The Baby Maker

by Valente, Lili

  “You sure?” I eye her feet. “’Cause those tend to get wiggly when you’re worried about something.”

  She laughs guiltily as her toes still. “Your powers of observation are scary sometimes.”

  I arch a brow, silently encouraging her to spit it out.

  “I just…” She flaps a sleeve in my direction. “I’m not going to be very much fun after the parade. I know some people don’t mind getting busy while they’re surfing the red tsunami, but I’m not one of them.”

  I huff as I realize what she’s saying. “The red tsunami, huh?” I step into my boots, reaching down to tug the loop at the back as I assure her, “It’s fine, Blondie. We’re capable of enjoying each other’s company without getting naked.”

  “Yes, we are,” she says, a grin curving her lips. “Though I will look forward to getting naked with you again on Wednesday.”

  I do the math—four days, over ninety miserable hours—and fight the urge to beg her to reconsider her stand on this. I’m a grown man, for God’s sake. I’m a lot more concerned about not getting into her pants than I am a little mess. This is why our ancestors invented shower sex, after all.

  But the four days will probably be good for me, help me recover some of that perspective I’ve misplaced the past few weeks and decide what to do about that fact that I’m every bit as addicted to Emma’s laughter as I am her body.

  “Me, too.” I reach for the door to her bedroom. “See you tonight, princess. And don’t be afraid to give me a call if you need more cheering up.”

  “Thanks,” she says softly. “You’re the best, Cougar Bait.”

  I smile, but I don’t respond. I just wave and head for the door because I’m not the best. I’m the worst. I’ve taken a perfectly good friends-with-benefits situation and fucked it all up. And now, there might be no way back and no way out. It all depends on whether or not I can convince Emma that this thing growing between us is worth putting her dreams on hold.

  Chapter 17

  Emma

  I pass an unexpectedly peaceful morning—considering the less than stellar way it started—grateful for the autumn sun on my face and the view across the vineyard. No matter what disappointments the day holds, there is always this breathtaking view, the dirt—dark, rich, and alive beneath my fingers—and the joyful pulse of this land where I went looking for fulfillment and discovered I already have everything I need to be happy inside my own skin.

  All but that one thing…

  I turn, glancing up the hill to see Dylan headed toward the barn. The moment I lay eyes on him, my heart lifts. He’s too far away for me to see his face, but I would recognize him anywhere—from miles away, from a flash of his smile in the dark, from the touch of his hand when there is no light at all.

  He gives off his own light, this man who tries so hard to hide the big heart beating in his perfect chest.

  Sometimes I want to ask him what he’s afraid of, what he fears will happen if he drops the tough guy act completely and lets the world see who he really is. See how much he cares about his family and this town and the land that thrives under his care, because even Mother Earth can’t help but respond to his touch.

  But those are the kinds of questions that lead further down the rabbit hole, and I’m already so far down. So far up. So lost in the way he makes me feel that I’m dangerously close to losing my grip on reality.

  Just because a man hugs you on the toilet, doesn’t mean he feels the way you feel. You know how he is. He can’t stand to see anyone or anything in pain. He would have done anything to make you stop crying.

  And just because he brings me dinner and beer and books he thinks I’ll like, it doesn’t mean I’m in his thoughts as often as he’s in mine. And just because we have so much fun together that I’ve been counting the minutes until our next adventure day, and just because he makes love to me like he’ll die if he can’t have me again, and just because, because, because…

  “Because of the wonderful things he does,” I sing softly to myself as I stand with my arms full of freshly harvested kale and head for the kitchen.

  He is wonderful, but he’s also temporary, no matter how much I might want things to be otherwise. I’ve just got to keep walking the tightrope, finding a way to balance how much I’m coming to care about Dylan with the knowledge that our relationship is a business arrangement with benefits.

  But when the knock comes on my door just before five, I practically dance across the den, feet barely touching the floor I’m so excited to see him again.

  But my grin fades as I throw open the door to see not one, but two drop-dead gorgeous Hunter men on my front porch. “Oh, hi.”

  Dylan jabs a thumb his brother’s way. “This is Rafe, which I’m sure you already know, but he said it was time he was properly introduced. Wouldn’t take no for an answer. Followed me over here like a total pain in the ass.”

  “Just like my brother.” Rafe grins as he takes my hand. “Nice to meet you, Emma. Dylan isn’t much of a talker, so I haven’t heard nearly enough about you. So tell me everything. Where are you from and how are you enjoying country life and how can you put up with my brother for such long stretches at a time without strangling the cranky bastard?”

  “He’s not cranky, he’s charming,” I say with a laugh, even as I absorb the insight Rafe’s provided—more evidence that Dylan and I are just friends who get it on, and I’m certainly not someone he discusses with family members.

  Rafe arches a brow. “Charming? This one?”

  “I’m only cranky when people are complaining about my cooking,” Dylan says, looking uncomfortable. “Or second-guessing every decision I make.”

  “Dad is the second guesser,” Rafe says in a confidential voice. “I’m the one who complains about his cooking. But I’m a fucking rock star in the kitchen, so I may have unreasonable standards.”

  I laugh again as I grab my coat. “I’m a fan of his cooking, too. But I’m easy to please when it comes to food. The only thing I can cook without burning it to a crisp is grilled cheese with a tossed salad.”

  “But you make a mean tossed salad.” Dylan reaches out to squeeze my hand, mouthing, “I’m sorry” as Rafe starts down the steps in front of us. I return the squeeze with a smile, silently assuring him that I don’t mind his brother tagging along.

  This isn’t a date, after all. It’s two friends hanging out, and Rafe will serve as a great reminder of that.

  As I fetch my bike from the barn, I answer Rafe’s questions—I’m from San Francisco originally, with a ten-year interlude in Silicon Valley, and I’m loving country living—and on the way into town, he tells me what Dylan was like when he was a kid.

  “When he moved in with us, he could already read,” Rafe says as we glide along—him on one side of my bike and Dylan on the other. “Five years old and reading at a sixth-grade level or some shit. Dad was so fucking impressed and I was soooo pissed. Meant I had to bust my ass to catch up.” He laughs, his hundred-watt smile making it hard to imagine him angry. Rafe is intense, no doubt, but he also seems like the kind of person who doesn’t worry about the little things, and who considers almost everything a little thing.

  “Wow.” I cast an impressed look Dylan’s way. “Reading like that at five?”

  “Not because I was smart,” he says, rolling his eyes. “I was just bored. We didn’t have a television at my house, or many toys. But the library was five blocks away, and the librarian handed out lollipops and jawbreakers, so…”

  “They didn’t have power, either,” Rafe offers. “Or indoor plumbing. Dylan’s from hardcore hippie stock. Showed up on our doorstep with bare feet and hair down to his ass. That’s how he got his nickname.”

  “Don’t you dare,” Dylan warns, but he’s laughing as Rafe says, “Don’t be ashamed, Goldilocks. I’m sure Emma’s noticed that pretty hair of yours.”

  I giggle. “Oh man, I wish I could have seen that. I bet you were adorable.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ve got
pictures,” Rafe says with a wink. “Come over for dinner tomorrow, and I’ll whip out the family albums.”

  “Emma is not coming over for dinner,” Dylan says, humor vanishing from his tone. “I’m not about to subject her to all of you at once. One or two of us at a time is more than most sane people can handle.”

  I’m tempted to remind him that I’m not the sanest girl around—I was having a meltdown on the toilet just this morning, after all—but bite my tongue. He doesn’t want me coming over to his place, or he would have invited me himself. Instead, he’s been very careful to keep all our interactions confined to my place or on otherwise neutral turf. More evidence that the warm, smooshy feelings I experience when I’m with him are completely one-sided.

  So I smile at Rafe and say, “Thanks for the offer, but I already have plans.”

  “What kind of plans?” Rafe asks, proving he has zero issues with putting people on the spot.

  “I’m going to see my sister in Berkeley,” I lie, even as I decide to do my best to make the lie a truth. It would be good to see Carrie, to hang out, shop, eat, and forget about babies, bargains, and beautiful men who are too damned irresistible for their own good. In fact, “I’ll probably stay the night.”

  “Oh no.” Rafe’s features crease with concern. “Are you going to be able to survive that, bro? If Emma is gone for an entire twenty-four hours?”

  “Shut up, Rafe,” Dylan mutters.

  Rafe speeds up, meeting Dylan’s gaze over the front wheel of my bike. “I mean, I know I’m not supposed to know that you two are special friends, but the grass is getting pretty thin on the path across the field to her place.”

  “Seriously, drop it.” Dylan’s hazel eyes burn as he glares at his brother. “Now.”

  Rafe lifts both of his hands, balancing with apparent ease with only his feet on the pedals. “All right, all right. My apologies, Emma, if I stepped out of line.”

  “It’s fine,” I say, forcing a smile.

  But I’m not sure it is…

  The conversation returns to more neutral topics—the history of the harvest parade, the best places to watch the festivities, and whether caramel corn or caramel-coated apples are the must-have snack—but I’m only half-listening. I can’t stop thinking about unforeseen complications and things Dylan and I might not have thought through when we made this arrangement.

  After we’ve parked our bikes outside Barn Roasters, I hang back, signaling to Dylan that I’d like to have a word in private.

  “We’ll catch up with you,” Dylan says, waving his brother on. “Save us seats.”

  Rafe nods and lifts a hand, disappearing into the crowd swarming downtown, where the streets are already closed off for the parade. I lead the way around the side of the old barn and turn back to Dylan with a furrowed brow. “Maybe we should stop this.”

  He blinks. “Stop what?”

  I motion between us. “Me and you. This. Our arrangement. Obviously your brother is getting suspicious.”

  “You mean Rafe?” Dylan’s eyes lift to the evening sky. “He’s not suspicious; he’s a pain in the ass.”

  “He’s curious about who his brother appears to be dating,” I say. “That’s not being a pain in the ass. That’s normal. But what we’re doing isn’t normal, and sooner or later the not normal is going to come out. I know how hard it is to keep secrets from family, and I wouldn’t want to—”

  “He knows, Emma,” Dylan cuts in, stealing the rest of my words away. “The morning after you made your offer, I talked it over with Rafe and my younger brother, Tristan. I didn’t tell them what I decided—I figured once the decision was made it was between you and me—but they know. And Rafe has…opinions about it.”

  “Oh.” I cross my arms and rock back on my heels, not sure whether to feel embarrassed or exposed or something else entirely. “So what are his opinions?”

  “He thinks we should stop.” Dylan shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans, the threadbare pair that make his backside look especially lovely. “Or at least take several steps back. But it’s none of his business what we decide to do. I’ve tried to tell him that, but he thinks he’s got to look out for me, even though I’m the one who takes care of other people’s shit. I’m the one who got him the loan to open his business and who’s helping him fill out the insurance claim paperwork and—”

  He breaks off with a shake of his head and a tired sigh. “Sorry. I’m rambling. It’s not his fault. It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have let him tag along. I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have had to put up with uncomfortable questions on a day like today.”

  A day like today, when I found out I wasn’t pregnant by a man who wants nothing to do with me, or our baby, should I be lucky enough to conceive. A day like today, when I once again completed the mental gymnastics necessary to make it okay to keep falling for Dylan, despite the warning signals flashing bright red every step of the way.

  A day like today, when maybe I’m finally ready to listen to the wake-up call Rafe is sounding, loud and clear.

  “Maybe he’s right,” I say, triggering a howl of dismay from my heart, which isn’t at all pleased at the thought of taking a step back. It wants to get closer, closer, until there isn’t a centimeter of space between Dylan’s soul and mine. “Maybe we should take a break.”

  His brows draw sharply together. “Why? Because my brother has an opinion? I didn’t realize he was a part of this equation.”

  “Well, he is.” I lift my hands at my sides. “I mean, in a way. He would be the baby’s uncle. Maybe he doesn’t like the idea of having a family member he’ll never get to know.”

  “Yeah, right,” Dylan says with a hard huff. “We could have brothers and sisters we’ll never know. We both realize that. It’s part of being a Hunter. Part of our Dad and every other man in our family sticking his dick where he shouldn’t be sticking it and not worrying about the consequences.”

  “So maybe we should be more worried about consequences,” I say, my chest starting to ache.

  There it is, the truth. He still expects me to disappear if we hit the baby jackpot.

  But of course he does. I was a fool to imagine anything had changed.

  “Maybe we rushed into this,” I continue in a softer voice, “and now we need to hit pause and think things through in light of new information.”

  “New information like what?” he asks.

  New information like the fact that I think about you all the time and I’m pretty sure I’m clinically addicted to your penis.

  But I don’t have the chance to confess my weakness before Dylan rushes on, “You know, you’re probably right. I had doubts about this from the beginning, but there you were in your sexy librarian outfit, practically begging me to knock you up, and I made choices against my better judgment.”

  I narrow my eyes. “That’s not how I remember it. I remember talking things through and coming to a compromise that worked for both of us. That’s why I promised to move away if we get pregnant.”

  “If you get pregnant,” he snaps. “I’m not part of that, remember?”

  I flinch, blinking fast as I take a step back.

  Dylan sighs, his crossed arms falling to his sides. “Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. Not the way it sounded, anyway.”

  “No,” I say softly. “I think you did. And you’re right.”

  “I’m not right. Come on, Emma, let’s not do this.” He reaches for me, but I step away, and he pauses, frustration creeping into his features. “Please. Everything was good before Rafe stuck his nose into this. Let’s hit rewind, forget we fought, and go enjoy the parade.”

  But I can’t forget the fight or all the unpleasant facts Rafe highlighted in bright yellow marker for me. Dylan does not feel the things I feel, not even close, and it would be dangerously stupid to keep skipping through the sex forest with him, ignoring the heartbreak wolf lurking in the shadows, ready to do serious damage to my emotional well-being.

  I need to think. To breat
he. To decide if making a big dream come true is worth the pain waiting around the corner.

  “I should go home.” I force the words out through a tight throat. “See you later, okay?”

  “Emma, please.” Dylan follows me as I circle back around the barn to the bikes. “Don’t go. Stay. Let me buy you a caramel apple, and we can make fun of the miniature pony costumes.”

  “I don’t want to make fun of the poor ponies,” I mumble, spinning the combination on my bike lock.

  “It’s okay, the ponies are in on the joke. The guys at the mini pony farm dress them up every year, and they prance up and down Main Street like celebrities. It’s a harvest parade tradition.” Dylan puts his hands on my handlebars, holding the bike still as I try to pull it free from the stand. “Please. Don’t go. Or at least don’t go mad. I’m sorry.”

  “I’m not mad,” I say honestly. The ache in my chest intensifies as I meet his gaze, where swirls of green and gold mix in his eyes. Those eyes that make my soul feel like it’s being turned inside out when he’s moving inside me, looking like he’s never seen anything more captivating than me at his mercy.

  But of course he has, and it’s high time I thought about what it means for me to be so much more attached to him than he is to me.

  “I just need some space, some time, okay?” I force a smile, refusing to get weepy in front of him again.

  “Emma, please…” Dylan’s brow furrows and his eyes fill with regret, but when I tug on the handlebars, he lets go without a fight. He doesn’t really want me to stay; he just hates seeing people upset.

  I keep my fake smile plastered on my face as I wiggle my fingers. “See you around. Have fun and no worries. Everything’s cool.”

  * * *

  But everything is not cool, a fact that becomes abundantly clear when I wake up the next morning and immediately long to call Dylan with every fiber of my being.

  But I can’t, and soon a long walk off a short pier starts to sound like a good idea.