by Laurel Greer
He lifted the lid off the tin and grabbed a cookie, then popped it into his mouth whole.
“It helps,” he said, chewing.
After texting Cadie to say she was going to stick around the SAR site for a bit, she kept to the sidelines for the next forty-five minutes. Her brother and his colleagues fascinated her—the radio calls and strategic discussion were a far cry from anything she ever dealt with at school.
Just when she was starting to worry she was in the way, a small group of people emerged from the bush ten yards away, led by Fudge in her red work vest. She was favoring her right foreleg, which had a white bandage wrapped around it. Concern pinged through Marisol as she watched the small group cross the clearing. The dog’s drooping ears matched the solemn expressions of the three people who followed her.
Lachlan’s included.
They locked eyes and he picked up his pace.
Damn. Normally he smiled when he saw her. Not that she would have expected it, not after what he’d been dealing with on the rescue. He was hurting.
Fudge came to her first, sniffing her hand and nosing her thigh.
“Probably wants a cookie, too,” Zach said lightly, snitching another from the stack.
Marisol knelt on the ground and put her arms around the dog. “I bet she earned one. Hey, baby. Tough day, huh?”
“Brutal,” Lachlan rasped. “I could use one of those. The hug, not a cookie.”
“I dunno, the cookies are pretty awesome,” Zach mumbled around a full mouth.
Letting go of the dog to reach out for a hand up, Marisol looked up at Lachlan. A scrape marked his stubbled cheek, and he had a few tree needles in his hair. A rip marred the sleeve of his navy SAR T-shirt. He quickly linked fingers with her, and took her into his embrace the second she stood.
She clasped him to her as hard as she could given her belly was crazy in the way. An odd mix of smells came off his shirt—fresh air and pine, but fragments of acrid smoke. Sweat, too.
She brushed at a dirt streak on his forehead. “You look a little worse for wear.”
“Some of the trees around the crash site were unstable. I caught a skinny one right before it fell on Fudge. It nicked me a little. And as she jumped out of the way, she cut her leg on a snag. I need to take her to the clinic, clean her up. She’ll need a few sutures.”
“You can do that?”
He stiffened.
“I didn’t mean skill-wise. I just wasn’t sure you were licensed for that.”
Relaxing, he nodded. “Regulations are pretty vague in Montana. As long as Maggie clears it, I can do it.”
“I brought Zach his truck—he said he’d take Maggie home, and you and I can head back into town together.”
Closing his eyes for a second, he nodded. His throat bobbed. “Man, I need that. Thank you.”
After a little paperwork and signing out, they made their way to the truck. He got Fudge settled in the passenger side of the crew cab. The dog gave Lachlan an extra lick. If Marisol’s test subjects were as in tune to their people as Fudge was to Lach, she wouldn’t have trouble proving her hypothesis at all.
She climbed into the front. She leaned to close the door, but he put out his hand. He reached under her seat and slid her backward.
“Shift over?” he said.
She did, rising awkwardly onto the console with one hip. He climbed in behind her and pulled her sideways into his lap. Her legs hung out the open door.
“I just need to hold you. Bear with me for a second.”
He dropped his forehead to her temple and inhaled, chest hitching unevenly.
“You can have more than a second, Lachlan.”
“Thanks.” He sniffled. A tear dripped onto her ear.
“Oh, love.” She turned her head and wiped the wetness with her thumb. His whiskers were rough on her skin—figured he hadn’t shaved this morning, he’d probably shot out of bed. “It’s okay to need time to process. Good, really. A lot of first responders bottle things up and end up the worse for it.”
His lips twisted and he glanced to the side.
“I don’t think I saw my ex cry once. And let me tell you—anytime I see a difference, I jump for joy.” She kissed his cheek softly. “Figuratively. No way am I risking jumping right now. My water might break, for God’s sake.”
He chuckled, and he let go of her to press the heels of his hands into his eyes. “Don’t think it works that way, sunshine. That baby’s not coming out until she’s ready, no matter what gymnastics you do.”
“She can stay put for now. I’m not ready for her to be an outside-baby yet.” School was counting on the baby not coming early. But the mountain of work she’d left behind didn’t seem quite as pressing as it had a couple of hours ago. Not in the face of plane crashes and Lachlan’s tears.
He sniffed again and dropped his hands from his eyes. One clasped her shoulder, and one rubbed her side, right under the empire waist of her cotton spaghetti-strap top. “What’s the line from that Christmas movie? The one with Jude Law? ‘I’m a weeper?’”
“Aw, The Holiday? I love that movie.” And it was cute that he knew it that well.
“So does Maggie. You can watch it with us this year. We always have movie night on Christmas Eve.”
Making plans that far ahead sent a rush of concern through her, but she ignored it. “That sounds really nice. And we’ll have a tiny human with us, too.”
“We will.” A smile broke through, brightening his face for a second before it turned sheepish. “Sorry for falling apart on you.”
“Don’t apologize.” Her own emotions swelled, pressing against her throat. Not sadness, though, or trauma—just love. “I like being candid together. I haven’t had this before.”
“Then you weren’t loved right.”
“I know.”
“Stands to reason you shouldn’t base your beliefs about relationships on that experience, then.”
“I see we’re in the ‘real talk’ segment of today’s show.” The joke flew out. A defense mechanism, obviously. She saw that.
So do something about it. Don’t give in to bad habits.
He raised an eyebrow. “You’re deflecting.”
“I know,” she repeated.
His gaze searched her like she was transparent, like he could see into her cracks, into the parts of her that she pretended didn’t exist.
“I’m trying to look at us differently.” Her throat went dry. “I’m working on it.”
He raised his eyebrows. His head fell back against the headrest, a hint of doubt marring his brow. “And how’s that going?”
The urge rose to clam up, to shove down the words. But that was old wounds taking control. It was time to try something new. Her heart accelerated to a sprint. “I—I’m falling in love with you.”
His mouth gaped.
“You’re catching flies,” she said softly, then kissed him.
Threading his fingers into her hair, he murmured his happiness.
Their tongues tangled, a hot press of lips and breath and drifting hands. Didn’t take him more than a second to discover she had a skirt on. His fingers slid up the inside of her thigh.
On the side of the road, in sight of her brother and a half-dozen SAR people.
She pulled away. “I want you to go there. But just not here.”
“Good point. Also, I need to clean Fudge up. But after that... I will finish this.”
“I’ll hold you to that.”
Chapter Thirteen
The August sun was just rising above the trees on the highway as Marisol drove in to Bozeman to teach her Thursday morning class. The days since the plane crash had been busy, but she’d followed the rules. She’d lifted nary a box while moving both Lachlan’s stuff and some of hers to his new house on Sunday. She’d kept her work hours to exactly six hours
a day, and she’d managed to put her feet up for a lot of her off time. Her Monday and Wednesday appointments with Caleb had rewarded her efforts—he was pleased that her blood pressure was in a healthier range.
And getting to spend evenings with Lachlan, having him cook dinner and be her pillow while they watched Netflix before bed...
Don’t get used to it. This didn’t work the first time you tried it, so why would it work now?
And it wasn’t just her heart on the line—she had to be cautious for the baby’s sake, too. She wanted to believe the counterarguments—she was older, Lach wasn’t a world-class douchecanoe—but her amygdala was definitely stuck in a fight-or-flight response. Heavy on the flight.
She swallowed, fighting the dryness in her throat. Having an after-class meeting scheduled with Dr. Wiebe was only contributing to her anxiety. Her advisor had been away for the week, so Marisol hadn’t been able to talk to her about her health issues. She was not looking forward to explaining why she was having to limit her hours.
Once she made it to campus and settled in to handling her class, she pushed those worries aside for a little while. Her students were a good distraction, stressed as they were about their imminent final exam. Counseling others served as a nice diversion from thinking about her meeting, but eventually the classroom emptied out and she no longer had the excuse to delay.
She made her way to the neighboring building and up to Dr. Wiebe’s office.
“Marisol. How’s teaching going?”
“Well. I’ll be honest, I think I’m more suited to teaching than to the publication side of professorial work.” She took a seat in one of the chairs set up in front of the heavy antique desk.
Dr. Wiebe scrunched her nose, causing her wire-frame glasses to slip down. She pushed them back into place with a finger. “You’ll have to find a balance. Can’t do one without the other.”
“I know. And don’t get me wrong—I’m excited about taking my research in a new direction. Last night, I experimented on Lachlan’s dog, just a test run, not to standards of course, but she responded exactly as I anticipated.”
“You can’t base results and hypotheses off a human-dog team to whom you’re close, Marisol.”
“Obviously, but Lachlan was giving me a hand compiling my annotated bibliography, and then was reading through my proposed study, and—”
“Nor can you have people do your work for you.”
She sat back in the chair. “I wasn’t, I—”
“Lachlan Reid is well-known in the SAR community around here and if the rest of the panel gets the impression he’s collaborating with you on work that’s supposed to be done individually that could compromise your success.”
The reprimand bit in, and the edges of her eyes stung.
Deep breath. Do. Not. Cry.
Once she was sure she could speak steadily, Marisol said, “I would never be dishonest about my work. I also think he is an excellent resource. As well, I’ve been told I need to cut down my work hours before the baby comes. And given I have to teach, and I have to get my prospectus polished, I accepted his offer to help. He was just typing out my notes verbatim.”
Dr. Wiebe crossed her arms. “Well, be very careful about what you mention in front of the committee next week.”
“I will,” Marisol promised quietly. She’d come too far to compromise her success now, so she’d watch every word she said. And to be on the safe side, she’d watch how much she involved Lachlan in her research, too.
* * *
Tick. Tick. Tick.
Okay, that clock was going to have to go. Marisol had brought the wall-hung timepiece with her from her apartment and had put it up in their new living room, explaining it was an heirloom her great-grandmother had sent her from Germany, but the thing was loud as hell. Plus, every tick reminded Lachlan that she still wasn’t home yet. The minute hand traveled from five thirty to six, and he got antsier by the second. Unpacking his remaining boxes did zip to quell his jumping nerves. Where was she? She’d left for Bozeman before 9:00 a.m., and she still wasn’t back yet? Nor was she answering her phone.
He was three seconds away from hopping in his truck and driving her usual route when the front door opened.
“Lach?” Her voice wobbled.
He took a deep breath and put down the hammer he was using to hang a picture above the mantel. “I’m in the living room.”
She trudged up the half flight of stairs from the entrance to where he was, holding up a hand. “I know, I know. I broke the rules. But I had a bitch of a meeting with Dr. Wiebe—she chewed me out for letting you get too involved with my research—and I was on a tear, getting about twice as much done as I normally would.”
“Marisol...” His throat squeezed at the thought of what could go wrong if she didn’t follow Caleb’s orders. Premature delivery... And God forbid she develop preeclampsia.
“Don’t say anything. You don’t need to. I know. Look, I’ll go to bed extra early. Watch me.” She walked down the hall, fists digging into her back as she went. The bedroom door clicked shut behind her. One loud sob penetrated through the barrier.
Well, crap.
Following, he quietly entered the room. She lay on the bed on her side, shoulders shaking. He’d used some of his ill-gotten loan from his parents to buy a king-size bed, so there was plenty of room for him to curl up behind her. And given he’d pay off the money with interest, he didn’t have to feel that awful about having borrowed the cash.
As if.
Okay, fine. He contemplated punching a hole through the wall every time he thought of it. But coming home to this house, having the space to properly raise their kid, made it worth it.
So did coming home to Marisol.
For now. Until she decides she doesn’t need to live here anymore.
His fist itched to connect with drywall over that, too, but instead, he spooned her back and looped an arm around her belly. She shuddered in his embrace, her sobs now silent.
“Talk to me, sunshine.”
“I—I know I sc-c-rewed up, o-k-kay?”
He wanted to say something soothing, but he knew whatever he said would come off as a lecture, so he just held her closer to his body.
“I’m ju-just so a-af-fraid.”
That knocked his temper down by a few degrees. “That you won’t get your prospectus done? But you’re so close.”
She curled into more of a ball. “I’m behind where I should be. Next Friday... Oh, God. And Dr. Wiebe wanted help with a journal article today—she was already so disappointed with me, I couldn’t say no.”
“Yes, you could have,” he said quietly. “Does she not understand doctor’s orders?”
A long minute of silence stretched between them.
“What if I can’t do it?” she whispered.
“You have eight more days. You’ve got this.”
“No, the whole thing. My degree. Being a mom. Being a good girlfriend.”
His arms tightened of their own accord. “We just need to stick together.”
“Me working with you is what set Dr. Wiebe off in the first place.”
“What, me playing secretary?”
“And me experimenting with Fudge.”
He swore. “Academia is a piece of work.”
She sniffled. “And it’s my life, Lachlan.”
He spread his hand on her stomach and held in a “so’s this.”
“She warned me I’d have to be really careful.”
“Funny how she’s all over you being cautious with your research but not with our child,” he grumbled. Crap. Probably should have kept that one in, too.
A snort, somewhere between agreement and protest, puffed out her nose.
“Even if I can’t involve you in my work, that doesn’t change what I agreed to. I want to be your partner, Lachlan. It feels li
ke...like we’re a family.”
“I—We—” He wasn’t sure how to voice the swell of hope pressing against his chest, clogging his throat. Holy crap. He’d gone his whole life trying to piece together some semblance of family. Always feeling like people were water through his fingers—his grandmother dying, his grandfather moving to Arizona, his parents being useless. Stella, off in New York. Leaving him with Maggie and Fudge and some close friends. But one word from this woman and the brass ring he’d been grasping for was finally staying in his grip.
He kissed her hair, then brushed the thick strands aside to nuzzle behind her ear. “I love you, Mari.”
She reached back and awkwardly stroked his cheek. “I love you, too.”
“Since when?” he teased.
“Since you showed me you’re a good man. Easy to be around.” She giggled. “And kinda nice to look at, too.”
He laughed. She’d spilled a lot of herself tonight—he didn’t mind being a little lighthearted. “Mmm, I knew it was about my pretty face.”
She swatted his hip. “You’re right, you know. About being a team. About working together. I’d forgotten how to do that. Still feeling shaky on it, really. But I have faith we can handle anything that comes our way. You’re not my ex. I can trust you. And I’m not the person I was when I was with him.”
And the very bed we’re lying on is proof I haven’t been as honest with you as I’ve professed to be. He had to tell her about the loan, explain that using his last resort meant getting to care for their baby and to keep his business, and so long as he wasn’t indebted to his parents for eternity, he’d learn to deal with having to go back on promises he’d made to himself. Better she find out from him than from someone else. Nothing stayed quiet in Sutter Creek.
But she’d already had a rotten afternoon—he could wait to tell her. He’d find a day when the weight of the world wasn’t crushing her to the mattress.
“Sure you don’t want to have dinner?” he asked. “You’re just going to go to sleep?”
“Well... Oh, hey!” She grabbed his hand off her shoulder and placed it on the underside of her stomach. The pop against his palm made his heart skip a beat. “Did you feel that?”