On the Edge (Blue Spruce Lodge Book 1)

by Dani Collins

  “Hey.” She pointed at her head. “This isn’t just for tiaras, you know.”

  A hundred comebacks shot to the tip of his tongue, but all he really wanted to do was kiss her. So he did.

  *

  BLESSED WINTER – Chapter Six

  Page 51, word count = 12,625

  A funny noise like a tiny kitten or a little bird woke Pandora. She stretched and immediately became aware of aches and changes in her body. She was sore, but not too bad, and decidedly lighter. Able to breathe.

  She turned her head to see Brock standing over the bed, a rolled blanket no bigger than a football clutched in the crook of his arm. He gave her a sheepish grin.

  “I can’t put him down.”

  “He cries when you try?”

  “No, I don’t want to.” He hitched his hip next to hers on the bed so she could see her son. “He’s so insanely small. And looks like you. But I think he’s hungry. Or misses you or something.”

  She sat up, and Brock helped her put pillows behind her back.

  “Can I make you a tea?”

  “I would love one, thank you. And maybe a couple of cookies?”

  “I can do better than that. I was getting hungry for lunch. How about I warm some soup? Or, did I see a chicken in the fridge?”

  “I was going to roast it for my Christmas dinner, but that will take too long. Soup is fine.”

  While she nursed her son, Brock puttered around her kitchen, making homey noises. When he came back in, she was doing exactly what he had been doing. Staring at her son’s tiny lashes, his button nose, his cupid’s bow of a mouth.

  Brock grinned at her. “See?”

  “Will you hold him so I can get dressed?”

  “Of course. Do you need help?”

  “I was actually thinking of having a quick shower. Do you mind?”

  “Not at all.”

  She really didn’t know what she would have done, would be doing now, if he hadn’t been here. She started to tear up, sitting there in her rumpled bed.

  “If you weren’t here, I would be in the hospital right now.”

  “Maybe,” he interjected dryly.

  “I just mean, I wouldn’t be in my own home. I wouldn’t have someone to hold him, someone I trust.” It hit her that he would leave at some point and she wouldn’t even have this. The vastness of being alone with a baby began to hit her.

  She hurried into the shower to hide that she was going to cry again.

  ~ * ~

  Brock was still reeling. To say he was glad that he had been here was inaccurate. This experience was beyond anything he had ever imagined for himself. For Pandora’s sake, of course he was glad that he was here. For his own sake, he felt as though he had been run down by a semi-trailer. This was not the sort of experience one could walk away from unchanged. He was invested now.

  When Pandora reappeared, damp hair combed back from her face, wearing a pair of black yoga pants and a flannel button top, she was grinning ear-to-ear.

  “These aren’t maternity clothes. They’re my old clothes.” She was so proud, he had to chuckle.

  She took her son again, and nuzzled her nose into his neck, breathing deeply and signing with contentment.

  “I’ve been calling him ‘Champ.’”

  Before she had fallen asleep, she had said that the names she had picked out no longer seemed right. Now she gave him a shy look and asked, “What do you think of Nicholas?”

  “I love it,” he said with a grin. “That’s who I’m named after. My great-grandfather, Nicholas Brockmeier.”

  “No way.”

  “True fact.”

  “I was thinking of Brock as a middle name.”

  “Yeah?” He was touched, really touched, but at the same time couldn’t help thinking the kid wouldn’t have his last name. Why did that bother him?

  They sat at the table to eat, then Pandora moved to the sofa with her tea while he tidied up.

  “Are you ready to finish Christmas yet?” Brock made sure to put some exasperation in his tone, like she had really inconvenienced him with her having a baby and all, which made her giggle.

  “I know, right? How dare I interrupt what’s really important. We’ll blame Nick.”

  “Nick. Yeah,” Brock said with a nod. “Good solid name. I like it.”

  Pandora smiled and started to ask him to pass her the prepackaged baby care parcel, but realized, “Oh. You opened it.”

  “You were asleep and the beanie seemed like a good idea.”

  “My boss’s wife gave it to me.” She fingered through the face cloths, bathing towel, squeaky yellow duck, and organic baby potions, looking wistful.

  “I feel bad now.”

  “Don’t! It’s totally okay. It’s for Nick anyway.”

  Brock handed her his last gift from his mother. “You open this one for me.”

  “Don’t be silly.”

  He stole the baby. “My hands are full. You do it.”

  She smiled and carefully unstuck the ends on the fancy paper his mom had used, then opened the box, showing him the San Diego Padres’ sweater. Brock had to bite back to curse when he saw it was signed by the shortstop.

  “You’re excited,” she said with a happy grin. “Is it hockey or football?”

  “Please tell me you’re joking. It’s baseball. And now I have to keep custody of your son to ensure he receives an appropriate education. You are clearly not qualified.”

  “Enjoy the breast-feeding.”

  He chuckled as he secured Nick against his shoulder and reached for the last gift under the tree.

  Pandora simply held it in her lap, fingers tracing the uneven folds at the ends of the box. Fresh tears came into her eyes. “You know this is the best day of my life, right?”

  “Mine too.”

  A shadow passed behind Pandora’s eyes and her soft smile wavered.

  Did she think he was being polite? This tiny weight on his arm had completely changed him. He suspected none of them fully grasped how profoundly they were bound together now.

  As Pandora ran her finger beneath the tape on the first end of her present, his phone burbled with an incoming face call.

  “That’s my family.” With the time difference in Hawaii, they were just waking up and starting their Christmas morning.

  He and Pandora stared at each other for another two rings. Brock leaned to pick up his phone, watching for Pandora to stop him. She didn’t, but she looked scared. Why?

  He swiped to answer and saw the face of his three-month-old nephew.

  Ha. Turns out he could play that game. He angled his phone to show Nick’s face.

  “Brock? Terry, who did you call?” His sister-in-law, Amber, sounded confused.

  Brock winked at Pandora.

  Amber appeared with Terry ducking in behind her. “Maybe try again. Who is this?”

  “Merry Christmas.” Brock showed his own face while Pandora scooped Nick from his arms.

  “Bro. Where are you?” Behind Terry, his mother ducked into the frame.

  “Good morning. Merry Christmas. We’re missing you.”

  His father’s hand came into the frame, handing a glass of whiskey to Terry. “Time for our toast,” his father said. “Did you start without us?”

  “No, I can’t this year. You’ll never believe what I did this morning.”

  “Where are you?” That was Amber again. “Whose baby was that?”

  “So nosy. I’m in Tahoe.”

  “With Chelsea and Gavin? That’s not Shannon.”

  “That’s your brother at the house,” Brock remembered now. He’d met Amber’s brother and his wife at Terry and Amber’s wedding, but hadn’t seen them since. “I totally forgot Mom and Dad gave them the keys.”

  “Why are you in Tahoe?” his mother asked.

  “I felt like getting out of L.A. I was going to wait at the house for you. Celebrate New Year’s Eve with you guys.”

  “But you’re not at the house now,” Terry said.r />
  Brock looked at Pandora again. She was rubbing her lips against Nick’s soft cheek. There was something tender yet very defensive in her lowered lashes. As if she was both taking comfort from cuddling her son, and reinforcing that they were a unit. In a weird little time slip, Brock felt shut out and quickly reacted to repair the fissure.

  “I’m with a friend. Pandora. She works at the tavern.”

  “Oh yes,” his mother said with excitement. “She’s lovely. She was expecting. When did she have her baby?”

  “This morning. Here in her apartment. I caught him.”

  The excitement on the other side of the screen was loud and jumbled. His father’s booming voice came through at the end in a command to: “Have a drink son. You deserve one.”

  “Wait.” That was Amber. “Why were you there? Is that…”

  Silence.

  Brock looked to Pandora but she wasn’t meeting his eyes. He realized she had anticipated this question even if he hadn’t.

  And in this moment, he desperately wished her son was his.

  “We’re friends. The whole town was booked,” Brock said. “I was on the couch when she woke up in labor.”

  His mother wanted to see the baby again, and wished Pandora Merry Christmas along with congratulating her. They ended the call by cementing plans to spend New Year’s Eve together.

  Brock signed off. Only the faint bars of ‘Silent Night’ playing from the TV filled the silence.

  Pandora was the first to speak, lips still against Nick’s little cheek.

  “I wish he was yours.”

  He is. The words were right there, locked behind his breastbone and putting pressure in his throat. It seemed like an overstep, though.

  “Do you want me to take him? So you can open that last present?”

  “No, I just want to hold him for a few minutes. And look at the tree.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Glory was a tiny bit hungover the next morning after the lively dinner last night. Her father knew how to entertain, as did Vivien and Trigg. At one point, she had put up with the usual grilling about her role with her mom’s books, but other than that, she’d found herself relaxing and laughing a lot.

  Rolf was pretty quiet and well, Rolf. He looked bored half the time, but he didn’t miss a thing. He wasn’t all about staking a claim with PDA, but he stayed by her side, kissed her twice, and wasn’t above easing the hem of her dress up a few inches to draw circles on the inside of her knee beneath the cover of the table.

  Her being so tipsy when they went to bed was probably the reason she’d been uninhibited enough to take playing doctor to a new level. He’d seemed to enjoy himself and she was still tingling with sexual satisfaction, so she couldn’t really complain.

  The end result, however, was that she wasn’t at a hundred percent when her father called her on the carpet in her office and confronted her about her life choices.

  “Are you serious right now?” She flopped into the chair across the desk from him, scowling at the way he’d taken the power position in Rolf’s ergonomic chair. “I’m twenty-six, Dad. I can sleep with Vivien if I want to. If she was up for it, of course. Consent and all that,” she allowed with a roll of her eyes. “Point is, I don’t need to inform you when I feel like being sexually active or ask your permission. Put away your rapier and stand down from your dawn appointment. My honor is fine.”

  “This isn’t like you.”

  “You don’t know what I’m like!”

  “Whose fault is that?” he shot back, folding his arms on the desk in front of him. The caterpillars above his eyes reared to fight.

  “Trim your eyebrows,” she muttered. “They’re out of control.” The stern gray of his irises was the real issue, of course. He was giving her the dad look and it was making her squirm. Should she tell him that he had started this fracture in their relationship when he had looked at her like this—with disappointment—when she had got her period for the first time? Like it was her fault or something?

  “Why am I learning from Rolf that you don’t like my serving your mother’s wine?”

  “He told you that?” Her heart clattered onto the floor. “What else did he say?” If he had spilled her secret about that stupid thing with her journal…

  “Why? What else are you not telling me?”

  “Nothing.” Her pulse settled a bit, but her headache was now an acute hammer behind her eyes.

  “What are you even doing with him?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, is this serious? It must be if you’re telling him things you aren’t telling me.”

  “It’s not—Dad. Please don’t blow this up.” She pinched her own eyebrow. “This is just…” What? We’re just fucking around because we can. “We’re adults, Dad. This is none of your business.”

  “See, that’s not actually true, is it? It complicates my business.”

  She slouched lower in her chair and leaned her head on the back, staring at the ceiling. “You are not seriously going to lecture me on complications when you’re the one who bought this lodge in the first place.”

  “I don’t understand why him, Glory. He’s not your type. He’s—”

  She brought her head up, heart sinking fast again. “Out of my league?” She knew that.

  “You’re a sensitive girl.”

  “I’m a grown woman.”

  “He’s a worldly man. I’ve always worried that…” He drew a breath and exhaled, gathering himself to make his case. “These stories of your mother’s are not true to life, Glory.”

  “Oh my God.” She shot to her feet, which made her stomach roll and her head pound, but Oh. My. God. “Give me credit, Dad. I know the difference between real life and fiction.”

  “Do you? Because your expectations are not realistic. You had a perfectly good relationship with Stephen—”

  “Oh my God. We are so done.” She headed for the door.

  “Glory,” he said sharply.

  “Dad.” She spun and marched back to slap her hands on the desk. “I am not the one having trouble with reality. Look at the books. For the lodge. Quit expecting Mom’s income to carry you. Would you do that for me, please? Because I don’t want to be here. I sure as hell don’t want to spend the rest of our lives wondering if this place is going to stay afloat or whether I’m going to have to support you by working in a coffee shop. That is a true fact.”

  She walked out.

  *

  Glory didn’t answer his text, so Rolf went across the hall as soon as he’d brushed his teeth.

  She slapped her laptop closed. “What?”

  “You didn’t answer me.”

  She looked at her phone. “Well, you’re here now so I guess my place.”

  “That’s a warm welcome.”

  “I’m mad at you.” She pushed to her feet and plugged in her phone. “Don’t talk to my dad about me.”

  Ah. He folded his arms, not regretting what he’d said, but it might not have been completely altruistic. He hadn’t liked the way Marvin had set him on his back foot. Nevertheless: “He needed to hear it, Glory.”

  “Oh, okay. I’ll just go tell Vivien how much she drives you bananas, then, shall I?” Chin down, brows up.

  The bane of an intelligent woman. “Point taken.”

  She went to brush her hair and wash her face, body language still moody and hostile. “Where’s Murphy?”

  “Nate’s got him.”

  “Wow.” She came to the archway holding her toothbrush. “At what point did sleeping with me become part of the project that he needs to manage?” She stuffed her toothbrush in her mouth.

  “I’ll owe him a favor.” Rolf had offered to pay him, but Nate was no dummy. He had been surprised, asking if Rolf was going out of town.

  I thought Glory usually takes him if—Right. Sure, I’ll take him. No problem.

  Rolf figured it would bite him on the ass later, but needs must.

  “What are we doing, Rolf?”
She spit and rinsed. “Now Nate has to babysit your brother’s dog so we can have sex? Dad rightly pointed out that this is complicating things.”

  “We’ve been over this.” If they’d been able to stay out of each other’s beds, they would have.

  “I’m just saying, I don’t want things to get weird.” She pulled a nightgown from a drawer and draped it on the bed, then opened her jeans and peeled them off, taking her socks with them.

  “Weird how?” He balled up the nightgown and shoved it back in the drawer, then skimmed his shirt up and off, turning to see her gesturing at the drawer.

  “Really?”

  “I want to feel you, not something lumberjacks wear to chop logs.” He caught her hands and made her stand in front of him. “What’s really going on? Cold feet? Dad made you feel dirty? You want the dog to watch? What?”

  “You probably do, you pervert.” Her mouth quirked, before she sighed, shoulders softening. “It’s probably PMS. That always makes me high-strung.”

  He didn’t ask how he would tell the difference. He was no dummy.

  Besides, she was stepping in to him, letting the weight of her head rest on his shoulder. He ran his hands down her back, relearning her shape, finding the edge of her shirt where it draped over her buttocks. He followed the line of her thong, savoring the feel of her smooth skin. She ran her own hands over his back, making his scalp tingle.

  Even so, when he tilted up her chin to kiss her, she didn’t meet his eyes.

  He hesitated, thumb grazing her bottom lip where it was pouted out with unhappiness.

  “What is it really? Tell me,” he insisted.

  “Nothing,” she lied, and went on tiptoe to press her mouth to his.

  She still didn’t trust him. It was disturbing enough to put an ache in his throat as he kissed her. It put something into their kiss that went beyond passion. He was trying to reassure her, but pull something from her. Reliance. Belief in him. Surrender, maybe, because he knew she was fighting him. Withholding herself.

  It shook him. Made him face a side of himself he kept turned away, into the dark. He didn’t need anyone, but right now, she felt out of reach and he didn’t like it.

  His natural need to dominate dug in, refusing to accept any obstacle, but he was a man of discipline, not a brute. He’d never felt so possessive and urgent, yet aggression wouldn’t work in this instance. The tension drew him taut, making him shake internally as he plundered her mouth. With care. Until she began to shake, too.