Chapter 26
HARPER
Connor and I walked down Main Street hand in hand, his calloused palm warm and solid against mine in a way that still made my heart skip.
The late May sunshine was brilliant overhead in the perfect Wyoming blue sky that stretched endlessly above us without a single cloud to ruin the postcard-perfect view.
The temperature had climbed into the low seventies and was warm enough that I'd left my jacket in the truck, comfortable in just jeans and the soft lavender maternity top Anna had insisted on buying me yesterday even though I wasn't anywhere close to showing yet.
“You will be soon,” she'd said with that knowing smile. “Might as well get a head start on the shopping.”
The sidewalk was busy for a Friday afternoon.
Tourists were browsing shop windows with that leisurely pace they all had, locals ran errands with the efficiency of people who knew exactly where they were going, Mrs. Patterson emerged from the coffee shop with her usual afternoon latte.
She waved when she saw us, her face lighting up with genuine pleasure, and I waved back with my free hand.
We were still vigilant though. Connor's eyes constantly scanned our surroundings like he was tracking potential threats, his body was positioned slightly between me and the street in a protective way.
His awareness of every person who passed was obvious in the tension I could feel through our joined hands.
After what happened at the boutique on top of everything else, vigilance had become second nature.
Out here in the middle of the day, walking down Main Street with people everywhere, sunshine warming our faces and the smell of fresh-baked bread drifting from the bakery, we felt relatively safe. Enough to do this, anyway.
“Are you nervous?” Connor asked as we approached our destination, his thumb rubbed circles on the back of my hand in an unconscious way to soothe me.
I looked from him to the building we were aiming for, and my stomach did an uncomfortable flip.
The medical clinic sat between the pharmacy and a law office, its exterior was a plain and unassuming beige stucco with dark trim that desperately needed repainting, and a simple sign that read Teton County Medical Center in professional lettering.
Large windows flanked the entrance that were probably to make the space feel open and welcoming, but right now they just felt exposing.
Anyone walking past could see inside and see us in the waiting room. They would know we were here and could put together why a young couple would be at a medical clinic together on a Friday afternoon.
Stop. I’m being paranoid again. It was hard not to be paranoid after all we had gone through.
“Maybe a little?” I answered honestly, my free hand moving unconsciously to my stomach in a gesture that was becoming automatic, touching the place where our baby was growing even though there was nothing to see or feel yet.
Just a flat stomach and the terrifying knowledge that everything was about to change.
“Nervous about what we'll find out, I mean. Not nervous about the baby.”
Was I nervous to actually talk to a doctor about the pregnancy?
No. I wanted—no—needed to know how far along I was and get concrete information instead of the terrifying uncertainty that had plagued me since seeing those two pink lines.
Was this something that had happened the first time Connor and I were together?
That frantic, desperate encounter in his kitchen after I'd told him about Jaxon proposing?
Or later, one of the dozens of times since then when we'd been too caught up in each other to think about consequences?
The when mattered. It would tell us our due date, when I'd start showing, when we'd need to have everything ready, when our lives would irrevocably change.
“We don't have to do this today,” Connor said gently, stopping just outside the clinic entrance with the kind of patience that made me love him more.
His eyes were concerned, searching my face with that intensity he had when he was trying to read my emotions through whatever mask I was wearing.
“If you're not ready, we can reschedule. There's no rush, sweetheart.”
“No, I want to.” I squeezed his hand, grounding myself in his presence, in the solid reality of him beside me.
“I need to know, Connor. To have real information instead of just guessing and spiraling.
It's driving me crazy not knowing when—” I stopped, took a breath that didn't quite fill my lungs. “I need this.”
He nodded, understanding in his expression. Then he reached for the door handle and pulled it open, gesturing for me to enter first with that old-fashioned courtesy that was pure Connor.
I stepped inside slowly, my heart rate picked up despite my determination to do this like a normal person instead of a terrified mess.
The clinic's interior was exactly what you'd expect.
Bland white walls that probably hadn't been repainted since the nineties, generic landscape paintings that looked like they'd been bought in bulk from some medical supply catalog, and chairs with wipeable upholstery lining the waiting room in precise rows.
The air conditioning was cranked too high, making goosebumps rise on my bare arms, and everything smelled like antiseptic trying to masquerade as something less clinical.
Connor followed behind me, and his hand immediately found the small of my back in a grounding touch that said I'm here, you're not alone, we're doing this together.
The warmth of his palm was one of the only things keeping me from turning around and fleeing back into the sunshine where I could pretend this wasn't happening.
The other was remembering what he'd said when I told him about the pregnancy, standing on his back porch.
The absolute joy and certainty in his voice when he'd said he wanted this baby, wanted the future we were building, that he loved me and our child already before we'd even seen proof it existed beyond two pink lines on a stick.
Scary. Terrifying, actually. But also thrilling in a way I was just beginning to let myself feel. We're having a baby. A tiny person who'll be half him and half me. The thought made my chest tight with emotion I couldn't name.
We approached the reception desk where a middle-aged woman with kind eyes and reading glasses on a chain looked up from her computer. Her name tag read Margaret in cheerful letters that felt at odds with my anxiety.
“Harper Walsh,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt. “I have a 2:30 appointment.”
“Of course, dear. I see you right here.” Margaret's smile was warm, genuine, the kind that probably put nervous first-time moms at ease every single day. “First pregnancy?”
“Yes.” The word came out smaller than intended.
“Well, you're in excellent hands. Dr. Nysor is wonderful. She’s been delivering babies in this county for twenty years.
You'll love her.” She slid a clipboard across the counter with several forms clipped to it.
“If you could fill these out for me? Insurance information, medical history, that sort of thing. Should only take a few minutes.”
I took the clipboard with hands that trembled slightly, and Connor guided me to seats in the corner.
Away from the windows, I noticed, his protective instincts functioning even here.
We sat in uncomfortable chairs that were probably designed to be as unwelcoming as possible, and I stared at the forms without really seeing them.
“Want me to write?” Connor offered quietly. “You can tell me the answers.”
I shook my head, appreciating the offer, but I needed to do this myself. “No, I can do it. I just—” I looked at the first section requesting the patient’s name, date of birth, address, when my last menstrual cycle was. Simple stuff.
Connor's hand found mine where it rested on my thigh, squeezing gently. Not pushing, not hovering, not trying to take over. Just there.
I filled out the forms methodically, checking boxes for family medical history I only partially knew because my parents weren't exactly forthcoming, listing medications I was taking, answering questions about previous pregnancies I'd never had.
When I got to the section asking whether the father would be present for visits, I felt Connor lean closer to read over my shoulder.
I checked yes without hesitation, without even thinking about it. Did he doubt I would?
Fifteen minutes later, I returned the clipboard to Margaret, who scanned the forms with practiced efficiency before smiling and telling us the doctor would be with us shortly.
Shortly turned out to be another ten minutes that felt like an hour spent in purgatory.
We sat in the too-cold waiting room, Connor's hand never leaving mine, while a TV in the corner played some daytime talk show with the volume too low to actually hear but loud enough to be annoying.
Other patients came and went including a young mother with a toddler who immediately made a beeline for the toy box in the corner, and a teenage girl with her arm in a sling looking miserable.
“Harper Walsh?” A nurse appeared in the doorway leading to the exam rooms, her scrubs covered in cheerful cartoon animals like elephants and giraffes and smiling lions that were probably meant to be warm and comforting.
Her name tag had the name Jessica on it in the same script as Margaret’s and she held a chart while wearing a welcoming smile. “We're ready for you.”
Connor and I stood simultaneously with our hands still joined like we were physically incapable of separating.
The nurse led us down a hallway lined with exam rooms, past a nurse's station where two other women in scrubs chatted quietly about someone's graduation party, to a room at the end of the hall.