorrow I can barely stand it. He takes my hands in his, and gives me a gentle squeeze. “I’m so sorry.”

  For a moment, I’m confused. I expected him to be angry upon learning this, but he just stares at me with open acceptance of my history.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier,” I say with a sniffle. “I was so afraid it was a bad omen for this pregnancy, and I didn’t want to worry you. But I did tell Dr. Anchors about it.”

  “When you asked to speak to him privately on that first visit,” he concludes.

  “Yeah. He told me that a single miscarriage does not increase odds of another.”

  Bodie gives me a bright smile. “See… nothing to worry about.”

  I give a hard shake to my head. “I thought it was my fault. Still do to some extent even though doctors—Dr. Anchors included—have told me it wasn’t.”

  “Why would you think it was?”

  I take another deep breath. “I was living wild and dangerous. Doing stupid shit. I had just jumped off a tower in China and then miscarried later that day. I didn’t even know I was pregnant.”

  “Jesus,” Bodie murmurs, and then he’s scooping me up out of the ch
air. I don’t protest. I’m not sure if it makes me weak or not, but I lay my head on his shoulder while he carries me into the living room.

  He drops down onto the couch, keeping me on his lap. He cradles me like a child, and fresh tears swamp my eyes.

  “Rachel?” Bodie murmurs with a question implicit in his tone. “Did the father of the child make you feel like it was your fault or something?”

  I shake my head, giving an involuntarily sniffle. “He didn’t even know. I wasn’t with him all that long, and we broke up before for unrelated things.”

  “Okay,” he says with relief, assured that some other asshole hadn’t put those thoughts in my head.

  It’s so very strange. I know without a doubt had I miscarried today, Bodie would have never made me feel like shit. He told me it would all be okay no matter what, and built within that statement is a deep trust I have in him that it would—eventually—be okay.

  He was so amazing today. Putting aside his own fears to be strong for me. To help make me strong.

  No one has ever done that for me before.

  “I’ve never been in a serious relationship before,” I tell him while pressing my cheek to his chest. His one arm supports my back, the other stroking my thigh in a calming way. “I’ve never been good on committing to a person. Accepting the responsibility that comes with such a commitment.”

  “Think I figured that one out on my own,” Bodie says dryly, and it makes me chuckle.

  “It’s why I don’t think I’d be a good mom,” I admit softly.

  Bodie’s entire body jerks and he rears back so he can look down at me. I tilt my face up to his, surprised to see anger there. “Just because you’ve never been in love with a man before doesn’t mean you wouldn’t love your child, Rachel. Those are two totally separate things.”

  “I was so scared this morning when I saw that blood,” I admit. I lay it all out. “I didn’t want to lose this baby. I don’t know what that means. It’s contrary to what I thought I wanted.”

  Bodie adjusts his body, shifting me slightly on his lap so we can look directly at each other. His eyes roam over my face for a moment, as if he’s collecting the right words to say. Finally… when he says them… they hit me hard.

  “Rachel… perhaps you need to give motherhood a try. I’d be here to help you out. We could do this as a team. I’m afraid if you don’t, you are going to have regrets later that could potentially destroy you. And I don’t want to see that happen. More importantly, I think you would be a fantastic mother. Our child will lose so much without you in its life.”

  I wait for that inevitable wall to slam into place, protecting me from everything that is hard and unbearable. Yet, it doesn’t come. Instead, all I can really focus on is a low-level fear deep in my belly that something is wrong with the pregnancy.

  The fear causes me to feel cold from the inside out, thinking about losing this baby.

  “What would that mean?” I ask curiously. “Raising the baby as a team, I mean?”

  Bodie shrugs. “We’d have to talk about it. Live together to make things easier? Live apart? Split custody? We definitely couldn’t go on any ops or details together ever again. And we’d need to make sure not to go on separate ones at the same time.”

  That all makes sense, but that’s not really satisfying my need for answers. I guess what I really want to know is what it means for us personally. Because if Bodie was going to leave with the baby to go home to Nebraska, that meant our relationship was over. But if he stays here, and we make a go at this co-parenting thing, that means that maybe we aren’t over.

  I had never considered a future with Bodie. It was never something that was possible. But now I’m sitting here with a man who has proven he cares about me as an individual. Who has been rock steady support to me, and has done nothing but give me happiness and pleasure.

  Why would I not want to build something with him? He’s the first man I’ve ever even considered that with.

  A small voice penetrates… tells me to be cautious. The heart is a sensitive organ and can be gravely hurt. There are risks, and a relationship is hard work. I’ve never been cut out for it before, and I’m not sure I am now.

  It’s something I have to give some serious thought to, because the last thing I want to do is hurt Bodie.

  But I also don’t want to lose him either.

  CHAPTER 19

  Bodie

  I bang impatiently on Rachel’s door, completely not caring it’s almost one in the morning. I came here straight from McCarran where we landed not long ago after finishing a security detail for some Saudi prince who is traveling around the United States. He attended some movie premiere in L.A., and we were hired to provide extra security coverage for him.

  Rachel, of course, didn’t go. The spotting incident scared the shit out of her, and even though Dr. Anchors felt the security work would be fine, she wasn’t going to take any chances. She begged off, and Kynan had no problem filling her slot.

  I get her fears, and truth be told, I’m glad she decided to lay low for a bit. Get past the scare, make sure everything is okay. I would have worried the whole time—same as her—and that stress can’t be good either.

  But this walking on eggshells is going to stop. Rachel is going a little overboard, and that ends right this fucking minute.

  I bang again, and finally Rachel yells back in a sleepy, grumpy voice that comes closer to the door. “Hold your fucking horses, Wright.”

  So, she knows it’s me at her door, even though I didn’t tell her I was coming over after I landed. But really, who else would it be? Besides, she knows my patience is completely worn thin with her.

  The scare with the spotting happened over ten days ago. The last three days, I’d been gone on the security detail to L.A., which meant the seven before that Rachel wouldn’t let me touch her.

  At all.

  Okay, sure… she was fine with me staying the night, sleeping with her, and holding her in my arms. But past that, her body was off limits.

  And I understood it. She was freaked, and I didn’t want to make matters worse. She pointed out time and time again that Dr. Anchors said it could have been caused by sex.

  I pointed out right back, “But he didn’t say we couldn’t have sex. Just that it could cause spotting.”

  But Rachel is Rachel, and I’ve come to learn she’s stubborn. She wouldn’t budge. Wouldn’t even fucking let me go down on her to get her off, although I’ll grudgingly admit she offered me a blow job every fucking night. I wasn’t taking it, though. Not unless she was going to let me give back.

  Truth be told, it was fine. I was certainly enjoying staying at her house with her. We cooked meals together, watched movies, and slept in bed wrapped totally around each other. So, it wasn’t just fine. It was fucking awesome.

  It’s just awesome being around Rachel, and she grows softer and more accepting of my care as every day passes. Which meant I didn’t grumble too much about the lack of sex.

  That changed last night when I talked to her from L.A. I told her to get ready for my return, because I was going to give her an orgasm that was going to make her toes curl so tight she’d never be able to walk again.

  She made a purring sound in her throat, which caused my cock to stir to life, and then killed it deader than a doornail when she said, “It’s too soon.”

  “We’ll see about that,” I’d promised her ominously.

  Even though I know Rachel is coming to the door, I bang two more times for posterity. She’s good and pissed when she finally swings it open.

  “Just what in the hell—”

  She doesn’t get any further because I sweep her up in my arms like a groom would his bride, and march her right back to her room. I’d like to toss her down and strip her out of her little tank top and boy shorts she’s wearing, but I’m cognizant of her fears so I gently lay her down.

  “We’re not having sex,” she sputters, but I also hear amusement in her voice.

  �
�Oh, yes we are,” I say as I toss my phone at her. “Read it and weep.”

  She catches it with a perplexed look on her face, scooting back so she can lean on the pillows that are propped against the headboard. Her eyebrows draw inward as she reads the email I’d pulled up on my screen before I knocked on her door.

  I’ve got it practically memorized because it’s very short, and very sweet to me.

  Dear Bodie,

  My nurse informed me of your call into the office today. Attached please find the prescription you requested.

  If I can be of further help, don’t hesitate to contact my office.

  Sincerely,

  W.D. Anchors, M.D.

  I pull my shirt over my head while I watch Rachel tap the screen once to pull up the attached PDF file. It’s a prescription written by Dr. Anchors.

  He had filled in “Rachel Hart” on the line for the patient name and dated the script for today.

  Underneath, he wrote: Sex as often as you want with no worries you are harming the baby. Don’t be overzealous but have fun. Repeat as necessary.

  Rachel’s eyes scan the screen, and I’m emboldened when her lips tip upward at the edges. She finally gives me a chastising look. “You bothered Dr. Anchors about this?”

  “I thought you were being a little too ridiculous in your fears,” I say as I strip out of my jeans. “He was only too happy to help.”

  She gives me a glare, but it doesn’t pack any punch. I climb onto the end of the bed, then crawl my way up her body. Her legs spread slightly, and I’m sure she expects me to crawl all the way up to kiss her.

  Instead, I pause and press my face into her pussy, which is covered by her sensible-looking boy shorts done in blue cotton. I inhale deeply and with such appreciation I can’t help but groan.

  “Oh, God,” Rachel murmurs, and I can hear the defeat in her voice just from that one little move.

  My head pops up, and I smile at her. She tries a reproachful look back at me, but I’m not having it. I continue my way up her body, yanking my phone from her hand and flinging it aside. Then I’m kissing her. It’s a hello kiss as well as an “I’m dying to fuck you” kiss, and a kiss of just of how much I missed her the last few days.