Fat Pregnant Mate (Silvercreek Lottery Mates #5)

Chapter 1 - Fern

The check engine light has been mocking me for the past fifty miles.

I squeeze the steering wheel until my knuckles ache. I could call someone from back home. London would come get me, or maybe Jordan. But that would mean explaining where I am, and explanations leave trails. Digital breadcrumbs he could follow.

Robbie is good at following trails.

I lean my forehead against the wheel, willing myself not to cry. Crying won’t fix the car. Crying won’t make me any safer. Crying is what he always wanted—proof that he broke me down into something more manageable.

“Not happening,” I grumble as I grab my purse and phone. “Figure it out, Fern.”

The walk into town gives me time to think, which might be a mistake. Every car that passes makes my stomach clench. Every man who vaguely resembles Robbie in height or build sends adrenaline spiking through my veins. By the time I reach the first buildings, I’m a mess of paranoia and exhaustion.

Silvercreek looks like something out of a postcard.

Main Street curves through the center of town, and it’s lined with brick storefronts that probably haven’t changed much in decades.

Flower boxes hang from windows. People nod as they pass, actually making eye contact instead of the standard New York practice of pretending everyone else is invisible.

“Excuse me,” I say to an older woman who is sweeping the sidewalk in front of what looks like a bookstore. “Is there a mechanic nearby?”

She smiles, crinkling the corners of her eyes. “Joe’s Garage, two blocks that way. Tell him Marge sent you. He’ll treat you fair.”

“Thank you.” The kindness in her voice nearly undoes me. I’ve been running on empty for so long that basic human decency feels like a luxury I don’t deserve.

I keep walking, taking in the town. There’s a diner with red vinyl booths visible through the windows and a hardware store with rakes and shovels displayed out front. Everything moves at a pace that feels foreign after years in the city. Nobody rushes. Nobody shoves past me on the sidewalk.

There’s a medical center on a corner lot, a two-story building with cream-colored siding and dark green shutters. Something makes me stop. Maybe it’s the neat landscaping or the welcoming front porch, but I find myself walking up the steps before I consciously decide to.

A paper flutters in the window, taped to the glass. Seeking: Licensed Psychotherapist. Inquire Within.

My breath catches. I’ve been a therapist for five years, working in a busy Manhattan practice until three days ago, when I threw everything I could fit into two suitcases and ran.

The license in my purse is still valid. My credentials are real, even if the life I built around them turned into a nightmare.

This could be a sign. Or it could be desperation making me see patterns where none exist.

The door opens, and a woman about my age steps out. She has red hair pulled back in a practical braid, and when she sees me standing there, she cocks her head to the side.

“Can I help you?” she asks.

“I—” I gesture at the sign. “The therapist position. Is it still available?”

Her eyebrows rise. “You’re a therapist?”

“Licensed in New York. I have my credentials if you want to see them.”

“I’m Ruby.” She extends her hand, and I shake it. “I don’t work here, but I know they’ve been searching for months. The pack—the town,” she corrects herself quickly, “has been growing, and mental health resources are… limited.”

Pack. Odd word choice, but I’m too tired to question it.

“I’m Fern. Fern Ramos.”

Ruby studies me for a moment, and I fight the urge to fidget under her gaze.

She has the kind of eyes that see too much, that cut through the careful walls people build around themselves.

Probably why we’d make good friends under different circumstances.

I have the same skill, just from the opposite side of the therapy couch.

“You look exhausted,” she bluntly comments. “When’s the last time you ate?”

“I… Yesterday? Maybe?”

She makes a disapproving sound. “Come on. The diner’s got the best sandwiches in town, and you can tell me about yourself. If you’re serious about the position, I can introduce you to the director.”

I should say no. I should get my car fixed and keep driving. But my feet hurt, my stomach is eating itself, and something about Ruby makes me feel like I could trust her. Maybe.

“Okay,” I agree.

We walk back toward Main Street, and Ruby keeps up a steady stream of commentary about the town.

The bakery that opens at 5:00 a.m. The bookstore that her friend runs.

The general store that’s been owned by the same family for three generations.

It’s comfortable, this narration, and I let it wash over me like white noise.

Then I see him.

He’s walking on the opposite side of the street, tall enough that he stands out even in a crowd.

His black hair is cut short on the sides and longer on top, and he has the kind of build that comes from actual physical work rather than gym memberships—broad shoulders, defined arms visible even through his black t-shirt.

But it’s his face that makes my breath stutter. Strong jaw, straight nose, and when he turns his head to look at me, I catch a glimpse of blue eyes that even from this distance seem to hold an unsettling amount of focus.

He moves like someone who’s never questioned his right to take up space, confident without arrogance, purposeful without rushing.

“See something interesting?” Ruby’s voice holds amusement.

Heat scorches my cheeks. “No. I mean—who’s that?”

“That’s Connor Langley. Security for the town.” Ruby watches me watch him, and her smile grows. “Want me to introduce you?”

“What? No. I was just—”

“Connor!” Ruby calls out, waving him over.

I want to sink through the sidewalk. Of course, she’d call him over. Of course, I’d be standing here looking like I’ve been living out of my car for three days, because I have been, while this man who looks like he walked out of some kind of outdoor sports catalogue crosses the street toward us.

Up close, he’s worse. Better? Worse.

Those blue eyes lock onto mine, and I forget how to breathe properly.

There’s a small scar cutting through his left eyebrow, and I have the irrational urge to ask how he got it.

His jaw is dusted with stubble that probably looked perfect this morning but now, late afternoon, has grown into something that would feel rough under my palm.

Not that I’m thinking about touching him. Absolutely not.

“Ruby,” he greets her, and his voice is deeper than I expected. Then his gaze drifts back to me, and I feel like I’m standing too close to a fire. “Who’s your friend?”

“This is Fern Ramos. Her car broke down just outside town, and she’s a therapist—possibly our new therapist if the medical center has any sense. Fern, this is Connor Langley.”

“Hi,” I manage, and immediately want to kick myself. Hi? That’s what I’m going with?

Connor’s mouth curves into the most devastating smile I’ve ever laid eyes on. “Car trouble? Where’d you break down?”

“About two miles out. Near the town sign.”

“I’ll have it towed to Joe’s Garage.” He pulls out his phone, already typing something. “You staying at the inn?”

“I… haven’t gotten that far yet.”

He looks up from his phone, really looks at me this time, and I see the moment something changes in his expression. I probably look as desperate as I feel.

“Ruby’s taking good care of you?” he asks.

“She’s trying,” Ruby answers for me. “I was about to feed her before she collapsed.”

Connor pockets his phone. “Good. Joe says he can look at the car this evening, but parts might take a few days if it’s serious. I’ll let you know.”

A few days. The words should panic me, but instead, I feel something loosen in my chest. A few days means I can rest. It means I can figure out my next move and maybe catch my breath.

“Thank you,” I reply. “I appreciate it.”

Connor nods, and his eyes linger on mine for a beat longer than necessary. “Welcome to Silvercreek, Fern.”

He walks away, and I watch him go because apparently, I’ve lost all sense of self-preservation. Ruby makes a knowing sound beside me.

“Don’t,” I warn her.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You were thinking it very loudly.”

She laughs and links her arm through mine. “Come on. Food, and then we’ll talk about your future as Silvercreek’s newest resident.”

The diner is exactly what I expected—vinyl booths, checkered floors, a menu that probably hasn’t changed since 1985. Ruby orders for both of us, and I’m too grateful to argue. When the food arrives, I eat mechanically, barely tasting it, just shoving fuel into my body.

“So,” Ruby begins as she watches me demolish a turkey club, “what brings you to Silvercreek? Besides car trouble.”

The question I’ve been dreading. I set down my sandwich, buying time by wiping my hands on a napkin.

“I needed a change,” I respond with a shrug. “New York was… It wasn’t working anymore.”

“Running from something or toward something?”

“Does it matter?”

“Not to me.” She sips her water. “But if you’re staying, you should know this town takes care of its own. We protect each other.”

The words sound almost formal, like a promise or a warning. I want to ask what she means, but I’m afraid of the answer.

“I don’t know if I’m staying,” I admit. “The job is interesting, but I wasn’t planning on settling down anywhere. Just… getting some distance.”

“Distance from what?”

I meet her eyes, and something I see there tells me she already knows. Maybe not the details, but the broad strokes. She’s seen this before, recognized the signs of someone fleeing.

“Someone who didn’t want me to leave.”

Ruby nods and asks, “Boyfriend?”

“Ex. Or he should be ex. We broke up six months ago, but he didn’t seem to get the message.”

“Stalking?”

“Among other things.” I don’t elaborate. Can’t elaborate, not here in this cheerful diner where people are laughing and sharing pie. “It got bad enough that I had to leave.”

“And you came here.”

“I came nowhere. Silvercreek just happened to be where my car gave up.” I laugh, but it sounds hollow. “Though seeing that job posting felt like… I don’t know. A sign, maybe?”

Ruby leans back in the booth and drums her fingers on the table. “I believe in signs. My whole life has been shaped by things that seemed like coincidences but weren’t. If you’re supposed to be here, you’ll know.”

“That’s very philosophical.”

She pulls out her phone and starts typing. “I’m texting the medical center director. Her name is Patricia, and she’s going to love you. Well, assuming you’re actually qualified and not just desperate.”

“I’m both,” I admit. “Five years at a practice in Manhattan. I worked with trauma survivors, mostly. PTSD, anxiety, depression. I’m good at what I do.”

“Then Patricia will definitely love you.” Ruby sets her phone down. “Silvercreek has some… unique challenges. We could use someone with your background to help with the pack.”

There’s that odd phrasing again. Unique challenges. The pack. Like this town operates under different rules than the rest of the world.

Maybe it does. Maybe that’s exactly what I need.

“So what do you think?” Ruby asks. “Want to at least meet Patricia? No commitment, just a conversation.”

I glance out the diner window. My car is somewhere being looked at by a mechanic I’ve never met. My entire life fits in two suitcases. I have nowhere to be and no plan beyond “get far away from New York.”

“What have I got to lose?” I reply.

“That’s the spirit.” Ruby stands and leaves a wad of cash on the table. “Come on. Let’s go see about getting you a job.”

As we leave the diner, I catch sight of Connor again, talking to someone outside the hardware store. He glances over, catching my eye, and something in my chest pulls toward him like a compass finding north.

This is a terrible idea. Getting involved with anyone right now, in any capacity, is the worst possible plan.

But maybe terrible ideas are all I have left. Maybe this little town with its friendly people and strange phrasings and a security officer who looks at me like he can see through every wall I’ve built. Perhaps this is exactly where I’m supposed to be.

Or maybe I’m just too exhausted to keep running.

Either way, as I follow Ruby back toward the medical center, my battered suitcases still in my dead car, my entire life reduced to what I could grab in twenty minutes, I let myself imagine staying.