CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Leanne
The drive up the hill to Alex and Delia’s house is quiet. My mind is still reeling after our conversation, and I wonder if Bryce’s is too.
He wants us to move in with him? Is that a good idea? A terrible one? What happens after my six months of maternity leave are up?
I don’t want to raise a baby alone and I know he wants to be there, but living together…
My sweaty hands slide against the leather of my steering wheel, each ridge of the stitched outer seam bumping against my palm.
A tingling awareness zips through my bloodstream as we pass the path to the glamping tents, and my body heats with the remembrance of the last time we were there.
I will never look at a tent the same way.
There’s an echo of that night in my brain even now. Bryce’s gruff words of command and praise. My own pleasure barely leashed in a way I’ve experienced with very few partners—if any. The sounds of the creek and of music playing around us—a perfect symphony for everything we were doing.
That night was electric and the same awareness that brought me to life then was just as present in Bryce’s bedroom earlier.
And that’s the danger that would be ever present if we lived together, even with a kid in the mix.
Of course, the attraction might dwindle once I have the baby and my entire body changes…
Bryce’s hand covers mine on the steering wheel now that I’ve stopped in front of the big house on the hill, and butterflies go wild in my belly at the small touch.
The glow of the sun setting behind us shines in the large windows of the house, creating a bright and welcoming appearance. Not at all scary, even if I’m trembling with nerves right now.
I swallow back the huge lump in my throat and finally look at Bryce.
“Blondie, there’s nothing to worry about,” he says, lifting my hand to brush it against his lips. He uses the other to push a lock of hair behind my ear, eliciting a shiver. “You ready?”
“No.” A nervous laugh escapes and I hope it covers up just how true that sentiment is.
“It’ll be fine, I promise.” He leans in and presses a kiss to my cheek, and his beard rasps softly against my skin. This kiss is as chaste as the one I gave him after he asked me to move in, but nothing feels truly chaste with this man… As evidenced by my reaction to his hand on my ankle earlier.
I nod and exit the car, needing the space and fresh air to ground me. With a crunch of gravel under boots, Bryce strides toward me in his standard heavy flannel jacket and jeans, comfortable and relaxed.
The house is mostly built with stone and exposed wood beams. The wraparound porch looks like the perfect spot to curl up with a cup of tea.
It’s beautiful, and so is Bryce—though I doubt he’d care for that description.
But even with the rugged manliness of who he is, there’s a beauty to him I find striking…
and it’s probably because he cares so deeply.
He twines his fingers with mine, but I freeze on the steps facing the house. “What have you told them again?”
He runs his hand along his beard and the raspy sound brings back memories that shouldn’t be present at this particular moment.
“They know you’re pregnant, and that it wasn’t exactly planned, but they don’t know all the details,” he says this with a raised eyebrow and a smirk. Meaning they don’t know we banged in one of the tents sitting on their property. That’s something at least. “And they know we’re friends.”
Friends. That is what we agreed to—what I wanted us to be.
But with his proposal to move in with him and the tension coiling around us, tighter and tighter, I keep wondering if there’s more.
But more requires putting my insecurities aside, ones screaming he didn’t like me enough when we met to want more than a single fuck.
Then again, I didn’t like him much either, and that’s clearly changed…
Maybe it’s changed for him too? I want to believe the best of him, but I can’t fully let go of the notion that he’s only here because he’s a good man and I’m pregnant, not because he wants me.
“And, um, how do they feel about all of this? You’re sure it’s okay for me to be here?
You were married to their daughter after all.
” His late wife’s family is on the other side of these doors, and in my mind, they’d want nothing to do with me.
The woman their widower son-in-law impregnated on accident.
He squeezes my hand and pulls me forward. “If it was a problem, I wouldn’t have brought you here, Leanne. Why don’t you come in and see for yourself how they feel about it?”
Beneath his dark beard is his wide smile and it brings with it a wave of peace that eases my nerves. I nod and blow out a big breath, like a pressure release valve, and hope I can get through this night without throwing up.
Oh my god, why didn’t I think about that?
What if they’re making steak or something?
It’s the only thing that still makes me nauseous on sight, and this is a ranch for goodness’ sake.
I should’ve clarified to ensure I don’t embarrass myself at yet another family function.
But before I can inquire, Bryce tugs me toward the wooden front door inlaid with glass panels and a large brass knocker to match the handle.
I focus on his big hand as he pushes the door open, his other squeezing mine in a gentle rhythm. It reminds me of our first doctor’s appointment together—three small squeezes of comfort.
The entryway flows directly into the main area of the house, which is cozy and inviting.
If I were to envision what a Montana ranch house might look like inside, this is it.
Live edge wood and river rock, browns and creams and greens, soft textures melding with rugged ones.
It’s a style I never would’ve imagined caring for—being more of a clean, crisp, modern girl myself—but it’s homey and welcoming. Similar to the way Bryce’s house feels.
And speaking of welcoming…
“Leanne!” Rebecca’s sing-song voice reverberates off the high ceiling as she rounds the corner from what I assume is the kitchen. She has an apron tied around her waist, covering her sweater and jeans, and her brown waves are tied up in a high ponytail.
If she has any reservations about my being here considering she’s my doctor, I can’t see them. She pulls me in for an unexpected hug—one I couldn’t appreciate more if I tried. It’s like having another ally in this unknown situation.
Bryce’s rumbling chuckle comes from beside us. “Let her breathe, Becca.”
She sticks her tongue out at him before wrapping him in an equally fervent hug.
This is his family—even if it’s less conventional than mine.
Without preamble, Rebecca grabs us each by the hand and hauls us into the kitchen.
The woman at the stove looks a lot like her but with grey streaked through her dark hair and laugh lines around her mouth and eyes. The man beside her, who’s got a hand on her hip, is harder to see because his face is pressed to the top of her head, planting a tender kiss there.
“Delia, Alex, this is Leanne,” Bryce says, and I feel his touch at the small of my back in a gesture of support. I chant I will not throw up inside my head and pray the nerves will settle.
Delia wipes her hands on a towel and comes around the cooktop, beaming. “It’s so nice to meet you, Leanne.” She wraps me in a warm embrace.
“You too,” I say, recognizing that Rebecca must get her calming nature from her mother.
She doesn’t appraise me or look first to my abdomen like I would expect but keeps her gaze on my face before moving it to Bryce’s, along with a hand to his cheek. Something passes between them that I can’t read, but both of their eyes go soft.
Alex brings my attention to him instead and I’m grateful for the distraction.
His tan skin gives me the impression he spends most of his time outside, and his deep-cut smile lines tell me he wears that expression more often than not.
He extends his hand for me, saying, “Alex.” I take it and the calluses on his palm scratch against mine.
“We’re thrilled you could come to dinner. ”
“I appreciate you having me,” I reply, not wanting to expound on the fact that it seems like it’s them offering me a great kindness.
Delia must have the motherly ability to hear what others are thinking because she says, “Nonsense, dear. As soon as Bryce told us, we near begged him to bring you over. I hope you’re hungry!”
My stomach grumbles at that exact moment and Bryce chuckles beside me—fully knowing I ate three slices of bread before we came over. I shoot him a glare, but it melts off my face at his relaxed smile.
“Starving,” I say, glancing around and taking in the kitchen for the first time. On the counter beside the range is bread and cheese and butter, and there’s a pot of something cooking over one of the burners. My head swings in Bryce’s direction.
“I didn’t want you to have to worry about getting sick. And Delia makes a mean grilled cheese. It might actually be better than the ones at Whiskey Ditch,” he says with a shrug.
With my nausea finally abating a few weeks after entering my second trimester, I’ve been able to expand my range of foods significantly, but I think I will continue craving grilled cheese.
Fortunately, Bryce doesn’t seem to mind that it’s what I always ask for when he comes out to have dinner or to grab lunch with me.
I bite the inside of my cheek and sniff back the tears welling in my eyes, but when I look at this family all staring at me with welcoming smiles, one of them spills free. Dammit, these fucking hormones are killing me.
“Thank you,” I say, offering a watery smile.
Bryce flexes his hand against my spine, and I feel it like a contraction on my heart too.
He’s a good man—definitely too good for me—but I’m grateful this baby will have him as a father.
“Can I help with anything?” I ask, swiping the tear away and trying to act normal.
“Definitely not,” Alex says, indicating a stool across from where he and Delia are moving around the kitchen again.
“You two take a seat, and we’ll put Rebecca to work here.
” He shoots his daughter a wink and she rolls her eyes playfully before reaching for a second block of cheese out of the fridge.
“You’re eighteen weeks along now, right? How are you feeling?” Delia asks, and I’m so grateful for the way she jumps right in without any awkwardness. It makes me want to hug her again.
“Really good. The nausea was terrible early on, but it’s so much better now.”
“I remember being so sick when I was pregnant. It was awful,” Delia says, reaching across her husband for the bread. “I’m glad you’ve gotten past that. Are you feeling the baby move yet? That was always my favorite part.”
I glance sideways at Bryce, the same nervous flicker dancing behind his pupils.
“Um, no, I haven’t,” I say, looking down at my stomach, wishing I could will the baby to move. It’s the one thing keeping me up at night now, not knowing that everything is okay.
Rebecca flits around the kitchen and between her parents with ease, but she clearly picks up on the tension brought on by the question.
“It’s perfectly normal, Leanne. We talked about this yesterday; it’s possible you have an anterior placenta keeping you from feeling anything yet, or maybe you have a very calm baby in there.
” She laughs at the second part of her statement.
“We’ll find out at your anatomy scan in a couple weeks and you’ll be able to see them moving then, even if you can’t feel it. ”
I nod, only somewhat placated. I know I won’t be able to fully relax until I can feel him or her bouncing around in there all the time. A constant reminder that they’re okay.
The look that passes between Rebecca and Bryce holds the same encouragement she was giving me. Maybe he’s more nervous about this than he’s been letting on. Which would make sense, considering how often he asks me about it.
My heart stutters when my gaze lands on a copy of our first sonogram tacked to the fridge with a magnet that says Proud Grandma and Grandpa.
Bryce must follow my gaze because he reaches to squeeze my thigh under the counter. “They’re really excited.”
I swallow hard, tears gathering again, and this time I can’t stop them.
I drag my stare away from the magnet and get lost in Bryce’s eyes.
There’s so much emotion in their chocolate depths.
He swipes a tear from my cheek with the pad of his thumb, letting his other fingers rest below my ear on my neck.
Delia, Alex, and Rebecca graciously ignore us as if we aren’t having a moment only two feet away.
“Thank you,” I whisper, and settle my hand over his, turning my face to brush my lips against his palm.
Part of me wants to touch him all the time, while the other rebels against it—woefully unprepared to want anything of the sort.
The ease with which the first part overrules the other scares me just as much as not being able to feel our baby moving yet.
“Now!” Rebecca exclaims, and my head snaps up, effectively breaking the moment between Bryce and me. “Do you want to eat or open your presents first?”
She has her hands on her hips and a wide grin splitting her face. Tendrils of her dark hair have fallen out of the scrunchy holding it back to frame her face.
“Presents?” I ask, tentatively. Presents for who? Is it Bryce’s birthday or something?
“You guys didn’t need to get us anything,” he says with an almost bashful air, like even he’s embarrassed.
Did he say “us”?
“Of course we did!” says Alex emphatically.
“Well, then. It’s up to the mom-to-be. Food or presents first?” Delia asks, and I can’t help but laugh with confused delight.
“Um, food, I guess. Otherwise, my stomach will probably protest throughout the whole presents thing.”
Bryce nods. “True, let’s get you fed.”