Chapter 2 Parker
PARKER
Ithought having both of my parents buried six feet under would hurt more than it did. But instead, staring at the popcorn ceiling of my motel room, lying on my back atop the scratchy comforter for a blissful minute before I had to remind myself to shift, I felt nothing but numb.
If I was being honest with myself, not much in my life would change with them gone.
My mom had been dead for ten years, and the only shocking thing about my father’s death was that I’d figured it would have happened sooner.
He never took care of himself, much like how he treated his family.
Three years ago, I was almost convinced he’d already passed and I simply wasn’t told.
Bouncing around the United States from ranch to ranch left me no time to come back to Bell Buckle.
Not that I really wanted to, anyway. I’d stayed away so long, I’d convinced myself I had no ties back here. Besides…
Beckham Bronson.
Merely seeing him today stirred up a whole plethora of things I didn’t want to be thinking about right now.
I had to figure out my next destination, find yet another doctor, remember to take my prenatal vitamins and drink more water and eat healthy and not eat cold sandwiches or sushi or ride a horse.
That last one hurt the most.
But fuck, I had so many things to learn and remember. I didn’t have time for distractions. I was doing this on my own, which meant I had to store every little crumb of information in my hormone-crazed brain.
The only thing about today that really tugged at my heartstrings while I stared down at that coffin was the fact that my baby wouldn’t have grandparents.
Even if my parents hadn’t died, I wouldn’t have wanted them in my child’s life.
But on Daniel’s side? My child could’ve had a chance at relatives.
But he’d wanted nothing to do with this baby from the moment I told him, so I did what I do best.
I ran.
I just didn’t think it’d land me back in my hometown in Idaho.
I glanced at the red digital clock on the nightstand beside the bed, heaving a sigh that my time of resting on my back was over.
My belly wasn’t even necessarily big yet, being that I was only four and a half months pregnant, but fuck, my lower back constantly ached. I was dreading the last half of this pregnancy solely for that reason.
I rolled onto my side before shoving to an upright position, but when I got halfway up, a knock sounded on the door. I froze, homing in on that sound like I might’ve imagined it. It had to have been twenty seconds before a fist rapped against the door again.
I’d paid for the room, and housekeeping wasn’t supposed to be in until tomorrow morning, so my only guess was either the motel manager was kicking me out for a declined card, or someone had the wrong door.
I pushed to a stand and padded in bare feet across the uncomfortably itchy carpet before stopping in front of the door and peeking through the little hole. I wasn’t exactly short, so thankfully I didn’t have to arch my sore feet too much to look out the dirty glass.
The man who stood there with his hands tucked in his jacket pockets made my heart rate spike, which probably wasn’t good. Or maybe it didn’t matter. God, I needed to stop overthinking everything. My baby was fine.
With one hand wrapped around the cold metal doorknob, I unlocked the dead bolt with the other. As I opened the door, Beckham lifted his head, hazel eyes meeting mine from under the brim of his cowboy hat.
Before I could even get a word out, he was talking. “A motel, Parker?”
My forehead creased, my mouth opening and closing twice before I could speak. “Yeah? I told you that at the—How did you find me?”
He flapped his jacket open as some kind of half-assed shrug. “I followed you.”
My brows shot up to my hairline. “You what?” I shook my head. “You left before me.”
“I didn’t leave. I sat in my truck. I saw you leave before anyone else had cleared out.”
My lips rolled together as I turned my gaze to the gray sky above him. I needed all the patience I could muster right now.
“Why aren’t you wearing socks?”
My eyes darted back to him. “Because I don’t want to? Why are you standing out front of my motel room?”
“The heater doesn’t work.” He said it like that was answer enough.
I closed my eyes for a brief moment as I processed what in the world that could even mean. “The owner said it’ll be fixed in a few days, and I’m not—”
“Days?”
My eyes opened to find him looking at me like I was the crazy one here. “Yes. Days. I have heat packs, and a heated blanket, so I’ll be fine.”
Beckham didn’t look like he believed that for a second. He stepped forward, pulling his hands from his pockets as he somehow slid past without touching me, and took in the small space. I turned to watch as he surveyed the room like he was looking at a crime scene.
“Where’s your stuff?”
I gestured to the luggage parked in the corner by the TV stand. “That’s all of it.”
He turned a disbelieving look on me, his gaze darting to my belly for the first time. Something in his eyes softened, sending warmth cascading all over my skin.
I mentally pinched myself to keep my defenses from melting.
As fast as he glanced at my stomach, his focus met mine again. “Parker.”
“Beckham.”
The stiff set of his shoulders relaxed a little, and I ignored the way it only happened after I said his name.
“You’re not staying here.”
I let out a disbelieving snort. “I don’t really have a choice.”
His jaw hardened as he chewed on the inside of his cheek, and I almost hated that I could see it so well with his five o’clock shadow. The mustache suited him. That I could admit.
“Yes, you do.”
I crossed my arms, using my belly as a little shelf. “Whatever you’re thinking, no.”
His shoulders lifted in another half-assed shrug as he moved to the nightstand to grab my chapstick and wallet.
“What are you doing?” I demanded.
He crossed to my luggage, lifting it with one hand and tossing it onto the mattress. “Packing.”
“Beckham.”
He unzipped the luggage, not bothering to look my way. “Parker.”
My arms fell at his response, hands slapping against my legging-clad thighs. We were falling back into old habits too easily, and that should’ve scared me. “At least tell me what your plan is.”
He slid my wallet and chapstick beside my folded sweaters, and I tried to ignore the fact that he likely saw my underwear right next to them. “You’re staying with me.”
A loud, disbelieving laugh spilled from me without warning.
When he didn’t so much as glance at me as he zipped the luggage and pulled it off the bed, I knew he’d lost his mind.
“You’re serious.”
He held the bag at his side, facing me. “Dead.”
Nearly a minute of silence passed between us as I waited for him to tell me this was a joke. “Beckham, I’m not going to stay at your house.”
“First off, it’s a double-wide.”
I cocked my head.
“Second, you’re not staying here.”
I set a hand on my hip, partly to show my utter annoyance at the fact that he was doing this, but also because I was tired of standing.
“Scared of something?” he asked, adjusting his grip on the handle. His tone told me he’d had the exact same thoughts as me—that it almost felt too easy between us, despite all the years we’d been apart.
“For starters, I have this.” I waved a hand around my belly for emphasis.
He barely spared my stomach a second’s glance before meeting my gaze again. “What about it?”
“I’m pregnant.”
“Okay.”
I heaved a breath. This was taking too long. I wanted to sit down and eat snacks and find some crappy, terribly cheesy movie on the tiny motel TV and fall asleep under the paper-thin sheets.
Okay, that wasn’t really what I wanted to do, but it would probably beat doing whatever this was with Beckham.
“Maybe you’ve never gotten a girl pregnant before—”
“I haven’t,” he clarified quickly.
“—but there’s a baby growing inside me,” I went on. “A human.” I leaned forward a bit, accentuating the word. “A child.”
Beckham looked bored out of his mind, as if this wasn’t news to him. “And…?”
“And? Eventually, he’s going to come out.”
His body froze as his eyes did that weird softening thing again. “It’s a boy?”
I blinked. Blinked again. On its own accord, my hand found my belly. “Yeah. It’s a boy.”
His dark lashes fluttered and his Adam’s apple bobbed like he was clearing away any emotion that had crept in. Then, like that little exchange never happened, he started walking toward me.
“Beck,” I warned.
“Park.”
I ignored the way the old nickname had my stomach flipping. “I’m pregnant.” I very clearly overemphasized the word.
He stopped right beside me, and I turned to come face-to-face with him. “Where’s the father?”
My jaw fell to the floor. “What is this, twenty questions?”
He shrugged. “You seem to think I don’t know anything, so I’m asking. Where’s the father?”
I shook my head. He was being unbelievable. I should’ve known the good ol’ Beckham Bronson would come out to play at some point.
And why did I almost like it?
Beckham made a dramatic show of looking left and right before settling his captivating eyes back on me. Something looked lost in them, though. They felt a little hollow. A little sad.
“He’s clearly not here with you for your father’s funeral.”
“My father was never a big part of my life, anyway.”
He leveled me with a look, not giving in to my attempt at dodging his interrogation. If I didn’t answer him, he’d never let it go.
“We’re not together.” I nearly smacked my forehead. I’d already told him I was single. Of course, we weren’t together.
“He still got you pregnant.”
“That doesn’t mean he’s this baby’s father. Not in my eyes.”
His gaze darted back and forth as he studied me, likely searching for any speck of anger or sadness at the admission. When he seemed to find none, he gestured with the luggage toward the door. “Let’s go.”
“Beckham—”
“This isn’t up for debate. You’re not staying in a motel in the middle of winter with no heater while you’re pregnant.
You need home-cooked meals, not some fast-food garbage.
You need a comfortable, sanitary bed, and a heater that actually works—not some blanket you’re likely not even supposed to be using.
” He’d somehow drifted closer, and I welcomed the body heat emanating off him.
I lifted my chin. “You don’t even know how long I’m in Bell Buckle.”
Nothing in his expression changed as he said, “Doesn’t matter. You’re staying at my place. For a week, a month, until after this baby pops out, I don’t care. But you’re not staying here.”
I pursed my lips, hating him for so easily talking me into this.
I did miss being warm, and if I was being honest, motel beds gave me the ick.
I’d stayed in plenty of cabins and slept under the stars in nothing but a sleeping bag many times, but motels?
That’s where I felt like bugs were crawling all over me.
“This doesn’t mean anything.” I narrowed my eyes for emphasis.
“Not a thing,” he agreed.
“Just a friend helping a friend,” I added for further clarification.
Beck gave a curt nod. “Just a friend helping a friend.”
As he walked me to my truck, neither of us mentioned that we’d crossed that line once before.
And I couldn’t help but ask myself: What was stopping us from doing it again?