Page 23 of Call Me Yours (Lodestar Ranch #4)

CHLOE

Chloe

Hey! Hope you’re having an epic adventure. When you have cell service, give me a call.

Chloe

I really need to talk to you about something. Call me when you can.

Chloe

Dude, are you alive??

Since Gabe and I only texted when we were horny, I wasn’t too surprised I hadn’t heard from him.

Still, I hated that he was out there, taking all kinds of risks because that’s what he loved to do, and had no idea he was going to be a dad in seven months.

I didn’t know any of his friends or family, so there was no one I could get in touch with to make sure he was okay.

Other than that niggling worry, I was surprisingly calm.

Better than calm, I was in solution mode.

Solution mode was where I thrived. Not that Radish was a problem.

Babies were always a blessing, blah blah blah, but they sure did cause problems. Such as: space, and the lack thereof.

Child care, and the lack thereof. Money, and the lack thereof.

But every problem had a solution. Luckily, I had seven months to find it.

In the meantime, I whiplashed between bliss and nausea.

Radish will be born in May. She’ll be a summer baby. We’ll rock together on the porch while the peonies I planted are in bloom . Bliss.

Ugh, someone microwaved fish in the office . Nausea.

Steven nicknamed my fetus Radish and now I can’t call it anything else . I landed somewhere in between bliss and nausea with that one. How had Steven gone from being the person I wanted to drop kick off the earth to the person I wanted holding my hand during my baby’s first sonogram?

It had to be the baby hormones, making me latch on to the first big, strong man in my vicinity like I was some cavewoman in need of masculine protection. Evolution had programmed me for this. Feminism was no match for his sharp jawline, broad shoulders, and all that fucking competence .

Fuck evolution. I could do this on my own.

I walked the entire floorplan of the bungalow, measuring tape in hand, for the ninth time.

Nine hundred square feet wasn’t a lot to work with, but babies were, what, twelve inches?

Of course I wanted my little Radish to have everything in this world, but we could make do with the bare necessities.

A crib (twenty-eight by fifty-two inches), a high chair (which I wouldn’t even need until Radish was a year old), and a dresser (with a changing table on top).

Three items. I could find space for three items.

Somewhere.

The closet, maybe? The walk-in closet in my bedroom was crammed full of who knew what, but I was pretty sure it would fit a crib if I cleaned it out.

I pivoted to my bedroom just as my cell phone rang.

I pulled it out of my pocket, saw my landlord’s name, and put it on speaker.

“Hi, Miriam. How are you?” My lease was up next month, so I wasn’t surprised that she was calling to check in.

I was hoping she would be willing to sign a two-year agreement this time around. “Perfect timing.”

“Good, honey, good.” Miriam heaved a long sigh—which, quite frankly, did not sound good. “As for the timing…that’s not so good, I’m afraid.”

I frowned at my phone, my hand flexing around the measuring tape.

“Listen, honey, I know how much you love the place, so I wanted to tell you right away. My daughter needs the bungalow. She’s getting a divorce, and she doesn’t have a lot of options.”

I stared dumbstruck at my overflowing closet. “But…but I need the bungalow,” I stammered.

“I know the timing is terrible. But you have family in the area who can help you out. And you have two months until you need to be out. That’s plenty of time to find other arrangements.”

Right. Because Aspen Springs had an abundance of affordable housing. I was so screwed.

After we hung up, I wandered the house in a daze.

For the last two years, this had been my sanctuary.

Close enough to the clinic that I didn’t have to find a more expensive apartment in the city.

Close enough to my family that I could help them anytime they needed it, but far enough away that I finally had some breathing room. I loved this place.

I stepped out onto the porch, wrapping my arms around my midsection to protect myself from the sharp autumn breeze. My gaze landed on the peony bushes I had planted when I moved in. The branches were bare now. Radish would never see them bloom.

I sank into a pathetic ball there on my welcome mat and burst into tears.

“Chloe! Chloe, what the fuck!”

The pure panic in Steven’s voice had me scrambling to my feet, but I was crying too hard to get out more than a hiccupping sob. Through the blurry teardrops in my eyes, I saw him toss a package on the porch swing before gathering me into his arms.

“What happened, princess? Are you hurt?” He pushed my hair off my damp cheeks. “Is it…is it the baby?” he asked hoarsely.

“We’re homeless!” I wailed.

His eyes darted frantically over my face. “The baby is…still in there?”

I nodded, hiccupping.

His forehead dropped to mine and I felt his chest expand on a deep breath. “Okay. Okay. Let’s get you inside and you can tell me all about it.”

“Okay.” I pulled my flannel over my palms and wiped my eyes on cuff. “What are you doing here, Steven?”

“Delivery. It’s from your mom.” He snagged the package from the swing and followed me inside. “She baked it this morning.”

I peered inside the brown paper bag and then back at him. “A loaf of bread? She asked you to bring me a loaf of bread?” I asked dubiously. “You don’t even live in my neighborhood. Why would she ask you to bring me this? It doesn’t make any sense.”

He rolled his eyes. “Okay, you caught me. The bread is a ruse. I figured, why not drive an extra hour today just so I can see how you’re doing? It’s not like I have anything better to do on a Saturday.” He shook his head. “For fuck’s sake, princess.”

Sometimes Mom did things that didn’t make sense.

She always felt a little guilty after a bad flare, even though we’d all told her she had no reason to.

“Fine. Whatever. I’ll call her later to say thank you.

” I headed straight for the kitchen because if there was one thing that was good at sopping up tears, it was my mom’s sourdough bread.

Steven was right on my heels. “So, what do you mean, you’re homeless?”

“I mean, I am without a home. I am devoid of shelter. I am?—”

“Dramatic,” Steven muttered. “You’re fucking dramatic, that’s what you are.” He took the knife from me, slid the loaf down the counter, and cut off a thick slice. “Do you like the end piece?”

I shook my head. “And don’t tell me it has more nutrients because it has more crust. I know that’s a lie.”

He smirked but set the piece aside and sliced a second one. He handed it over and then said, “Now, tell me what happened.”

I took a large bite and chewed. “My landlord just called. Her daughter is getting a divorce and needs a place to stay. I have two months to find a new home.”

“Two months? But you’re pregnant. Did you tell her you’re pregnant?”

“No, of course not.” I ripped off another bite of bread with my teeth. “What difference would that make? It wouldn’t change the fact that her daughter is in a rough spot and needs a place to stay. All it would do is make her feel bad.”

“She should feel bad. This is unacceptable. Call Brax.”

I squinted at him. “Brax Hale? Essie’s husband?”

“Do you know another lawyer?” he snapped.

“For heaven’s sake, Steven. I’m not going to sue Miriam. One of the nice things about living here is that I actually like my landlord. She let me paint the bedroom any color I wanted. I have the feeling our relationship would change if I sued her.”

He growled.

I laughed, then my head tipped forward on a groan as a new, terrible thought occurred to me. “I’m going to have move back home with my parents. Oh, hell.”

“Would that be so bad?” he asked cautiously.

I shook my head. “My parents are great. But I want a life of my own. Would you want to move back home?”

His mouth twisted and I suddenly wished I had kept my own shut. Amy had told me enough about their childhood that I already knew the answer.

“My parents are too far from school, anyway. I’d spend three hours a day driving. I guess I could try to find something in the city, but everything is so expensive. I’m not sure I can afford anything more than an efficiency there.” I scrubbed my hands over my face. “God, I’m so fucked.”

Steven leaned against the counter and wrapped one hand around the back of his neck, his eyes focused on the linoleum tile. “I have a spare bedroom.”

I gave him a narrow-eyed look. “This is not the time to brag, Steven.”

“I’m not bragging. I’m offering it to you.”

My jaw flapped open on a shocked laugh. “What?”

“You heard me. You need a room. I have a room.” He said this like it was perfectly logical instead of fucking insane.

“Move in with me, Chloe.”