21. Penny
Chapter 21
Penny
I might not have initially agreed with Tripp’s decision to move up our departure from Rust Canyon, but two weeks later, I could appreciate that the time and distance away from home had done wonders for reducing our stress levels.
Out of sight, out of mind was the official party line for the Sullivans for the rest of the summer.
While we’d put a pin in our problems, we couldn’t ignore the continued swelling of my belly. At just shy of twelve weeks, there was now a defined little bump resting below my navel, whereas before, I’d merely looked bloated, the way I would after eating a large meal.
Tripp was obsessed with my changing body. Every night, he’d shove my sleep shirt up enough that he could caress my stomach, whispering sweet words to the baby nestled inside it. Then, once he was done being tender, he’d dig his fingers into my flesh and ease the ache that was ever-present between my thighs .
Who knew pregnancy could make you so horny? I couldn’t get enough of the man. If I wasn’t actively fucking him, I was soaking through my panties thinking about fucking him.
As much as I hated being away from him, today, I’d begged for him to let me have the truck to run some errands. Tripp was quick to offer to drive me himself, so it had taken some convincing on my part for him to let me go alone. Reluctantly, he’d dropped the keys in my palm and agreed to hitch a ride to the rodeo grounds with Ricky.
With a peck on his cheek, I bounced out the door to our motel room, a woman on a mission.
Today was Tripp’s birthday, and I had big plans to make it special.
This week, we were hunkered down in Abilene, Kansas, but the state capital, Topeka, was only an hour away. Being so close to a city brought with it an opportunity to give him a gift that held a value more sentimental than monetary.
It had taken a little begging on my part when I called, but the receptionist caved when I explained that this was a birthday surprise for my husband and that we were expecting our first baby. She worked a little magic on her computer and managed to squeeze us in for an ultrasound appointment later this afternoon.
My birthday boy was going to get to see his baby for the first time.
I already knew I’d spend more time watching his face—memorizing the emotions that passed over it—than the screen. Odds were we would both end up crying tears of joy as we marveled at the little life we’d created.
It still didn’t feel real that we were going to be parents.
But before our appointment, I had some birthday prep to handle. Since I would be picking Tripp up from the rodeo grounds, I wanted our motel room to keep the celebrations going when we got back from Topeka. I’d already arranged for Ricky to demand that he take the evening off. The Do Not Disturb sign was going to be put to good use tonight.
This was the first time in years that Tripp and I had been together on his birthday. Since he’d joined and then taken over running the rodeo team, he spent the summers away from the ranch. Sure, he came back every now and then, but he wasn’t in charge of arranging which events the Sullivan horses were signed up for competition, and a break in the action was often at random intervals.
My first stop was the cute little greeting card store on Main Street. Browsing the aisles, I found the most adorable card that read, Happy Birthday, Daddy! My eye caught on the helium tank near the checkout, and it was a no-brainer that we needed no less than a dozen balloons that would likely fall to the floor by morning. It was just as well; we couldn’t cart them to our next stop anyway.
The woman behind the counter caught a glimpse of the card in my hand when I handed over the pack of balloons I’d requested to be filled and smiled. “This your first?”
Heat rose to my cheeks, and I ducked my head. “Yes.”
“How’s your man handling it? Can go a few different ways for the first-timers. They’re either over the moon excited, nervous wrecks, or completely indifferent, where it doesn’t sink in what’s happening until that kid’s earthside.”
“He’s been amazing.” I sighed, dropping my hand to the bump hidden beneath my flowing dress. “Talks to my belly every night.”
“Sounds like you’ve got one of the good ones,” she remarked.
“The best one.”
Tripp’s truck might have an extended cabin, but it was still a struggle to wrestle the balloons into the backseat. Then, when I hopped behind the wheel, I realized I couldn’t see through the rear window .
Yikes. The last thing I needed was to get into a fender bender because of my obstructed vision while pulling into traffic. Because I knew exactly how that would go down. Tripp would say, “Fuck the truck,” while I panicked about how hard his dad would come down on him for the damage to company property.
Rolling down the window, I stuck my whole head out to check that the coast was clear before easing off the curb. Breathing a sigh of relief when I made it onto the road without incident, I drove to my next destination.
A bell chimed above my head when I pushed inside the bakery. The sugary-sweet scent in the air caused my mouth to water and my stomach to rumble.
With the exception of the incident at the Winfields’ ranch, I hadn’t been sick due to the pregnancy. In fact, my insatiable appetite for food matched that of my sex drive.
It was closing in on lunch time, but I wouldn’t make it that long. Not with the tempting aroma coming from the pastries being pulled fresh from the oven behind the glass case that separated the patrons from the kitchen.
I sure hope your daddy’s right about all these extra calories going to you, little one, instead of settling on my hips and thighs.
Guess it didn’t really matter where the extra weight ended up because the gnawing hunger couldn’t be ignored.
“Can I help you, miss?” A woman in an apron asked as I perused the offerings.
Pursing my lips, I deliberated between two items. With the choice impossible, I mentally said, Fuck it , and decided to get both.
“I’ll take a frosted cinnamon roll and an orange cranberry scone to start.”
My pre-lunch snack was pulled from the case and placed into a white bakery box. “Anything else? ”
“Yes, I need a cake, but I need it to be small enough to survive the afternoon in a mini fridge.”
She gestured toward the far end of the display. “Have you seen our cupcakes? They’re massive. Might as well be small cakes.”
I shifted to take a closer look, a grin splitting my face when I saw the selection of fruity flavors perfect for a hot summer’s day. “They’re perfect! Can I get one of the strawberry shortcake and one of the lemon curd?”
“Two of my personal favorites,” she remarked while packaging them before ringing me up.
Stepping onto the sidewalk with the bakery boxes tucked under one arm, I fiddled around inside my purse, searching for the truck keys.
Huffing hard enough to lift the curtain of hair that had fallen into my eyes, I muttered under my breath, “I know they’re somewhere in here.”
“Penny Sullivan?” An unfamiliar male voice had my head snapping up.
My brows drew down in confusion as I surveyed the man standing before me. “I’m sorry. Do I know you?”
It wasn’t out of the realm of possibility that we’d crossed paths before with how many new people I’d been introduced to on the circuit. After a while, the faces began to blur.
“You are Penny Sullivan, correct?” the man pressed.
“Yes . . .” I drew the word out slowly. “And you are?”
From behind his back, he brought forth a manilla envelope, thrusting it into my hand and declaring, “You’ve been served.”
He’d already turned on his heel and begun walking away by the time it sank in what had just happened.
“Hey!” I shouted to his back, but he didn’t spare a backward glance as he hopped into a car parked down the street and drove away.
My eyes dipped to the envelope clenched in my fist so tightly that creases lined the once smooth paper.
What the hell?
Popping the tab at the top, I pulled the printed document out. Immediately, my gaze was drawn to the words in big, bold letters that read: Paternity Test Order.
My breath caught in my throat as my lungs seized.
Scanning further down the page only confirmed my worst fears. Jake had filed with the family court back home, and within the next thirty days, I was ordered to complete the testing to determine whether he was the father of my baby.
The text blurred as tears filled my eyes, but I managed to sift through the paperwork to the page that explained the two types of testing that would be acceptable, given my current gestation. If performed before the end of the thirteenth week, it would be a simple cheek swab, but if we missed that mark, the procedure would become more invasive, requiring a needle placed through my abdomen to take a tissue sample from my placenta. There, in black and white, it outlined the risks to my baby if that was the testing route we took—miscarriage, infection, potential damage to my baby’s red blood cells if any of their blood happened to enter my bloodstream.
I couldn’t bear the thought of putting my baby in danger, and for what? To satisfy Jake’s curiosity that, on the slim chance, one of the condoms we’d used hadn’t done its job? What kind of parent would agree to put their child in harm’s way to bolster their ego?
With my body trembling violently, a weak whimper left my lips before my knees buckled, and I crumpled to the ground.
“Miss? Are you all right?” A high-pitched voice was barely audible through my haze of panic. “Miss!”
I couldn’t do this alone.
With my throat closing up, I croaked out a single word.
“Tripp.”