by Laurel Greer
Her pulse drummed in her chest, racing hard enough for her to feel the rapid, irregular beat at her wrists and under her jaw. “I don’t want strings.”
“Yeah, I get that, but what if I do?”
Her stomach knotted. “No, that’s what you told me. That’s what you said.”
He swore. “And you believed me.”
“Why wouldn’t I have?”
“Because I was lying.”
Information that would have been useful yesterday.
The bastardized quotation from one of her favorite films, The Wedding Singer, popped into her head, but she kept it to herself. Hell, she wouldn’t have been able to speak if she tried. Her heart hammered in her throat. What was she thinking, moving to a new town, a new country, making all sorts of adjustments and arrangements with her doctoral program for the sake of a guy she’d had a fling with for a couple of weeks? Had she lost her mind?
No. I’m doing this for the baby, not for Lachlan. And my plan is going to work.
“We have time to figure each other out.” His voice rasped, still at half volume.
He had to stop with the suggestion that they were a “we.” They didn’t have anything to figure out beyond visitation days and parent-and-tot swimming lessons and whether or not to baptize the baby Catholic. Getting closer to each other was just asking for trouble. She coughed, clearing her throat. “That’s why I came now. So we can decide how we want to coparent.”
Glancing around the half-unpacked apartment, he shook his head. “And you’ve moved here?”
“I did. It’s a boon for my degree—there’s a professor in the psych department at the university in Bozeman who’s a canine behavior expert. She’s willing to supervise me. You might know her. Jennifer Wiebe?”
His brows shot up. “I’ve heard the name. But hang on, you’re switching schools?”
“Yeah. I have just enough time to finish and present my prospectus before my due date. I’m going to be lecturing this summer—some freshman psych courses running in July and August—and starting again in the winter session. I won’t teach for the semester after the baby’s born. And with moving here—I’m closer to Zach and Cadie. We’re planning on sharing a nanny.”
“I don’t get a say in that?”
“Do you want one?”
“Yes.” He coughed. “What if I hadn’t wanted to be involved?”
Defensiveness ran up her spine. “I know! I gambled, okay? I get that. But the thing is, dogs don’t lie. Fudge loves you as much as I’ve ever seen a dog love. I was hoping that loyalty would transcend your claim about not wanting ‘strings.’ And getting to be around my brother, and working with Dr. Wiebe... Even if you wanted nothing to do with the baby, I was still better off.” She smiled. “Minus the loss of universal health care. That’s a bit hard to take.”
His eyes widened. “Do you not have health insurance? Do you need to get on mine? Damn, I wonder if it counts as a preexisting condition, or if it matters that we’re not married. Should we get married—?”
“Take a breath, Lach. I’m covered through the university,” she assured him. “I was joking.”
His laugh came out forced, jagged. “Sort of.”
“Sort of.” She settled into the back of the couch and drew her knees up as best she could. “And no, we shouldn’t get married. Been there, done that.”
“Huh?”
It appeared today was the day for owning up to all her flaws. Awesome.
“I got married when I was in second-year university.”
“You did?” He scrubbed a hand through his hair and blew out a breath. “Wow. I, uh, assume you’re divorced?”
“Years ago.” She could have offered up details, but they hovered in her throat, refusing to come out. The years it had taken to process the grief of her miscarriage, and her ex’s lies...
She wasn’t up for risking that kind of devastation again.
Lach was just going to have to redefine what “family” meant. He could have the kid part. Hell, he could have a wife, too. Just not Marisol.
She crossed her arms over her breasts. They’d been full before pregnancy, and now they were ridiculous. Credit to Lachlan, he hadn’t checked them out yet. Or maybe he just wasn’t interested in her anymore. That would save a lot of time and angst. “I have a bad track record. It’s a good thing we’re going to keep this platonic.”
“We are?” He blinked, clearly bewildered.
“Yeah, Lach. We are. We need to be friends, make sure we’re functioning as parents.” Not giving in to the monkey-sex urges they’d had back in December. If they did, they’d flame bright for a few months, and then crash and burn, screwing over their chances to coparent.
“Friends.” His gaze, purposeful now, landed on her lips, and flicked down to the rest of her body before returning to her face. He crossed an ankle over a knee and spread his arms wide on the corner of the couch. Jeez. He looked more at home in her living room than she felt. “You really think we can keep this platonic? Isn’t it a bit of the cows already getting let out of the barn situation?”
“Come up with all the cute analogies you want, but these barn doors are staying shut.” She closed her eyes, not wanting to give away any hint of the desire she felt for him. It was all physical. Just dregs from their fling. And pregnancy. God, as soon as she’d gotten over her morning sickness, she’d gotten all needy and it hadn’t gone away.
“Okay, sweetheart. If you say so.”
“You think you’re that irresistible?”
“I think we have a spark.”
“Then we need to put it out.”
Bemusement flickered on his lips.
“What?”
“You let me know when you figure out how to do that.”
She stiffened. “I think I know how to control my thoughts. Might have read a book or two about cognitive processes over the years. And don’t try to tell me you’re going to convince me otherwise. We need to focus on getting ready for the baby, not trying to cobble together a romantic relationship that will invariably fall apart.”
She’d never trust someone so blindly as she had her ex-husband. His financial dishonesty was almost mild compared to the scars he’d left when he accused her of getting in the way of his goals and ambitions.Lachlan shook his head and gripped his knees hard enough to make the tendons rise on the backs of his hands. “Given I’ve known about the baby for all of five hours, I don’t think it’s unreasonable to ask for a little processing time.”
“True.” The word wobbled on her lips.
What if processing meant deciding he’d push for something she didn’t want?
He looked at her sharply. “I’ll always respect what you want.”
Oh. She’d said that out loud. Oops.
“And we will focus on getting ready for the baby,” he continued.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“Nor am I going to try to coerce you into a relationship. I have no interest in being with someone who isn’t wholly into being with me.”
“Okay.” Frick, why couldn’t she get her voice up to its normal volume?
His gaze pierced her again. “I’m a good guy, Marisol. I’m not like my—”
She blinked at his abrupt cutoff. “Like your...”
“Nothing.” Bitter regret edged his words. He cleared his throat and smiled.
The dim replication of what was usually a megawatt grin took her aback. She didn’t know what to do with any of that—not the shadows in his eyes, nor his insistence he was a good guy.
Talk about a recipe for temptation.
Her stomach growled audibly. “I need a snack.” Or a second lunch. She’d been on the six-meals-a-day plan lately given she could only eat about half what she normally could. “And I’m sorry, I’m not set up for company yet.”
“Let me tak
e you out.”
“We’re not going on a date.”
He rolled his eyes. “It’s not a date. I’m feeding my kid.”
My kid. Hearing someone else speak in possessive terms was super weird. And sexy.
No. Not sexy.
“If we go out, it’s going to be this morning all over again, isn’t it?” she asked. “People up in our business?”
He sent her a wry smile. “Pretty much.”
She shook her head. Running into more nosy neighbors didn’t appeal. She’d spent the last six months contemplating what it was going to be like to be a single parent. And after she’d figured out how to make it work to come to Sutter Creek, she’d had the thought that people would make assumptions. Even so, she’d underestimated how interested people would be in her pregnancy and her relationship with Lachlan.
“I’m not up for that particular level of intrusion this afternoon.”
“Order in, then?” he suggested.
Staying in her apartment and sharing pizza, having to keep her eyes off his “I lift large dogs for a living” chest muscles? Yeah, not up for that, either. “I don’t think so.”
A hurt expression clouded his eyes. God, she couldn’t look at him when he started to resemble one of the puppies he treated. “I just need to be alone. But maybe tomorrow—oh! Tomorrow. I have a doctor’s appointment. Would you like to come?”
His face lit. “Abso-goddamn-lutely.”
“I wasn’t sure.”
He caught her under the chin with his thumb. “You can be. When you need me, I will be there for you.”
Which was a big part of why she’d come here. So now that she knew he’d help, why was she scared as hell to accept?
Because I’m being logical, keeping my distance.
“You’ll be there for the baby, you mean.” She’d absolutely include him in that. But when it came to things that only involved her—she’d have to stake out space.
Chapter Three
“You are ruining my schedule,” Evan griped as Lachlan stripped out of his scrub shirt and pulled on a T-shirt in preparation to head to Marisol’s appointment late the next morning. “We’re going to end up working after hours, aren’t we?”
“Well, I will, with the Johnsons being okay with me cleaning Flick’s teeth at the end of the day instead of now.” It was the second day in a row he’d had to ask Evan to do some last-minute switching, and the guy had been grumbling all morning because of it. It wasn’t a habit Lach wanted to get into—he wanted to be an asset to Maggie, not a hindrance—but today was a special situation. “Head out at your usual time, though. I can shut everything down and lock up.”
Evan placed a protective hand on the computer monitor. “Risk you messing up Lucille? That’s a big no. I’ll stay. Deon and I can kick our dinner plans out a little. But only because this is monumental for you.” His cheeks reddened. “And because I played a tiny part in keeping Marisol’s message from finding you.”
Lachlan held out a finger and thumb with a fraction of space between them.
Evan winced. “Sorry.”
“Enh, it was as much technology—and me—as you. And that aside, I still hate messing up the schedule.”
Evan’s sigh fluttered the papers on the new-patient clipboard sitting on top of the desk. “If it’s a boy, you can name him Evan in honor of all the crap I put up with.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” Lach shook his head and put on his bike helmet. The veterinary clinic was a mile out from the town center where Marisol’s doctor’s office was located, an easy trip on his road bike.
The sun beat on his forearms and wind whistled in his ears, waking him up a little. He made a habit of never watching the clock whenever he struggled to fall asleep, but there had been a definite sunrise glow around the curtains before he’d managed to nod off last night. This morning, rather. Ugh.
His thoughts had flitted around faster than a hummingbird. He hadn’t been able to settle on how he felt. He loved kids. And screw following his parents’ pitiful example.
But aside from the sheer shock of learning he was going to be a father, it was the mother of his child who had him tied in knots. Marisol wanted to be platonic? How the hell was he supposed to manage that? He’d been infatuated with her since the moment they hooked up.
He’d met her while sharing nachos with his SAR buddies at the end of a long day on the hill. She’d been ski-rumpled and adorable, and had pulled him in with jokes about hockey and an encyclopedic knowledge of dogs. And man, there was nothing better than colored Christmas tree lights picking up the green in her eyes, or splashing a rainbow glow on her golden-brown skin. For the rest of her vacation, she’d spent more time in his bed than on the mountain.
With some permanent repercussions.
Gripping the handlebars, he gulped warm, early-summer air into his lungs. It was more than a roll or ten between the sheets. I cared about her.
He had. Still did.
And the baby... God, he would love the kid.
Could love Marisol, too, but she clearly didn’t want that. And he’d meant what he said—he wouldn’t convince her otherwise. He’d keep his feelings out of it. Doing his job sometimes meant having to compartmentalize for the sake of being objective. He’d have to do that with Marisol. Jam the emotions down deep.
Yeah, ’cause that’s healthy.
Maybe not. But necessary.
He locked his bike, shoved his helmet in his backpack and pushed through the doors of the Sutter Creek Medical Clinic.
The waiting room was half-full—he nodded at the owner of a Siamese patient of Maggie’s and at one of the local ranchers, who smiled knowingly. But Marisol wasn’t there.
He scanned the room again, wiping his damp palms on his thin cargo shorts.
“Head to exam room three, Lachlan.” The receptionist, a high school classmate of his oldest sister’s, pointed to a hallway. “Dr. Matsuda took your partner in about ten minutes ago.”
The announcement tripped him up. “What?”
Sympathy crossed her face. “It’s okay. You probably haven’t missed much.”
He was late? How? He checked his watch. Eleven thirty-five, and Marisol had told him her appointment was at eleven forty. His gut rolled, and he hustled toward the corridor.
Knocking on the door labeled Three, he waited to be let in. The door swung open, and Caleb Matsuda’s smiling face greeted him.
“Hey, doc,” Lachlan said.
“Reid. Congratulations. Marisol tells me this was a bit of a surprise.” The doctor, a few years older than Lachlan’s thirty-three, ran a hand through his short, dark hair and clapped Lach on the shoulder with the other as they stood in the entryway.
“Uh, yeah...” He didn’t want to throw Marisol under the bus—with her moving to Sutter Creek, it would be crappy if her decision not to tell him about the baby right away clouded people’s opinions of her. He wished things hadn’t played out the way they had, but he also didn’t want her to have any reason not to like living here, or for the local contingent not to accept her. Then again, Caleb was a recent transplant himself. He probably understood the ins and outs of adjusting to small-town life better than most. “We’re figuring things out, though.”
“You’ll do great.”
“I hope I haven’t missed much of the appointment. Didn’t think I’d be late.”
“Thanks for understanding. Garnet and I are heading out camping for a few days—and we can use any head start we can get.”
Lachlan had become good friends with Caleb in the last six months—the doctor was madly in love with one of the women Lachlan volunteered with on the county search and rescue team. Come to think of it, the doctor had a shared history with Marisol’s brother, too. They’d been involved in an avalanche a couple of years back.
He motioned between Caleb and Marisol. “I gu
ess you two know each other because of the...uh...” He never was sure whether Caleb felt like talking about the tragedy. The guy was open about his PTSD, but bringing it up still made Lachlan’s gut twist.
“Yeah, Marisol was in Whistler after the slide,” Caleb said calmly, waving Lach into the room. “We’ve met a few times. And I’ll be honest, I’m still getting used to treating people I consider friends, but it’s not a conflict of interest or anything, so let’s just keep things casual, okay?”
“You got it,” Lachlan said.
“Marisol and I have just been going through her history,” Caleb said. “Saved the good stuff for you.”
“Oh.” Caleb probably assumed Lachlan knew Marisol’s medical information. So not the case. Hell, he hadn’t even known she’d been married before. And he didn’t feel like admitting his ignorance. If Caleb brought anything up that would make Lachlan’s lack of knowledge obvious, he’d just have to fake it. Breathing in resolve, he scooted around the doctor to get his first look at Marisol, half reclined on the exam table in her street clothes. The pink of her short-sleeved T-shirt highlighted the healthy glow in her cheeks. His chest tightened. Damn, she was beautiful.
“I texted you,” she murmured.
“Phone’s in my bag. I biked over.”
The quick swing from thinking he’d let her down to realizing he hadn’t added to the magnitude of walking into a doctor’s office for a freaking prenatal appointment weakened his knees. He sat down in the chair next to the exam table with a thud.
He swallowed, fighting the sudden onset of dry tongue.
Marisol rolled to her side and reached out to squeeze his shoulder. Warmth spread from her palm. Oh, man, he enjoyed her touch too much.
“You’ll get used to it,” she said. “Appointments become boring after a while.”
“I don’t think so, sweetheart.”
Uncertainty crossed her face, a hint of pleasure covered by a whole lot of will to resist it. At the endearment? At his wonderment? Who knew?
Her expression blanked as quickly as it had slipped. She withdrew her hand and refocused on Caleb, who was typing something into the computer attached to the counter. “You saw my blood pressure history?”