8. Rachel
8
RACHEL
I yawned and peered through the window above the kitchen sink. Harris streaked by in a pair of gym shorts and no shirt, running laps around the yard. The morning glow glistened on his sweat-slicked skin, and I took a moment to appreciate his physique. Seriously, day-um .
For two days, I’d been subjected to his barely clothed workouts, and my self-control was nearing its breaking point. I should have attacked him when he’d trudged up to bed last night, but my nerves had kicked in and I’d let him keep walking. But seeing him like this made my anxieties seem foolish. It’d taken me years to work up the nerve to proposition him in the bar. I could not wait that long to have him again.
I fumbled in the cabinet, searching for coffee. Harris ran by again as I pulled out the bag, and this time he waved and tipped me a wink. I bit my lip as he jogged away. His ass in those shorts ought to be a crime. Indecent exposure. Rippling without a permit. What I wouldn’t give to lean in for a bite!
I set the coffee to brewing and sat down to wait. If Harris kept up with his morning workouts—not to mention his help whipping the house into shape—I was going to be hard-pressed to give him up. Add to that his adorable new penchant for Googling everything he could about pregnancy and babies, and I’d be throwing myself in front of the door to stop him from leaving.
But you can’t think like that . He wouldn’t be sticking around. And you don’t need him to . I could raise our child on my own. I’d never had anyone help me before. Parenting didn’t have to be any different.
My coffee finished brewing and I poured myself a mug. I took a healthy swig and savored the liquid on my tongue…but then I frowned. What was that odd taste? Were these beans new, or?—
My lips felt weird. And my tongue. Was it swelling? I made a strangled sound, a thin, desperate squeak. My mug slipped through my fingers and shattered on the floor.
“Ha—Harris—” I lunged for the back door and dropped to my knees. Waves of panic ran through me. Clutching my throat, I tried to inhale, but my windpipe had contracted to a burning pinhole. My lungs twitched and burned, refusing to expand.
Harris. Where was he? Had he gone upstairs? I tried to cry out again and gagged on my tongue. Hives bloomed on my arms, blotching through my tattoos. I wheezed, gagged again. What on earth was happening? It felt like an allergic reaction, but I wasn’t allergic to coffee.
Searing hot acid raged up my throat, and I threw up on the floor. Even after everything in my stomach came out, my body kept heaving, awful dry retches that brought up nothing but air.
“Rachel!” Harris burst in, and I lurched toward him. He caught me, holding me close as he pushed my hair off my face. “What’s going on? Your face?—”
I managed a croak. My vision went dark.
“You got an EpiPen? Rachel. Stay with me.”
Purse. In my purse. The words wouldn’t come. All I could do was nod.
“Okay, is it in the bathroom?”
I shook my head.
“Your bedroom? Your purse?”
I nodded, shuddering in his arms. Harris lowered me down, stretched me out on the floor. I turned my head to feel the tiles on my cheek, cool against my flaming skin. I could hear Harris running, boots thudding on tile. Running away from me? My ears were ringing, my feet and hands numb. The lights had gone out, and?—
Ow—ow, goddammit. Something stung against my leg.
“You’re okay,” Harris said. He was cradling my head, running his hand through my hair. I gulped air and my lungs filled, until I coughed it back out, my body struggling to readjust to working airways.
“Go slow, just breathe. You’re fine, I’ve got you.”
I opened my mouth, but no words came out. Harris was lifting me, tucking me against his chest as he carried me.
“Where—where?—”
“I’m taking you to the ER,” he said. “What happened? You eat something? What set this off?”
I slapped at his arm— put me down . Harris didn’t.
“Hazelnuts,” I whispered. “I’m allergic, but…”
Harris paused at the counter and sniffed the air. “That coffee,” he said, and scowled at the bag. “It reeks of hazelnut. Couldn’t you smell it?”
I sniffed, but I couldn’t, and I let out a whimper. “It’s the baby,” I said. “I’m all out of whack. Things taste different, smell different, the—” I stopped talking, the blood leaching from my head. The baby . Oh, God.
“We’re going to the hospital,” Harris said. He ran out the door with me clutched to his chest and buckled me carefully into the car. Then he was flooring it down the drive, spraying up gravel as he swerved onto the road. The ride passed in a blur, but Harris didn’t slow down. I stared straight ahead, through a torrent of tears. All I could think was, had I hurt the baby? Would this disaster end up stunting the baby’s growth or damaging its organs? Could that happen? Oh God. I was already a horrible mother, and I hadn’t even been pregnant for two months.
“It’s okay,” Harris said. “See, look, we’re here.” He helped me out of the car and hustled me into the busy ER. The receptionist took one look at me and beckoned us on, straight to an exam room with a long, narrow bed.
“I think I might have done something to the baby,” I wailed.
The receptionist blanched. “You’re pregnant?” Her tone was neutral, but I caught her expression, the way she took note of my hair, my tattoos.
“She needs a doctor,” Harris said. “You gonna get someone?”
Before she could answer, the nurse swept in. I cringed at the sight of her and blinked back my tears. I felt stupid crying in front of Cara Levine—Cara, who’d once been my very best friend. Cara, who’d turned on me halfway through sixth grade.
Cara glanced down at me. “Why do you think you hurt your baby?”
I tried not to read anything into the way she said baby . Cara would still do her job, right? Even for trailer trash?
“Someone switched out my coffee,” I stammered. “I didn’t notice, and I drank it.” I choked on a sob. “It was hazelnut coffee. I’m allergic.”
“I remember.”
I winced—yeah. Of course she did. Cara had been there at junior prom, when I mixed up my punch with someone’s sneaky Frangelico. I’d been rushed to the hospital and busted for drinking, and damn it, I hadn’t been. I wasn’t my mother.
I swallowed. “So, my baby?—”
“Wait here. I’ll get the doctor.” Cara marched out and Harris went after her. I shrank down as their voices drifted in.
“—so disrespectful.”
“I can’t help her. I’m not?—”
“Where’s your bedside manner? Isn’t that part of the job?”
Tears rolled down my face all over again. I needed Harris with me, not out there speaking for me. I could stand up for myself, and I did when it mattered. Cara didn’t matter. Nothing did but the baby. Holding my stomach, I prayed. Please, please, be okay .
Dr. Martin marched through the door just as Harris returned. She smiled down at me from behind her thick glasses. “Sounds like I’m out of the loop on a major event in your life.”
“She’s two months along,” Harris said, and I scowled at him.
“Almost eight weeks,” I said. “I had a reaction to hazelnut. We?—”
“I found her in distress. I used her EpiPen.” Harris’s focus was all on Dr. Martin. He hadn’t looked at me since he’d re-entered the room. His voice had gone flat again, like when he’d got the news about his psych eval. He kept talking and talking, like he was delivering a report to his commanding officer. “She never lost consciousness, but she wasn’t breathing. She’d vomited, and her face was badly swollen. All in all, she was down for less than?—”
“It was the usual,” I said. “Swelling, hives, nausea.”
Dr. Martin nodded at me, then she glanced at Harris. “Maybe come hold her hand while I do my exam?”
I expected him to protest, or to keep up his monologue. But Harris sat next to me and took my hand. He didn’t squeeze or caress it, nor did he speak again. He just sat and watched, stone-faced and tight-jawed. I closed my eyes and let Dr. Martin do her job.
Afterward, Harris helped me back to the car.
“It’s good news,” he said. “You’re okay. The baby’s fine.”
“Yeah.” I clasped my hands together and tried to stop shaking. Now the crisis was over, the adrenaline crash was hitting hard.
“Do you think it was Darryl who switched out your beans? Do you know if your mom has—” Harris broke off. “Rachel?”
I stared at my hands. I couldn’t deal with this now, on top of everything else. You were lucky, Dr. Martin had said. Your body expelled the nuts right away. That might’ve saved your life, and your baby’s as well. What I’d heard was, I could’ve just as easily been unlucky. I could’ve miscarried or severely harmed my baby. I wanted to cry. Being a mother hadn’t been in my plans, but now that it was happening, a lioness protectiveness gripped me hard.
No one threatened my baby.
“We could stop and get some food first,” Harris said. “Call the cops over after.”
I shook my head no. I wanted this over with, and my baby safe.
I lay on my bed, staring up at the ceiling, letting Harris massage my sore, throbbing feet. They didn’t look swollen, but they sure felt that way, all tight and achy, like I’d just run ten miles. The hormones, I guessed. Nothing felt right. My clothes rubbed my skin weird. My socks felt too tight. My favorite foods made me want to puke. Worst of all, my emotions were all over the place, up and down like a toilet seat, morning to night.
“Damn cops,” Harris said.
I shook my head. “Don’t.”
“It wasn’t an accident. It wasn’t some guest. This was on purpose.”
I turned my head away, not wanting to hear it. Besides, he wasn’t telling me anything I didn’t already know. Whoever’d messed with my coffee had been smart: they’d mixed in the bad beans with my usual blend. I’d grabbed the bag without seeing, because it’d been the same bag as always .
“A guest could’ve done it,” the detective had said. “Folks do that sometimes, if one bag’s almost done. They’ll dump it into another, not thinking.”
Harris had interrupted, irate. “They brought their own coffee? Dumped it into her bag?”
“These things do happen. Innocent mistakes. You could call around to your recent guests, see if anyone did it.”
I sat up, sick of thinking about coffee. Harris dropped my foot, and I swung my legs off the bed.
“I could make you some lunch,” he said. “Or run to the store.”
I bit my tongue. I didn’t want to snap at him, but he was driving me crazy.
“I don’t need you to do anything,” I said at last. “Could we just maybe?—”
“First the step and now this!” Harris surged to his feet. “This is deliberate. It’s sabotage. And this time, you or the baby could have died .” He pulled me into his arms and hugged me hard. “I’m sorry,” he said. “You need to relax. I’m just so damn angry.”
“Yeah. Me too.” It felt good to admit it, to get it out there. I was furious, of course I was, for myself, for my baby. Wretched tears leaked from my eyes, and I could do nothing to stop them.
“I have an idea,” Harris said. “Do you trust me?”
I looked up at him and saw he was smiling, tentatively but warmly. “I trust you,” I said.
“Then, come on.”
He led me downstairs and out the back door, down the long lawn to the beach.
“I didn’t bring my swimsuit,” I said.
“Good, because we’re not swimming.” He picked up a pebble. “I want you to throw this as hard as you can. Toss it on out there and yell what you’re mad at, and then let the ocean take it away.”
I took the rock and gripped it in my fist. I still felt shaky from the morning’s ordeal, but one rock wouldn’t hurt. One splash in the ocean.
“I hate Darryl,” I said. “And Cara Levine.”
“Who?”
I tossed the rock in the ocean. It splashed down with a plop .
“You’ve got to throw harder, and really yell. Scream it all out, like, uh…” He grabbed a rock of his own and wound up like a pitcher. “That nurse was a jerk,” he roared. “She treated you like crap. I wanted to smack her.” He hurled the rock out hard. It hopped over the waves, and then it was gone.
I laughed. “Yeah, she was a jerk. And so were you.”
“Get a rock,” Harris said, and I grabbed one.
“You were a dick,” I screamed. “You just left me hanging! You ran off, talked over me—my mouth works just fine!” I hurled my rock, and it ricocheted off the water, straight up in the air and down out of sight.
“I’m sorry,” Harris said. “I was way out of line.”
I grabbed another rock. I wasn’t done. “I’m not trash ,” I howled. “It’s not wrong that I’m pregnant. I’m a good person, and I deserve—I deserve—” I dropped my rock and doubled over sobbing. Harris caught me and gathered me close, arms wrapped gently around me.
“I don’t get it,” I whispered. “I just can’t believe my mother would do something like this.” The words came out hoarse, raw-edged with grief. “Would she really risk killing me over some mythical treasure?”
Harris flinched and pulled me closer to his chest. “I want to believe she wouldn’t,” he murmured into my hair. “Do you have a will drawn up? Is she going to inherit if something happens to you?”
“That’s just it.” I adjusted my position so I could breathe easier and not smear his shirt with my runny nose. “My mother’s not going to inherit my share. She knows that. This doesn’t make sense.”
“Angry people don’t always behave rationally. Especially when you’re keeping them from something they want.” Harris rocked me gently. “They get carried away. Forget who they’re hurting.”
“Ohhh,” I tried to respond coherently but a sob stole my voice, then another and another until I couldn’t stop crying.
“Sweetheart,” Harris whispered, rubbing my back. “I’ve got you.” Soft kisses peppered the top of my head, and a wad of tissues magically bumped my hand. “Google suggested I keep a clump in my pockets.”
I grabbed them gratefully and pressed them to my face. Harris’s words kept replaying in my mind. “I can’t imagine getting so mad I’d hurt my child.” I pressed my hand to my belly. “She’s supposed to love me. Why doesn’t she? Is there something wrong with me? Some kind of…” More sobs stole my breath and I swallowed against them. “How do I know I won’t be just as bad?”
“Shh.” Harris kept rocking me. “You’ll be an amazing mom. The way you are with your guests, the way you care for this place—the way you took care of a lonely Marine? Are you kidding me? You’ve got more compassion and responsibility in your little finger than your mom has in her whole body.”
My tears slowed, and I clung to his words.
He kissed my head again. “You’re strong, Rachel. You can do this.”
“I’m strong,” I quietly repeated. “I can do this.”
“Hell, yeah, you can.” Harris cupped my cheek. “And you also have me. I promise I’ll be here for you and our child. You’re not doing this alone.”
I smiled, pulled his head down, and placed a soft kiss on his lips. “Thank you,” I murmured in between.
His grip on my cheek shifted and he tilted his head to kiss me deeper. Heat exploded through me. I licked his top lip, hungry for more. He opened his mouth, and I slipped my tongue inside. I didn’t tear at his clothes, and he didn’t throw me down. Instead, we teased and explored, enjoying the gentle intimacy of kissing. In some ways it scared me how good it felt to be held in his arms and kissing him like this, but I refused to overanalyze the incredible, poignant moment.
“I want you,” he whispered, then kissed me like he was drowning.
I pulled back just a hair. “I want you too.”
He stilled, then in a show of sheer strength, stood straight up with me in his arms.
With a watery giggle, I whacked his shoulder. “Put me down.”
“Uh-uh.” He shook his head. “You might change your mind and run away. I want you where I can have ample opportunity and time to change it back.”
I laughed louder, and Harris laughed with me. It felt great to let go after everything that had happened.
“We have company coming,” I said, when my giggles tapered off. “A family of four checking in after lunch?—”
“So we’ll kiss till they get here, then you’ll check them in.” He strode for the door, still cradling me tight. “After that, I’ll send them sightseeing, to get them out of the house, and feast on your bounty the whole time they’re gone.” He leaned down and kissed me where my neck met my shoulder. I shivered. That sounded amazing, but…
“Aren’t you forgetting your therapy appointment?”
“Damn it.” He stopped in his tracks, eyes darkened with frustration. “Fine. I won’t be able to worship you like I planned, but I’ll do what I can before I go. And I’m still having you for dinner, so count on that.” He stole a kiss. “Just promise you won’t go anywhere or ingest anything while I’m gone. Otherwise, I might have to drag you along with me.”
“I can’t leave,” I protested, secretly enjoying his caveman protectiveness. “I’ve still got my chores to do, from this morning.” I pecked his cheek. “I promise the only thing I’ll put in my mouth will be you. ”
He set me down, growling. I spotted a paper sticking out of his back pocket, and I reached out and snagged it. “Hold on. What’s this?”
Harris stopped when he saw me unfold it. “I almost forgot. Your mom dropped that when she came by the other day. It went behind the counter, and I forgot about it till today.”
I stared the paper. It took me a second to decipher the squiggles and blobs, but when I did, I burst out laughing anew. “It’s a treasure map,” I said. “With some notes—quite poetic. Between the sea and an ancient tree , how about that?”
“That’s interesting,” Harris said, his dry tone suggesting it was anything but. “But I’ve got something, er, some one much more pressing to do.” His eyebrows waggled. “Tomorrow we can look at some maps.”
I refolded the paper and slid it back in his pocket, giving his ass a good squeeze as I did. “In the den, you’ll find a whole set of books about the history of the area, and even a few about the pirate in question.”
He raised an eyebrow.
My cheeks bloomed with heat. “I told you I was obsessed with the story when I was younger.”
“Who am I to judge? I’ve got an obsession of my own.” He then proceeded to show me just how captivated he was with me.