by Marin Thomas
As she pulled up to the motel, she noticed Gunner’s truck parked by the office, and the door to room 6 stood open. When she got out of the car, Gunner stepped into view.
She braced herself, expecting some awkwardness between them, but nonetheless put on a brave face. If she had to, she’d call a truce today, because she was exhausted from worrying about the future, her decorating business and telling her family about the baby. And although she would never let on, she was nervous about raising a baby alone. “Hey, Gunner.” She stopped a few feet away from him. “I came by to see how things were going.”
“I figured you wouldn’t stay away, so I picked up a few of these at the feedstore in Rocky Point.” He pulled out a red bandanna from his jeans pocket and handed it to her.
“What’s this for?”
“To cover your nose so the paint fumes don’t make you sick.”
Lydia’s heart tumbled at his thoughtful gesture.
“I sprayed it with my cologne because I know how much you like it.”
She smiled, remembering the last time they’d made love and how she’d nuzzled his neck and whispered that she thought his cologne smelled sexy.
He took her hand and led her into the room. “I painted the walls in that boring white color you and your aunt picked. And I left the bathrooms alone like you said.” He spread his arms wide, obviously proud of his efforts.
Lydia pressed the cloth to her nose and breathed in the warm woodsy scent, letting it go to her head before sinking into her chest, where it settled around her heart.
“What do you think?” he asked.
No drips. No paint spilled on the baseboards or splotches on the ceiling. “I’m impressed.”
He tilted his head as if trying to gauge her sincerity.
“I honestly didn’t think you’d do this great a job,” she said.
“Painting walls is about as exciting as watching a rodeo instead of competing in one, but a guy does what a guy’s gotta do...or something like that.”
Lydia smiled behind the handkerchief. “It looks fantastic.”
“Karl left for Mesquite a half hour ago to buy a new circuit breaker. He said he might not be back until late this afternoon.” Gunner placed the lid on the five-gallon paint container and pounded it shut. “How much do you think we can charge for a night once the renovations are completed?”
“A hundred dollars. Maybe 110,” she said.
“The paint fumes are going to your head. Let’s get out of here.” They walked to the office and he held the door open for her.
“It’s nice and cool in here,” she said as she passed in front of the air conditioner.
“You can give that back to me now.” He nodded to the handkerchief she kept pressed against her nose.
“Sorry.” She handed it over, then sniffed the air. “What’s that smell?”
“Lavender and peppermint.” He pointed to the rocket-shaped diffuser with mist pouring out of its top. “It’s supposed to help with morning sickness.” He reached beneath the counter and set out the brown bottles. “You can rub a drop of lavender against your temple or the base of your neck to help you relax when you feel uptight.”
“How do you know all this?” she asked.
“I’ve been Googling stuff since I found out you were pregnant.”
Lydia would have expected Gunner to Google how to get off the hook for an unplanned pregnancy—not ways to help the mother-to-be feel better. “That’s very thoughtful of you—thanks.”
“I want you to feel comfortable here.” He opened the mini fridge in the corner. “This fruit-infused water should also help with your morning sickness.”
Lydia squinted at the glass bottle. “What’s in it?”
“Peeled ginger root and a lemon.” He grabbed a plastic cup off the top of the fridge and filled it. “Tell me if it tastes any good.”
She took a tentative sip. “Not bad.”
He motioned to the white rocking chair across the room. “That was my grandmother’s.” His gaze slid to her stomach, then back to her face. “The rocking motion is supposed to calm a restless baby. If you practice now, when he’s bigger and moves around more, he’ll settle down after you sit in the chair.”
“He?”
Gunner grinned. “Or her.” He reached beneath the counter, then held up a book. “What to Expect When You’re Expecting.”
Numerous sticky notes poked out from between the pages. That he’d actually read the book impressed her, especially when they’d only just found out she was pregnant.
“You’re welcome to read it when you’re here,” he said.
“This isn’t for me?”
His face flushed red and for an instant he looked like a little boy caught misbehaving. “I can order you a copy from Amazon.”
“That’s okay. We can share it.”
“I got you these, too.” He set a box of prenatal vitamins on the counter. “In case you forget to take one before you leave your aunt’s house in the morning, you’ll have a supply here.”
She appreciated Gunner’s concern for her and the baby, but she couldn’t help wondering what he was up to. Even if his interest was genuine, in a few weeks the excitement and newness of their situation would dissipate and he’d grow bored and take off rodeoing again.
“You didn’t need to do this,” she said.
“I wanted to.” He stared at her flat stomach. “We’re in this together.”
No, they weren’t. Lydia had to prepare herself for tackling parenthood alone. She wouldn’t stop Gunner from playing expectant father, because he meant well, but she had a feeling when she really needed him, he’d be MIA.
“Now that the walls are finished, I’ll start painting the trim.”
“I thought the trim was in decent shape.”
“Karl replaced some of the baseboards that were damaged. I’ve already primed them. They just need a coat of semigloss paint.”
“Show me what he did.” Lydia opened the door, then said, “Mind if I borrow that handkerchief again?”
Gunner handed her the cloth, then went outside. Lydia trailed behind him. With the cotton pressed firmly against her nose and Gunner’s scent filling her head, she almost believed the cowboy was serious about going the distance with her and their child.
Almost.
Chapter Ten
“What are you doing here?”
At the sound of his brother’s voice, Gunner glanced over his shoulder. Logan stood sock-footed in the kitchen doorway.
“I’m hungry,” Gunner said.
After Lydia had left the motel last night, he’d tossed and turned in bed. At 3:00 a.m. he’d crawled out from under the blankets and driven to the ranch to scrounge up something to eat. He removed a carton of eggs and a package of sausage patties from the fridge. “You joining me?”
“Sure.” Logan pulled out a chair at the table and sat. “It’s Friday. Shouldn’t you be on the road to a rodeo?”
Gunner had other things on his mind—like worrying about the future, Lydia and their baby. “I’m staying in town this weekend.”
Logan raised his arms above his head and stretched.
“What’s up with you?” Gunner asked. “You never get out of bed before five.”
“I heard your truck pull up to the house.”
“Sorry I woke you.”
His brother waved off the apology and closed his eyes.
While Logan catnapped at the table, Gunner scrambled a dozen eggs and microwaved the sausage patties, then divided the food between two plates. “You want orange juice or milk?”
“Juice.”
Gunner delivered their food to the table and sat down. They ate to the sound of the ticking wall clock. These days meals were quiet at Paradise Ranch. When their father had been
alive, dinnertime had been filled with boisterous jokes, laughter and teasing. He studied Logan’s solemn face—it had been a long time since his brother had tried to pull a prank on him. Ever since his divorce from Beth, he was no fun to be around.
“Grandpa told me.” Logan shoveled a bite of food into his mouth.
Gunner braced himself for a lecture. “It wasn’t planned.”
“Women today don’t get pregnant unless they want to.”
“Lydia’s not like that. Condoms aren’t foolproof.” This could have happened with any of the women he’d been with in the past. He was just glad it had happened with Lydia and not one of the ditzy ladies he’d dated.
“Are you two tying the knot?”
“I offered, but Lydia doesn’t want to marry me.” If it had been a wild child like Chantilly or Maisy letting him off the hook, he’d have jumped for joy, but because it was Lydia—a woman who had her act together—it stung.
“I don’t blame her.” Logan shoveled another forkful of eggs into his mouth.
Gunner let the remark slide. He wasn’t in the mood to argue. “I want to help raise our baby, but Lydia says I’m too immature.”
Logan pushed his empty plate away. “I agree with her.”
“Figured you would.”
“You might be the best-looking Hardell, but you’ve half-assed your way through life, little brother.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Do you ever think that you might make money busting broncs if you put in the time and practice?”
“I have the motel to run.”
“You only open the place if you’re injured or shacking up with a buckle bunny.”
“I don’t bring women to the motel.” Room 1 was his private sanctuary, where he could escape giggling cowgirls. Of all the women he’d had relationships with—well, flings—Lydia was the only one he’d allowed in his room.
“You do the bare minimum to get by,” Logan said.
“What’s wrong with the way I live? Have I ever had to borrow money from you or Gramps?” Gunner shook his head, answering his own question. “Okay, so I eat here once in a while and do my laundry on occasion. Otherwise I stay at the motel and mind my own business.”
“You’re twenty-seven and you’ve got nothing to show for it.” His brother swatted the air in front of his face. “No wonder Lydia doesn’t believe she can count on you. She’ll have enough responsibility with her own job and caring for the baby. The last thing she needs is a freeloader.”
“You cut right to the chase, don’t you?” Logan’s words stung, but there was some truth to them.
“You’ve been able to do what you’ve wanted all your life, Gunner.”
“You’re just pissed that after Dad died and Gramps fell off the wagon, you had to leave the circuit to help run the ranch.”
“What do you mean, help? I run this place all by myself.” Logan spread his arms wide. “I had to give up my rodeo career while you and Reid went about your lives doing what you wanted.”
“I would help, but you’ll just say I’m in the way,” Gunner said.
“Must be nice to go through life justifying your actions so you never feel guilty.”
“It shouldn’t matter that I’m not a rancher like you or that I didn’t join the military like Reid. That doesn’t make me any less entitled to be involved in my kid’s life.”
“Maybe Lydia doesn’t want her child’s father coming and going whenever it fits into his schedule. What if she wants a steady Eddy instead of a come-and-go Joe?”
“I can be a steady Eddy.” He hadn’t missed a day of working on the renovations since he’d learned he was going to be a father two weeks ago.
“It’s not just about holding down a job and bringing in a paycheck. It’s about putting in the time. A good father puts his kids before himself.”
Logan’s remarks chipped away at Gunner’s confidence, especially considering that their father had been a crappy role model and hadn’t taught any of his sons a thing worth remembering. All the baby-book reading in the world couldn’t fix his defective DNA. Points for good intentions were useless when a child’s well-being was at stake, which meant he hadn’t a chance in hell of winning Lydia over.
Lydia? This was about the baby, not the baby’s mother.
Flustered, he checked the time on his phone. Four thirty. He might as well get started on the motel to-do list. But before he left, he remembered he’d wanted to ask his brother about their grandfather’s relationship with Amelia. “Logan.”
“What?”
“There’s something going on between Gramps and Amelia.”
“What do you mean?”
“When they’re together, they always argue, which makes me think they can’t stand each other, but then I caught Gramps watching Amelia walk away from him.”
“What’s odd about that?”
“He looked like a lovesick fifteen-year-old with his first crush.”
“You must be seeing things. I’ve never heard Gramps say anything complimentary about Amelia.”
“Maybe I imagined it.” He pointed to the hallway that led to their grandfather’s bedroom. “What’s he been up to lately?”
“He worked out a new contract with the state highway department to mow the weeds.”
“I wondered if the road was gonna get mowed this year. Looks like a jungle when you come into town.”
“When Gramps found out the highway leading into Mesquite and Rocky Point had already been mowed twice this past May and Stampede got skipped over, he about blew a gasket.”
Gunner grinned and walked to the back door. “Thanks.”
“For what?”
“For listening.” And lecturing, but he let that part go. Even though Logan complained about Gunner’s lack of effort around the ranch, his brother had always looked out for him. Logan would make a great father, yet by some crazy twist of fate, Gunner would be the first Hardell brother to have a kid.
Ten minutes after leaving the ranch, he arrived at the motel, surprised to find Lydia’s car in the parking lot. What was she doing up at this early hour? He’d read the pregnancy book twice from start to finish, so he knew expectant mothers needed a lot of sleep. Worried she wasn’t feeling well, he entered the office and found her snoozing in the rocking chair.
Tenderness welled inside him at the sight of her—head slumped on her chest, her bare feet poking out from beneath a pair of pink-and-white-striped pajama bottoms. Her tank top was covered in tiny flamingos—whether she’d admit it or not, there was a little bit of country in the city girl.
The air diffuser and bottle of lavender oil sat on the floor near the rocker. Lydia had paid attention when he’d explained how the scented oil would help her relax. Maybe he’d impressed her a tiny bit with his knowledge.
He hated to disturb her, but if she remained in that position, she’d wake with a kink in her neck. Carefully he scooped her into his arms and carried her to his room. She stirred when he slid the key into the lock—looked him in the eye, then smiled and laid her head back on his shoulder.
He placed her in his bed, pulled the sheet over her and then turned the air conditioner on and closed the curtains before leaving the room. He returned to the office and perused the checklist Lydia had taped to the wall behind the counter. The muffled sound of a phone ringing drew his eyes to Lydia’s purse on the floor by the rocker. He retrieved her purse and stowed it beneath the counter. A few minutes later her cell phone rang again. He had no business checking her phone, but it might be her aunt calling with an emergency. He rummaged through the purse and pulled out the phone. Karl had tried to call Lydia but hadn’t left a voice mail message. Why would he bother her this early in the morning? He returned the contractor’s call. “Karl, it’s Gunner.”
“I was
trying to reach Lydia.”
“She’s sleeping.” A lengthy pause greeted Gunner’s statement.
“I wanted to tell her that I won’t be coming in today or tomorrow. The girls caught a stomach virus and their mother can’t miss work to take care of them.”
“Sorry to hear your daughters are ill.”
“Lydia changed her mind about replacing the tile in all of the bathrooms and I’d planned to start removing the old tile today—”
“I can do that.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah, no problem. Does it matter which room I start in?”
“Nope, take your pick.”
Why hadn’t Lydia told him she’d changed her mind about redoing the bathrooms?
Probably because she thought you’d volunteer to help.
“I’ll take care of it. Hope your girls feel better soon.”
“Thanks.”
Gunner ended the call. Now what? He’d just committed to removing bathroom tiles and had no clue how to do it, but he refused to pass up the opportunity to show Lydia that he could follow through on a task. He pulled out his phone and Googled how-to videos on tiling. Twenty minutes later he entered room 6 wearing goggles. By the time he’d chiseled off half the shower tile, his shirt was soaked with sweat and he was breathing hard.
“What are you doing?” Lydia stood in the doorway, still wearing the flamingo pj’s.
“Getting a jump on the bathroom demolition.”
“Karl’s supposed to be doing this.”
“He called while you were sleeping. His daughters are ill and he has to stay home with them. I told him I’d work on the bathrooms.” He chiseled off another tile.
“You don’t have to do this.”
“I don’t want you to fall behind.” He changed the subject before she kicked him off the project. “What’s up with you sleeping in the office?”
She left the bathroom and he followed her.
“Insomnia,” she said when she reached the door. “I’m worried about my design business. I lost Mrs. Higginson as a client after I told her I wouldn’t be returning to Madison until the end of August.”