Fifty Ways to Say I’m Pregnant

by Christine Rimmer

  “That’s right.”

  “But not about the baby.”

  Starr put up both hands. “So okay, shoot me. I did it all backward. I had some idea that it would be better to tell him I loved him and I wanted to stay before I told him I was having his baby. It didn’t work out so well.”

  Tess tapped the steering wheel—hard—with the heel of her hand. “That man. What an idiot. Anyone can see he worships you. Issues or not, I can’t believe he wouldn’t jump at the chance for a life with you.”

  “Believe it. Not only did he not jump, he turned me down flat.”

  “But surely he’ll change his mind—when you tell him.”

  “Maybe. I guess so. But what will that be about? Him marrying me because he feels he has to? Oh, I don’t think so.”

  They rode along in silence for a while. Finally, Tess said, “I believe in Beau, I truly do. I think when you tell him, he’ll do the right thing.”

  “Great. We’ll see about that, won’t we?” In a hundred years, when I finally get the words out.

  “But, Starr…”

  “What?”

  “If, for whatever reason, it doesn’t work out with Beau, I hope you’ll consider coming home—for a while anyway—when the baby’s born. Let us help you, at least in those first months when your baby is going to be a full-time job. Your father and I would—”

  Starr put up a hand. “I’m just not there yet. I can’t…think that far ahead.”

  Tess seemed about to argue, but then she only said, “Okay. I understand.”

  “And please. Don’t tell Dad. I’ll do it myself. When I’m ready.”

  Tess didn’t answer for the longest time. When she did speak, it wasn’t anything Starr wanted to hear. “Your father and I don’t keep secrets from each other—oh, maybe now and then. When it’s a confidence that doesn’t affect him, or me, or the family. Starr, honey, this isn’t that kind of secret.”

  Starr was shaking her head. Vehemently. What had possessed her to go and open her big mouth? She should have known Tess would have trouble keeping something like this from her dad. “Dad can’t know until I’ve told Beau. I…oh, I shouldn’t have even told you. It was stupid.” She shook her head some more. “Dumb, dumb, dumb…”

  “Shh,” said Tess. She reached across the seat and patted Starr’s arm.

  Starr wasn’t about to be soothed—not about this. “I mean it, Tess. You might be my stepmother, but that’s not why I told you. I told you because you’re my friend. I love Dad. You love Dad. But you know how he is. The way he’s gonna see it, the only problem here is I haven’t told Beau I’m having his baby—so Beau can do the right thing and get a ring on my finger. If Dad knows…uh-uh. He’s too likely to butt in, to try to ‘fix’ things. And this isn’t something he can fix. This is my problem. My problem and Beau’s…”

  “But you haven’t told Beau.”

  Starr slumped in the seat. “Oh, rub it in some more, why don’t you?”

  Tess watched the road ahead, frowning.

  What a mess, Starr was thinking. “I’m sorry. To put you in the middle of this. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

  Tess shook her head. “No. I want to know about something like this. I’m proud that you trust me.”

  “You just have to accept that this isn’t six years ago. I’m all grown up now. It’s my decision—who to tell and what to do.”

  “Beau’s the one you need to tell.”

  Starr let out a groan. “How many times are you going to say that?”

  “You’re angry.”

  “No. I’m just…frustrated. Really, really frustrated. And I’m hurt. I told Beau I loved him, Tess. And it didn’t do a bit of good.” The damn tears rose up again. Starr sniffed them back.

  Watching the road, Tess fumbled in the console and yanked out a tissue. “Here.”

  “Thanks.” Starr blew her nose and dabbed at her eyes.

  And Tess gave in. “Okay. I’ll keep my mouth shut. I’ll let you tell your dad yourself, when you’re ready to. I do respect your right to do this your way.”

  Beau arrived at the cabin at a little after seven that night. Flushed with new purpose to get the words out, Starr got a beer for him and they sat out on the steps. They watched the night come, just sitting there, being together….

  He left around nine.

  She hadn’t told him.

  Saturday, they went up to Sheridan for dinner and a movie. She had a lovely time.

  And she didn’t say a word about the secret she was keeping from him.

  Sunday evening, in Patriot Park, the town merchants gave the second—and last—outdoor dance of the summer. Beau took Starr. They danced together, one dance after another. She swayed in his arms and thought about how the summer was all but over now. It had gone by much too fast.

  Daniel was there. He sat at the Bravos’ table. When Beau and Starr joined the group to sit out a dance, they learned that Nate had called the Rising Sun just as Zach and Tess were leaving for the park. Meggie was up at Memorial—in labor. Starr and Tess shared a glance across the table. Starr was the one who looked away.

  Beau took her back to the cabin at a little after one. “I’ll drop by tomorrow to say goodbye….”

  “I’d like that.”

  He kissed her, a long, slow kiss. She kissed him back. By the time they pulled apart, they were both breathing hard.

  “Better go,” he said.

  “Yeah. Guess you’d better…”

  Starr went inside and stood at the sink and stared at her shadowy reflection in the dark windowpane. Tomorrow night would be it. She’d have to do it then or it wouldn’t get done before she left for New York.

  The next morning, she went over to the main house for breakfast. The phone rang as they were sitting down. Her dad answered it.

  When he hung up, he had wide smile on his craggy face. “That was Nate. It’s a girl.”

  After she helped with the dishes, Starr called around to the neighbors, gathering the local news. She sat down to write Mabel’s column.

  It’s a girl this time for Nate and Megan Bravo. The little darling was born at 4:03 a.m., Saturday, August 30. Sarah Ellen Bravo is 19 inches tall and 8 pounds, 3 ounces. Welcome to the world, Sarah Ellen—and congratulations, Nate and Meggie!

  After she finished the column and e-mailed it off, Starr shared the midday meal with the family and then returned to the cabin to pack. She had her suitcases ready and waiting in the rental car when Beau arrived at six.

  She opened the door to his knock and the sight of him standing there, broad-shouldered and so handsome, his hat in his hands…it was almost too much for her.

  She knew at that moment that she wasn’t going to tell him—not tonight. Not before she left.

  In their motel room in Casper, he had talked about willingness. He’d said that visiting his brother and taking T.J.’s abuse was what he was willing to do.

  Well, this was about willingness, too. Right now, she simply was not.

  Not willing to tell him. Not willing to deal with his reaction—whatever it would end up being—when he found out there was a baby coming.

  Yeah, she was a stinking coward. So what? It could wait a few months. She’d be home for Thanksgiving. She’d tell him then.

  Or maybe at Christmas…

  What did it matter, really, when she told him? It wasn’t as if she was running away and never coming back. She’d be home now and then and eventually, during one of her visits, she’d get around to it. In five or six months, she could just point to her stomach. Hey, Beau. Guess what?

  That would do it. About as simple and direct as you could get.

  Her misery must have shown in her face. “Bad idea, huh,” he said, his voice low and rough, “for me to come by tonight?”

  What was there to say?

  Nothing. Not a damn thing.

  She reached out her hand, grabbed his wrist and pulled him inside, hitting the door so it slammed shut behind him.

  �
�Starr,” he said, blinking down at her, bewildered, “I don’t—”

  “No words.” She put her hands flat on his chest and she shoved him back against the door. “Just…no words. Okay?”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Starr surged up against him, pressing that sweet body of hers all along the front of him. Beau went rock-hard in that instant, his manhood straining at his jeans.

  What the hell was up with her? He didn’t get it—and she wasn’t saying.

  He looked down at her soft mouth. She was holding it up, offering it to him.

  Well, fine. Did she think he’d have some argument with that? With a low groan, he brought his mouth down hard on hers, invading, demanding.

  She didn’t object to his roughness, not in the least. She kissed him right back, hard as he was kissing her. Her hand slid down his arm, taking his hat away, sending it sailing….

  Where did it land? He didn’t see—and he didn’t care. She was already working at the buttons of his shirt.

  Beau groaned into her mouth and took hold of the tight little T-shirt she wore. He yanked it upward.

  With a moan, she raised her arms. He whipped that shirt over her head and tossed it off to join his hat.

  He grabbed for her then, wrapping his arms around her, around all that womanly softness. He kissed her for all he was worth as his hands roamed her back, finding the double hook that held her bra, working at it until it gave.

  He slid the straps down her arms. She shrugged free of them. He got the bra completely off her and he tossed it away.

  She melted in close to him again. He gathered her in, one hand at her upper back, pressing, so he could feel those full breasts of hers, the nipples hard little points against his chest. With his other hand, he cupped her bottom, bringing her up and into him, bucking his hips against her, groaning at the sweet agony it caused him.

  She was…on fire. Liquid fire, blazing in his arms. Her mouth burned under his, branding him….

  They kissed as if they would never stop, as if they would eat each other alive, standing right there at the door. She got all the buttons of his shirt undone and she shoved it over his shoulders and down his arms. He yanked his hands free—and she whipped his shirt away.

  She let go of his mouth, her soft lips sliding downward, her teeth nipping his chin. That naughty tongue of hers trailed along his throat. He groaned in the wake of it. Her breath was ragged and hot against his skin. Moaning, he dropped his head back. It hit the door with a hard, knocking sound. He didn’t care. He moaned some more.

  Down she went, nipping and licking along the center of his chest. And lower.

  She sank to her knees in front of him.

  Beau braced his boots a little wider for balance as she reached his belly. She lingered there, black hair a gleaming spill over her shoulders, over the curves of her perfect breasts, as she burned a row of wet kisses along the top of his jeans, her tongue dipping into his navel, her busy fingers working at the button of his fly.

  She ripped that fly open. The zipper hissed down. And then she slid her fingers up the sides of his thighs, a burning pressure along the line of his hips, clearing the barrier of denim at last, fingerpads pressing flesh. A long, hot shiver ran through him when she dipped those fingers under the waist of his jeans. Her nails scored his hips as she dragged downward—too fast.

  His arousal caught on the elastic of his briefs. He groaned louder than ever with the agonizing combination of pleasure and pain.

  She made little cooing, soothing sounds as—gently now—she guided the elastic out of the way. She…licked him. One long, slow swipe of that wet tongue of hers.

  And then her warm, smooth, knowing fingers closed around him, squeezing him. He felt himself kick against her palm and a strangled groan escaped his lips.

  The pleasure was too intense. His head jerked back again, hitting the door harder than the first time.

  She said his name then, “Beau…” And once more. “Beau…” in two haunting, rough whispers of sound.

  That soft mouth closed around him.

  Beau thought he would die—die and be glad to go. Her fingers moved lower—taunting, teasing, cupping, rubbing—driving him stark raving out of his mind. Her mouth?

  Her mouth still had him, holding him. It was…so wet. So hot…sliding along him, taking him in, slowly letting him out…

  He grabbed her by the shoulders. “Wait,” he growled. And then he swore.

  She lifted her head then, tossing that black hair back away from her angel’s face. Her eyes gleamed, jewel-like, behind drooping, lazy lids. Her mouth was bruised and wet and deepest red with what she’d been doing to him. Her breath came ragged. Her full breasts had a soft pink flush across them. Her nipples were tight little buds…

  “Wait,” he said again. If she didn’t stop, he would lose it right there.

  He hauled her up, along the length of him, getting her across the shoulders and under the knees and hoisting her high against his chest. He kissed her. She gave that kiss back to him, hungry and eager, whimpering low in her throat.

  He started walking.

  He carried her across the room, turning sideways to get through the slit between the two curtains. Once in there, he set her down on the end of the bed.

  She scooted backward, switching on the lamp, kicking off her sandals, shoving down her jeans. He dropped to the edge of the bed and got rid of his boots and his socks, then stood again to get his jeans off the rest of the way.

  Finally, they were both naked. He went down to her, rolling her under him, slamming his mouth down on hers, sucking until she gave him her tongue.

  As he kissed her, he stuck an arm out and fumbled for the bed stand, finding the small drawer in the front of it, sliding it open, feeling inside…

  He got out the foil-wrapped square and lifted his mouth from hers to catch the corner between his teeth.

  She opened her eyes and looked at him. She had the strangest expression on her face. He couldn’t figure it. What was she thinking? Those shining eyes spoke of mysteries a mere man would never understand. She shook her head at him and a tiny smile curved her lips.

  He stared down at her, drowning in those knowing eyes, hurting with the need to have her softness all around him.

  She brought her hand up between them, took the little package from him. Her small, white teeth flashed as she neatly tore off the top strip. Her fingers swift and knowing, she had it free of the package and sliding down over him in no time at all.

  And then, her hand curled warm and sure around him, she guided him home.

  He pressed in and she took him. All the way. Her body gloved him, tight and wet and so right.

  It was perfect. So exactly, so absolutely right…

  He looked down at her, at her wild, black hair tangled on the pillow, at her lazy, gleaming amethyst eyes. At her secret smile that seemed to hint at things he’d never get a chance to know.

  Stay, he thought. Never leave me…

  He would have said it, too. But he stopped himself just in time, lowering his mouth to hers instead, using a kiss to seal his lips against the words he knew had no right to say.

  They moved together. He shut his eyes and let the wonder take him.

  She angled sideways, pushing, urging him to his back. They were rolling. She took the top position, her upper body rising above him as below she rocked him on.

  He dared to open his eyes and look at her, at her body arching, her hair a wild black halo around that face that would forever haunt his dreams.

  He grabbed her hips and surged up into her. She flung her head back, moaning his name.

  At midnight, he slid from the bed, found his jeans and his boots and put them on.

  “Beau?” She held up her arms to him.

  He bent close. She wrapped those warm, soft arms around him and he pressed his lips to hers one last time—a final kiss so sweet and tender, it sent a deep ache of longing all through him.

  When he lifted his head she said
, “Goodbye, Beau.” He started to speak, but she stopped him with her fingers to his lips. “Goodbye.”

  What more was there to say? He cupped her sweet face and looked at her in the glow from the bedside lamp, memorizing anew every line, every soft, amazing curve.

  In the end, she had to take his hands and gently push them away.

  He rose and left the bed, stepping through the curtain, pausing on the other side of it, hands fisted at his sides, longing only to go back.

  Knowing he wouldn’t.

  When he had himself under sufficient control, he collected his shirt and his hat and went out the door, closing it quietly behind him.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “I see you are doing very nicely, very nicely indeed,” Dr. Zibovian said. Starr looked up at the doctor who was smiling and running knowing brown hands over Starr’s exposed—and slightly rounded—belly. “You may sit up now.” Starr pushed herself up and pulled the sides of the pink paper smock so it covered the front of her. Dr. Zibovian scribbled notes on her clipboard. “Headaches?”

  “They seem to have faded away the past couple of weeks. And my face isn’t breaking out anymore.” That had started about two weeks after she arrived in New York. She’d felt thirteen again—and not in a good way. But now, in early November, as she moved into her fourth month of pregnancy, her skin was clear again.

  “Hmm. Yes. Excellent. Yes.” Round brown eyes met Starr’s again. “You are eating well, taking your vitamins?” Starr nodded. “Keeping stress to a minimum?”

  She thought of her boss at CityWide, Diana LeBond. Diana could run her ragged. But other than that—and the ache in her heart for a certain stubborn cowboy…“Doing my best.”

  “Your blood work is normal, urine sample looks fine. I’m seeing no edema. Good. Very good. Questions?”

  They talked for a few minutes more, then Starr got dressed, stopped in at the front desk to settle up, and took the elevator down to the lobby. Luck was with her. She stepped out onto West Fifty-Ninth Street just as a cab slid to the curb and a sweet-faced elderly lady got out. Starr took the cab to her apartment in a gorgeous Deco building on West Eighty-Sixth.