His Secretary's Little Secret

by Catherine Mann

  “Done. The freezer will be packed with options before we get home.”

  Home?

  His home and hers were not in the same place, not really. Nothing was settled yet between them.

  “I’m joking. Soon though, hopefully.” She put her hand on her stomach, staring back to the ultrasound. To her future. “I just would like to have my simple, uncomplicated life back.”

  “That isn’t going to happen.”

  “I know.” She nodded, eyes drifting to the IV bag filled with fluid. Knowing that this was one of those defining moments—a moment she’d like to sketch or paint when she could.

  “And I’m committed to being a part of my child’s life.” His voice carried such fierce determination, hinting at the kind of father he’d be.

  The kind of father she hoped he would be.

  “You’re so good with Rose. You’ll make a wonderful father. You’re more prepared than I am.”

  He had a way of taking unexpected things in stride, a trait she’d always envied. His wanderlust soul necessitated quick readjustments. Portia felt like his personality prepared him differently for the trials of parenthood.

  “I don’t agree. You have brought up your brother. You help care for the animals. You have a great knack with the kids that come to visit the refuge. You’ll be a great mom.” He laced his fingers with hers, showing his sincerity in the strength of his touch. “But let me be clear, you won’t have to parent alone. We’ll be here for each other.”

  “So many details to work out.” Her mind reeled. Now that he knew...well, she’d have to make all sorts of new plans. And backup plans.

  “But we don’t have to work them out now.”

  She chewed her bottom lip, confused. “How can we not?”

  “Can you put the need for organization on hold for a while and let us live in the moment? We have months. Let’s take things one step at a time.”

  “What’s the first step?” She found comfort in breaking tasks into smaller portions, everything falling into neat categories and checkable boxes. She knew enough about Easton to know he didn’t think so linearly. An intense curiosity burned in her as she waited for him to explain.

  “First?” He stroked a thumb across the back of her hand before his blue eyes met hers. “Will you marry me, Portia? Make a real family for our child?”

  Marry him?

  Portia swallowed, an eternity passing between them. Words scattered from her mind, leaving her to only stare at him. What on earth was he thinking to jump into marriage so quickly? Sure, they appeared to be compatible, and maybe the relationship could go somewhere, but how could she know where for sure. They’d only had two dates!

  Frustration bubbled up that he wasn’t taking her concerns seriously. Their focus needed to be on parenting. Not romance. Not right now. She needed to protect her independence more than ever, for her child. Because heaven help her, she was starting to care for Easton—too much.

  And didn’t that thought cause the room to spin again?

  “You’re not going to pass out again are you?” he teased, tipping her chin up gently with one knuckle.

  “No.” She shook her head. Now more than ever, she needed her wits about her to withstand the will of Easton Lourdes. He might be eccentric, but he was a man accustomed to getting what he wanted. “I’m just not ready to make that kind of commitment. We have so much more to plan out.”

  “Fine, then. You’re a planner. We’ll plan.” He stepped closer, wrapping his arms around her. “But just so we’re clear, this time that you’re taking to plan? I’m going to be using everything in my arsenal to convince you to marry me.”

  Ten

  Two days later, deep, dark clouds encroached on the late-afternoon summer sky with threatening force. Tropical Storm Elliot rumbled in the distance, a menace that, if the forecasters were correct, would pass them by, turn into the Gulf of Mexico and eventually head toward Louisiana.

  Sure, the outer bands of the storm would dump water on them with some degree of severity. But that weather shared more in common with a tropical depression—a resounding difference in destructive capacity.

  Still, Easton wasn’t taking any chances with the lives of the animals and people he cared about. He’d begun to organize the volunteer staff into small task forces—everyone charged with securing different aspects of the refuge. Just to be safe.

  And, truth be told, he felt like he needed to keep busy while he waited for Portia to give him an answer about his proposal. Easton threw himself full force into storm preparations.

  Hoisting a bag of bird seed onto his shoulders, he made his way around the atrium, opening the feeders with practiced ease. A brightly colored, talkative macaw cackled, landing on a tree limb overhead.

  Easton poured the seed into the dispenser, his eyes trailing to the window where he saw volunteers scurry across the yard securing loose objects, checking shutters.

  “Here we go,” he said to himself. The macaw cocked its head, stretching wings wide and displaying the red underside.

  “We go. We go. We go.” The macaw’s shrill voice made Easton laugh lightly.

  “That’s right. You sit tight during this storm,” he told the bird as he made his way to the door of the atrium, surveying the flutter of wings. Antsy. All the animals were.

  Then again, animals had a way of knowing things about storms that seemed to escape the notice of humans. Judging by their unease, Easton couldn’t help but wonder if this storm would turn into something stronger than predicted. It’d been a few years since Key Largo had taken substantial storm damage, something he’d been incredibly thankful for. But as a Florida native, he knew that luck only lasted for so long.

  Exiting the clinic, Easton noticed bright red hair against an increasingly gray backdrop. Maureen and his brother worked across the yard by the main mansion, checking the storm shutters. Rose bounced and waved from a navy blue carry pack on Xander’s back. Her little blond curls rustled in the wind, streaming behind the toddler’s face. Her expression lit up in a smile—too young to realize the severity of the situation.

  His niece’s peal of laughter carried on the wind, causing a wide grin to take over Easton’s face. He felt it warming his eyes. She blew him a kiss, which he caught in the air. With theatrical flair, he pretended it took two hands to hold the kiss, wrestling with it. She clapped her hands, watching intently. Easton pulled his hands to his heart, patting lightly on his chest. Rose loved this game they played. He’d started this ritual a few days ago with her.

  With the uncertainty brewing around the fate of his relationship with Portia, Easton felt desperate to fortify the connection with his niece.

  Growing up, Xander and Easton had been well traveled, following his parents on adrenaline-fused adventures. Adventures that made him feel like the world had magic in it. When their father died in a mountain climbing accident, his mother had been like a ball that suddenly lost its tether. She skidded and skirted out of Easton’s life. She’d simply checked out, a bohemian spirit that refused to settle. Another lost connection, another kick in the gut.

  And Portia? Would he have to add her name to the list of the lost?

  He didn’t have the chance to dwell too long on that thought. There she was—barely released from the hospital, taking an active role in storm preparation. A protective desire stirred in him, drawing him to her. Making his way past volunteers carrying a kayak to one of the storage sheds, he approached her.

  With the wind whipping violently, her hair loosed from her ponytail. She looked wild, fierce—a part of the stormscape. A force all her own.

  She directed a group of volunteers carrying emergency supplies of water and canned food for the storm shelter. He’d arrived by her side by the time the last member of the volunteer supply train had disappeared into the house.

  Po
rtia turned, knocking into him, her pointed features pensive but relaxed. Starting to walk, she held a clipboard in her right hand filled with a page-long checklist.

  He loved that about her. Loved? The word caught him up short. He wasn’t the kind of guy who thought that way emotionally, just that reason had ended more relationships than he could count.

  He’d known Portia for two years—professionally, sure, but still a long time. Longer than most nonfamily relationships. He would have used words such as liked. Adored. Admired. But loved? He wasn’t sure what to do with that word.

  Easton shook off the tangent and said, “While you’re deciding whether or not to marry me, let me help you.”

  “Help me?” She blinked at him, confused. She held up the clipboard as if to show him everything was under control.

  He shook his head, holding up a hand. “Financially. You need to rest more. Put your feet up. Especially until you get the morning sickness under control. Let me pay for your brother’s college and yours.”

  “Are you aware there’s a storm brewing?” Her eyebrows shot heavenward with confusion. “I’m sure you have as much to do as I do. And furthermore...” She shook her head. “Why would you do that?”

  “To ease your stress. I won’t miss the money.” Money was the least of his concerns. He wanted her well cared for. She worked so damn hard for everyone. She would never even think to put her needs first.

  “You want to keep me closer because of the baby. You want to put me in your debt.” She met his gaze measure for measure, but her shift from foot to foot relayed her nerves.

  “Of course I do. But I also want the chance for us to parent together. You and I both want what’s best for all of us.”

  Her eyes narrowed, challenging him. “Don’t play games.”

  Easton bristled, stopping in his tracks. He could be a lot of things—eccentric, stubborn. But he’d never been one to play games with people. He respected other living beings too much for that. “Think of the money as child support. This is what I should do, and it’s what I want to do.”

  “You’re not going to try to take the baby from me?”

  The question shocked him silent for a moment. He’d proposed after all. He wanted to be a team. To tackle this together. “No. Hell, you’re going to be an amazing mother. If anything, I’m worried about what kind of father I’ll be. Surely you are too, after what I said about not wanting children.”

  Her eyebrows pinched together and she hung her head, watching their steps along the path as if thinking. “I’ve thought more about that, especially since our time in the emergency room, and I’ve decided you don’t give yourself enough credit. I’ve seen you here with the animals. You have a tender, nurturing side to you whether you want to admit it or not.”

  Nurturing? “There’s a difference between baby animals and human babies.”

  His words were practically lost to a roll of thunder. Rain, hard and determined, came pelting down on them. On instinct, his hand found hers and he gestured toward the barn on the far end of the property. She nodded in understanding, tucking the clipboard under her arm.

  He pulled her forward in a brisk jog, making for the entrance of the teal-colored barn. Wind nipped at their backs, surprisingly chilly.

  “How so?” she yelled as they picked up the pace, her fingers gripping his tightly.

  He strained to hear her as they made their way to the barn. “There just is.”

  “Well, that’s not very scientific,” she said smartly. “I think nature kicks in either way.”

  And speaking of nature. He really needed to check on the animals in the barn, particularly the pregnant Key deer with a wounded hoof.

  Around them, palm trees bowed to the ferocity of the wind, lightning sizzling around them like a sporadic camera flash.

  They crossed the threshold into the barn. Portia closed the door, sealing out the weather.

  “I’ll check on Ginger Snap,” she said, pressing a hand on his shoulder. He nodded, fumbling in his pocket to call his brother for a storm update.

  Portia gave a small smile, heading to the pregnant deer they’d rescued a few weeks ago. Ginger Snap had a nasty cut on her right hind leg that he’d stitched. But before she could be released back to the wild, the deer needed to recuperate.

  “Um...Easton?” Portia’s voice interrupted his phone scrolling. He noted the urgency in her tone and jogged over to the stall door.

  Ginger Snap was in labor.

  “I think we’re going to have to stay with her,” Portia said, setting her clipboard down. No script for this.

  Hell. She was right. He couldn’t leave the injured deer, but his heart felt heavy. Conflicted. He wanted Portia to be in the safest place in the refuge. While the barn was up to current hurricane code, he would have felt better if she were in the storm shelter.

  “Give me a second.” He queued up Xander’s number and pressed Call.

  Two rings in and Xander’s deep voice pulsed through the speakers.

  “Where are you?” his older brother demanded.

  “In the barn with Ginger Snap,” he said, watching the deer pant heavily.

  “You better stay there. Trees are falling. Debris is flying. Tropical Storm Elliot just got upgraded to Hurricane Elliot and it has turned to us. We’re going to take a direct hit sometime in the next hour, brother.”

  Damn. The increased strength meant it was too risky to move Portia and her unborn baby.

  “Thanks for the update. Stay in touch and stay safe.”

  Xander’s voice sounded garbled. “You, too—” The connection winked out, lost to static.

  “Are you ready for your first hurricane?” Easton asked, shoving his phone into his back jeans pocket as he turned to face Portia. Her face paled, eyes widening as she looked around the barn.

  He pressed on. “We’ll ride out the storm. We’re in a safe place with plenty of supplies.”

  “If I didn’t know you better, I would think you stirred up this storm to get me alone.” Her lips twisted in a smile, spunk invigorating her. She looked at the office area in the barn—a small sofa, desk and bathroom. There certainly were worse places to be trapped. “I’m not sharing a bed with you just because we’re trapped here.”

  “Of course you’re not.” He clapped a hand over his chest. “I’m going to be a total gentleman and give you the office sofa—since there isn’t a bed here.”

  “You’re being too nice. I’ll feel bad if you sleep on the floor.”

  “I’m not going to be sleeping. There’s a hurricane.”

  “Well, yes, there’s a hurricane, so what exactly do you think you can do to hold that back? You’re not a superhero.”

  “Good point. Although I guess I’ll have to return my special hurricane cape.”

  A smile slipped between her teeth, then a giggle, followed by a full laugh as the tension eased from the room after their mad dash readying for the storm. Lord, he liked the sound of her laugh.

  “That’s better.” He skimmed his hand along her arm, static easing back into the air again as awareness stirred. “You are right that we should both relax.”

  Her smile faded. “You make it so difficult to resist you.”

  He wished she didn’t say that like it was such a bad thing. But he would work with what he could to persuade her. He sure as hell hoped nature would do its job for the deer. And for him and Portia.

  Because the stakes were too high to consider failure.

  * * *

  Rain thumped and beat against the tin roof, the wind loud like the train Portia had ridden as a teenager when she went to live with her aunt. The breathy whistle of the wind felt unnatural—a sound that deeply unsettled Portia to her core.

  For six hours, the storm raged, tossing debris into the metal-cased doors. It had made
Ginger Snap’s delivery stressful.

  The tan deer’s eyes had widened at the extreme noise, stress beyond labor pains visible in her deep brown eyes. So expressive.

  But Easton had helped Ginger Snap. Spoke to her in calming tones, his voice seeming to have a mesmerizing effect on the doe. A beautiful fawn they’d named Cinnamon had been born about an hour ago.

  So much excitement and stimulus over the last six hours had left Portia tired. She’d made sure to chug water, to stay hydrated. If she fell ill during the storm due to dehydration again, the options were limited. Her medication had been tucked away in the storm shelter. She felt fine though—and especially attentive to her body and her baby’s health.

  After she and Easton both washed in the small bathroom, bodies skirting and pressing against each other, they’d gathered an impromptu storm picnic. She ate like she hadn’t in days, surprised by her own hunger.

  Portia stretched out on a checkered blanket on the floor of the barn. Her body curved around the scattered snack plates—grapes, cheese, crackers. Easton stroked her hair, staring at the stall door.

  She looked back at him. “I still can’t believe I got to see that doe being born.” The memory of the scene made her heart swell. Easton’s practiced hands, his nurturing soul emerged in full force. Confirming what she already knew to be true about him. His parental instincts had been honed and developed by years of veterinarian care, his compassion ringing true.

  “Cinnamon’s a fighter. She’s storm born. That’s good luck and it means she’s resilient.” He smiled down at Portia, his tanned face warm and so blindingly handsome.

  For a moment, she wondered if there was any truth to the superstition about being born in a storm. Portia had been born in the middle of a blizzard. Good or bad?

  Gathering her head into his lap, his hands massaged her shoulders. Invigorating her senses and soothing her unease about the storm. “How do you feel? Any troubles with the nausea?”