by Laurel Greer
“Look,” she murmured, “you don’t have to decide anything today. I know neither of us was sure about having kids before...”
“Irrelevant now.”
“No, it’s not. No one’s forcing me to have this baby—I know my options. But I have the resources to be a single parent. And we can figure out how much or how little you are going to be involved—”
“You’re not going to be a single parent, Lauren. I watched my mom burn the candle at both ends and sacrifice too damn much to ever let you go through the same. I’m going to be involved.”
She startled and her hand moved to his shoulder in what seemed like an attempt to steady herself.
The ferocity of his vow surprised him, too. Did he believe he had it in him to be a reliable father? No. For the sake of the child—his child, their child—cutting and running might be best. Deserting her, though, deserting a baby... Acid bit his throat and he almost had to take her up on the offer of the garbage can to puke in.
Swallowing, he let out a dry laugh. “And here I thought screwing up yesterday was as eventful as it could get.”
Her mouth quirked. “This news we should definitely keep to ourselves. We have time, Tav. Let’s settle in to this a bit before we commit to anything.”
He recognized her words for what they were—an out. Checks and balances to make sure they didn’t race headlong into an arrangement that crashed and burned like their marriage had. And he respected her caution.
Had he earned her doubt? Hell, yeah. Did he wish it could be different? Yeah, just as much as—no, more than—he had for the last year when it came to their failed marriage.
“Look, I have an appointment to get to. And we both have the rehearsal to deal with.” She put a hand to her stomach, that ubiquitous pregnant-woman gesture he’d never before felt connected to. But now... His palm grew restless with the urge to slide over her hand. He resisted temptation.
“I guess I’ll see you later, then,” he said.
“It’s probably best.” Her face, pale since she’d been sick on the balcony, shifted into a forced smile.
And as he strode from the room he cursed how he always managed to be the one leaving, always managed to prove himself his father’s son.
A few minutes later he sat in his SUV, frozen with his hands on the steering wheel. He needed to get into town, to go to Mackenzie’s and apologize again. But if he went to talk to his sister without decompressing some, she’d sniff out that something was wrong.
No, wrong wasn’t the word. But right didn’t fit, either. He shook his head. He needed time to think.
We have time, Tav.
Huh. He hadn’t noticed it at the time, but Lauren had shortened his name. For the first time in a year, to his memory. Warmth eased some of the chill from his insides. He didn’t like admitting how good her familiarity made him feel. How desperate he was for scraps of what they’d had.
Yet another thing to contemplate. Turning the key in the ignition, his internal autopilot kicked in, pointing the car away from town. Driving down a gravel road, he cranked his stereo, let some old-school Bruce Springsteen force out thoughts of his wife. Pregnant wife. Ex. Ex-wife. Either way, though, pregnant.
He parked in a turnout five hundred yards from his thinking spot. Back in high school he’d found a nook of sandy riverbank that had become his refuge when he was yearning to escape but couldn’t. He’d taken his first award-winning picture at sixteen there, had figured out photography was his ticket out of Sutter Creek.
Pulling his sketch pad and beat-up wooden pencil case—filled to bursting with charcoals, chalk pastels and graphite and watercolor pencils—from under the passenger seat, he headed for the grass-lined trail. He trudged down the uneven path and reached the little clearing, a patch of sand just big enough for two people to sit with their feet in the water. He’d come here with Lauren. Would he be coming here with their kid in a few years? Before filing for divorce, she’d made it very clear she wouldn’t want a half-time husband. But he wanted some sort of regular visitation. What that would look like, well, they’d have to work on that.
Sighing, he kicked at the sand with a toe. The river ran a muted, glacial jade, opaque in the center fading to clear green on the edges. The scent of baking pines and sweet grass hovered between cloying and refreshing as it eddied in the breeze. Settling against his log, Tavish took off his sandals. He breathed in Montana wilderness and put pencil to paper. He could have easily taken a series of stunning photos to capture nature’s majesty. But his work was commercial. Sketching was personal, something he did for himself. And this place mattered enough that he’d had it inked on his side last winter.
He set about recreating what he’d captured in a photograph back at sixteen. Juniper-green pencil blended into walnut brown and warm gray. Smudging his strokes with a fingertip and water, he managed a passable interpretation of the river rushing over a rock a few feet away from his submerged heels. He stared at his creation. Knew that color.
Remembered making the comparison to Lauren’s eyes the last time he’d been here with her.
Right after the funeral, she’d been frantic. He’d calmed her down with words and hands and pleasure. If only they’d stopped there. The minute they’d started talking, she’d shocked him with her sudden change from wanting to travel the world with him to never wanting to go five miles past home again. She needed to be with her family, needed to follow through on the clinic. And when he’d pointed out that those desires might fade as she worked through her grief for her grandparents, she’d vowed she’d never change her mind.
Somehow, that train wreck of a day hadn’t tainted this place for good.
He turned and smoothed the page. Pencils flew. Green to brown again, then cream and medium flesh tone for skin, the occasional raw sienna freckle, a mix of ocher and cadmium yellows for hair... Maybe the act of physically putting Lauren on paper would free his mind.
It certainly couldn’t make him want her more. He was already teetering precariously on the edge of that cliff again.
And he hated how much it would hurt when he landed. Because he wouldn’t be landing anywhere good. This pregnancy had struck any more casual sex between them right off the table.
A baby was the one tie they couldn’t undo. A little being that might have eyes as hazel as Lauren’s, or maybe the shock of blond curls he’d had as a kid...
Sketching and smudging, he lost track of time. His feet went numb from being in the rushing water.
A vibration in his pocket jarred him from his artistic zone. He checked his cell display. Mackenzie. Crap.
He decided to head her off at the proverbial pass. “Hey, Kenz. Sorry, I was going to come by this morning, but I got caught up—”
“With your tuxedo fitting?” she cut in.
Tuxedo fitting. Double crap. “What time is it?”
“Noon.” She sounded singularly unimpressed. “You missed your appointment.”
“I—No. I went over to talk to Lauren and then had...other stuff that came up. I’ll go do it right now.” He snapped his sketch pad shut and squeezed his phone between his shoulder and his ear to allow him both hands to pack up his pencil case and do up the toggles on his sandals.
“Okay. I have my final appointment in a few minutes, too. Come see me when you’re done with yours. Penance, big brother. You owe me.”
“I do.” He started jogging down the trail. “Give me fifteen minutes.”
A few winding roads and one stoplight later, he was back in Sutter Creek and in Dreamy & Dapper’s parking lot.
After confirming that he wasn’t a total moron and the measurements he’d emailed the store were indeed correct, he readjusted his ball cap on his head and strolled to the women’s side of the store. By the glare the sales associate directed at his feet, he guessed there was some rule about wearing shoes around the overpriced, overspangled merchandise, so he slid out
of his Keens and padded over to a plush pink chair. Sat among the sparkly stilettos and the poufy gowns and the pervasive memory of standing up at the altar with Lauren, her curves enhanced by a fussy little dress. Penance, indeed. He groaned inwardly and shoved the vision away, but the general surroundings of white and frill didn’t give him much of a reprieve.
“Hey.” Lauren’s quiet voice broke into his thoughts, saving him from certain death by overexposure to taffeta. She stood a few feet away from him, wearing what had to be her maid-of-honor dress. The sweep of turquoise silk nipped and tucked at all the right places, highlighting all his favorite parts of her petite frame. His mouth went dry. “Hey. You look...”
“Ill? I’ve been sick three more times this morning.”
She did still look pale. And he hadn’t even asked her how she was feeling. He was such an ass. “Try incredible.”
A tiny smile tugged at one side of her mouth. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”
“I—”
“Tav! You’re here.” His sister rushed into the room. Well, rushed as much as she was able, given she was waddling more than walking these days.
He stood and tried to look like he was enjoying himself.
“You’re so forgiven for having forgotten your appointment.” Mackenzie gave him a quick kiss on his cheek, sent him a look that they’d talk later and headed for the back of the store.
White. Frills. And alone with my ex-wife. A few choice curses rattled around in his head in time with the lingering Johnnie Walker throb. He rubbed his eyes.
Lauren looked from his decade-old hat to the ratty Yale T-shirt he’d put on this morning when he thought they were going kayaking. “Decided not to dress up for the occasion?”
“I haven’t been back to the apartment. I went out to the river—” He cut himself off. The admission seemed too intimate.
“Figured you would,” she said in a low voice.
And then all the focus shifted to Mackenzie as she emerged from the dressing room. Tavish stood back, separated from the oohs and aahs and tears. Tomorrow was going to be a cryfest if this was the reaction everyone had to a swath of white fabric.
He smiled at his sister, who looked like a chic Roman fertility goddess. “You look beautiful, Kenz.”
“Thanks.” His sister glowed—with love, with pleasure, with the flush of motherhood.
A notion of Lauren, belly all big with his baby, cheeks pink with that same glow, popped into his head.
Um, brain? Give me a break, here. That’s a ways off yet.
Though not all that far off. Time would pass. Lauren’s stomach, currently flat and taut under her fancy dress, would soon curve out, no doubt making her sexier than she already was. And then they’d feel precious kicks. And she’d complain about looking like a house and would demand ice cream...
And unless he made some major changes, he’d miss all that magic.
Damn it.
* * *
Lauren didn’t know what to expect from the rehearsal dinner beyond the obvious: Tavish and Mackenzie’s mom, Gwen, had gone to great expense to host an upscale affair. Crystal and linens fancy enough for an actual wedding graced the round tables on the stone patio.
Shaking her head, trying to prevent her spiky sling-back heels from sinking into the lawn, she knew tomorrow’s mountaintop ceremony and casual cocktail party in the midstation lounge would suit her brother and his fiancée far more than tonight’s swanky atmosphere. But if Mackenzie was okay with the country-clubbish feel of the yard, Lauren wouldn’t make a fuss about how ridiculous it was to host a party that didn’t suit the honorees. She had enough to worry about having to pretend she wasn’t getting the silent treatment from the other bridesmaid. Not to mention having the best man watch her like he couldn’t decide whether to wrap her in protective bubble wrap or book a flight to Tasmania. But the rehearsal had gone off without a hitch, so she’d count that as a win. Apparently no one had noticed the family drama simmering under the surface. Or if they had, they hadn’t mentioned it.
And they’d better keep on not mentioning it. It sucked enough that her sister wasn’t talking to her on a weekend that should have been about having a wonderful time as a family. She didn’t need their second cousins from New England questioning why Cadie wouldn’t look her in the face. Didn’t want to explain herself one more time.
Telling her dad this morning about the divorce had been plenty. He didn’t seem to be as angry as Cadie. He’d been more quiet than anything, agreeing the wedding was the priority. That had all been over the phone, though, and she wanted to confirm his forgiveness in person. She spotted him over by the linen-bedecked bar and headed his way. She felt a little calmer when she was able to wrap her arms around him and rest her cheek on his summer suit jacket. “Hi, Dad.”
“Just the girl I wanted to see.” He took her under his left arm and accepted a drink on the rocks from the bartender with his right. “Need a drink?”
The offer caught her off-kilter. She’d been so busy worrying about Tavish that she hadn’t come up with a good excuse not to be drinking. When she’d filled her dad in about the divorce, she’d kept silent about the baby. Nor did she feel guilty about that secrecy like she had with her marriage. The pregnancy was something for her and Tavish to coddle for a while before telling anyone else. But if she wasn’t careful, her not having any alcohol would get noticed.
“I’m going to hold off until dinner, I think,” she explained to her dad before addressing the bartender. “Could you make me a virgin mojito?”
The bartender nodded and took out a martini shaker.
She turned her attention back to her dad. With his mirrored sunglasses stuck in his hair and his good-humored grin, he looked more ski instructor than resort owner. His years of hard work showed in the sprinkling of gray in his brown-black hair, but the crinkle lines in his forehead were from smiling, not stress. Edward Dawson lived for his family, not his company. She wanted to follow in his footsteps in that. Lucky that her family and her job were intricately woven.
A niggle of doubt teased her consciousness at the word lucky. She pushed it aside and returned her dad’s smile.
“You look like you got some sun, Cookie. About time.”
“After my vacation, my clinic hours won’t be so crazy.” She hoped. She’d have to talk to Frank sooner rather than later about her workload once the baby arrived.
“So you got your paperwork in?”
Lauren flashed to the stack of papers still on her table, still being ignored. “I—I will.” She bit her lip. Should she tell her dad about the almost panic attacks she’d been having when she tried to scribble her signature on her contract? About the way her heart lunged into her throat whenever she pictured her name inked on the line?
“You know,” her father’s mouth tightened, “you don’t have to sign on with the clinic. Any time I’ve brought it up lately, you’ve ended up with a frown on your face.”
She closed her eyes for a few seconds. Honesty. I said honesty. “I...”
“You...?” he prodded.
Medicine doesn’t... She stopped the gut-churning thought from finishing, took the mocktail the bartender held out and sipped away her conscience. “I’m happy, Dad. I’m going to deliver the agreement to Frank on my first day back from holidays. But I’m glad I took the time to ensure it’s the right decision.”
“Of course it’s the right decision. You’ve been aiming to work in Sutter Creek since you were in high school. And your sister needs you here. As do I.”
“I know.” And a clinic partnership met every vocational goal she’d set. The Dawson name deserved to be on a plaque on one of the doors at the clinic again. So her trouble committing made no sense. Unless it meant... No.
“Your mom would be so proud of you, following in her footsteps.” He laid a broad hand on the side of her head, stroked her hair. “She w
as a firecracker, right up to her last day. So are you.”
Obligation pressed down on her chest. He had to bring out the big guns, didn’t he? She wanted to be like her mom. And she didn’t need the reminder that she’d been away on a stupid trip to summer camp when her mother had died of unexpected complications after a routine tumorectomy. Stop it, Lauren. She tried to inhale some courage. “I won’t let either of you down. I’ve done that enough already this week.”
With a slight eyebrow lift, he said, “I thought we were going to leave that alone for now.”
“I still feel awful,” she murmured.
“Look, I love Tavish like a son, but you’d make each other miserable. You fixed your mistake. That’s what matters.”
“Thanks for understanding.” And for reminding her why she needed to stop scanning the property for a certain pair of violet-blue eyes.
He released her from his embrace and pressed at his sternum.
Worry shot up her spine. Hands on breastbones were rarely good signs. “You okay, Dad?”
“Eh, just reflux. Frank’s got me on acid reducers.”
She relaxed a tad at that admission, but not entirely. “Da-ad. Small symptoms can mask big problems.”
“No nagging, Cookie. I’m exercising, eating right.” He glanced to the side, eyes darting everywhere but her face. “Crud, I just remembered. The Creekside catering manager needed something confirmed with Mackenzie, and asked me to pass on the message. Excuse me for a bit.”
He gave her one last squeeze and walked over to where her brother leaned up against the gazebo, snuggling with Mackenzie. The couple was deep in conversation with crutches-bound Zach Cardenas.
Had Lauren been in the market for a retired Olympian with rumpled hair and a cocky grin, she might have been interested in Zach. She had dated in the past year. Sutter Creek was full of eligible men during ski season, and Zach was single, well-employed, charming. But Lauren had already tested the rumpled, cockily grinning waters, and found them to be life-threatening. And Zach’s green irises didn’t merit a second look compared to the purple-blue light show of Tavish’s eyes. A light show walking toward her right now. Crap.