She’s determined to do it all by herself...

but he’ll do anything to earn her trust!

Returning from vacation, veterinary tech Lachlan Reid is shocked—the woman he’s been dreaming about for months is on his doorstep. He hasn’t forgotten his one magical night with Marisol Cardenas—nor will he now that she’s pregnant! Lachlan has always wanted to be a dad and works tirelessly to make Marisol see his commitment. But can he convince marriage-shy Marisol to form the family of their dreams?

Raised in a small town on Vancouver Island, LAUREL GREER grew up skiing and boating by day and reading romances under the covers by flashlight at night. Ever committed to the proper placement of the Canadian eh, she loves to write books with snapping sexual tension and second chances. She lives outside Vancouver with her law-talking husband and two daughters. At least half her diet is made up of tea. Find her at www.laurelgreer.com

Also by Laurel Greer

From Exes to Expecting

A Father for Her Child

Holiday by Candlelight

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk

The Nine-Month Surprise

Laurel Greer

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-0-008-90356-5

THE NINE-MONTH SURPRISE

© 2020 Lindsay Macgowan

Published in Great Britain 2020

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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Note to Readers

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To my critique partners—Ashley, Bee, Deana, Kelly,

Stacy and Tiana. I couldn’t do this without you

(or the carbohydrates and bubbly). Thank you

for your love, support and brilliant feedback.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Epilogue

Extract

About the Publisher

Chapter One

Marisol Cardenas’s car was only the second one in the lot when she pulled up to the Sutter Creek Veterinary Clinic. Excellent. She’d purposefully planned to arrive ahead of opening hours, before Lachlan got busy and found yet another excuse to blow her off. When she’d left him a voice mail back in January, she’d told him they could talk later.

She hadn’t meant five months later.

But after he hadn’t called back, she tried the clinic. And wow, his receptionist. A peach, that guy. The snarky “He’s in the Andes”—she’d laughed at that one. As if Lachlan would be traveling given how committed he’d been to starting his dog training facility. The subsequent “He’s in Australia” and “Why don’t you fly to Korea and see him there instead of clogging up my phone line” excuses had been equally creative, but not nearly so funny.

And she’d been too busy throwing up to test what the fourth song and dance would be.

Message received, Lachlan.

But have I got one to give to you.

He could use his receptionist as a human shield all he wanted, but couldn’t avoid her in person. And yeah, it had taken her months to get her life together enough to be able to come back to Sutter Creek. But now that she’d arrived, she was here for good.

Her second-hand maternity clothes and mismatched dishes and many, many textbooks were now stacked in the living room of her new apartment, a tangible—and heavy—reminder that her life was in Montana, now.

And with it, her child’s life. Lachlan’s child, too.

She’d driven past his apartment building on her way into town yesterday, and his truck had been right out front. Only the boxes and suitcases stacked to the roof of her ancient hatchback had prevented her from ringing his buzzer until he acknowledged her existence for the first time since December.

“We going to do this, baby?” she murmured, laying her hands on her round belly. “Yeah, I know. It’s time.”

Time to get out of her car and tell Lachlan he was going to be a daddy. Even though he wasn’t going to like it.

Acid burned her throat. He’d been honest, at least, when they’d been in the tangled sheets of their passionate, vacation-only fling.

I’m not looking for any kind of commitment, Marisol. I don’t want strings.

Nor was she upset that he didn’t want a relationship with her. She didn’t want that, either. A failed marriage during her undergraduate years had taught her that finishing a degree and having a relationship did not mix.

But parenthood was different. Hopefully, with time, Lachlan would come around to the idea of being a father. As a vet tech in his sister’s practice and a search and rescue handler, he was incredible with dogs and other animals, so she knew he had the capacity to care. He was well loved in Sutter Creek, too, or at least it had seemed so based on the sheer volume of hugs and conversations he’d been dragged into the few times they’d emerged from his bedroom while she’d been here on holiday in December.

And unless she stopped staring at the cheery blue clapboard building, one of the tiny ski town’s well-meaning residents would spot her, correctly guess her child’s paternity, and pass on the news to Lachlan before she mustered up the courage.

She could grip her steering wheel and deep breathe all she wanted, but no relaxation exercise would make this easier.

Rejection, here I come.

She hoisted herself out of the car, groaning at her lack of grace as she reached in to snag her satchel off the passenger seat. Her third trimester belly—she’d passed that marker last week—guaranteed she’d be waddling until she gave birth.

The sun promised a warm June day, but it still hadn’t managed to take the morning chill off. She wrapped her thin cardigan over her ever-expanding bump and headed for the door. If Lach’s shifts were the same as they’d been six months ago, he’d be working seven to four, so would have gotten here over an hour ago. His truck wasn’t in the parking lot, but that didn’t mean anything. He’d told her he usually biked to work in the summer months. And as much as she’d wanted to forget about Lachlan Reid, her brain had collected facts about him like a crow with shiny objects.

She shut her car door and walked along the cement sidewalk to the front entrance. The renovated rancher had pretty white shutters and planter boxes filled with geraniums and marigolds. The bright dots of color swam in her vision as she momentarily held her breath. She inhaled deeply—not far off what she’d been learning in labor and delivery class—and tried the door handle. Locked. Damn.

She knocked as loudly as she could in case Lachlan was off somewhere feeding animals or something. Her PhD focus on canine psychology meant she’d visited a fair number of animal clinics, and they usually had similar floor plans, with kennels in the back.

A lock snicked from the inside, and the door swung open.

Marisol’s heart raced.

It needn’t have. The person standing there had Lachlan’s dark blond hair and the same cheek dimples, but was about a head shorter and female.

“Maggie,” Marisol croaked at the veterinarian. The woman was dressed in purple scrubs, and still had the same pink-on-porcelain complexion as when Marisol had briefly met her in December. Not like Maggie’s brother’s outdoorsy tan. His skin had been almost as brown as Marisol’s, though her complexion came from her Colombian dad. She spent way too much time holed up in university libraries to get any color from the sun. “Uh, nice place you have here. I like the blue paint.”

Maggie crossed her arms and cocked her head. She took a step back. “Looking for Lachlan, I assume?”

Marisol swallowed down her panic. She hadn’t gotten much of a read on the vet the last time she was in town. She’d been too busy kissing Lachlan to pay much mind to his family.

Keep it casual. “Yeah, I thought I’d stop by and say hi.” Before nine on a Monday? Like that’s going to throw her off the scent?

Judging by Maggie’s laser gaze on Marisol’s belly, veterinary school covered simple arithmetic. “Just say hi?”

Marisol pressed her lips together. There was something sacred about learning about becoming a parent, about that knowledge transfer. She couldn’t violate it, no matter how much Lachlan’s avoidance stung. She’d been lying to her own brother since she realized she was pregnant, claiming her child was the result of a New Year’s Eve date with a fellow doctoral student. And she’d dodged the “Are you, uh, expecting a roommate at some point?” question when she’d accepted her keys from her new landlord yesterday. The woman, Mackenzie Dawson, worked for the ski resort and knew Marisol’s brother well. Not exactly the person to be spilling secrets to. But Marisol had to handle Maggie carefully. Now that she’d moved to Montana, a good relationship with her child’s aunt was critical.

“I got to town yesterday and was exhausted. Crashed the minute my brother finished helping me unload my car,” she said quietly. “This is my first chance to speak to Lachlan.”

“Sweet baby jelly beans,” Maggie murmured. She backed up until she rested against the waist-high counter of the reception desk. An odd mixture of anger and hope stretched her mouth. “I’m going to be an auntie?”

“I need to talk to your brother.”

The derision darkening Maggie’s brown eyes made Marisol’s stomach lurch. Apparently, neither Reid sibling was going to be excited about a new addition to their family.

“You should have talked to him months ago,” Maggie said. “I know you haven’t yet, because if you had, and if you’re going to tell him what I think you’re going to tell him, he would have filled me in.” She waved a hand at Marisol’s stomach. “It’s not like this is new information for you.”

Holy crap, were the halogen pot-lights overhead emitting solar flares? Sweat beaded on Marisol’s brow, and she shucked out of her cardigan, then held it in front of her bump. “He blew me off.”

“He wouldn’t do that,” Maggie insisted.

No, sorry, he had your receptionist do it for him.

Holding in the sarcastic response, Marisol spread a hand over the cotton of her maternity blouse and aimed for a neutral smile. “Maggie, I really don’t feel right confirming or denying anything with anyone except Lachlan. Is he here?”

The other woman shook her head. “He’s starting late.” She checked her watch. “He’ll be here in ten.”

Marisol gritted her teeth. “Mind if I wait?”

“You’d better.” Maggie’s lips flattened, but she motioned for Marisol to enter and have a seat in the waiting area. “You’re going to let him be involved, right?”

“If he wants to be.” Marisol winced. Ack. There went not confirming anything. Sure, it was a technicality at this point, but still. She mentally kicked herself as she eased into a seat in the space adjacent to the reception desk, filled with pet-friendly vinyl chairs and stunning wildlife photography.

“If he wants to be?” The exclamation nearly rattled the front window. “You clearly don’t know Lachlan very well.”

How could she have? She’d come in December to visit her brother, Zach, and his fiancée and child, and had spent a good chunk of the vacation in a passionate fling with Lachlan. Hours before catching the plane home, she had brought up the impossibilities of a long-distance relationship. It had been nice to have that as an excuse instead of having to explain her feelings about commitment. Lachlan had saved her further, though, throwing out his “no strings” line. He’d explained that everything in his life had to focus on expanding Maggie’s clinic with a training facility for working dogs.

She could thank her divorce for teaching her to appreciate Lachlan’s kind of clarity.

She’d understood his single-minded priorities, too. She’d delayed her academic goals when she married young. Her husband had been a grad student, and she’d reduced her course load to part-time so that she could work to pay a bigger chunk of their bills. They’d planned for her to go back full-time once he finished his degree. But he’d accumulated more bills than she’d known about.

Even though the judge presiding over their divorce had ruled that her ex was responsible for payment, he defaulted on the payments, and the creditors had come after her. Settling his debts in a desperate attempt to avoid bankruptcy had made it even harder to finish her degrees in the ideal amount of time. Working part-time, scrambling for scholarships and grants, borrowing from her parents—she’d been playing catch-up for close to a decade. She’d learned to bury her pride, to scrimp and plan.

And when she realized she was pregnant, she came up with a new plan. One that she loved, no matter what Lachlan decided to do. Living in Sutter Creek meant she was blocks away from her brother and his family. That was more hands-on support than she had in Vancouver, given their parents and sisters lived a couple of hours outside of the city. And she’d even been able to arrange to complete her PhD prospectus and dissertation research at the university in Bozeman. She’d been lucky to find a professor who was experienced in canine psychology. God, given how involved Lachlan was with avalanche dogs, he probably knew her supervisor. His interest in canine behavior had been one of the reasons Marisol had started flirting with him in the first place.

Now that she was set for support and her degree, it didn’t matter if he was too busy building a dog-training empire to get involved with their baby. She wouldn’t be left in a hospital, grieving alone...

There won’t be any grieving this time. Just joy.

Swallowing down the memories threatening to emerge, she glanced up at Maggie, who was still standing by the reception desk with a perplexed look on her face. “I know your brother as well as he let me know him.”

Maggie’s brow crinkled. “Are we talking about the same Lachlan?”

“Given your nose scrunches up identically when you’re confused? Yeah.”

“Oh.” White teeth tugged on a lipstick-free mouth. “You know a few things about him, then.”

I know a lot about him. Mainly things to do with his naked body, though. Nothing useful for figuring out coparenting.

Instead of trying to turn any of that into something shareable, she shrugged.

Maggie’s throat bobbed, and her eyes grew damp. “He’s going to be elated. He’s wanted a family forever.”

Elated? That didn’t make any sense. “But—”

Marisol’s phone chimed in her satchel. “Excuse me, that might be Lach. I texted him yesterday.” Yet another unanswered message, but at least she could say she’d tried.

She pulled out her phone. Just her brother, a text asking her to call. “Crap, I need to make a call, but my phone isn’t set up with US minutes yet—sorry to impose, but is there one I can use?”

“Behind the reception desk. Dial six to get out. Just make sure you vacate the seat by eight fifty-nine, or face my receptionist’s wrath.”

“If that’s the only wrath I face today, I’ll be golden,” she muttered as she crossed the room to the reception counter.

Maggie caught her wrist. “What do you mean?”

Heat rose up Marisol’s neck. “It was a joke. Poorly timed, maybe, but let’s be honest—you’ve been edging on laying into me since I got here, and I wouldn’t be surprised if your brother did the same, so...”

“He’s not going to—” Short, sun-streaked curls bobbed as Maggie shook her head and released Marisol’s arm. “Crumb cake. I shouldn’t get involved in this.”

Without a parting greeting, she disappeared down the short hallway and behind a door, which promptly slammed.

Marisol flinched, and the motion made the baby shift. She rubbed a hand over her stomach and sat behind the reception desk. “Shh, everything’s under control.”

Or, rather, she thought it had been. Arrive in Montana safely—check. Move into apartment—check. Complete degree requirements—underway. Love baby with entire being—check, check, check.

She loved a well-crafted list.

But he’s wanted a family forever... If Maggie meant family in the sense of wife, kids and dogs, that wasn’t an item Marisol was prepared to even think about, let alone write down.

Lachlan Reid swung open the side door to his sister’s veterinary practice and the high-pitched bell tinkled, as per usual. The walls of the rear hallway were still hurting for a fresh coat of pale blue paint. His German Shorthaired Pointer, Fudge, ill-mannered as hell when not working as an avalanche dog, pushed past him and headed for her food dish as she always did.

Nothing else was the same.

The blueprint roll in his hand, the one he finally had the savings and financing to see come to fruition, canceled out everything familiar this morning, from the well-loved laminate on the floor to the faint barks signifying breakfast was being served in the kennels.

He’d spent five months working his ass off teaching other SAR dog handlers abroad, which had provided extra seed money to make this blueprint come to life. That, plus the grant he was a shoo-in to receive, meant things were a go. Success didn’t smell sweet, it smelled like kibble and disinfectant and the dirt floor of the ancient barn out back that he’d finally renovate into a dog training facility.

He wiped his sneakers on the mat and traded his hoodie for the lab coat hanging on a hook in the staff room. Grabbing a coffee from the gurgling machine, he headed down the short hall behind the front desk, toward the head of long, chestnut-brown waves tied in a no-nonsense ponyt—wait, what?

He froze in his tracks. Coffee slopped on the floor.

Their receptionist was a guy.

Who did not have a ponytail. Especially not that ponytail.

Lachlan knew that ponytail. Intimately. And it, and the woman it was attached to, was supposed to be in Vancouver, not Sutter Creek.

Lach had spent a good deal of time under the mistletoe with his hands in Marisol Cardenas’s hair.

On her shoulders, hips... Hell, all over her curvy body.

His stomach heated and palms tingled at the possibility of getting to repeat the experience.

The reception desk ran parallel to the hallway, forming a T. And why she was sitting behind it, well, he wasn’t ready for the answer. His feet refused to move forward.

I’m seeing things. Got affected by the altitude on the glacier yesterday. But two long blinks affirmed he wasn’t suffering from delayed-onset hallucinations. Maybe his sister let Marisol in?

Who cares? He could think of far worse ways to spend a Monday morning before the literal animal hordes arrived. Or rather, he would have back in December before Marisol had preemptively cut off any possibility of a relationship by asking, “this is just a fling, right?” He’d stammered out some sort of response, saving his pride by telling her he was too busy with work to get involved with anyone.

And when he’d gotten a last-minute invitation to work out of the country after the original trainer had backed out, jumping on the offer had been about distracting himself from his memories of Marisol as much as the welcome financial opportunity.

He’d only returned a week ago, and adjusting to no longer living in a hotel room was taking longer than he’d expected.

The dog, finished with her meal, pranced past Lachlan to greet Marisol. Not with her usual wiggle-ass maneuvers, though. Fudge gave Marisol a few tentative sniffs, and let out a whine before sidling up and putting her brown-and-white head in Marisol’s lap.

“Hey, baby,” Marisol crooned, scratching the dog behind her ears.

Affection warmed his core, but he shut down the response. She’s talking to the dog, not you, idiot.

“Hey, Lach.”

Yep, no endearment for him. She didn’t even turn around, kept her focus solidly on whatever book she was holding.

“Hey, baby,” he mimicked. Not to the dog, and by the way Marisol sat straighter, she knew it.

He closed the distance and hitched a hip on the desk. “Mari—”

Holy. Jesus.

His lips went numb. He gripped the counter with both hands to stop himself from sliding to the floor.

And she gripped her textbook to her abdomen. Her very round abdomen.

Marisol’s golden-brown skin paled. Her throat bobbed once, twice. She muttered something in German that couldn’t be anything but profanity. “Lachlan...”

A thousand responses bounced around his head, but all he managed to get out was one crude word.

Burying his fingers in his hair, and unable to control his gaping mouth, he stared at her stomach. He was versed in domestic animal gestation, not human, but that bump had to be around the six-month mark. He didn’t need to count backward to know what that meant.

Her lip started to wobble and indecision swam in her green eyes. “Say something.”

Get it together. He coughed, then croaked, “Is it—I mean, did we—But we used—” He ended the nonsensical half sentences with a blitz of expletives.

A nervous smile kissed the edge of her full lips. “Not quite sure if I caught what you meant, but I think it was along the lines of ‘yes, it’s yours.’ We made a baby. And we did use condoms. But that one time, we started without...”

“Without,” he echoed, dropping his hands to his sides. “Weren’t you on the pill?”

“Yep. And I’ll save you from asking—I used it correctly. The chances of pregnancy were miniscule. And yet...”

He coughed again. The desk creaked as he let it take more of his weight. “And you didn’t say anything? It’s June, Marisol.”

He dealt with distress all the time. Pet owners and ranchers, pale and shaking when their animals were in need of care. Idiot hikers, defensive and cranky when they had to admit they should have taken a compass instead of relying on their now-dead cell phone’s GPS. But nothing he’d run across in either job quite matched the mix of ire and dread flashing in Marisol’s green eyes.

“You have got to be kidding me.” Her clenched teeth muffled her words.

“Am I kidding you? Try the other way around.”

“I’m clearly not.” Mouth tight, she waved a hand at her stomach.

Son of a... He’d run his hand over her abdomen dozens of times before. Back when it had been flat. And now it wasn’t. His baby was in there. “Last time I checked, ‘mind reader’ wasn’t anywhere on my résumé.”

“So learn how to return a goddamn message!”

His tongue lay useless, thick in his mouth.

What was she talking about? None of this made sense. He massaged his still-numb lips with his fingers, stopping himself from reaching out and touching the bump, so damned foreign. Something niggled in his gut. The need to learn her new form until it was familiar again.

And whatever she’d just shrieked at him, too, about returning his—

Oh. Oh, Christ.

“What message?” he asked quietly.

Twisting her hands, she fidgeted with her clothes, straightening the summery blouse and skirt. “The ones I left you in January.”

January, when he’d been in the mountains outside of Santiago. “I was having a hard time getting service, so there were a few times I went a few weeks without checking. They must have gotten automatically deleted.”

“Deleted.” She mouthed it more than spoke it.

“Why didn’t you call back? Once I left Chile, reception was way better.”

Thank God she was sitting down—she started shaking hard enough he’d have worried she’d lose her balance.

Concern jolted through him. He could deal with being pissed off later. Right now, her rapid breathing ranked as way more important.

He knelt on the floor in front of her and turned her chin to catch her gaze straight on, and pressed a fingertip to the notch in her wrist. Her pulse fluttered, way too fast.

Then again, his was about the same.

“Deep breaths,” he said.

“Chile... As in the Andes?” she murmured. The regret braided into her dawning understanding sucker punched him. “And Australia? And Korea?”

“And New Zealand,” he said. “But if you knew...”

“I didn’t. I thought he was lying.”

“Zach?” Who else but Marisol’s brother would have told her where Lachlan had been?

“No, whoever answers the phone here.”

Evan. Evan, who had no qualms about enforcing a “no personal calls on my phone line” policy, and did so with his patented level of sarcasm.

He reached out to pull her into him, one hand on the base of her skull, the other at the small of her back.

Holding her again was a goddamn gift. Holding her while she was pregnant with their child... Indescribable.

The child she didn’t manage to tell you about for half a year. His brief haze of amazement evaporated.

“What about online?” The question came out a snap.

She startled and stepped away, falling back into the desk chair before he could get a hand out to steady her. “What about it?”

“I’m on Facebook. And checked my email regularly.”

“Facebook? I’m supposed to send you a message about this on social media?” she said, pointing to her belly. “No way. You were avoiding my voicemails, so what was the point? I figured I’d have to do it face-to-face the first chance I could get.”

“I wasn’t avoiding you,” he emphasized.

Though the set of her jaw suggested she was having a hard time adjusting to the knowledge. “I thought you had instructed your receptionist to lie to me. I wasn’t up for being ignored electronically, too. I was puking my...”

She slammed her lips shut.

The dog plastered herself to Marisol’s side. She flattened her liver-brown ears and glared at Lachlan. Fudge clearly didn’t need the adjustment time that Lachlan did. She seemed to have appointed herself Marisol’s protector.

And Lachlan understood that. The need to ensure Marisol’s safety seeped into his bones, into every corner of his soul. It didn’t erase his questions, though. Even if he did extend her the benefit of the doubt, understanding why he was finding out she was pregnant when she was six months along was only a glimpse of the trail they were now going to have to hike together.

“How long are you here for?” he asked.

“Here...in the office?”

“Uh, no, in town.”

“Right. Baby brain,” she whispered, closing her eyes.

“Do you expect to raise our child in Vancouver? Away from me?” he prodded. “I can’t just up and move my business before the shovels even break ground.”

“Lachlan,” Marisol cut him off softly. ”I know we have lots to talk about—”

“You think?”

A warbly throat cleared from behind him, on the other side of the half wall that separated the reception desk from the waiting room. “Lachlan Reid, that boarding school your parents sent you to may have been lax on manners, but your grandmother did not allow you to speak to ladies like that.”

Damn it. The last thing he wanted was for half the town to be up in their business before he’d had the chance to discover exactly what that business was. Lachlan cocked a brow and turned to regard Gertie Rafferty, the silver-headed dynamo who’d been keeping the Sutter Creek gossip chain going for most of her eighty-plus years. Mrs. Rafferty’s Russian blue peered up at Lachlan from her perch in the woman’s arms.

He didn’t bother to remind Mrs. Rafferty that his workplace wasn’t the most appropriate of places for a dressing-down. He’d dated her granddaughter one teenage summer, and had stolen too many cookies off the trays in the back of the older woman’s bakery to ever be considered fully grown.

“Boarding school was fifteen years ago, Mrs. Rafferty,” he said.

“So you’ve had plenty of time living here to lose those entitled habits.” She turned her attention to Marisol. “Hello, dear. You look as pretty today as you did when you last visited. That baby’s all out front. Must be murder on your back. And thank goodness Lachlan is finally home so you can bring him to task.”

Marisol blushed. “Oh, well, we’re not together...”

He cringed. Was Marisol even going to want to publicly acknowledge him as the father? He sure as hell was going to insist on it, but until they’d had the conversation, it wasn’t any of Gertie’s business. “Mrs. Rafferty, it’s not what you think—”

“A handsome devil like you, dear? It’s exactly what I think. I had four children. I know how reproduction works.”

“You’re making assumptions—”

She cut him off with a piercing look, punctuated with a mew from her cat. “And you’re making your grandmother roll over in her grave, letting your sweetheart walk around without a ring on her finger.”

His brain scrambled to get caught up. Sweetheart? Ring? Both words he could get used to when Marisol was on the receiving end, but the flat look on her face indicated she did not agree.

“We need a little time,” he said.

“Doesn’t look like you have much left,” Gertie said with a pointed glance at Marisol’s belly.

He coughed. “Well, we—”

“He didn’t know about the baby,” Marisol said between gritted teeth. “He didn’t know I was coming.” She looked at Lach with all the honesty in the world in her eyes. “Talking to you was my number one priority, though.”

“Instead, everyone’s been talking about her all morning,” Gertie added. Marisol groaned, and the older woman’s pale cheeks flushed. “Just curiosity, dear.” She eyed Marisol from behind thick-lensed glasses. “The buzz in the bakery is that you’ve signed the lease on Mackenzie Dawson’s old place. And Lachlan’s name has come up a few times, too, given how he was squiring you around before Christmas.”

Marisol sighed and splayed her fingers on her stomach in what looked like an unconscious gesture. Her cheeks reddened. “We’ve had all of ten minutes. Surely Sutter Creek can extend us a few hours, days maybe, before people start calling caterers and booking churches? Because I don’t want to—”

He put a hand on her shoulder, and she stopped talking. Good. Because for some reason, he didn’t want to hear that she didn’t want to marry him. Especially not with an audience. Not that he was going to suggest that. Marriage wasn’t something to jump into, even with a baby involved. But having her confirm she’d already written off the idea... It was as if a handful of the mealworms they kept in the supply room were inching up his spine.

The room had filled up some during Mrs. Rafferty’s questioning. Two more people with their animals sat in the waiting area, and shoes squeaked on the floor down the hall. Maggie called Mrs. Rafferty into a treatment room, but the older woman’s pointed observation of him made it clear he should expect more of the same during Kittay’s appointment.

Evan, their twentysomething receptionist, came behind the desk and shooed them out of his space with a flick of his wrist. “You’re a minute late already, Lach. You have a presurgical exam on Petunia in room three, and after Dr. Mags does her thing with Mrs. Rafferty’s cat, you’re up with her vaccinations.”

“Evan,” Lach said gruffly.

The willowy man paused. “Yes?”

“Marisol tried to call the clinic while I was away.”

“Lots of women called, as per usual. I told them exactly where you—” Evan stopped talking as his gaze landed on Marisol’s stomach.

Lachlan had seen Evan dangling by one hand from the underside of a cliff overhang. The guy was fearless.

Except in the face of an irritated pregnant woman, apparently.

His face turned whiter than his platinum blond hair, and he scrunched his nose apologetically. “Oh. Well. You should have told me why you were calling, honey.”

“What, announce I’m knocked up to someone I don’t know?” she said. “I wasn’t going to tell anyone before I told Lachlan.”

The explanation stilled some of Lachlan’s shaky parts. He wanted to be mad. Wanted to wallow in having been kept in the dark. But the reasons for her silence made that hard.

“Besides,” she continued, “you were cranky, sure, but you were being honest. I was the one who didn’t believe you, because Lachlan hadn’t...” She didn’t finish the thought. Nice of her to hold back from blaming him in front of an audience.

Even if it was starting to look like he deserved some of it.

But no—how would he have known?

“There was no way for me to call back given I didn’t get the message,” he said testily. The last thing he wanted was for it to get around town that he’d actually sloughed off the mother of his child.

“Right,” she mumbled.

“Uh, truly sorry if I complicated things.” Evan petted Fudge, who was mooching for treats. “Try again, dog. The only being in these parts who’s allowed to have a round belly is Marisol. Or should I say, your mommy?”

“I’m not Fudge’s mommy. Lachlan and I aren’t...” Marisol closed her eyes. Her previous blush was turning into a green tinge.

Lachlan took her hand and pulled her down the hall. “I’ll correct everyone.”

“I think the cat’s out of the bag. Or rather, the cat’s in the treatment room with a cell phone–wielding senior citizen.”

“You don’t look well,” he said. “Do you need to sit down? Water? Crackers?”

“I’m fine. Just overwhelmed.”

He snorted. “I know that feeling. I have more questions than I can count, but they’ll have to wait.”

“I should have waited until this evening to come tell you,” Marisol murmured, leaning into him a little.

You should have persisted and told me months ago.

The mental picture of Marisol suffering from morning sickness and hurting because she’d assumed he was avoiding her kept him from spitting out the retort.

She glanced at her flip-flop-clad feet. “I have a plan.”

“You don’t think I should have a say in that plan?”

“No. I mean, yes, but... I honestly didn’t think you’d want to.” Her posture slumped. “We don’t need to make any decisions today. We have until September. The sixth, to be specific.”

So two and a half months, give or take. He blew out a breath. “I want to make decisions, Marisol. I’d prefer to do it without everyone and their dog—or cat—interfering, but—”

A throat cleared, and he spun toward the noise. His sister stood in the doorway to the operating room, knuckles white around a tray. “You found out, then.”

“I thought you were waiting to tell me first,” he said to Marisol.

Marisol let out a sound of throaty regret. “I was. But Maggie let me in this morning. She guessed.”

Maggie eyed Lachlan. “Are you going to be okay?”

“Yeah—No—I mean—” He swore again, and his profanity-averse sister cringed.

Marisol’s mouth tugged down at the corners. But he knew her displeasure had nothing to do with his language.

His heart sank. “We’ll figure this out, I promise.”

“I have it figured out.”

He blinked, irritation heating his neck. If she already had everything solved, her definition of talking did not line up with his.

“Lach, Petunia is not going to dictate her medical history herself,” Evan called from down the hall. “And, Dr. Mags, you have the Franklins’ Weimaraner waiting for you after you’re done with Kittay. Do not throw my schedule off today, folks.”

“On it, Ev,” Maggie called, whirling into the exam room to a waiting Mrs. Rafferty.

“I don’t know who looks more miserable, you or my sister,” Lach said.

“Go,” Marisol said firmly, ignoring his observation and pushing on his shoulder with a finger.

“You won’t leave town before the end of my shift?”

Her expression turned thunderous. “I’m not leaving ever. I’ve moved here, in part so that you can be close to the baby. So I’d appreciate less assholish snark!”

Frozen in place by the magnitude of her announcement, it was long after the side door slammed behind her that he realized she’d mentioned him being close to the baby, but not to her.

Chapter Two

“Don’t even think about lifting that box.”

Marisol froze at her brother’s command, then ignored it, toting the offending collection of pots and pans into the galley kitchen. “It’s light. Calm down, Zach.”

Her brother scowled at her through the pass-through of the wall connecting the kitchen and dining area, and resumed assembling the desk she’d had delivered this morning. No way was she kneeling on the floor for an hour with a screwdriver—her back would be furious from the strain. So she owed her brother.

But she bristled at the suggestion she didn’t know her limits.

Not that Zach didn’t have plenty of reasons to doubt her judgment. She only needed to look as far as her credit history for a reminder that she’d made her fair share of terrible decisions in her life. But she would not trust so easily this time. She’d get a coparenting arrangement set with Lachlan and would be well settled in her new apartment by the time the baby arrived. She’d have her PhD prospectus presented and approved by then, too.

Panic teased the base of her skull, and she gripped the counter as a grounding exercise.

One step at a time. Kitchen first.

The lack of space—she only had the dining-living area and two bedrooms to fill—made for easy unpacking. With a little elbow grease, she’d have all her boxes emptied by the time Lachlan came over after his shift ended. Not that she was in a hurry to resume that awkward conversation.

Only to be outdone by the one I have to have with Zach.

Ugh. Would he understand her reasons for telling him someone other than Lachlan was the father of her baby? Zach was more forgiving than most, and before finding love with his fiancée, he’d kept secrets himself...

Yeah. Secrets. Not dishonesty.

Probably best to wait until after he’d finished building her desk, though. She wouldn’t want to knock him out of his construction groove by announcing she’d been lying to him about her child’s paternity since she found out she was pregnant in January.

Shoving down the guilt, she bent over awkwardly to load frying pans into the drawer under the oven. Her new apartment had come mostly furnished—with some of her brother’s furniture, given he’d lived in the same unit for a few months with his soon-to-be wife. Knowing Marisol would be taking over the lease, they’d left behind some essentials that didn’t fit in their new house. They’d moved in the spring so that Ben would have a yard to grow up in. Zach was going through the process of adopting Ben, Cadie’s son from her first marriage. Cadie had been widowed, and her son wasn’t yet two, so Zach would be the only dad the boy remembered.

Watching Zach love someone else’s baby as his own had been one of the reasons Marisol had believed Lachlan might come around to parenthood.

So why are you upset that it’s something he’s apparently wanted all along?

Good question. Maggie’s assertion that Lachlan had wanted a family his whole life had been jostling around Marisol’s brain since this morning. She wanted him to have a connection with their child.

But I don’t want him to want one with me.

She shoved a stack of bowls into one of the cabinets with too much emphasis, and the porcelain clattered.

Right. For all the effort she intended to put into helping him establish a bond with their baby, she’d put the same into making sure he didn’t form one with her.

He doesn’t want strings. It’ll be okay.

“Everything under control in there?” her brother mumbled around the couple of screws he had sticking out of one corner of his mouth.

“Mmm-hmm. I have all of three cupboards’ worth of crap. Once I’m done in here, all that’s left is loading my books onto the shelf you’ve yet to build,” she said.

He looked at the ceiling in exasperation. “No better way to spend my day off.”

She cringed. She’d been in town all of twenty-four hours and was already a burden. “Never mind, I can do it.”

Shaking his head, he spat the screws into his palm.

“Marisol.” Their parents had prioritized speaking their first languages around the house—Spanish for their dad and German for their mom—and Zach was hands-down the best linguist of their generation. He always pronounced her name with perfect Spanish inflection, unlike their sisters, who anglicized the hell out of it. “I want to help you make this place a home. Some of my best memories are from this apartment, and hopefully it’ll be the same for you.”

“I do want that.” She’d do her best with what she had. Renting a house was out of the realm of student-budget possibility. And the apartment wasn’t huge—an open-plan dining-and-living area and two bedrooms—but there was a park nearby.

Plus, she could take the kid to her brother’s yard for playtime.

Zach growled at the sheet of directions, then leaned back against the dining room wall. He stared through the rectangular space in the wall, suspicion written in his green eyes. God, he looked like their dad sometimes. Acted like him, too, which usually brought on the waves of younger sibling inadequacy...

Marisol’s stomach turned, and she focused on unpacking her plates instead of making eye contact.

“Cadie said she saw your car at the vet clinic this morning,” Zach said.

Spectacular. Talk about a fishbowl. Maybe she wasn’t up for small-town life. As fast as she’d unpacked, she could repack—

No. This move was a good one for her PhD candidacy, and a necessary one for her baby. She couldn’t chicken out now.

Not with staying in Sutter Creek, or with apologizing to Zach for having lied.

“Mari?” he prodded. “Thought you and Lachlan were a onetime thing. Especially given...”

“We were.” The baby chose that moment to shift, as if in communion with Zach. She laid a hand on the tiny foot kicking her navel and cocked an eyebrow at her brother. “You have some major uncle vibes, you know that?”

“The kid and I are going to be best friends.” His smile faded. “I promise, okay? I want him or her to know nothing but love from our family. Father or no father.”

Oh, frick. There was the guilt again, snaking its way up her spine. Family can have many definitions. She’d tried the traditional route once before, and look how that turned out—she’d had to sign divorce papers before receiving her bachelor’s degree. She’d just managed to pay off her parents last year. They’d bailed her out when her ex’s creditors had come after her. And even though she thanked the universe every day that he was no longer in her life, she’d never forget the pain of him walking out on her post-miscarriage. She wasn’t up for another epic fail. Finishing her PhD and raising her baby were going to take her all.

“I appreciate the help. I moved here for that.”

Would need the help, in fact, depending on how much Lachlan wanted to contribute. He’d seemed surprised when she’d told him she had a plan.

Be fair—you dropped a lot on him.

“So if you aren’t wanting something permanent with Lachlan, why would you go...” Zach’s mouth fell open.

Marisol’s throat closed over.

“Oh. No goddamn way, Mari.”

She crossed her arms between her breasts and her bump, the anatomy of being pregnant still so unfamiliar at times, especially now when the only thing that mattered was the betrayal darkening her brother’s face.

“Zach. I—”

“Choose your words carefully,” he warned, rising stiff-shouldered from the floor.

“I can explain—”

A knock sounded at the door, and she jumped so high she almost knocked the bar of halogen lights from the ceiling.

“That’s Lachlan, isn’t it?” Zach said through gritted teeth.

“Probably.”

He swore. “He’s the father?”

“Yeah,” she whispered.

“You told me it was another grad student.”

“I did.” Holy Mother, it was hard to talk around the lump in her throat.

“You lied.”

“I did.”

“You didn’t have to lie.”

“I—”

“Do not say ‘I did.’”

“—did.”

Zach dragged both palms down his face. “Why?”

“I couldn’t get a hold of him. I tried, and I thought... Well, that’s not important, crossed wires and all that.”

“The guy’s one of my SAR buddies, Mari. We messaged every week or so while he was away.”

Damn it. Maybe Lachlan had been right about trying Facebook. Maybe she’d let her fear guide her decisions too much.

And lay my heart out for a guy to stomp on again? No, thank you.

The framed psychology degrees still in a box on the floor taunted her with the point that she might have some teensy-weensy commitment issues.

Damn right, I do. And she wasn’t going to apologize for them. Nor was she stupid enough to set herself up for another failed relationship. Not with a baby involved.

“I couldn’t ask you to contact him for me, because then you’d have guessed, and he needed to be the first to find out,” she said.

Zach’s chin dropped a fraction and he closed his eyes in resignation.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

Another series of raps sounded.

“Answer it,” Zach mumbled.

“Okay.” She made her way to the door, wincing as one of her hip ligaments pulled. Hurray for carrying around a soccer ball on her front. At least all the super attractive—eye roll—pregnancy stuff would keep Lachlan’s hands off her.

Her brother followed. His hand landed on her shoulder, a wordless gesture of always having her back, no matter how much she screwed up. When she hesitated, hand hovering near the knob, he yanked it open for her.

Lachlan stood in the hall. He took his hands out of his pockets and straightened. He pinned her with a questioning gaze, then lifted his chin at her brother. “Zach. Hey.” Nerves flitted across his face as he attempted a smile. “Seems we’re going to be family.”

Zach let out a noise so close to a growl that Marisol planted an elbow in his gut.

“Ow.” His grip on her shoulder tightened. “Real talk, Reid. I get you not knowing was a misunderstanding. And that this is new to you. But now you’re aware. And if you screw up here—” he shuffled around Marisol and jabbed Lachlan in the chest with a finger “—it won’t matter that Fudge is a skilled-as-hell cadaver dog. No one will ever find your body.”

Skirting past Lachlan, her brother started down the hallway.

“Hey!” Marisol yelled. Her brother’s protective streak was legendary, but she could tell the threats were bravado. “You didn’t finish my desk!”

“You have bigger fish to fry than a desk, little sister,” he called back before disappearing into the exit staircase.

She did. Six-feet one-inch of muscular male “fish,” To be specific. And the life they’d created together.

“You’re off early.”

Lachlan nodded. He gripped the sides of the doorjamb with both hands, standing on a bit of an angle and making his T-shirt stretch across his tall, lean frame. Any attempt he’d made to finger-comb his hair had only made the thick, caramel-colored strands messier. His eyes hooked into her core, threatening never to let her out of their deep brown spell. But the crooked smile that usually lit up those eyes was nowhere to be found. Had she ever seen his mouth set so grimly?

“I can build your desk,” he said.

“So can I. That’s not the point. Zach just found out about...you...and he—”

“Pretty familiar with that feeling.”

“I... I’m sorry.” A knee-jerk apology. But hell, she was Canadian. Came with the territory. And something about those flat lips demanded it.

One side of his mouth curved up. “For what?”

“This hasn’t gone well.”

Relief crossed his face. “Ah. Not sure there was a good way to go about it, Marisol. But I’m just glad you’re not apologizing for the baby.”

“Of course not.”

His fingers whitened on the wood frame. “You didn’t consider termination?”

“I did. Decided it wasn’t right for me.” After losing one baby, choosing not to have this one hadn’t been an option.

“Okay. Then it’s not right for me, either.” He tentatively reached toward her stomach, catching her gaze in wordless supplication.

It’s about touching the baby. Not me.

She nodded.

Lips parted, his breath caught audibly as he rested his big hand on her belly. The air hitched in her own lungs. He shifted forward a little, until they were only a foot apart. Placing his free hand on the other side, he framed her bump.

The warmth from his palms seeped through the thin cotton of her blouse. God, her skin was too sensitive there. The heat of the caress spread downward, pooling between her legs. She bit her lip. Hopefully he wouldn’t want to touch her often. They’d gotten into this because they couldn’t keep their hands off each other.

It was tempting to pull away, but the awe on his face... He was clearly having a moment. She wasn’t going to take that from him.

“How often does it—uh, he? She?—move?” His hands shifted, little circles of torture that necessitated she swallow to get any words out.

“A lot in the middle of the night. Or when I’m sitting. And I don’t know what the sex is.”

“You want to be surprised?”

She shook her head. “I’m dying to know.” Had gone so far as to have the ultrasound tech mark it on the file. But she’d never asked her doctor for the information. “It didn’t feel right to find that out without you.”

He straightened, hands falling to his sides. Dark doubt clouded his expression. “If you thought I was avoiding you, why would you want me to be involved?”

A hundred reasons clogged her thoughts. She waved him inside to the living area, currently populated by Zach’s worn, corduroy couch and the Ikea coffee table she’d jammed Jenga-style into her hatchback. “Getting involved with the baby is different from getting involved with me.”

“Getting involved with the baby will mean getting involved with you.”

“Not how we were.”

A breath hissed between clenched teeth. He flopped on the couch, challenging her with his gaze. “It pisses me off that you’ve been alone in this, Marisol.”

She sat on the edge of the sofa, leaving a chunk of distance between them. Safety in inches. Or feet. “All you missed was puking and naps.”

“And ultrasounds. And first movements,” he said softly.

“I didn’t think you’d care about that, to be honest.”

His head tipped back, exposing a strong column of tanned skin over strong neck muscles. “I shouldn’t have fed you that line.”

“What line?”

“Whatever I told you about being too busy for a relationship. It was self-preserving nonsense, and I almost lost out on knowing my kid because of it.”

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 take 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.

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