The Stubborn Love Series: Books 1-5 Contemporary Romance Series

by Wendy Owens

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  There’s a knock at the door, but I don’t respond. The last thing I want to do is speak to anyone else. I feel like my room has been a constant hive of activity since I got back from my doctor appointment. Dr. Marshall assured me a lot of women experience a thinning of the wall around the baby at this point in their pregnancy; it is nothing abnormal. He would prefer, though, if I didn’t go into labor any sooner than thirty-eight weeks, and with that goal only a week away, he has ordered lots of rest.

  Bea, Abner, and Holden have taken this to mean they must wait on me hand and foot. There have been tea, snacks, sweets, and thanks to Abner, a sandwich the size of my head brought up to me all within the last half-day. I know they mean well, but the constant attention is tiring.

  Holden has also been frightening me with his topics of conversation lately. Only last night he asked me, out of nowhere, if I thought I would ever consider getting married, but not necessarily to him, he had added. I tripped over my words so severely he withdrew the question.

  Then, in case the smothering affection from everyone wasn’t bad enough, I found out the baby could be here in as little as a week. All I want to do is write. Somehow, working on my manuscript helps me put the thoughts plaguing me to rest.

  Jack’s warning to be careful of whom I trust, for the sake of our child, is not one I have been able to force from my mind. The harder Holden tries to convince me to give us a chance, the more it makes me suspicious and push him away. I knew Jack for years before we ever became engaged, and it ended up he was capable of an intense betrayal. How can I trust someone I’ve known for such a short amount of time?

  The knocking continues at my door, interrupting my thoughts. My ignoring them won’t deter whoever it is. I turn and press myself up off the bed, crossing the room to the door. I crack it and peer out to get a look at my visitor.

  Bea smiles at me. “I’m sorry to disturb you, dear, but can you come downstairs for a moment?”

  I open the door the rest of the way and lean against the frame for support. “I was getting ready to take a nap,” I lie, but I assume working on my book won’t convince her to leave me alone.

  “I promise it won’t take long,” she presses.

  “The doctor wanted me to stay in bed—” I begin.

  “It’s important, please.” There’s something in her stare that makes me listen. I nod and close the door, following her down the steps. Since I grew to the point where I’m having trouble seeing my feet, the narrow wooden staircase has become an annoyance. I hold tightly to the railing and shift myself down the steps one at a time.

  When I make the last leap I realize Bea didn’t wait for me; she is already around the corner of the bar. Pressing my hand into my lower back, I cross the walkway and shift my body around.

  “Surprise!” a thunderous cry comes from the dining area.

  I feel my heart lodge itself in my throat, as I grip the counter and look out at the group of women in front of me. There are some faces I recognize right away. Bea, of course, who is standing directly in front of me at the edge of the group, her hands clasped together in anticipation.

  Behind her I catch sight of Patricia, who works at the post office. Next to her is Abby, who I met at the beer brewing festival, and then there’s the woman down the street from the cattle farm ...

  I think her name is Mary. There’s another half dozen women whose faces at least seem mildly familiar, but I can’t place their names.

  I move forward a few steps, and my eyes wide, I ask, “What’s going on?”

  With a huge smile plastered across her face, Bea points to a banner over the fireplace, the words BABY SHOWER prominently displayed. She walks forward a few steps, taking my hand into hers. “We all knew you couldn’t be home right now with your friends and family, so we wanted to celebrate with you.”

  My breath catches as I rotate, soaking in the room. Everything is decorated in bright yellow streamers and balloons, a cheerful change from the winter outside. On the bar is a pile of gifts that spill over to the floor. On a table near the entrance is a cake with beautiful flowers adorning the edges.

  “This is too much,” I gasp, raising my hand over my mouth. I can feel my legs begin to wobble, and I force myself not to cry, even though I have the sudden urge to bawl like a baby.

  “Nonsense,” Bea says, waving a hand in my direction. She then takes my arm and leads me over to a circle of chairs. The women are chattering and offering me congratulations. With Bea’s assistance, I lower myself into a seat, the ladies quickly following suit.

  I’ve been so consumed with the distractions of my life I haven’t had time to dwell on the fact that Kenzie was going to be missing one of the most important moments so far. And, even though I am furious with my mother, there’s an ache in my heart that she isn’t going to be at my side—a part of the birth of her first grandchild.

  My head is swimming. I want to squeeze Bea and never let her go. Instead of distracting myself with my manuscript, I’m immersing myself in pregnancy games, conversations with other mothers, and opening baby gifts. I’m not sure this day could get any better. My heart is warm, and I’m thankful for the gift that is Bea.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  I take a deep breath and prepare to type the words. I can hardly believe this moment is already here. The End scrolls across the bottom of the bright white screen, and I release the air in my lungs. I did it. I finished an entire manuscript, and I think it might actually be pretty good.

  Opening my email, I flip through my contact list. After landing on Kenzie’s name, I attach the file. I instruct her to be brutally honest and hit send. So far she has loved all the previous sections. But because I also want someone tougher, someone I know would give me an honest opinion, I also decide to send it to my mother. She will not hesitate in her feedback.

  I know if I think about it too much I’ll chicken out. I attach the file, explain that I want her honest opinion, and hit send. I set the laptop on the small coffee table in front of the fireplace and stand up to stretch. I can feel the smile on my face. The sense of accomplishment outweighs the fear of what my mother will think, though the ultimate acknowledgment of my talent will be her approval.

  “What are you so happy about,” Holden asks, walking over to refill my glass of water.

  Words seem too small to explain a moment so grand, so I decide to show him. Leaning down, I pick up the device and flip it around, revealing to him the two words on the screen.

  “No,” he gasps in disbelief, and now he’s smiling just like me. He opens his arms, inviting me into a hug, and it feels natural. I need his arms around me. After all, it seems only right that the man who helped me get to this point should get to celebrate with me.

  With the laptop in my hand, the hug is awkward. He pulls away, and I’m looking in his eyes. It would be a perfect moment for a kiss, but he doesn’t take the opportunity. This surprises me. Instead, he takes the laptop out of my hand and begins scrolling through the document.

  “What are you doing?” I ask.

  “I can’t wait to read it,” he replies, not looking away from the screen.

  I lunge forward, well, as much as a thirty-eight week pregnant woman can lunge, and push the lid shut. He looks up at me, seemingly shocked. Then he lets out a laugh and slides the laptop behind his back.

  “Give it,” I demand.

  “Not until you agree to let me read it.”

  “It’s not ready.”

  “Are you letting anyone else read it?”

  I hesitate. “Just Kenzie ... and my mom.”

  “Oh, that’s it. I’m absolutely reading it now.”

  “Come on, please. I promise I’ll let you read it when it’s ready.”

  “Holden, he’s here,” Abner announces from the door, a cold blast of air following him in.

  Holden swiftly returns my laptop, but before he releases his grip, he looks me in the eye and asks, “You promise you’ll let me read it?”


  I grin and answer, “I promise, when it’s ready.” I’m secretly thrilled he wants to read it so badly.

  “Fine, now get your coat,” he commands.

  I shake my head, confusion painted on my face. “What are you talking about? Why?”

  “I have a little surprise for you.”

  “Wha—”

  He places a finger against my lips to silence me. “Let’s not go around in circles. Just let me surprise you, for once.”

  “But—” I try again.

  “Belle,” he tries again to shut me up. I giggle and decide to go along with his game. Making my way around the bar, I slip the laptop onto a shelf underneath and grab my coat off the hook inside the supply closet.

  “Do I need my gloves?” I ask, pausing and looking at him for an answer.

  “Oh yeah, bundle up good and tight,” he instructs, and I fight the urge to ask more questions. I pull the gloves on, wrap a red scarf around my neck, and wait for him to lead the way.

  I follow him to the exit where he grabs a blanket off of chair before opening the door. A cold blast hits me, and I shield my face. The ground is covered in a few more inches of fresh snow since the last time I’d been outside. The winter here is nothing like the ones I’ve experienced in Chicago. In an urban environment the snow is often a gray filth, cars are hidden in snowdrifts and plows constantly run through the streets. Not to mention the hundreds of footprints tromped through the snow on the sidewalks, removing any hint of the once pristine beauty. Here, though, the white is mostly untouched. When you look out at the countryside, instead of skyscrapers, you see rolling hills of white, shimmering under the light of the moon.

  To my right I hear a thudding sound and turn my head. There, in the snow, is a bright red sleigh with gold trim, and at the front are two large Clydesdale horses, steam flaring out from their nostrils.

  “What is this?” I squeal.

  “What’s it look like?” Holden asks. I can’t stop staring at the scene in front of me. “I wanted to give you a real English winter treat.”

  “Is this for real?” I ask in disbelief.

  Holden crosses in front of me, leading the way to the entrance of our awaiting ride. “I have hot chocolate waiting for us.”

  “Get out!” I exclaim.

  The driver turns around in his seat, tips his hat with a grin, and greets me. I walk over to join Holden and, with his assistance, climb aboard. He steps up and settles in the seat next to me, tucking the blanket all around us. I sigh in delight.

  With a jerk, we’re off. The air is cold on my cheeks, but I love the freshness of it. I close my eyes and inhale deeply. It smells of pine in the air, and it’s like all my senses are more alive than they’ve been in weeks. Being trapped inside, with my feet propped up, people catering to me, has left me with a strong desire to get out and move around. It’s like Holden could read my mind. Opening my eyes, I realize he’s watching me.

  “What?” I ask, trying to play it coy.

  He shakes his head. “I like seeing you like this.”

  “Like what?”

  “Carefree ... happy.”

  I think about that; he’s right. I am happy; in this exact moment I have let go of my fears and worries and found my joy. The cold overtakes me, and I shiver. He places his arm around me. My initial instinct is to maintain our distance, but then I decide this one time, just this once, I’m going to do what I want. I press into him, resting my head on his shoulder. The cold no longer seems to be an issue.

  We glide across the white sheet, sipping hot cocoa, laughing at stories about Abner, dreaming about the possible future of me being a best-selling author. I sigh in utter contentment.

  “We better get you back,” he remarks.

  “Oh, do we have to?” I protest.

  He laughs and squeezes my hand. “Unless you want a Popsicle for a kid, we really need to get you back, Belle.”

  “Oh all right,” I relent, pressing back into him again. If I only had a few more minutes of this, I was going to enjoy every single second. I could worry about making the decision that was best for my future later.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Kenzie had devoured the remaining chapters of The Luckiest, claiming she loved the end of it, which of course doesn’t surprise me. I think she would have loved anything I sent her. But my mother, on the other hand, has not returned the manuscript yet. It has only been a week, but every day feels like an eternity. I believe her approval, the approval of my toughest critic, would somehow guarantee my success.

  It doesn’t help that I would give anything to get Holden off my mind. Since the sleigh ride all I’ve been able to think about is him. Jack was always a romantic; he loved bringing me flowers, taking me to expensive dinners, buying me jewelry, but it all felt routine with him. I’d come to expect it, and looking back, most of his gestures were probably penance for the numerous affairs he was having.

  Holden is different. It is clear when he makes a romantic gesture he puts a ton of thought and time into each one. He brewed a beer and named it after my book, for Christ’s sake. How is a girl supposed to react to something like that? I mean, really, brew a beer for a lady, and then tell her she’s your muse. You have to know that will make her putty in your hands.

  Grabbing the box of tissues next to my bed, I draw them close. Clutching one tightly in my hands, I blow my nose, my entire belly aching as the blow gives way to a coughing fit. Much to my dismay, after one of the most romantic gestures anyone has ever done for me, I end up with the flu only a few days later. Holden has barely given me a moment’s peace since the doctor last made a house call and placed me on bed rest. He recommended I head straight to the hospital in London, but I wouldn’t hear of it. I know the birth can happen anytime up to the forty-two week mark, and I have no intention of staying in a hospital bed for a couple weeks.

  There’s a knock at my door, and before I can say a word, it cracks open and Holden sticks his head through. “Evening, beautiful, can I come in?”

  I shift into an upright position, the hum of the dehumidifier buzzing in my head. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, the circles under my eyes and red of my nose makes me wish Holden wasn’t seeing me in such a state. “Yes, of course,” I reply, tucking my hair behind my ears, as if that somehow makes my appearance better.

  He steps into the room, wringing his hands nervously. “Is everything all right?” I ask, spotting the behavior.

  Careful and quiet as he moves, he closes the door behind him and crosses over to stand next to me. He doesn’t sit in the chair across from the bed like he normally would. Instead, he motions to sit on the edge of the bed. This puzzles me, but I agree.

  He looks around the room before asking, “How are you feeling?”

  “Pretty miserable,” I reply, tugging my blankets up my body a little more.

  “Can I get you anything?” I can tell there’s something else he wants to talk to me about.

  “I’m fine.”

  “Bea said you still had a fever,” he continues.

  “Yes, she’s gone and called for Doctor Marshall again. I told her there’s no need, but you know Bea. She doesn’t listen to anyone once she’s made up her mind.”

  “No, she doesn’t,” he agrees. “It probably won’t hurt, you know, the doctor having another look at you that is.”

  “I suppose not,” I say.

  “I think I heard Bea say he can’t get out here until morning, though.”

  “See, a waste. I’ll already be better by then.”

  “I hope so ...” I can tell he’s stalling. He shifts and is staring out the window.

  “Did you need something?” I try and prompt him into revealing the reason for his visit.

  “Did you see? More snow,” he comments, his gaze not shifting from the window.

  “I did; it looks like it’s really coming down out there.” The baby shifts as I talk, and I try and move my weight, wincing from the pain in my lower back.

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nbsp; His head snaps back to me, and he reaches out to give me a hand. “Are you all right?”

  I huff, deciding directness is going to be the easiest. “I’m fine. Now are you going to tell me why you’re really here?”

  “Am I that obvious?” he asks with that crooked smile. I can’t remember what his lips taste like in this moment, and I wish I could lean forward and remind myself.

  “A little.”

  “I wanted to come and talk to you about your plans.”

  “My plans?”

  “Yeah, after the baby comes.”

  I shake my head. I still can’t figure out where he’s going with this. “I guess once the kid is old enough to fly, I’ll head home.”

  “Home,” he repeats softly.

  “Yeah, home. Holden, what’s going on, and why are you being so weird?”

  “Are you happy, Belle?”

  “I’d be a lot happier if I didn’t have the flu.”

  “No, I mean here, with us. Are you happy with us?”

  “We can’t do this.” All of the sudden it becomes clear. He has had the same questions weighing on him that I’ve had on myself. I’m no closer to figuring out the answer than I was months ago.

  “Do what?” he questions.

  “You know what. I can’t have this talk again.”

  “The baby is going to be here before we know it, so I think we need to have this talk while we still can.”

  I grip the bedspread before coughing repeatedly. I’m not sure how pregnant women don’t pee themselves every time they sneeze, or perhaps that’s the dirty little secret, and they do. “Fine, you want to talk, let’s talk. I’ve been thinking about what I’m going to do, and honestly, I have no clue.”

  “Are you happy here?” he repeats his earlier question.