by Laurel Greer
This time there’s a baby on board...
Dr. Lauren Dawson knows her brief marriage to footloose photographer Tavish Fitzgerald ended for a reason. That doesn’t mean their undeniable chemistry isn’t as potent as ever. And when Tavish returns home to Sutter Creek for his sister’s wedding, the sparks between them turn into a blaze. But when Lauren finds herself pregnant, these exes have nine months to build a forever family together...
Tavish’s heart dropped. “That’s not... I didn’t know I’d be working with you when I offered.”
Beans whirred in the grinder. She stared at the counter and gripped the machine as it slowed into silence, didn’t move to add the coffee to the French press on the opposite counter.
“I figured you’d be so busy at the clinic that we’d barely see each other.” He offered the excuse in a gentle voice.
“Whatever.” Lauren swallowed audibly and circled the island to stand close enough to him that she had to tilt her chin to look him in the eye. He had a good foot on her, something she’d always complained about. Why, he didn’t know. It had just made it easier for him to pick her up, pin her against a wall and send her into oblivion. Her fresh-from-the-shower scent drifted into his nostrils, a hint of tropical summer and sugary sweetness. His mouth watered. Just one taste would do it.
* * *
SUTTER CREEK, MONTANA: Passion and happily-ever-afters in Big Sky Country
Dear Reader,
Do you have a “one that got away”? The person whom you collided with, kissed, loved—then had to let go? In From Exes to Expecting, a year has passed since homebody Lauren and globetrotting Tavish shared a secret Vegas wedding, and a more secret divorce. But a piece of paper can’t erase years of being drawn to each other.
When a family wedding pulls Tavish back home, the last thing he’s prepared to do is face Lauren across a church aisle again. And the nine-month surprise that follows what they vowed would be one last night together? It rocks the foundations on which they’ve constructed their miles-apart definitions of home.
I grew up in a small town nestled between the mountains and the ocean, so Sutter Creek’s outdoorsy, close-knit vibe comes from deep in my heart. From Exes to Expecting is my debut novel—I’m thrilled to share it with you. Stay tuned for the second and third installments in the Sutter Creek, Montana trilogy.
I would love to hear your thoughts about the Dawsons and their little mountain town. You can find me on Facebook, Twitter and at www.laurelgreer.com.
Happy reading,
Laurel
From Exes to Expecting
Laurel Greer
Raised in a small town on Vancouver Island, Laurel Greer grew up skiing and boating by day and reading romances under the covers by flashlight at night. Ever committed to the proper placement of the Canadian “eh,” she loves to write books with snapping sexual tension and second chances. She lives outside Vancouver with her law-talking husband and two daughters. At least half her diet is made up of tea. Find her at www.laurelgreer.com.
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To Rob and our Bear and Mouse.
A lot of family juggling took place for this book to get written, and I’m immeasurably grateful for the sacrifices made and support given to have my dream come true. I love you.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Epilogue
Excerpt from The Fortune Most Likely To... by Marie Ferrarella
Chapter One
Sneaking out the back door is self-preservation, not bad form, right? Biting her lip, Dr. Lauren Dawson glanced at the clock on the wall of the Sutter Creek Medical Clinic’s staff lounge. Five-oh-one. Yup, skedaddle time. After working a series of six-day weeks, her body ached for the cushy lounge chair on her lakeside deck. Getting to start her long weekend while the late-May sun still had heat left in it was worth the faux pas of creeping out without saying goodbye. She threw her leather flats into her messenger bag and slid on her flip-flops.
The door to the lounge creaked behind her. Her stomach sank and she stared into her locker, not wanting to turn around. If it was one of the nurses coming to nab her to treat another patient, she’d—
“Lauren. Glad I caught you before you left. Do you have a minute?”
Damn it. The longer she lingered, the higher the chance of getting asked to cover drop-ins for an extra hour or two. But no way could she slough off a conversation with the man who held the future of her career in his hand. Squeezing her eyes shut for a second, she forced a smile and faced her boss. “Hi, Frank.”
The fluorescent lights of the staff lounge yellowed Frank Martin’s gunmetal-gray hair as he took a seat on one of the couches arranged into a conversation pit. “Quitting time?”
Lauren nodded and pulled off her lab coat. “Yeah. Andrew’s still very understaffed at work, so I’m picking up some slack for him this weekend. He’s got his bachelor party, so he’s asked me to cover some zip-line tours, and I’m helping his fiancée with some wedding stuff.” As the Director of Safety and Risk Management and the head of summer operations for their family’s Montana ski resort, her older brother did more than his fair share of boosting their bottom line. Lauren pitched in where she could despite the clinic’s tendency to consume her waking hours. Once her summer holidays started in six weeks, she’d be subbing for her brother, letting him get away on his honeymoon. “Pretty sure I won’t get a moment to myself for most of the weekend. Though I’m hoping for a few hours to myself tonight. My dock is calling me.”
His mouth curved in understanding. “Well, I won’t keep you. But I wanted to make sure you got the partnership papers from your lawyer.”
Those cursed papers sat on her kitchen table, mocking her every morning as she ate her oatmeal and berries. Mocking her commitment to follow in her mother’s footsteps. Dampness bloomed on her palms. She’d wanted to have a practice in her tiny hometown since she was fourteen. Getting to buy in to the clinic her mother had founded was nothing less than her childhood dream. So why am I having so much trouble putting my signature on the contract?
She mentally flicked away the doubt and nodded at her boss. “Yeah, but I’ve run into a glitch getting the funds released from my grandparents’ trust. My lawyer’s busy arguing with their lawyers.” She gripped the strap of her bag and took a centering breath. Ugh, what she’d do to have her vacation starting today. Both the wedding and working for Wild Life Adventures would be a welcome change of scenery. She would get outside for a few weeks and come back to the clinic refreshed and ready to make her plan a reality.
“Did your lawyer indicate how long it would take to fix the problem?” Concern edged Frank’s words.
“She wasn’t specific, no. I’m sure it’ll be dealt with by the time I’m back from my holidays in July.”
“That’s two months from now.”
Swallowing her nerves, she nodded. “It’s not affecting the work I can do, though. So I’m hoping the delay isn’t a deal breaker.”
“No. Nothing you
can do about banking complications.” He drummed his fingers on the arm of the couch. “I’ve been waiting for this for a long time, Lauren. Having a Dawson as a partner again is going to fill a void. You’ll be a great permanent addition to the clinic.”
Permanent.
Normally a calming concept, but Lauren’s heart started to thud as if she were sprinting. She inhaled. Her mother had been proud of her calling. And Lauren was nothing if not a mirror of her mother.
She’d almost given up on their dream once. Never again. She could do this. Was meant for it.
Her heartbeat slowed, but the burn in her stomach refused to subside.
One of the nurses poked her head into the lounge. “Dr. Dawson? Can you take one more patient before you leave? Sutures. Exam room two.”
Son of a—Keeping her curse from spilling out, Lauren nodded to the nurse. She returned her satchel to her locker and shrugged back into her lab coat. “Count me there.”
Frank touched his brow in a playful salute. “We’ll talk later, Lauren. See you Tuesday.”
“Have a good Memorial Day.” Lauren changed back into her flats, straightened her khaki capris and rushed out of the lounge to her patient. Stupid long weekends and the abrasions and lacerations that came along with them. She picked the clipboard out of the Lucite holder and glanced at the patient file.
Her already complaining gut lurched and the font blurred on the page.
No. N-fricking-O.
Feet frozen two feet from the door, out of view from the patient inside, she stared through the door frame. Only the patient’s legs were visible, golden-tan skin over defined calf muscles. Muddy biking footprints marked up the white linoleum. A two-inch-thick black tattoo ringed one ankle. At first glance, it looked like a series of interwoven spirals, but she knew closer study would reveal the second and third stanzas of Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night. Even marred by a fresh, index-card-size scrape, she’d recognize Tavish Fitzgerald’s legs anywhere. Difficult not to, given the nights she’d spent sliding her toes along those hard calves while he’d driven her out of her mind with ecstasy.
She leaned against the hallway wall and swallowed. He must be in town for her brother’s bachelor party. So much for him not coming home until a day or two before the wedding. The wedding where Lauren would have to once again stare at Tavish across the aisle. But as the maid of honor this time.
Not the bride.
Lauren’s brother was marrying Tavish’s sister on the Fourth of July weekend, and Lauren was thrilled to be getting a sister-in-law. She just didn’t want to have to see her ex-husband in the process.
Telling herself to get a Godzilla-size grip, she stuck the clipboard between her knees and took the time to redo her ponytail. After a quick wipe under her eyes to check for afternoon mascara remnants, she clutched her clipboard between both hands, threw back her shoulders and marched through the doorway.
A millisecond after she met Tavish’s gaze, her bravado tumbled into a heap around her feet. He regarded her with a simmering look as he lounged in the patient’s chair next to the examination table. His violet-blue irises pierced through her layers of preservation.
Eyes that color were wasted on a man. Ditto his thick, dark eyelashes and the sun-streaked, tawny hair he never bothered to keep tidy. A navy bandanna, rolled to a hand-width and tied around his forehead, kept the windblown strands from falling in his face. He wore a technical shirt and baggy cargo shorts over black Lycra bike shorts. It was enough to make a woman’s heart stop.
But no, Lauren’s pulse went into overdrive, thumping loud enough she’d have worried he could hear it except she knew was it impossible. Shrinking under his silent observation, she forced herself to snap into medical mode.
“You did a number on your leg,” she said.
Shrugging, he shot her a half smile. “An unruly pine.”
Judging by the scrape on his left cheek, the rip in the short sleeve of his shirt and the bandage on his arm, the tree reigned victorious. His chart noted that he needed stitches for a laceration already dressed by one of the mountain first-aid attendants, but her hands were shaking so badly she didn’t trust herself to pick up a needle quite yet, no matter how quickly she wanted him out the door.
“Tree, one, you, zero?” She forced out the joke.
“Yeah. Blew a tire. Landed in a snowberry bush, thankfully. Could have been worse. But where are our manners? Afternoon, Dr. Dawson.” He bit out her last name.
She flinched at the emphasis. Considering she’d once shared his last name and his bed, the use of her professional title seemed overkill. “Seems silly to bother with the formalities with me.”
“You’re working. I respect that.”
“I don’t think it matters where we are. I’ll always be just Lauren to you.” Her voice came out way softer than she’d intended. Fighting the need to get closer to his hard, muscled body, to offer to kiss him better, she broke her gaze from his and methodically counted the eleven parts of the ear illustrated on the poster over his shoulder.
“You’re never just anything, Lauren.”
The rough sincerity in his voice chafed at her still-raw heart. She froze, not able to look at his face, to see whatever emotion accompanied the sweet words. She grabbed a pair of latex gloves from one of the cabinets and pointed at the examination table. “Up on the bed.”
By the quirk of his mouth, the potential double entendre wasn’t lost on him. Mercifully, he left it alone and lay down as asked, stretching out his lean frame and propping his head with his good hand.
Pulling her stool alongside him, she positioned his injured forearm for the best access. With tentative fingers, she peeled back the rectangle of gauze and recognized her brother’s handiwork in the immaculate row of butterfly strips holding together the finger-length gash. The sterile material of her gloves did nothing to block the effect of touching Tavish. The moment her fingertips brushed his arm, the heat there threatened to melt the glove to her hand.
Ignoring her pathetic physical response, she continued undoing the bandaging. “Your sister’s going to smack you for getting scraped up so close to her big day. You should’ve held off on bodily harm until after the wedding.”
Lifting his other hand across his face to touch his abraded cheek, he tilted his lips in a sheepish smile. “I wanted to try a few of the new expert trails in the biking complex. Drew took me.”
“You took my brother on the double blacks? You’re as bad an influence on him as you were on me.” Her chest panged with immediate regret. Way to bring up how he’d made her want to veer so sharply from her life plan. To cover up her folly, she blurted, “At least he wasn’t idiotic enough to tackle a tree.”
Something crackled behind Tavish’s eyes. Probably not the medical tape tugging on the golden hairs of his arm, either.
“You really want to get into this, Laur?” His voice held threads of warning twined with wariness.
No, but probably best to hash things out before the wedding. “We’re due.”
“I’d rather wait until you aren’t in arm’s reach of a needle.” He glanced at the syringe on the rolling tray, gritting his teeth as she fussed with his laceration.
“Fine with me.” She took a breath and shoved the curious blend of shame, wanting and need for escape to the back of her mind. Only in rare situations would she choose suturing over a conversation. Wouldn’t be the first time Tavish had her doing something that went against instinct, though. “You’re going to need quite a few stitches to make sure this heals properly. The edges are snagged pretty badly.”
“Bled like a scalp wound, but doesn’t really hurt.”
She rolled her eyes and readied the syringe. “You’re such a guy.”
“You used to like that about me,” he said under his breath.
“Used to.” She draped the wound and closed her eyes for a second, just long en
ough to push away the nausea that rippled whenever she had to pierce someone’s skin. Frustration flared over the surging acid. She’d learned to control her gag reflex back in the first month of medical school. But the minute her lawyer had given her the partnership papers to sign, it had come back with a vengeance.
Clenching her hands into fists, she breathed until her ears stopped buzzing and she was no longer on the verge of losing the BLT she’d had for lunch. Then she grabbed the needle.
Tavish sucked in a breath and looked away as Lauren worked to numb the area. His brief display of nerves made her hand itch to put down the needle and caress his cheek. She ignored the ridiculous impulse and finished her task.
“Let that set. I’ll be back in five.”
“Not going to stick around and chat?”
“I have things to do.”
His lips twitched with saddened amusement. “Don’t let me get in your way.”
Half standing, she settled back onto her stool, meeting the challenge in his voice. “You’re not in my way.”
“That’s not the honest Lauren Dawson I know.”
She stared at him, trying to make her expression as unreadable as possible. “Fine. It’s weird having you in town. And if you’re insisting on small talk, where’ve you been since you were last home? When was that, March?” Not like she’d counted the fifty-seven days. Not purposefully, anyway.
Tavish’s expression flattened into impatience. “Here and there. New Orleans for a few weeks. Italy. Brazil.”
“You’re definitely living your dream.” If only he’d been that committed to her. To them.
“Isn’t that the point?”
“Obviously. I’m doing the same.”
“Sure about that?”
“Even more than when I signed our divorce papers.” Though she’d had as much trouble scrawling her signature on that as with the documents for the clinic partnership. “I saw your Peru spread in Traveler last week.”