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He wasn’t playing fair. But then again, she hadn’t given him much of a choice. She was being irrationally stubborn here. “Okay.” She forced
the word out, shoved the tools into his hands and hurried to his truck.
It was hard to sit there. While she was soaking up the warmth of the heater, he was crawling under her truck, doing what she asked, in the freezing cold—so she could leave. While it was snowing. In the middle of the night.
Guilt kicked in.
The longer it took, the colder it became, the greater the guilt. She was toasty warm and he was still under her truck, trying to open the damn tire rack. According to the temperature reading on his dashboard, it was hovering around eighteen degrees.
His gloveless fingers were probably beyond numb by now.
“This is ridiculous,” she mumbled. “Your mother isn’t normally a horrible and selfish person. I’m sorry for losing my head, babies.” She opened the truck window a crack. “Ash,” she called out. “Come warm up.”
It took him a few minutes, but he joined her. He sat, cheeks flushed and nose bright red, staring straight ahead. He flexed his equally red fingers and muttered, “It’s stuck. The screw is stripped, I think.”
Still, he’d kept trying. For her. Even though this wasn’t his fault. Not really. Not the broken-down-on-the-side-of-the-road part anyway. She was the one who had thrown up all over him and caused a spectacle. She was the one who had run away. He’d been the one left to deal with the aftermath.
She studied his profile. Tension bracketed his mouth. The muscle in his jaw clenched tight. Still oh so handsome. And kind. He was a good man. If only... She swallowed. If only he felt something for her. Like the way she might, possibly—probably—feel about him. She covered her face with her hands, wanting to hide—needing a buffer between them and all the feelings.
“What do you want me to do?” he whispered.
She glanced his way, too tired to fight—or drive—anymore. “I just need to get my keys and my purse. If you’ll still give me a ride?”
Those gray eyes met hers. The sadness was real. Deep. Raw. Pressing in on her until she had to look away. “I’ll get them. Stay here.” He was out of the truck before she could argue.
She wrapped her arms around her waist, her gaze following him as he jogged to her truck. Maybe—no, definitely—she’d overreacted by running tonight. Hopefully, tomorrow things wouldn’t seem so overwhelming. After a good night’s sleep, she’d wake up and she wouldn’t be in love with the father of her babies and her heart wouldn’t be at risk.
What I want is to go back in time and fix...this. Few words had ever hurt as much.
Shock or not, he wouldn’t wish this pregnancy away.
Neither would she. What had happened tonight had upset her. Her reaction was undoubtedly compounded by the additional pregnancy hormones. And the Boone stubborn streak her father had reminded him of. Renata and these babies? He knew exactly how she felt about them. Her face had lit up at the doctor’s office when they’d heard their babies’ heartbeats. She wanted them—loved them. But not him.
Through the front windshield, he saw her, knees drawn up, hands over her face, looking fragile and small. And it was a kick to the gut. Unintentionally or not, he’d outed her secret in a very public way. But how could he have known the proposal would go so terribly wrong?
He owed it to her to fix this—somehow, some way. Did he have any ideas? Hell no. Considering his last idea had landed him covered in vomit and Renata running for the hills, he really needed to think this one through. For now, he was happy he’d convinced her to give up her midnight drive to a place that was fifty miles from nowhere. It was a start.
He pulled himself into the truck cab and slammed the truck door, sealing out the surprisingly bitter cold.
“Thank you.” She took the purse he offered, still huddled in her seat.
He nodded, wanting to say something—anything—to ease the tension between them. “I am sorry,” he murmured.
In the deafening silence of the truck cab, there was no way she’d missed the apology. But sitting there, hoping she’d say something or—dream on—accept his apology wasn’t going to make the drive into town go faster. He was bone tired as it was. If he was, she had to be. And the babies... Well, they all needed their beds. The sooner, the better.
He put the truck in gear and headed back home, the quiet crushing in on him and making him squirm. If she didn’t want to listen to him apologize, he’d change gears entirely. Neutral ground was good. Curtis. Or the mothers. Or his work. Even the Gruber place she was so fond of. But a glance her way told him the conversation window was closed.
For a moment, it hurt to breathe.
She’d shifted in the seat, facing him. There was no sign of the stress or anger that had rolled off her when she’d been awake. Instead, she was young and calm... And more beautiful than ever. Something about this brave, stubborn woman had captured his attention.
He’d make this right between them. He had to.
The drive to the Lodge seemed to take twice as long as it should’ve. But when he’d finally parked, the sight of her sleeping peacefully made it impossible to wake her. He scooped her into his arms, comforted by her body’s warmth. The brush of her breath on his throat set the hair on the back of his neck straight up. And the press of her hand against his chest knocked the rhythm of his heart. Her head lolled back against his shoulder, and he stared down at her face.
Affection rolled over him. Real affection. With a healthy dose of surprising territorialism. Dammit. But coming face-to-face with Fisher, pacing before the fireplace, demanded his overwhelming reaction to Renata would wait—for self-preservation’s sake.
“Thank God,” Fisher whispered, staring at his sister with unveiled concern. “Where was she?”
