Expecting A Bolton Baby. Sarah M. Anderson

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      Her gaze cut a swath through the room before it landed on the couch at the other end of the trailer. He saw it now through her eyes. It was lumpy from where he’d slept on it and someone had spilled coffee on it at some point.

      “Thanks, no,” she said in a crisp tone, her hands smoothing down her skirt.

      Scrubbing a hand through his hair, Bobby glanced down at her feet. Black suede boots with more buckles, the heels had to be four inches if they were one. He had no idea how far she’d traveled today, but he couldn’t imagine that standing in those shoes were comfortable.

      “Here. Let me get this for you.” His desk chair, at least, was relatively new leather.

      He wheeled it over to her. With a nod of appreciation, she settled in—and crossed her legs. The slits of the dress did not contain her right leg. The boot went almost up to her knee, but there was something about the flash of skin, from knee to upper thigh, that was unbelievably erotic.

      For lack of anything better to do, Bobby took up residence on the lumpy couch.

      He needed to say something.

      But as he sat across a cluttered construction trailer from the most enchanting woman he’d ever met, he had nothing. He didn’t know why she was here or what she wanted, which meant that he didn’t know what she needed to hear. All he knew was that his Glock was outside with an Irishman who probably wouldn’t hesitate to shoot Bobby with his own gun.

      That, and he’d never been so glad to see a woman in his life. Which didn’t make sense, because she sure as hell didn’t seem all that glad to see him.

      Finally, he couldn’t take the silence anymore. “Your dress is stunning.”

      Her smile was stiff. “Thank you. I made it, of course.”

      “Where did you find skull lace?”

      When her eyes narrowed, he realized he’d said the wrong thing.

      “I made it,” she repeated, her accent clipping the words.

      “You made the lace?”

      “It’s called tatting, if you must know. It’s my own design, my own creation.”

      He stared at the fabric. From this distance, maybe ten feet, he couldn’t see the skulls. It fit her like a second skin. “Amazing.” He meant the lace, but he realized he was looking her in the eyes when he said it.

      A pale blush graced her cheeks. “Thank you,” she said again, her voice softer. Then she dropped her gaze.

      That, at least, had been the right thing to say. But he knew she hadn’t come all this way to fish for compliments. So he tried again.

      “Mickey seems like an...interesting fellow. Have you known him long?”

      “Since—a very long time.”

      Okay, so they weren’t going to talk about Mickey. Which left him out of ideas. If she wasn’t going to give him anything to go on, what could he do?

      Luckily, Stella saved him from himself. “This is lovely,” she said, looking around the trailer again. She managed to sound ironic and humorous and cutting.

      “Isn’t it?” he said, relieved to have a conversational opening. “Nothing but the best. I have a condo downtown,” he felt compelled to add. “But that’s just until the resort is finished. I’m going to live on-site when it’s done.”

      Man, this was not going well. That came out as if he was trying too hard. Which he was. Confusion did that to a man.

      Where was the smooth? Where was the ability to talk to anybody, anytime, anywhere? Where was the man who hadn’t been able to keep his hands off this very woman?

      He didn’t like feeling this off balance. It was unfamiliar and unsettling.

      “You haven’t been to your flat in a week.”

      Bobby gaped at her. What did she want? Obviously, she hadn’t come all this way just to stalk him into making awkward small talk.

      “I’ve been working on the resort. Would you like to see the blueprints?” He sounded lame, even to his own ears, but he was desperate to establish some sort of connection with her.

      She didn’t answer. Instead, she stared him down.

      God, he wished he could make sense of that look—angry and frustrated, as if she was barely clinging to her better manners. But underneath all of that, he sensed something else churning in her delicate eyes.

      She was worried.

      Finally, she moved. She wiped a black fingernail down the side of her lip, as if she’d eaten something she found distasteful. Then she took a deep breath, squared her shoulders and launched a verbal grenade into the middle of the room.

      “I’m pregnant.”

      Two

      Her words blew Bobby to shreds. Had she just said—pregnant?

      She was staring at him, her face nearly blank as she waited for a response. What the hell was he supposed to say? His mouth opened, ready to ask who the father was, but the part of him that was good at talking knew that was the exact wrong thing to say.

      Underneath her careful blankness, he could see she wasn’t just worried—she was scared. Scared of what he was going to say, what he was going to do. But she seemed determined not to let him see that.

      Well, that made two of them.

      Then he realized. Whatever the truth was—and he was sure as hell going to get to that—she believed he was the father. That was, hands down, the most terrifying thought he’d ever had.

      No one had ever said, “Bobby, you’ll make a great dad someday.” Instead, they usually told him to grow up. His brothers said those exact words all the time.

      Kids were...messy. Loud. Unreasonable. Prone to screaming for no good reason. Demanding.

      Bobby liked things his way. He liked staying out late, sleeping in later. He liked not having to rush home. He liked not having to step over toys or change diapers. Maybe all that stuff suited his brothers, but not him.

      He wasn’t father material. He was a businessman and a damn good one. He was focused on making his resort the biggest draw in all of South Dakota. Hell, in either Dakota. And if things went as planned, there could be a chain of Crazy Horse Resorts across the West. A family wasn’t in his plans.

      Until now. Maybe.

      He chose his words carefully. “I thought...we used protection. Both times.”

      At first, Stella didn’t appear to move, but then he noticed that her chest rose and fell with bigger and bigger gulps of air. Finally she said, “We did.”

      Then how did she know he was the father? That was the question Bobby was dying to ask, but СКАЧАТЬ