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I cleared my throat. “Obviously, because when I have sex with you, neither of us will be able to forget.”
Yes.When,notif.
She didn’t come around the table to slap me, only blushed a little more, if that was even possible. “I think there’s been a mistake,” she said.
I wanted to relax, but if she was Melly Harwood, then she was the one who left a string of angry messages. How pretty and untouched she looked didn’t change that.
Her gaze narrowed, perhaps thinking I was crazy–the feeling was mutual–or as if she was trying to figure me out. Same difference. “Who are you?”
“Daniel Pearson.”
Her lips pursed in a very librarian-like way, as if disappointed. “No, you’re not.”
I’m not?“I sure as hell am,” I said, setting my hands on my hips. “Want to see my ID?”
Her green gaze raked over me from my steel-toed boots to the top of my head, which took a while because I was a big man. Six-five of lumberjack muscle.
“You’re not the Daniel Pearson I know. I’d never bother–”
I cut her off because… what? “How many Daniels do you–” I bit my lip, my words snagged because I figured it all out. I ran a hand through my hair, took a moment to stare at the ceiling tiles. “Fuck. I’m going to kill him.”
“Who?”
“My son. TheotherDaniel Pearson. The one who got you pregnant.”
The idiot! He’d done the one thing I’d drilled into him since he was twelve and started to get hair on his balls.No glove, no love.Never, ever, fuck without a condom. He knew the consequences from unprotected sex. Firsthand.
That didn’t mean he needed to have history repeat itself.
So she didn’t baselessly accuse me of anything, but I was still pissed and a hell of a lot jealous that Danny’d been the one to touch and defilelittle Melly Harwood.
One look and for some fucking reason I wanted that to be my job andonlymine.
“Your son,” she repeated.
“Yes, my son. Daniel Pearson,Junior.The one your age who’s missed your messages because he’s in California fighting a wildland fire. The one who got you pregnant.”
She blushed some more and I watched it creep down her neck and beneath her collar. How far did it go? I wondered if that blush covered her large breasts–because they were definitely ample based on the way she was filling out that sweater.
In came the vet, in blue scrubs and a stethoscope around his neck. “Is this the baby daddy?” he asked, eyeing me, then going over to the dog to give him a pet on the head.
Clearly, he had a death wish. How many people had she told about her pregnancy? Did she blather it all over town?
Little Melly Harwood was over her blushing. In fact, while her head was tipped down toward the dog, she was looking up at me through her lashes. Was she biting her lip to keep from laughing?
Yes, she fucking was.
I growled and glared. This wasn’t fucking funny. I knew exactly the repercussions of this kind of situation. An accidental pregnancy derailed my entire life and I was finally…finallygetting it back on track after over twenty years. And now when I was leaving town to get my sidetracked life back, now my son got a woman pregnant.
FUCK!
The vet missed it all because the stethoscope had been in his ears and was listening to the dog’s heart. Or whatever.
“Well, congrats,” he said after a minute, wrapping the stethoscope around his neck again, then ran his hands over the small dog. He looked like an eight-inch cotton ball.
“I’d say Fred’s got another week and the puppies will be here. We’ll schedule the c-section at the front counter.”
Wait… WHAT?
