Loving Wilder

by Leigh Tudor

  “Affirmative,” she replied. Jimbo was one of the few people aware of her savant status and how it manifested in her visions and drawings. Keeping such a significant part of who she was a secret just wasn’t possible with her dear friend. Especially since he was living with her.

  And it thrilled her when he genuinely tried to see the world through her eyes. When he tried to see how perfect it was, and how much order ran through it, and how much perfect structure was brilliantly hidden in its tiniest, most elemental parts.

  She held up the paper she was drawing on and explained, “You’ve probably seen pi written as 3.14 or 3.14159, but the digits never actually end. Pi goes on into infinity and never repeats, which is why it’s called an irrational number and what makes it so fascinating.”

  “That so?” he said, leaning on the back of her chair to look closer at the paper. “I don’t see numbers. I see circles and triangles.”

  “That’s because I like to draw pi as a circle subdivided by triangles. I’ve gotten as many as seven hundred and twenty triangles into a circle and could have gone on if the pencil could’ve been sharpened enough to keep the lines from running together.”

  As he began to turn back to the stove, Loren added, “And did you know that there’s really no such thing as a circle?”

  “That so?”

  “It’s true. . . If you zoom in close enough,” she said, pointing at the paper, “their perimeters are actually zigzags—hundreds and hundreds of tiny little straight lines that are so close together they visually blend into a smooth curve from our perspective.”

  “Well, ain’t that something?” he said kindly, patting her on the back. “And you’re content sitting here drawing circles that really don’t exist with hundreds of tiny triangles?”

  Loren shifted her head, looking at the sheet of paper and the hours she’d spent drawing from Jimbo’s perspective. “I guess that does sound kind of weird.”

  “Not at all,” he said, squeezing her shoulder. “It brings you calm and focus. Have you noticed that when you sit down with your pencil and start your drawing, your stomach settles?”

  Hmm. He was right. Whenever life got out of hand and she needed to gather herself with her drawings and calculations, her stomach stopped acting like it was on a heavy-duty wash cycle.

  But honestly, after drinking Madame’s mystery preggo juice for a few days, she also became comparatively calm. But instead of dealing with a stomach that wouldn’t stop sloshing its contents, she began to experience an altogether different chronic state.

  One that required constant distraction, such as drawing hundreds of pi triangles in a circle.

  Furthermore, the mere thought of Alec being in her home, even doing simple mundane things, catapulted her new physical set of circumstances into hyperdrive.

  Envisioning Alec sitting at the kitchen table, with his forearms exposed, glowering at her while he ate his dinner, made her entire body flush in anticipation.

  She squirmed in her chair. The heat in the small kitchen was stifling. It must have been from the stove.

  Loren sat back in her chair and fanned herself with her geometric drawings as Jimbo went back to the cutting board and began to dice an onion.

  He sliced the vegetable with the skill of a fencing champion. “We should all be so lucky as to find something that brings us calm and helps us to prioritize and focus. That makes the world and all its complexities simply wash away for a spell. Most people self-medicate it all away. And that ain’t good.”

  “You don’t think it’s just another way to escape from reality? Another way to self-medicate without the drugs?” she asked.

  “When the body is worn out and needs to rebuild and replenish, it takes a nap. Not much difference between that and what you’re doing, in my opinion.”

  Loren tapped the pencil repeatedly on the table, taking in what Jimbo was sharing and cautious about opening too many old wounds. “How do you take care of yourself?”

  He stopped dicing and turned toward Loren with a pensive look. “Well, I guess I haven’t been. I used to drink a lot. But that only ended up hurting me and everyone around me.”

  “And now?”

  He smiled as he rubbed his beard with his free hand. “And now, living here, I cook. Started years ago and came to be pretty well known for it. But it all went to my head, and I forgot why I started cooking in the first place. It became less about feeding souls, including my own, and more about winning awards and buying stuff. Then I started drinking to celebrate myself until I stopped the cooking altogether and only drank.”

  “Is that when you… became… a Bedouin?”

  He chuckled. “You mean a homeless man sleeping behind Lucky’s?”

  She smiled back, not wanting to push too hard but curious as to his past.

  “That’s a long story, Half-Pint, and one that’s not worth retelling.”

  She seriously doubted that.

  “Will Miss Becky be joining us for dinner?” Jimbo asked, changing the subject.

  “She said she’s not hungry and just wants to sleep.”

  It would be a gross underestimation to say that Loren was extremely concerned about her friend’s mental well-being.

  When Loren and Mercy had arrived at Becky’s hospital room, she’d been pale and listless. They’d relegated their conversation strictly to the process of moving her from there to one of the guest bedrooms in Loren’s cottage. Loren and Mercy were now walking on eggshells, as neither one dared to bring up the elephant in the room, all the more evident with her arm in a cast and her face and body covered in bruises and lacerations.

  “I’ll put a tray in her room,” Jimbo said, sprinkling an aromatic spice over the bubbling pan. “She shouldn’t be taking her medication on an empty stomach.” He moved back to the work station on the kitchen counter and placed a cucumber on the cutting board. “Speaking of medical issues, you were going to tell me about your doctor’s visit.”

  Blinking slowly, she knew the time had come for her to come clean. But she couldn’t help feeling intense discomfort from having to share her condition with a man who was fast becoming a father figure to her.

  Would he be disappointed in her?

  Would he be mad at Alec, his boss?

  She moved the protractor over the sheet of paper to where she was to place another triangle, unsure how to proceed. Working through delicate conversations wasn’t her strong suit.

  Maybe it was better to just say it and move on?

  “Oh yeah, I forgot,” she said, making a razor-sharp line and taking in a deep breath. “I’m pregnant, and the baby’s father is Alec Wilder.”

  Jimbo stopped mid-slice. With his profile facing her, he lifted his head as if taking in this new information.

  She side-eyed him, chin down, covertly gauging his reaction.

  After a few seconds, she caught a slight grin emerge on his face as he resumed his fancy veggie-chopping skills. “Well then, I guess I need to start learning how to make baby food.”

  Her heart grew with an overabundance of joy. She smiled, moving the protractor to set up for the next line.

  Excellent. Now she didn’t have to ask sugary sweet Maggie for help on the baby food front.

  The doorbell rang. “That’s the baby daddy now,” she said, standing up, relieved that discussion was past them and ending on a high note.

  She stood and pulled down the sweatshirt that just managed to hide her slightly protruding stomach. However, the thought of who was on the other side of the door caused her newly acquired physical dilemma to rear its ugly head.

  She couldn’t deny it any longer. Loren was undeniably horny. And not in a normal way, but in a textbook out-of-control, maniacal way.

  In an attempt to clear her mind and raging hormones, she pushed the pads of her palms to her eye sockets and forced herself to think about evil doctors, the smell of blood, and fish bait.

  Random? Yes. But effective libido crushers.

  “Will the… baby daddy be
staying for dinner?”

  Loren looked up, acknowledging what Jimbo didn’t come right out and ask, but she picked up on, regardless.

  “I believe so,” she replied with a rosy smile and slight nod of her head.

  “Good.”

  She needed to answer the door and confront her hormone-affecting sperm donor head-on.

  Head.

  She face-planted into her hands.

  Dang it.

  If she could just keep from jumping his bones.

  Alec stood outside holding his present in his arms, wondering if Loren was going to sweep his legs from under him or hug him with delirious enthusiasm.

  He’d lay odds on the former.

  When she opened the door, his stomach dropped at seeing how beautiful she was. Could it be possible for her to look even more so now that he knew she was carrying their baby?

  Yes. Yes, it was.

  It was his experience that most pregnant women dressed in infantile clothes. Almost as if they were wearing the same cutesy outfits they planned to put on their infants. Clothes with lots of ruffles, silly babyish sayings written on the front, all dipped in toddler-friendly pastel colors.

  Not Loren Ingalls.

  Her cheeks were rosy with her hair pulled up in one of those messy knot things with uncooperative wisps framing her face. She had on a fitted sweatshirt that stretched over her perfect tits and cute little belly, and sexy shorts with rolled hems peeking from beneath.

  But he’d promised himself he’d be a gentleman tonight. Listen to what she had to say without letting his dick take the upper hand. They had a lot to discuss and agree upon. Now was not the time to satisfy his lustful cravings.

  But damn, she was adorable and sexy at the same time. He didn’t know what he wanted to do more: cuddle with her or take her to the bedroom and do filthy things to her.

  Okay, she was the mother of his baby. And he came here to talk. Those thoughts were just… wrong.

  But God help him, she was beautiful.

  And did he mention sexy?

  Even if her eyes were bugging out and her mouth was wide open.

  She pointed to the furball in his arms. “Alec, what is that?”

  “Loren, I’d like to introduce you to Hercules.” And then he addressed the furball. “Hercules, your mission is to follow and protect this amazing woman on a twenty-four-hour basis. Do we understand each other?”

  Loren just stood there shaking her head. “What… why?”

  “Glad you asked. You’re looking at a bona fide, retired military K-9. He was shipped home last month from Schiphol Airport in Amsterdam to the airport in Houston and is looking for someone to love and protect. And that someone includes you, Baby Wilder, who seems determined to fully personify his name, and Becky.”

  Her eyes darted up to his. “How did you know she was here?”

  “Jimbo might have mentioned it.”

  Loren’s gaze went back to the dog. “I don’t know if this is a good idea, Alec,” she said, still standing in the doorway. “How old is he?”

  “He’s a ripe, young age of twelve. Please don’t age shame him.”

  “Isn’t that something like eighty in human years?”

  “You had to go there.” He bent his head toward the dog’s ear. “Trust me, she’ll grow on you,” he whispered.

  She raised one eyebrow and crossed her arms.

  “Fine. He’s around seventy-eight, give or take a couple of selfless years of dogged commitment—see what I did there?” He lifted the canine to gain a better hold as Hercules panted and wagged his tail. “You’re looking at a warrior of a dog that’s been awarded the K-9 Medal of Honor and Courage for displaying extraordinary valor and service to his country.”

  “Yeah?” Her shoulders lowered, and she took a cautious step forward before reaching out to pet his fur. “What did he do to deserve such a prestigious award?” she asked, petting a silky ear with one hand and holding the other against her growing waistline.

  A waistline he wanted to touch. And kiss.

  Again, asshole. Not tonight.

  “He was trained for eight months before serving three tours of duty in Afghanistan locating lethal threats. He’s capable of sniffing out bombs, taking down a person three times his size, and tracking down a missing person long after they’ve disappeared.”

  Her eyebrows pinched. “Why exactly are you holding him?”

  “Has he not earned it?” he asked, and then added, “And he was having difficulty making his way up the porch steps.”

  “So what are you saying? That I’m going to have to carry my bodyguard dog everywhere I go?”

  “I’m sure you two can work something out.”

  “Yeah, like the fact he’ll be going home with you.”

  “I went to a lot of trouble to snag this bad boy. Do you know how many people wanted him?”

  “Alec,” she growled.

  “Okay,” he said with a sigh, setting the dog down beside him, where he sat obediently staring up at her with his tongue hanging out and his eyes hopeful.

  Not unlike me.

  “All I’m asking is that you give Herc here a shot. Knowing that he’s here with you and Becky while Jimbo is at the store would give me some peace of mind, which I literally haven’t had for weeks. Not to mention, keeps me from coming up with excuses for drive-bys throughout the workday that take me thirty minutes out of my way. Can you do that for me? Can you please just give him a try?”

  “Okay,” she sighed. Rolling her eyes, she kneeled in front of him and rubbed the dog’s face.

  He smiled down at her with relief.

  She looked up at him with—wait—was that a heated gaze?

  He had to move his eyes toward the ceiling of her front porch because watching her on her knees, sporting a similar look to when they’d been so rudely interrupted in the back office of Wilder’s by his business partner with a death wish, was making his flag fly.

  “You’re such a handsome boy,” she crooned, letting Hercules lick her face as her petting efforts moved to the canine’s torso and back.

  He swallowed, counting the wooden slats in the ceiling.

  She craned her neck to the side to look up at him. “Would you like to come inside? Jimbo’s making dinner.”

  “Will Becky be comfortable with me here?”

  She straightened. “Becky hasn’t come out of her room since she got here. Jimbo’s going to take a tray of food in later to see if he can convince her to eat something.”

  “Not going well?”

  “She’s embarrassed and in pain and doesn’t want to talk. I’m just trying to give her some space.”

  He followed her inside the house toward the kitchen, with Hercules taking his place alongside Loren as if he were fully aware and perfectly happy with his new assignment.

  How did he suddenly become intensely jealous of a dog? One that he’d gifted, no less?

  Jimbo was stirring something on the stove, looked up, and gave Alec a nod. “I hear congratulations are in order.”

  He felt awkward and unsure how to respond; so much depended on the mercurial woman who was tasting tonight’s dinner from the brawny man’s spoon.

  “Thank you,” Alec replied, “I’m, I mean, we’re… extremely excited.”

  Loren hummed with delight as she took another quick bite. “Yum, paella. How soon?”

  “I just need to finish the salad, and dinner will be ready in twenty.”

  She turned to Alec. “Let’s sit on the back porch and talk through some things until then.”

  She hooked her finger and motioned for him to follow her.

  Again, with that heated look on her face.

  Chapter Eight

  “Rock ‘n’ roll will never die. There’ll always be some arrogant little brat who wants to make music with a guitar.”

  — Dave Edmunds

  Alec stood in front of the broad expanse of windows in the screened-in back porch overlooking the lake. “It sure is pretty back here.
”

  “It really is. Especially during the summer.” She stood close behind him and to the side.

  He felt the sizzle of nearby energy, a low-level threat from the one woman who could have his stomach in knots, his dick hard as a rock, and his head dreaming of a long night of spooning.

  Between heavy bouts of sex.

  He rubbed at his forehead.

  Jesus, Trev was right. His man card was lost somewhere in the Sahara Desert. But his dick sure as hell wasn’t dragging, not with the damn thing hard enough to cut off the circulation to his lower extremities.

  It didn’t help that she was standing unusually close. Typically, he’d have to cajole her into entering into his personal space.

  Not now.

  Her hip was grazing against his leg, and he could smell the mango scent of her shampoo.

  Stepping to the side to give himself some space so he could regain his focus, he looked around for a place to sit that was conducive to conversation. By God, he was determined to have a productive discussion rather than succumbing to his baser instincts.

  The overstuffed chair looked like a safe option, the side arms high, providing a protective wall around him. He plopped down.

  To his surprise, rather than doing what any other normal human being would do and sit across from him on the couch, she took it upon herself to post up on one of the tufted arms of the chair, plunging her feet on the other side of the seat cushion next to his hip.

  He leaned away from her.

  “You smell really good,” she said, leaning toward him.

  He pulled back, deciding his safest reply was a noncommittal grunt.

  Scooting as far to the opposite side of the chair as he could, his mind went wild for a moment, fantasizing about pulling her over his lap and dragging those shorts down over her silky thighs.

  “I guess we need to talk about the baby and come up with a game plan,” she said, all the while staring at his mouth.

  What the fuck was going on?

  “Okay.” He was having a hard time concentrating with her looking at him like a late-night snack.

  “After the baby’s born, I plan to stay here, in Newberry.”