Fifteen.
Maci
“I think you’ve popped, Maci,” Alison announces, staring at my belly.
“Did you?” Cassidy gasps, rushing out of the back room.
I laugh, wiping down the front counter of Cup O’ Joe—my new part-time job. After an unwelcome interview with Rick’s Gym—who found my current ‘situation’ unmanageable in the long run, Duke suggested I contact Winton’s Resort on the mountain. It proved to be a night-and-day experience. The manager at Winton’s was eager to jump on my offer of private, couple, and group yoga classes—not rude in the slightest when I told them I was pregnant.
And the classes have been going great: Every Thursday and Friday are reserved for regular group classes, while Saturdays are for couples. Three, forty-five-minute classes with a fifteen-minute break in between to start—and they’re already asking to add two more to the schedule. That’s how fast the classes are filling up.
It’s a dream come true.
My string of bad luck seems to have finally ended. Fingers crossed.
I’ve been living with Duke at the rental cabin for two weeks, and I still haven’t heard a peep about any available apartments in Whitetail. I even went out of my price range and still nothing.
Cassidy says it’s because they’re all being used as vacation rentals for the holiday season, that after the new year, she thinks I’ll get a call.
Not that I’m overly eager to leave the cabin. Living with Duke has been…another dream. We don’t fight, we don’t argue, and every day he goes out of his way to make me feel special—whether it’s a text or call just to see how I’m feeling, bringing me lunch or my pre-packed snacks to work for me because I forgot them.
He’s the kind of man women only read about in books.
The only downside—if you can call it that—is he hasn’t let me pay him anything for staying. Instead, he’s been asking me for menial favors, like helping him pick out flooring for the house build, cabinets, countertops, and even exterior siding. Don’t get me wrong, we have a blast doing it—joking and making fun of carpet samples that should be named after different shades of dog poop.
We’ve spent every day and every night together. And I fear my feelings for Duke are starting to take on a whole new meaning. Because these last two and a half weeks with him have been nothing short of perfect.
Being thirteen weeks pregnant, and officially in my second trimester, it’s hard to say if it’s the hormones or that every time Duke rubs my belly I want to cry, jump on him, run away, and proclaim my undying love for him all at once.
“Duke said the same thing,” I say to Alison regarding my growing bump.
Cassidy stands beside me, pulling her matching Cup O’ Joe work shirt tight over her belly. “What do you think, Al?” she asks. “Who’s bigger? I’ll be ten weeks tomorrow.”
Alison grabs her phone and starts snapping pictures. “Show me those babies!” We laugh, proceeding to push our tiny bumps together.
When Duke and I went to dinner at Butch and Cassidy’s a few weeks ago, Duke thought we’d be leaving early to avoid a fight. But it turned into a nice evening. It was clear afterwards that the stubborn brothers’ relationship is on the mend.
“When did you say your appointment is with Dr. Sanderson?” Cassidy asks, smiling at the pictures Alison just sent her.
“I have to be there by 11:30 AM,” I reply, checking the time. “I should probably get going actually.”
The bell above the door chimes, and Duke strolls in.
My brow furrows for a moment before a smile splits my face. “Hey, what are you doing here?”
He grins, walking straight toward me. “Your appointment is today, right?”
“Yes, but…”
“Oh, good. I’m glad you’re going with her, Duke. Those offices by the hospital can be so confusing. They all look the same,” Cassidy says.
Alison hands me my purse and jacket from the back. “We’ll see you tomorrow for couple’s yoga,” she exclaims with a giddy bounce. “Tanner can’t wait.”
I tug on my coat and say a quick goodbye before following Duke out to the parking lot. “I’ll drive,” he says, resting a firm hand on my lower back, steering us in the direction of his truck.
I open my mouth to protest, but I’m so confused, I can’t form the words. We’re halfway to the doctor’s office when I turn to him. “What are you doing?”
“Driving you to your appointment,” he says, glancing at me, then to the road.
My gaze narrows. “Why are you driving me to my appointment? We never talked about you picking me up.”
He shrugs. “I took an early lunch. Figured we could get something to eat after.”
It’s innocent enough, sure, but I feel like I’ve come to know my friends-with-benefits-temporary-roommate fairly well these last few weeks. “Is something wrong?” I ask. “Oh, no. Did Joey put laxatives in your coffee again?”
Duke shakes his head with a chuckle. “That fucker better never do that shit again if he wants to keep his job,” he says. “And no, angel, nothing’s wrong. I just…want to go with you, make sure you get there okay. Is that all right?”
His hand finds mine resting on the center console, and he laces his thick, calloused fingers through mine. Heat and a familiar comfort radiate from his palm to mine. “I guess,” I say quietly.
I told him yesterday it was just a basic introductory appointment. I was able to get all my medical records transferred to Dr. Sanderson’s office, so they’ll only be having me fill out paperwork, take some basic measurements, and listen to the baby’s heartbeat today.
I don’t see why he’d want to come to any of that.
We get to the hospital, and Duke navigates around the small maze of offices behind it. We walk in the front door and the receptionist greets us with a warm welcome. She certainly seems to know Duke, but he doesn’t look in her direction. She hands me a clipboard to fill out, and we take a seat in the waiting room.
Everything is straightforward until I get to the portion about the biological father, requesting their information as well. Crap. Should I fill it out? Does it matter? I don’t want to put his name down on anything pertaining to my baby. I don’t even want to speak his name…
“Maci?” Duke whispers, placing a hand on mine to steady the shake.
I look away, roughly swiping at the falling tears. “I’m fine.”
He points to a small box off to the side near the father’s section that states: N/A – Not applicable. I nod solemnly, checking the box.
A nurse calls my name, and I stand.
“I’ll, um, wait here for you,” Duke grunts.
“You can come with me if you want,” I say.
He takes in a deep breath, his leg jumping. “You sure?”
I can hear it in his tone—he wants to.
I nod. He walks with me as we follow the nurse into a room. Duke takes a seat in the guest chair, holding my coat and purse for me. The nurse checks my blood pressure and weight before handing me a urine cup. She instructs me to use the bathroom down the hall.
Finishing my business, I return to the room where Duke is waiting. His stern expression locked on a poster of a realistically drawn vagina with the head of a baby crowning from a side view—cutting the mother in half to see the birthing process from the inside.
I snicker, closing the door behind me. “Learn anything?” I tease, hopping to sit on the exam table with a loud crinkle of that obnoxious paper under my butt.
He scoffs. “Yeah, ten centimeters is a lot.”
I burst with laughter at the same time a knock hits the door. In walks a kind-eyed, older woman with silver-blonde hair. Her eyes shine as she looks at me. “Hello, Miss Baker. My name is Dr. Clara Sanderson. It’s lovely to meet you.” She extends her hand to me and I take it.
“It’s nice to meet you, too,” I say as her attention turns to Duke with surprise.
“Duke Montgomery,” she announces. “Your brother was just in here with his fiancée not even a week ago. Julie didn’t tell me I’d be seeing you as well.”
His tone is tight as he says, “Hi, Mrs. Sanderson.”
Duke and his family know my new OBGYN on a personal basis?
How small is this town?
Dr. Sanderson waves him off, taking a seat on the rolling chair and turning to me. She grabs the clipboard I filled out, flipping through to the father’s information page, and it’s written on her face as she glances between Duke and me.
She clears her throat and grabs a pen, going through my information and making notes where she sees fit. Until she gets to that dreaded portion again. “I see here you’ve marked not applicable for the father of the child.” Her kind eyes lift to me. “Do you have any medical history or information on the father that you’d like us to make note of?”
I peer at Duke out of the corner of my eye. “There’s a…history of high blood pressure on the biological father’s side. But that’s all I’m aware of.”
Dr. Sanderson jots down the note. “I take it you’ll be raising this child on your own?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I say with as much confidence as I can muster, but it’s not much.
She smiles, standing and setting the clipboard on the counter. “Good for you,” she says with a fire in her eyes that tells me she means every word of it. “Now, lay back for me, dear, and let’s get a quick measurement.”
I lay back and pull my shirt up under my breast, the pop of my belly even more prominent in this position. Dr. Sanderson does some feeling around my belly and lower pelvis. “I understand you’re new to town. I’d recommend you set up a tour of the hospital here in Whitetail, and the birthing center in Deerhide. I deliver at both, wherever you decide to go is completely up to you. But I will say, if you’re interested in a water birth, the birthing center is the only spot set up for it.”
“Water birth?” Duke repeats, horrified.
Dr. Sanderson laughs. “Yes, Duke. Your mother delivered three of you Montgomery boys during a water birth. This was back when the hospital was set up for it, however. I think you and Butch were water births, if I remember correctly.”
“You delivered Duke?” I ask in awe.
Dr. Sanderson smiles wide. “Oh, yes, dear. Julie Montgomery and I go way back. I’ve been delivering babies in this town for over forty years. That includes all six of the Montgomery siblings, and apparently, the grandbabies, too.”
We go over a few more things, like my ideal birth plan—which is an epidural. A very, very strong epidural. Dr. Sanderson takes my measurements, then pulls out a fetal heart monitor from her white coat pocket.
I glance at Duke watching every move Dr. Sanderson is making with a stern expression.
“Let’s get a listen to this little one,” she quips, placing the small, cool wand on my belly with a firm press.
Muffled movement is all we hear at first, and then—the signature fast beat of a tiny heart. I cover my mouth, feeling the floodgates ready to pour.
“And that…is your baby’s heartbeat. A strong 160. Absolutely perfect,” she tells me, letting us listen for another moment before she pulls away, offering a hand to help me sit up.
Dr. Sanderson smiles softly as she hands me a tissue. “You’re all set today, Maci. Please make sure to stop at reception to schedule your next appointment. Keep doing what you’re doing, and we’ll see you in another four weeks.”
I dab under my eyes and sniffle. “Thank you, Dr. Sanderson.”
The second she closes the door, I sob, hiding my face in my hands as strong arms wrap around me. I bury my face into Duke’s broad chest, holding onto him as hard as I can. He doesn’t say a word, simply holds me tight while I continue to cry.
It’s been a hard, stressful few months and…something about hearing the reason for it all makes everything worth it.
I finally reel it in enough to release my death grip on Duke. He grabs the box of tissues off the counter and silently offers them to me.
I take a few, then slide off the exam table. “Thanks,” I sniffle, my gaze rising to Duke’s whose eyes are a little bloodshot themselves. My lower lip wobbles at the very thought of him crying too, but he just grins.
We don’t say anything walking to reception. I schedule my next appointment before we head out to Duke’s truck. He helps me in, and says, “You know what, I think I left my phone in there. I’ll be right back.” He closes the door before I have a chance to say anything.
I watch him jog across the parking lot back into the office. He’s gone for roughly five minutes, and I wonder if he got held up talking to Dr. Sanderson—or that perky receptionist.
I mean, not that I care. Well, I do. Sort of…
He did say we’re exclusive. We agreed not to have sex with other people. Does that mean he could date other women so long as he doesn’t have sex with them? But I’ve been with him non-stop for three weeks—he wouldn’t, would he?
I shake my head, desperate to get rid of the thought as he comes out of the office stuffing a white envelope in his coat pocket. That’s…strange.
“Hungry?” he asks, starting the engine.
I sigh. “Yes.”
“Good.” He gives me a lopsided grin and a wink, driving in the direction of the town diner. I can’t help but smile when he takes my hand once again. When he brings the back of it to his lips, kissing it softly, I nearly break down.
It’s a small gesture, one that makes keeping him at arm’s length from my heart harder and harder by the second.