4. Rachel
4
RACHEL
I lifted my head off the toilet and groaned. My arm felt heavy, like it had an anvil attached, but somehow, I managed to depress the flush lever.
“I don’t even remember eating peas,” I croaked, grabbing the sink to pull myself up. For the second time that morning, I brushed my teeth. Studying my reflection in the mirror, I scowled at the sight—cracked lips, wild hair, pasty white skin tinged slightly green. My puffy black eye bags were the cherry on top. Should I bother with makeup? Would it even help? A coat of foundation might give me some color, but I’d probably end up sweating it off through my next barf attack. Morning sickness was an all-day activity, not just for mornings—at least, if yesterday was any indication.
Last night had been the longest of my life. Between long crying jags, panic attacks, and bleary Google searches— how to raise a child; how much is a crib; no, seriously, HOW much? —I’d only managed to get a few hours of sleep.
Yanking my makeup bag from under the sink, I brushed some rouge on my cheeks and added a few swipes of waterproof mascara. “That’ll have to suffice.”
Maybe I needed to look into having my makeup tattooed on. Would I have time to fix my face once the kid came along? My mother did, but she wasn’t much of a mom. Wait, would I turn into her? Become my own mom?
Panic churned my guts and I swayed on my feet. Motherhood. Oh, holy God. How in the hell did I end up pregnant ? Harris had used a condom every single time. I’d bought a new box not long before that night. I’d bought it for him , if I was honest, the same day I’d heard his unit was home. It had been stupidly, wildly optimistic on my part because we’d never done anything in the past but flirt, and yet I hadn’t been able to resist. I’d bought it because, Jesus, those warm brown eyes. Those hard, corded muscles. That short-cropped red hair. I’d wanted him since I’d met him. Since he’d first caught my eye.
The condoms. I’d ripped into the wrappers with my teeth. Had I torn one somehow? Was that what had done it?
Does it matter?
I sighed. Not really. What was done was done. Buttoning my denim shorts, I settled my rainbow-colored tank top over the waistband and pulled back my blue hair into a ponytail. Mid-August in South Carolina came with a heaping side order of humidity on top of the heat. Once I had my cross-trainers on, I hustled down the stairs to start a pot of coffee. A quick Google search showed I was allowed a little caffeine a day, and I thanked God for it. If I had to give up coffee completely, I wouldn’t survive the pregnancy.
I wasn’t sure what time Harris planned to arrive, but I needed a cup—or ten, if I ignored the warnings—before we tackled how we wanted to set up the nursery. We’d need a crib, paint, what else? What else? Panic lanced through me, and I clutched the carafe tighter. What if I bought the wrong stuff? Or forgot something important?
Stop. Breathe. Focus . I filled the coffeepot with water and forced myself to think about something else. I needed to find time today to set up for the bachelorette party coming in this evening. They’d rented the veranda overlooking the ocean and the entertainment room to kick off the festivities. I had promised decorations, trays of snacks, and games to add spice to their cocktail-palooza. If they got drunk enough, they might end up renting rooms for the night. That would be good, money in the bank. Lord knew I needed to hoard every penny now.
A car door slammed, and a jolt of excitement raced through me. Harris? I hoped so. As stupid as it was to get my hopes up, I couldn’t help feeling giddy at how well Harris had taken the news. Not once had he shamed me or made me feel bad. He hadn’t grilled me on past partners, nor had he implied I’d set out to trap him. He’d made me feel precious, the way he’d reached out and touched me, tucking my loose hair behind my ear. Like I was a treasure, instead of trash.
He’d been poleaxed for sure, but I didn’t blame him. I’d thrown up when I’d seen the test. Of course, that might’ve had something to do with everything making me sick, and not so much the news itself.
At the sound of the front door opening, I shoved the coffeepot back into its place and hit the button to start it brewing.
“Coming,” I yelled as I hurried to meet him, unable to keep from grinning. Had to be Harris. Reaching the hallway, I picked up my pace, then stopped short at the sight of a strange man peering upstairs. He was tall and thin with a scraggly mustache, in his mid-fifties. His dark eyes looked tired. I took in his uniform—navy shirt, khaki pants—and the brown clipboard clutched to his chest.
“Can I help you?” Trepidation made my palms sweat, and I resisted the urge to wipe them on my shorts.
The man jerked his chin down. His Adam’s apple bobbed. He smiled, quick and nervous, and glanced at his clipboard. “Are you Rachel Winchester?”
Alarm bells dinged in my head. “Yes. And you are?”
“John Massey. One of the building inspectors for Beaufort County.” His wrinkles deepened as he studied his notes.
“Building inspector?” I edged up and tried to peer over my shoulder. “What? Why? All my licenses are approved and up to date.”
His expression soured then, like he’d sucked a lemon. Frustration, I thought, or maybe annoyance. “I see that,” he said. “But I’m afraid we’ve received an anonymous tip—a disgruntled guest, maybe? Someone convinced you’re not up to code. We’ve got to take these calls seriously, so that’s why I’m here. If everything’s as you say it is, you should be fine.”
My stomach did a backflip, and I fought the compulsion to barf on this man’s scuffed loafers. A disgruntled guest? Yeah, that wasn’t it. My mother was behind this, no ifs, ands, or buts. Why else would this man show up right now, today? The very day after I’d run Mom off my land? The timing was too coincidental. I swayed and had to blink back the dots crowding my vision. Did my mother really think this man would find enough violations to force me to sell?
Fury mingled with the anxiety thrumming through my veins. I’d never let that happen. “I see,” I managed. By some miracle, I forced the words out without snarling or throwing up. “Where do you want to start?”
Massey was polite, but he took his job seriously. I watched, agitated, as he surveyed each room in turn, scribbling notes on his battered clipboard. His eyes darted about, sharp and intense. Sometimes, he made humming sounds, or he nodded. Or he stopped to kick a floorboard or turn on a tap.
“Tripping hazard,” he said, to a humped-up carpet.
“I know,” I said. “I keep stapling it down.”
“Might be time for a new one.”
I swallowed, nervous, and Massey moved on. He went through the upstairs, and down to the basement, and the black marks stacked up room after room.
“It’s all minor stuff,” he told me. “A lot of it seems nitpicky, but you can’t ignore it.”
I just nodded, not trusting my voice. Taken one at a time, the problems were tiny, but with the sheer volume, they added up. I imagined Massey ringing them up on a register, the total shooting up item by item.
“I’ll need to inspect the exterior too,” Massey said, flipping to a new page. I fought back a grimace.
Of course you will .
I led him outside just as Harris pulled up, clambering out of a gorgeous, restored Mustang. My heart thundered against my rib cage as I took in the sight. The swell of his ass in tight khaki cargo shorts. Hard pecs rippling under a well-loved T-shirt. For a moment, I almost forgot Massey was there, almost forgot my repair bill ratcheting up.
Harris waved, then his gaze settled on Massey. He cocked a brow, questioning, as he strode up the drive. I jogged down the front steps to meet him. I heard the crack, saw his face change, then my legs went out from under me, and I yelped in surprise, flailing and grasped out for something to stop me from falling.
“Rachel!” Harris moved faster than I’d have thought possible, catching me before I could fall on my face. He swept me into his arms, away from the steps. “I’ve got you,” he said, his voice a deep growl.
I clung to him as he gathered me close. “Ow, damn, my ankle.”
He set me down on the soft grass. “Let’s see. Do you think you sprained it?”
I stretched my leg out and saw my ankle was scraped, nothing deep, barely bleeding, but still?—
“Your foot went straight through,” Massey said. “The step fell right out.” He bent to examine the damage. “I’m sorry to tell you, this is a serious violation and a danger to your guests. You’ll need to shut down till you get that repaired.”
I huffed. No shit .
“I can’t stress enough how serious this is. If you don’t have it fixed before your next guests arrive, you could be looking at losing your license.”
“Let me look,” Harris said, squeezing in next to Massey. I stayed where I was, not trusting my ability to stand on my own. The adrenaline racing through my veins had made me jittery.
“Right here.” Harris nudged Massey. “See that? The wood isn’t splintered. The nails are just gone.”
Massey frowned. “Yeah, that’s clearly deliberate. Someone took this apart.”
My head spun. Someone had done this? Mom? No—no way. Darryl must have done it. He’d sent me tumbling, and what if I’d fallen? What if a guest had—a kid or an old lady? I could’ve lost everything. Someone could’ve got seriously hurt .
“I won’t write it up,” Massey said. “But you’ll still need to fix it before you open up. And I’d file a police report, if I were you.”
Harris’s mouth flattened and he stood. “Can’t you call off your inspection, given what you’ve seen?”
“Wish I could,” Massey said, and he sounded sincere. “But my job’s to list damage, not investigate how it got there. I know it’s not fair. I’ll give you a month to sort this all out. You get up to code, and I’ll be pleased to sign off.”
“Thank you,” I said, but the words came out faint. I pressed my hand to my heart as Massey moved away, testing the porch railings with one dusty boot.
“You’re okay,” Harris said, and crouched down beside me. I leaned up against him. I didn’t feel okay.
“Darryl was here,” I said. “And I didn’t hear him. He messed up my porch, and I never heard a thing.”
Harris glanced up. “Your apartment’s on the second floor in the back of the house. No way you’d hear someone sneaking around up here.” He squeezed my shoulder. “You can’t blame yourself.”
“My God,” I breathed, disbelief robbing me of a better response. My gaze flew to the broken step.
“Come inside,” Harris said, and helped me to my feet. He guided me into the front room. “Can I get you some water or something to eat?”
The thought of eating turned my stomach, but my throat was dry. “Yes to the water.”
Harris went to the kitchen, and by the time he got back—with a plate of grapes to go with the water—Massey was back, and hovering in the doorway.
“This is your copy,” he said. He pulled pages off his clipboard and held them out to me.
Harris took them instead and flashed Massey a polite smile. “Thank you for coming out today. Rest assured, we’ll be ready when you come back.”
“I don’t doubt it,” Massey said, and then he was gone. I let myself slump back against the couch cushions. Normally, I’d have been up and asking a million questions, but today I was happy to let Harris take charge. We’ll be ready, he’d said, like he was part of this. Like it was his problem too. Was this what he’d meant when he’d said, “We’re a team”?
“Rachel.” Harris sat down beside me and leaned in, all concern. “I’ve got an offer I really want you to consider.”
I held my breath. An offer? What now?
“Since we both want to spend time together—since we’re a team—” He inched closer, and I inhaled the masculine scent of his soap and his skin underneath. “—how about I move in to one of your spare rooms? I can handle the repairs myself, and it’ll be easier if I stay here instead of driving back and forth every day.”
Heat rushed to my cheeks, and I flushed with embarrassment. The last thing I wanted to be was a responsibility he felt like he had to take care of. I’d always taken pride in my independence. Poor but strong—that was me.
“It can be a trade that saves you money if that’s easier to swallow. My skills and labor in exchange for a room. Plus, what if that step was just Darryl’s first move? What if he’s not done coming after your business?” Harris kept up his lobbying, obviously reading my reluctance but probably not understanding its cause. “This place is your home, not just your business. If the building’s not safe, neither are you. Let me be here for you and the baby.”
Well, damn. When he put it that way, I’d be stupid not to accept his help. No amount of pride was worth the chance of our baby being hurt.
“All right,” I agreed. “You can stay in the second bedroom in my apartment. But you said we’re a team, right? We’ll fix the place up together.”
Harris positively beamed at that, and I smiled back. The sun caught the stubble along his jaw. A sudden urge bloomed in me—the wild urge to kiss him—but I pushed it down and grabbed the list instead.
“Come on,” I said. “Let’s check out the damage.”