Young Buck: A Slow Burn Small Town Romance (Green Valley Heroes Book 5)

Chapter 32

Iawoke that night to darkness and the feeling that I was in my own bed, though something in me was cold. My covers had been pulled higher up my neck than I ever pulled them, the first evidence that Buck was gone.

I pawed at the space next to me, turned in the direction he should have been. I caught his scent, but he wasn’t there. Double shifts were why I hadn’t seen him these past few days. He should have been exhausted. So what was he doing out of bed?

With a deliberate roll over his pillow, I took a deep inhale, then sat up, swiveled my body and swung my feet to the floor. My heart skipped a beat to think we were both up now, hours before I needed to be at work. I could think of at least one or two good things to do.

“Can’t sleep?”

I found Buck in front of the stove in the kitchen. It still smelled like bacon from the BLTs Buck had whipped up for dinner before we’d enjoyed a cocktail on the back porch. We’d talked about the calls we’d been on that day, me in his arms as we’d cuddled on the rattan sofa listening to the crickets chirruping. I hadn’t realized I’d fallen asleep until I’d felt myself being set down in bed.

He glanced over his shoulder, then turned down the gas and moved my tiniest saucepan to a cold burner.

“Warm milk,” he said. “I couldn’t find your honey.”

I pushed up from where I’d leaned my shoulder against the doorjamb.

“I just crushed up some fresh comb.”

He gave a small smile as I crossed the kitchen. “Of course you did.”

In the dim light, it took me a minute to notice. Buck looked tired and sad. Instead of mentioning any of that, I walked into the pantry. Completely drained now, there was no danger of honey drippage from the small colander and cheesecloth I’d set over my container. Back in the kitchen, I handed Buck the jar.

“Shift insomnia?” I asked lightly. Even when you were dog-tired, working strange hours made for difficult sleep.

“Too much on my mind.”

“Anything you wanna talk about?”

“Nothing you don’t already know.”

It had been four days since we’d come back from Nashville, four days since the big mystery had been solved, four days since Buck had uttered a word about it to me. I’d let it go, hoping he’d come to me in time. I knew all about jumbled emotions in the wake of a betrayal.

I watched as he went through the motions, spooning in a measure of honey, pouring more milk into the pan, and taking out a second mug.

“I can’t stop thinking about Adam.”His voice was deep and low.

I took a deep inhale, breathing through the weight of his confession.

“Have you talked to him?”

Buck looked troubled. “I don’t know what to say. It’s like I feel guilty or something. I can’t ignore that I got to grow up with her and he didn’t.”

There were no real answers, no real advice, nothing I could say to that Buck didn’t already know, but I wanted to keep him talking.

“How do you think he feels?”

“Like he should have had a shot.” Something bitter crept into Buck’s voice. “He just found out his biological parents loved each other and loved him. Don’t you think he feels cheated?”

“Your mother and Tim explained their choices,” I pointed out. “And it sounds like he grew up in a nice family.”

“It’s not that.” Buck shook his head and turned down the flame. “Believe me. I’m more grateful than you know that he grew up in a good home. But not knowing Tim—or us...we’re his blood. It stole something from him.”

His words hit me in a way I didn’t expect, though it took me a minute to figure out why. Buck sure was making it sound like he had strong feelings about closed adoptions and biological kin. If that’s how he felt about his own situation, how did he really feel about me becoming a single mother? About sperm banks and other options I had?

“Plenty of folks out there who want a child can’t do it the traditional way.” It took effort to control the waver in my voice. “Finding your way to a child you can love isn’t a tragedy. It’s a blessing.”

“For the adoptive parents, sure...but what about all the other people? Don’t you think the child ought to have rights? What if he went all his life without knowing the full truth—who his parents were and how he came to be?”

“Adam has parents,” I said evenly. “His parents are the people who raised him.”

Buck shook his head and closed his eyes. “Part of me knows you’re right. But the other part...about none of us kids having any rights based on the choices other people made for us...it doesn’t sit well with me.”

“Then I guess I don’t sit well with you.” When I spoke again, my voice was barely above a whisper.

His expression switched to one of confusion as he took the milk off of the stove. He poured the steaming liquid between the two mugs. “What?”

A sickening churn of heartbreak and rage stirred in my chest and extended to every limb. The clank of him setting the pan down on the burner showed just how silent I’d gone.

“I believe in closed adoptions, Buck. And in people who want children having them by any legal means they decide is right. I believe in sperm banks and fertility clinics. Not just as a matter of principle. Not just for other people.” Tears blurred my vision. “I believe in those things for myself.”

“Loretta, baby...” He took a step toward me. “What are we talking about here?”

But I took a step back.

“I told you, Buck. I’m having a baby.” I watched him closely as my words sank in. “And the position I’m in to have one is to do it by myself.”