Page 32 of Call Me Yours (Lodestar Ranch #4)

CHLOE

At this point, I was just stalling.

I was well into the second trimester now and full of energy (and horniness).

Every doctor appointment I’d had so far had determined that Radish and I were in perfect health—and there had been plenty of appointments, as Dr. Davidson tended toward caution, and my extreme level of nausea in the first trimester had worried her.

Slowly but surely, the feelings of doom had receded.

I still worried about being a good mom and bringing a new life into a fucked up world and what the hell was going on with Radish’s dad, but at least I had stopped worrying that Radish would slip out when I peed.

But I still hadn’t told my family.

One reason I hadn’t told them was because I knew they would have questions about the baby’s father, and I couldn’t answer those questions yet.

I still hadn’t heard from Gabe and now I really was starting to worry.

Maybe he had lost his phone, but maybe he had gotten into a terrible motorcycle accident and was in a hospital somewhere, or maybe he had gone straight over a cliff. The nightmare scenarios were endless.

The other reason I hadn’t told them was because I was chickenshit.

Not because I was scared of how they would react.

I knew that would be fine. Mom would be out-of-her-mind thrilled to be a grandma.

Terry would be a little bit uncomfortable at first with the incontrovertible evidence that his unmarried, thirty-year-old daughter was no longer a virgin, but he’d rally.

Grams would be her ghostly self. My brothers might have strong feelings about Radish’s dad not being around, but what could they do about it?

But I was terrified to tell them things had to change. I was already spread too thin. Once Radish was born and I was a full-time licensed clinical social work therapist, there was no way I’d be able to help them every week. I felt like I was letting everyone down.

And now I couldn’t stall any longer. Steven and Amy had been invited to join us for Thanksgiving dinner, and even though I was wearing a loose sweater over my black leggings, my bump was no longer invisible.

I’d been able to hide it strategically until now, but over the last week it was like my belly had suddenly popped out like a balloon.

“Come on, honey,” Steven cooed like I was a horse that needed calming. “Get out of the car.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Don’t use that tone with me, Steven. I will bite you.”

His dark eyes flashed like he was remembering something sinful. “If you’re a good girl, maybe I’ll bite you ,” he murmured for my ears only.

I flushed, remembering how much I had liked the feeling of his teeth on my nipple. But he hadn’t shown any interest in a repeat. He had been so damn polite the past two days, I wanted to wring his damn neck.

When I still didn’t move, Steven gave a beleaguered sigh. “There’s pie, Chloe. You like pie. Do you want to come inside and have potatoes and pie, or do you want to stay in the truck and starve?”

My stomach rumbled plaintively. My appetite had been making up for lost time. “Fine,” I said, unbuckling. “But you’ve gotten mean, Steven.”

“That seems to be the only thing you like,” he muttered.

Mom pounced on us the second we walked in the door. “We’re having snacks and drinks to tide us over. The turkey should be done in another hour. Hang up your coats and come join us. Can I get you anything to drink? Amy, we have tap water, sparkling water, and iced tea.”

Mom didn’t stop bustling around while she talked, refilling the nut bowl, slipping a coaster under Terry’s beer, checking the timer on her phone. She looked good. Happy and healthy. I let out a relieved breath.

“Sparkling water would be great,” Amy said. “Let me help you.”

Mom nodded. “Steven? Anything for you? We have beer and wine. Chloe, I’ll get you a glass of white?—”

“Just water for me,” I cut her off. “I’m pregnant.”

My announcement sucked all the noise out of the room.

The only sound left was the incessant clacking of Grams’s wooden knitting needles as she relentlessly soldiered on.

My parents, my brothers, even Amy all stared at me with comically stunned expressions.

Then they swiveled like weathervanes to look at Steven.

Steven, completely unperturbed, grabbed a plate.

We all watched him load it with slices of cheddar cheese, gherkins, and crackers.

He handed it to me with a little smirk, like it was all the same to him that everyone assumed he had knocked me up, and then smiled at my mom. “I’ll take a beer, thanks, Angie.”

“I’ll take an explanation,” my stepdad said mildly. “Is this a joke?”

“It’s not a joke,” I said. “I’m really pregnant, and Steven is not the dad, so you can all stop planning our shotgun wedding.”

I frowned at him like the misunderstanding had been his fault, like I wasn’t imagining his big, competent hands cradling a delicate newborn. I should never have let him put those hands on me. I should never have let him put his mouth on me and make me come.

Because now? Now I was standing in my parents’ house, telling them Steven wasn’t the father of my baby while a part of me wished he was.

“You’re pregnant?” Mom whispered, lifting her hands to her cheeks. “Really and truly? If you’re joking, Chloe Anne, I swear to god?—”

“I promise it’s real, Mom.” I swallowed past the lump in my throat. I knew what this meant to her. To both of us. “I’m pregnant. Fifteen weeks. The doctor said it’s sticking around for the long haul.”

Mom burst into tears.

Dinner was a barrage of congratulations and questions. Where would I live? Was I going to take time off from work when the baby came? Did I want a boy or girl? What would I do for childcare when I had to go to work? Did I want my brothers to drag Gabe’s ass back from Argentina?

I answered as best I could.

I don’t know . (Steven: “She has a home with me for as long as she wants.”

Yes, if I can afford it . (Steven: “She can afford it.”)

Either, honestly . (Steven: “Oh, do they allow you to choose now? Do you have to put in a request up front?”)

I don’t know . (Steven: silence.)

Hell, no . (Steven: “We’ll see.)

By the time we finished eating, I was feeling jittery from the I don’t knows . I had been so focused on work and keeping my food down that I hadn’t even started to look for a place to live.

Mom and Terry packed up the leftovers while I washed dishes. Grams sat silently at the breakfast table with her pillbox and a glass of water.

“You know, your room is here anytime you want it,” Mom said gently.

She divided the cranberry sauce into three small plastic containers for my brothers to take home with them, and a larger container for the household.

“We can turn Ellis’s room into a nursery.

I think it’s safe to say he’s flown the nest for good. ”

“Thanks, Mom, but I’m fine.” I scrubbed at a bit of orange peel stuck to the pot. “You don’t have to worry about me.”

“I’m not worried. I’m excited. Don’t you see?

Moving back home is the perfect solution.

You can work part-time for your dad until the baby is in school.

I would much rather watch my grandbaby than do financial paperwork.

Once he’s in school, you can go to work managing a farm or doing consulting like you’d always planned. ”

This again. Frustration bubbled up, mingling with the already present anxiety. It made my stomach hurt. “The plan changed when Gramps died. You know that. Social work is what I need to be doing. Not farm management.”

“So, what, then? You’re going to let a stranger raise your baby?” Mom protested. “That’s not what you want.”

My chest felt tight. I didn’t see daycare that way, but the truth was, there wasn’t an abundance of childcare options in Aspen Springs. As a farming and ranching community, most families had a parent staying home.

Steven’s hand landed on the small of my back with reassuring pressure. I looked up at him with wild-eyed panic.

“We’ll work something out,” he said. “I make my own schedule, and so do you. I have a neighbor?—”

“Oh, Steven, that’s so sweet of you,” Mom interjected. “But don’t put yourself out for us. It would be much more convenient to have Chloe at home.”

Steven’s eyebrows slammed together. “Convenient for who?”

Grams pushed back her chair with a loud scrape. She straightened, and for once her green eyes—the same shade as my dad’s, the same shade as mine—did not look past me. They saw right into mine. “Selfish,” she spat.

The room fell deathly quiet, so quiet that I could hear Grams’s soft footsteps as she retreated to her bedroom down the hall.

I looked at my mother, who was staring after Grams like she had seen a ghost. I forced a smile.

“Well,” I said. “That’s the first thing she’s said to me in eight years.”