A Baby in His Stocking. Laura Marie Altom

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СКАЧАТЬ “Yes, it’s what I want to do, but I’d be lying if I told you I didn’t have doubts as to what’s right for the company. Regardless, I’ve got to get out of here.” Here, meaning Oklahoma. Unbeknownst to Dallas, Cash, Daisy or Georgina, Wyatt sat in Brett’s high-rise Tulsa office, signing over the day-to-day running of the Buckhorn oil holdings to his more than capable second in command. Wyatt’s degree was in geology, and he couldn’t think of a more fitting way to get his head back in the proverbial game than to at least temporarily escape. Sooner the better.

       He’d spend the next month or so tying up loose ends and then join forces with a major player in the oil exploration field in Ethiopia’s Rift Valley basin. As part of their team, he’d break down geographical leads, checking everything from source rocks to possible hydrocarbon traps. The work would entail long, thankless hours in miserable conditions. Wyatt couldn’t wait. The task could take years. As far as he was concerned, it could take forever.

       Now, his only problem was telling his mother he wouldn’t be home for Christmas.

      “WEMEETAGAIN.” WYATT didn’t remember Natalie having such amazing curves in all the right places. But then, up until their epic kiss, he hadn’t much thought of her at all. They had always been casual friends. Nothing more.

       “What brings you to Weed Gulch Elementary on such a gorgeous Saturday morning?” she asked.

       “Truth?” he asked with a contagious grin, setting a box loaded with donated goods on one of the tables designated for the day’s rummage sale. “Mom’s more than a little miffed with me, so I’m worming my way back into her good graces by doing her grunt work.” In the week since meeting with Brett, he’d let his family in on his decision to leave. Not only were they all less than thrilled, his mother in particular was flipping out. Apparently, she had no desire for one of her babies to spend a few years in Ethiopia. Go figure.

       Eyeing the still-full load in the back of his pickup, Natalie noted, “You must’ve been really bad to warrant hauling all of that. Doesn’t she have employees for that sort of thing?”

       “Sure, but at the moment, she thinks more of them than me.”

       “Ouch.”

       “Tell me about it. I even got wrangled into helping at the Halloween blowout she and Josie are having.”

       “Me, too,” she said with a wince. “I’m already tired.”

       He laughed, surprised by how easy it was to shoot the breeze with his old friend.

       “Well—” she aimed a thumb toward the kitchen “—I should probably let you unload. I’ve been assigned to brew coffee.”

       Hands in his pockets, he nodded. “Sounds good. Nice talking to you.”

       “Likewise,” she said with a backward wave.

       Fifteen minutes later, the time it took Wyatt to haul all his stuff to its assigned places, Natalie had returned, bearing a coffee urn so tall she could barely see around it.

       “Let me give you a hand.” Wyatt took it from her, carrying it to the area designated for a bake sale.

       “Thanks.” She trailed after him. “That thing turned out to be a lot heavier than it looked.”

       “What are you all raising money for?” he asked, for some unknown reason not wanting to say goodbye.

       “Art and P.E. supplies. Our funding is perilously low. We barely have money for necessities like textbooks and paper, let alone the parts of school kids especially enjoy.”

       “Sounds like a great cause,” he said. “Having always been a patron of the arts, I’ll cut you a check.”

       She cocked her head, “Wyatt Buckhorn, last I remember of you in art class was when you and Owen glued everyone’s colored pencils to their desks.”

       “That was my experimental art phase. It turned out bad. Now, I’m more into the classics.”

       Their shared laugh was nice. Comforting in an odd sort of way. Around Natalie, he’d always been able to be himself. With none of the usual guy/girl chemistry, there’d also never been drama. Granted, their kiss had hardly been tame, but it had been an isolated, one-time thing.

       “Right,” she teased. “Like the classic time you and Owen painted Claremore High’s concrete zebra with purple and pink stripes?”

       “Exactly. See?” he said with a playful nudge. “This generation could learn a lot from an artistic genius like me.”

       She rolled her eyes. “At the moment, they could learn more from your muscles. Want to help lug the cooler and milk?”

       “If you’ll admit what a great stunt that zebra bit was.”

       The grin she shot his way turned his insides to mush. Had she always been so pretty? “Since there aren’t any impressionable young minds around, I’ll admit our rival’s zebra never looked better, but if you tell anyone I said that, I’ll deny it.”

       “Whatever.” He answered her grin with one of his own. “Show me what you want me to carry.”

       Following her into the school, Wyatt couldn’t help but wonder if her backside had always been so juicy.

       In the massive school kitchen, they filled a cooler with ice and kid-size cartons of milk. Wyatt carried it outside, Natalie beside him with napkins and a huge bowl of apples.

       Midway down the school’s front hall, Natalie tripped. As she went down, so did the apples, rolling in bursts of red, followed by an elegant snow of napkins.

       “You okay?” Instantly by Natalie’s side, Wyatt set down his load to help her.

       “I think so,” she managed through a messy sniffle. Crying? Over a few apples? “B-but I made a huge mess and the PTA president is waiting for all of this and—and—”

       “Hey…” Cautious in his approach, he eased behind her, awkwardly patting her back. “In case you missed the memo, you shouldn’t cry over spilled milk or apples.”

       “I—I know,” she said, laughing through more tears while taking a tissue from her pocket to blow her nose. “But lately, everything seems to be going wrong and all I wanted to do this morning was sleep in, but I love helping out with events like this, but I’m so tired and emotional and all because I’m…” Rather than finishing her sentence, she waved her hands around as if announcing her next batch of tears.

       “You’re what?” he pressed, more than a little concerned by her uncharacteristic emotional meltdown. “Sick? You don’t have cancer, or anything, do you?”

       “N-no.” Her answer launched a fresh round of wails. “I—I’m pregnant.”

       As if she’d delivered a physical blow, Wyatt recoiled. “Pregnant?”

       She nodded.

       “Wow. Ah, I guess congratulations are in order.”

       “Thanks.” Though she’d stopped crying, her voice sounded defeated. “Could СКАЧАТЬ