Isisa beamed. “Great! What color do you want it in? Light pink, hot pink, purple, or black? They all have silver accents unless you have expensive tastes and want real 24k gold.”
“Purple, I guess. Wait, no, black. No real gold required.”
“Black it is. And that means, Leigh, that you get 40% off whatever you want to order, plus that gift you took for a ride, aaaaand these fun foreplay dice.”
Dani glanced at her phone, furrowing her brows while typing in numbers on a calculator app. “I’ve somehow come out of this spending less than I would at the makeup counter at the mall.”
“Or that one tea shop we love,” I added, “where they push you to spend more and more for pounds of tea it’ll take you two years to drink.”
Dani grimaced. “Don’t remind me. I still have a pound of that peach blend. I never want to taste another peach in my life.”
“Then give it here, and I’ll serve it at the spa.” Jada said, elbowing her. They laughed and put together the rest of their orders. The total jumped up to fifteen hundred dollars, earning me an additional set of scented candles made from massage oils. I squealed and clapped my hands. “I wanted those!”
“I’ll get everything ordered and you should have it all next week, my lovelies!”
Everyone pitched in with clean-up and by the time they all left, my living room and kitchen were cleaner than they’d been at the start of the party. It never failed to awe me how amazing my friends were.
With my new goodies in hand, I made my way to Ian’s office and peeked inside.
“It’s safe to come out of your man cave now.”
“I wasn’t hiding,” he said in that quick way he had when he was fibbing. Warmth infused his cheeks and he chuckled, running a hand through his thick hair. I missed the white. “Okay, maybe a little. Everyone gone?”
“Yup. All alone, just you and me.”
A grin lit up his face and he tapped a few buttons on his keyboard before rising from his seat. “You know, I had actually forgotten Sophia was spending the night at a friend’s house. I picked up a cheesecake for you and figured we’d all enjoy a slice before bed.”
“You didn’t have to do that.” But oh, how I wanted to run downstairs and dive into it.
Ian chuckled. “I know, but I wanted to.”
“Well, just so you know, I didn’t break the bank. In fact, I spent less than I did last week on groceries.”
His brows knit together. “We don’t spend much on groceries to begin with, baby, since it’s just the three of us. Besides, I told you not to worry about it.”
“I know, I’m just saying that I didn’t go crazy, plus I got a huge discount. And, uh, freebies.”
“And a lovely freebie it was.” He moved around the desk and drew me into his embrace, squeezing me close. “Very, very nice.”
So nice I was tempted to get the cock ring back on him for another round.
“Maybe later on we can try out these massage oil candles. They look fun. I think. I hope.”
“Candles?”
“Yeah. As they melt, they become a hot massage oil. Something to play with one day, I guess.” I babbled and laughed at my own spontaneous bout of shyness.
Ian kissed my brow. “Sounds intriguing.”
“They smell nice, like sandalwood and vanilla. See?” I held out the bundle for his inspection, suddenly feeling incredibly vanilla and boring. Maybe this party was exactly what I’d needed. What we had needed. Our efforts to make a baby had turned sex into a routine. We needed to bring the fun back to our sex life.
“Why don’t you explain it all to me while we have this amazing child-free time to ourselves?”
“How about I demonstrate them instead?”
“Even better.”
4
Ian
A few days after Leigh’s sex-party, she texted me to say the doctor had our results. It was a quiet Monday afternoon for the sheriff’s department, and I’d only pulled over one speeder flying down the roads since my shift began.
Me: What happens next?
Leigh: Dr K has a cancellation Wed afternoon at 2 for follow-up. OK with u?
Me: That’s fine.
It was not fine. Still, fibbing in text came easier than lying to my wife’s face.
Why wasn’t it fine? Two reasons. One, I wasn’t prepared for the doctor to confirm I had a painfully low sperm count. Two, the appointment cut into the middle of my shift that day.
Leigh: Couch is a little uncomfortable now. How do u feel about buying new set?
Me: Great idea. My bank card is in the top drawer of my desk.
Leigh: Will try to keep costs low. Visiting discount furniture stores first.
I sighed. Whether it was Leigh’s childhood of growing up on welfare or her reluctance to be seen as using me for a sugar daddy, we’d spent seven years fighting over her right to use my bank account for the household.
Irritated, I hit the little icon to call. She picked up on the second ring. “Hi, honey.”
“Hi. Look, since I’ll be parking my ass on the furniture too, just buy whatever is the most comfortable. I don’t care about the cost. Buy Sophia some new summer clothes, too. She’s outgrowing those T-shirts from last year.” I laughed. “They’re crop tops on her now.”
Leigh hesitated a moment, silence on the line before she murmured in a demure voice, “I’ll buy her clothes on my account—”
“Christ. You can spend my money. How many years do we have to be married for you to catch on that I’m not concerned about the cost?”
“I know that you aren’t, Ian.”
“Look, if you won’t buy things for yourself with my money, fine. But at least buy the girl a new summer wardrobe. She’s my daughter, too, Leigh. Either you do it, or I’ll go to Target or Old Navy and do it myself after shift instead of coming home.”
“Fine. Bye, Ian.”
I barely got out a goodbye before she hung up.
She could have gone hog wild, and I’d never utter a word. Leigh was strange like that and the opposite of what I once expected from marriage, spending so little of my money and preferring to use her own. Even if I threw it at her. If I deposited cash into her account for her to go out with her pals or buy new things for herself, she’d reverse the transfer—or worse, spend it on household goods.
What was it going to take for Leigh to understand sharing our lives together meant more than sharing a bed? I wanted to give her everything.
When I told her eagles mated for life, I’d meant every word.
Surrounded by children to the front and back, I spent part of Wednesday morning in the breakfast line of Sophia’s elementary school for Donuts with Dads. Two weeks ago, Leigh had taken her to school for Muffins with Moms, now it was my turn.
I glanced behind me to see a little boy staring wide-eyed at my utility belt. A few of the kids always looked at me with awe in their eyes, and they never missed the opportunity to ask me questions about my handgun or the big yellow Taser fastened to my belt.
“Daddy?” Sophia started, with the kind of tone that implied I should dread what comes next.
“Yeah, sweetie? What’s up?”
Sophia stepped forward in line to take a plastic tray from a lunch line volunteer helping the cafeteria lady. Each one held a big, gooey glazed donut, a cup of juice, and a carton of milk.
I took mine from Mrs. Robinson.
“Can I have a little brother, like Missy?”
What the hell made her bring that up?
Conversation in the immediate area quieted to a low murmur. Managing not to wince, I gripped my tray a little harder and forced a smile. “We’ll talk about it later.”
“Her dad brought the baby. Look.”
I followed her line of sight to a table inhabited by Missy, her father, and Missy’s older brother. Her father wore the baby in a sling while he chatted with the kids. Ah. Now it makes sense.
“He’s a real cute kid,” I told Sophia.
“So? Can I
have one?”
“We’ll talk about it later, okay?”
Was that a pitying look in Mrs. Robinson’s eyes as we left her line to find a table?
No. Of course not. No one but our closest friends knew about our troubles.
After our donuts, I walked Sophia to class. Most parents weren’t allowed in the corridors, but since I was the county sheriff, they bent a lot of rules for me. Sometimes I even volunteered my time by relaxing in the school lobby at any of the schools.
“Good morning, Sheriff MacArthur!” Mrs. Brown greeted us.
“Mornin’, Mrs. Brown. How’s Sophia doing in class?”
“Excellent as always.”
We spoke for a while about Sophia’s grades, her impeccable classroom behavior, and an upcoming end-of-year field trip to the Ellen Trout Zoo in Livingston. I signed the permission slip and the volunteer form, kissed Sophia goodbye, and left the school.
I stopped for coffee for my deputies along the way, dealt with administrative shit in the office, and mostly zoned out without worrying about wasting the county’s money—I didn’t take a salary anymore, though I had for the first few years of my service.
By noon, I dreaded the doctor’s visit.
Leigh: Don’t forget our appointment.
Me: How could I forget?
Seriously. How could I when it was all Leigh spoke about the entire weekend?
I set the phone down on the desk and cradled my brow against one palm.
“Sheriff, you okay?”
I’d smelled Martinez coming from a mile away since the man smoked a pack a day, but I glanced up and forced a smile. “I’m fine.”
“You don’t look okay, man.” He lingered in the doorway.
During the seven years since I’d won the election by a landslide, I’d gone to bat for these men and gained them a 20% pay raise to close the gap between Quickdraw and neighboring counties. Last year, I founded a Christmas toy drive for officers’ families unable to deliver to their kids around the holidays. A few seasons before that, I financed new equipment out of my personal account when the city treasurer said the funds didn’t exist.
I didn’t donate for the tax break; I did it because they deserved to be safe. I’d stood by the department as they cleaned up this town and the surrounding countryside, even encouraging greater cooperation between our department and the Q.P.D. and ending their rivalry.
Leigh and I had even babysat kids when a deputy in a bind wanted to go out for a night on the town with his spouse.
Everything I did, I did because I cared.
So I knew what was coming before Martinez even closed the door and sat down.
“Everything okay at home, sheriff?”
Christ. How did he hone in that it was home trouble?
Martinez’s kids loved playing with Sophia. I’d entertained his son and daughter at my house numerous times for him and the wife to enjoy a romantic dinner. And I liked to consider that we were friends, since the guy was one of three deputies who knew about my feathered side.
“What makes you think it’s home trouble?”
His brows popped up. “Would anything else tear you down like this? Gotta be something big to have you moping in the office. You’re always out there raising hell on the roads and checking leads. Seriously. What’s up?” Then his expression went even more somber. “We’re not talking the big D are we?”
“Nah,” I said quickly. “It’s nothing like that.”
“Oh. Phew. God, you scared the shit out of me.”
“Howso?”
“If you and Leigh can’t keep a marriage going, what hope do the rest of us have, you know? So what’s the problem? It won’t go past me, I swear.”
I slouched back in the seat and plucked my cup of coffee from the desk. It must have gone cold an hour ago. “We have an appointment with a specialist this afternoon.”
“Oh.”
“A fertility specialist.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah. Today, I find out if it’s me causing the problem.”
Martinez quieted. “Damn. Well, even if it is you, they’ve got procedures they can do now with petri dishes and shit, you know?”
“Yeah. I know. Just bugs me knowing the problem is me.”
“May not be. You don’t know that yet.”
I stared across the desk at him. “I’m old.”
“My grandfather was having kids at eighty-two. You’re not ancient. Seriously, man, cut that shit out. I bet Leigh tells you that all the time.”
“She does.”
“Listen to her. Anyway, you’re a shifter, right? All of you age slow. My cousin Guillermo is a grizzly shifter. He turned fifty-seven this year and looks younger than me.”
“True enough, I suppose. Anyway, we’ll find out in a couple hours.” My phone buzzed with another incoming text notification. Leigh wanted to know when I’d be home to get her, and if we could leave early to visit the bakery along the way.
I agreed to take her for caramel lattes and chocolate croissants at a cafe along the way to our destination. Smalltalk about Sophia’s upcoming field trip filled the uncomfortable silence during the hour-long drive.
By the time we reached the office, my stomach churned with anxiety and I regretted putting anything in it. Leigh signed us in at the front desk and before I could have a seat, a nurse beckoned for us to follow her to Doctor Kline’s office.
“Doctor Kline is concluding an appointment right now, but she asked me to send you guys in right away. She’ll be with you in just a moment. Can I get you anything? Water?”
“No, thank you,” Leigh murmured. When the nurse left, she slid her hand onto my knee and squeezed.
Answers. I told myself answers were great, regardless of their content, because we’d be one step closer to fixing the problem and adding to our small family. And because hints of Leigh’s anticipation traveled to me through our soul bond, I lifted her hand from my knee and laced our fingers together. I kissed each of her knuckles.
The doctor entered a few minutes later and shut the door behind her again. “Good afternoon, Mr. and Mrs. MacArthur. Are you ready to discuss your test results?”
“Do we have a choice?” I quipped.
She smiled back at me. “I’d say no, but I’m your doctor and my job is to serve you. Do you both need a moment longer?”
I shook my head. “Hit us with it, Doc. Is it me?”
“Oh, no, Mr. MacArthur. Your sperm count is actually above average. I’ve asked you both here today to discuss the results of Mrs. MacArthur’s blood panels.”
Leigh stilled beside me. “What did they say?”
“One of the hormone levels we tested is FSH. Follicle Stimulating Hormone is needed by both men and women for production. In men, a low level of FSH may result in low sperm count, in women… the ovaries won’t produce a mature egg, ovulation won’t occur, and couples experience troubles with conception.” The doctor cleared her throat. “This appears to be the problem here.”
It wasn’t me. I wasn’t too old.
Her words lifted a tremendous weight from my shoulders, and I sagged in relief, thanking God and my lucky stars.
Then I glanced at Leigh and saw the unconcealed pain etched in her face and knew my good news was her worst nightmare.
Leigh
My pulse pounded behind my eyes, the final nails in the coffin that meant we weren’t having a baby after all. Not now, maybe never.
Shame twisted my guts into knots. All this time, it had been me all along.
“Did the IUD do damage after all?” I managed to ask, forcing the words past my thick tongue and tight throat.
“No, not as far as I’ve been able to tell. That’s a good thing, Leigh. Damage can’t be repaired without invasive procedures, but that won’t be necessary for you.”
Ian’s palm slid from my thigh. He took my hand in his, then glanced at the doctor. “What happens next?”
“I’d like to put Mrs. MacArthur on a cycle of clomiphene.
Many of my patients have had great results with the drug. It’s a regimen of five pills, and begins on the third day of your menstrual cycle.”
“I’ll take it.”
Doctor Kline aimed a reassuring smile across her desk. “There are some potential side effects and risks involved, as with any other drug.” Then she began to name them while Ian stiffened beside me. The hand holding mine tightened.
“And if we choose not to use the drug?”
“There aren’t any other ways to encourage ovulation without resorting to pharmaceutical methods, Mr. MacArthur. This is the first I would recommend, and most of my clients have had amazing success.” She gestured behind her to a wall of infant photos, smiling mothers and cute, pink-faced babies.
“Most,” Ian repeated. “You’ll have to forgive me, Doctor Kline. I don’t mean to insult your expertise.”
“You haven’t. Any good husband would worry for his wife’s well-being. Three out of four women respond positively to the drug and are able to ovulate. If there’s no pregnancy, I’ll prescribe a second cycle.”
Ian cocked a brow. “And after that? What other options do we have?”
I wanted to throttle him. And I also loved him. Who could ask for a better husband? “If it doesn’t work afterward, does that mean we can’t get pregnant?”
“Certainly not. If, and that’s a very big if, there’s no conception after the second cycle, I’d ask you back for a reassessment to determine if there’s an underlying physiological problem I may have missed during the previous exam. I’ll look deeper. We’ll try other drugs. This is my preferred choice, but it isn’t the only one. I have a ninety-two percent success rate, Mrs. MacArthur. I don’t plan to give up on you two. Any friend of Sasha is a friend of mine, so I’ll do my best to help you achieve conception.”
Relief escaped me in a quiet sigh. I still had a chance after all to do everything right.
I would give Ian a baby.
Sophia would have a little sibling.
And I would prove I was more than the codeine-addicted fuckup this town knew eight years ago by becoming the best mother and wife ever seen in Quickdraw.
A Man of Many Talons Page 4