Chapter 5
five
Chance felt like a damn stalker.
He wasn’t, even if he was waiting in his truck in the hospital parking lot. He was only making sure Cordy had a partner for her birthing class. If she did, he’d leave without her ever knowing. And if she didn’t, he’d offer to help again.
If she said no to Chance’s offer, he’d accept that and go. A stalker wouldn’t, which meant he wasn’t one.
He only felt like one.
The automatic doors snapped open and shut, people hurrying in and out. Chance stared at everyone, trying to see if they were Cordy. More than one person gave him a funny look back, like this poor lady who had no idea why he was eyeballing her.
Chance shifted uncomfortably. Yeah, there was no good way to spin this. But if Cordy didn’t have a partner and she couldn’t take the class… Christ, that would upset her. The way she talked about being alone, with no one to help or show her how it was done, messed him up.
So that was why he was acting like a damn psycho.
When Cordy came around a corner from the far parking lot, her belly leading and a bag strapped across her back, Chance’s body unlocked.
Finally, she was here.
She wore clothes he’d never seen her in before—a flowy patterned dress that hit below her knees and covered her shoulders. She looked like she was on her way to church, one of the ones that yelled about sinners and Hell and people like Chance.
The weight of her massive bag was making her list like a drunken sailor. Without a second thought, Chance dashed across the parking lot to her.
Cordy stopped dead when she saw him, her eyes wide. She didn’t even say anything. Her expression simply hardened.
“You can tell me to go,” Chance said, “but I think you need me.”
Her pretty mouth flattened. He waited for her to tell him to go to hell—but she didn’t.
Chance suppressed his smile, knowing better than to rub salt in her wounds. He took her bag and immediately almost dropped it. Goddamn, but it was heavy. “What are you carrying in here, rocks? Are you supposed to be hauling this much weight?”
She slanted him a look. “I’m not weak or sick. I’m just pregnant. It’s my notes and books. All the baby books I’ve bought, the handouts they gave me in the classes, and my notes on everything.”
Chance hefted the bag onto his shoulder. The thing must be at least thirty pounds. “You were the kid who carried all her textbooks with her even if she didn’t need them, weren’t you?”
“No,” she said, “I wasn’t. I actually wasn’t a great student.”
“Me neither.” Chance opened the door for her. “School wasn’t my thing.”
The Star Crossed Springs school district was barely one step above a one-room schoolhouse, with everyone from kindergarteners to high school seniors on the same campus. There was one class for each grade, and the high school teachers doubled up for most classes, with one teacher covering science and math or English and history. Chance had graduated with pretty much the same thirty kids he’d been in kindergarten with.
“I’m sure you were a better student than I was.” Chance needed her to smile at him. The strain on her face was killing him. “I barely graduated. Had to flutter my eyelashes at the teachers to pass most of my classes.”
Cordy snorted. “Please don’t pretend that you’re dumb. We both know you’re not.”
Chance smiled slowly at her. “We do?”
“Are you really that desperate for me to stroke your ego?”
The word stroke put all kinds of things in Chance’s mind, things that shouldn’t be there if he was about to walk into a labor and delivery class.
He cleared his throat. “Honestly, I’m desperate for you to laugh. Or even smile. You seem stressed.”
“I am,” she admitted softly. “Or at least I was , thinking about how I would manage without a partner. Um… thanks for coming.”
He wanted to say you’re welcome . He wanted to tell her she didn’t have to do this entirely alone. He wanted…
Chance pulled back from whatever nonsense his brain had been about to spit out. “It’s no problem. You’ll cut me a check after, right?”
That made her smile. A small one, but still. “No one uses checks anymore.”
“Oh, so I’m getting it in cash? Nice.”
She bit her lip, and Chance sensed she was readying a smart remark. But then they arrived at the classroom. A line of expecting couples snaked out the door.
The women gave Cordy sympathetic smiles. We’re all in this together!
The men jerked their chins smugly at Chance. Look at us, our swimmers work!
Chance nodded back. He didn’t actually know if his swimmers worked, and he hoped he never did. This was going to be his first—and last—labor and delivery class.
Cordy’s expression grew increasingly serious the closer they got to getting inside. Her face was set in stone by the time it was their turn. She didn’t look like a happy mom-to-be. She looked like she was heading to an execution. Maybe her own.
If they wanted this to work, Chance would have to turn her mood around. He leaned in close. “What’s the story here?” he asked quietly. “Are we supposed to be married?”
“No,” she said. “Not that.”
“So you’re taking advantage of me?”
She swung around to face him. “What?”
“You’ve got the baby.” He gestured to her belly. “And you’re refusing to make an honest man of me.” He tapped his ring finger with his thumb. “You’re getting the milk without buying the cow.”
One corner of her mouth quirked up. “So I’m using you for…?” She licked her lips.
Heat pooled in his belly. Chance made himself ignore it. “Stud service.”
Cordy huffed out a laugh. “I refuse to call you a stud.”
Her eyes were remarkable in this light, which was strange because hospital lighting was some of the worst in the world. But her eyes were glinting like sunlight on a fast-flowing creek.
Chance tried to think of something to say, but his brain was stuck on her.
“What?” Cordy’s smile faded. She touched her face. “What’s the matter?”
He forced himself to look past her. “It’s our turn.”
The woman at the sign-up table was in her late forties, with a cap of salt and pepper curls and a no-nonsense expression. She didn’t look comforting, but she did look like she’d be good in an emergency.
“I’m Carrie Reston,” she said. “I’ll be your instructor.”
“Hi.” Cordy reached up for the strap of her bag, then glanced back at Chance when she realized she didn’t have it. “I’m Cordelia.”
“Cordelia Johnson.” Ms. Reston searched her list. “Here you are. And here’s your name tag. And you are…” She looked Chance up and down, then back at her list. “Jack Smith.”
“Yep, that’s me.” Chance took the name tag from her with a smile. “Ready to learn about having babies.”
Ms. Reston cocked an eyebrow. “You a rancher?”
Chance had left his hat in the truck, but Ms. Reston had clocked him anyway. It was probably the jeans and the boots. Chance didn’t wear anything but.
“Yes, ma’am. Fifth generation. Pulled my fair share of calves?—”
She snapped up a hand. “No. None of your stories here. I don’t want these parents to hear about stuck calves, downed cows, broken pelvises, milk fever, mastitis”—she pinned him with a stare—“Any. Of. It. Do you understand?”
Chance felt like he’d been smacked upside the head. Cordy was watching the two of them with her mouth hanging open.
He cleared his throat. “I wasn’t…” But he had been about to brag about his experience with delivering cows. Well, a brag wrapped in a joke. People liked that. It cut the tension. It made things easy.
If Chance got them kicked out of here, nothing would be easy.
He swallowed hard, tried again. “Yes, ma’am,” he said. “No calving stories. I understand.”
“You’d better. I’ve kicked people out before, you know.”
“I believe it,” Chance said.
“And don’t be telling her those stories, either.” Ms. Reston pointed to Cordy. “A woman is not a cow.”
“He’s not perfect.” Cordy’s mouth twitched. “But I assure you, he’s never compared me to a cow.”
“Good,” Ms. Reston said. “But that’s a very low bar to clear.” She handed over a folder stuffed with papers. “Here’s everything you’ll need for the class.”
Chance grabbed it before Cordy could because that stack looked heavy enough to break her wrist.
“Thank you.” Cordy’s tone had a nervous edge. “We’re looking forward to this.”
Ms. Reston gave her a gentle smile. “You’ll do great. You’re doing great.”
Cordy went pale and still. For a moment, Chance was terrified she was going to bust out crying, she looked that stunned. He couldn’t figure out why, since the woman had just complimented her.
Crying wasn’t the way Cordy wanted to walk into this place. Chance tried to think of a way to snap her out of it.
But she took a deep breath and pulled herself out. “Thanks,” she said. “We can sit anywhere?”
Ms. Reston nodded.
As they walked into the classroom, Chance leaned into Cordy’s ear, pitching his voice low. “Jack Smith? That’s like two letters away from John Doe. What was your plan with that?”
She lifted her face so that they were practically cheek to cheek. “I put that name down so I could register,” she whispered. “I figured I’d tell them Jack was stuck in traffic and trying to get here. Then he’d have an emergency at work. Then he’d be sick. I haven’t come up with an excuse for the fourth session yet.”
“You don’t need an excuse. Jack’s right here.”
Cordy put her hand to his arm. Her touch burned. “Thank you for being here. I really do appreciate it.”
Chance canted his head so he could look right into her stunning eyes. If anyone saw them, they’d look like a couple having an intimate moment and not two people planning to put one over on everyone.
“You don’t have to thank me.” His voice was strangely gruff. “I told you that.”
Had he? He couldn’t remember. But he didn’t want her to do it again. It was making him feel weird.
“Let’s sit down before we get yelled at,” he said.
“Ms. Reston rattled you, didn’t she?”
“You liked her.” Which Chance didn’t quite understand, since Cordy had been ready to cry back there. Maybe it was because Ms. Reston had put him in his place.
“Yeah. We need to find a seat.” She looked over his shoulder, and her eyes widened in horror. “Oh no,” she whispered. Her hand tightened on his forearm.
Chance turned to face the room, his body tense. What the hell had Cordy looking like that?
The tables were set up so two couples could share, and there were only two seats left. The seats they’d have to take.
The other couple at the table stared back at them, just as shocked. Because they were Jaycee and Gareth Tyler.
Chance had played football with Gareth. Jaycee had been a year behind him in school. These two had known Chance his entire life and knew there was no way he’d be settling down with Cordy Johnson. They also knew the whole story with Reed. And Jaycee loved to gossip.
They were the absolute worst people to run into right now. And they’d have to sit with them.
“Oh shit,” Cordy murmured.
Chance couldn’t agree more.