Page 90 of Resisting Isaac

elena

Ivy insists I take another day to rest, but I feel fine today. Almost like yesterday never happened, except, it did. And there’s a human being growing inside me to prove it.

A little Logan baby I have no clue how I’m going to take care of.

The good news is, judging from the forty-two text messages, this entire family is made up of caretakers. Even Sutton and Willow, who I barely know, have checked in to see how I’m feeling. And that’s just because everyone thinks I have the stomach flu. I can’t even imagine the hyperdrive level of concern they’ll be in when they find out the truth.

The truth.

I’ve tried to wrap my mind around it all day.

By five o’clock, I’m going stir crazy. I’ve straightened the cabin, memorized all my lines and marks for the next two dozen scenes, and even spoken with my dad and let him know how sorry I am to have missed his birthday. I promise I’m going to visit soon, and I am, because this isn’t the kind of news you tell your family over the phone if you can help it.

But I’m bouncing off the walls, so I text Isaac, who made sure we had each other’s phone numbers programmed in our phones last night under Smokin’ Hot Baby Mama and Daddy Isaac because he is a child himself, and let him know I’m coming over early before I die of boredom.

He offers to come pick me up, like the five-minute walk to his place is suddenly too much for me. I send an eye roll emoji and tell him to stay put or I’m canceling.

The fresh air on the way helps a little.

Isaac’s place is tucked down a tree-lined drive that I didn’t even realize belonged to anyone the first few weeks I was here. One of those hidden little pockets of property that practically dares you to come find it.

The first time I came over, it was dark and I couldn’t appreciate the ambiance.

Walking to it is peaceful.

When I round the bend, it appears—clean-lined and modern, with dark wood siding and floor-to-ceiling windows that catch the light like they’re showing off.

It’s not as much like the lodge-style main house or the rustic cabin vibe of Wyatt and Ivy’s as I would’ve expected. Isaac’s house is less sprawling ranch house, more architectural digest meets cowboy solitude. And somehow, it suits him.

On the porch, there are several wooden chairs with plush cushions and a vase with flowers on a side table.

“Didn’t peg you for a Pinterest cowboy,” I murmur as I step onto the porch.

“Planning to peg me already?” He steps out of the door like he was waiting for me. Fitted olive green tee, worn jeans, a slow grin that makes me forget how to breathe for a second. “Should’ve figured you’d be into that sort of thing. Will I have to call you master? Or is it madame?”

I start to roll my eyes, but the image takes hold and my body warms to the idea.

My teeth sink into my lower lip as I think it over. “Only if you want me to call you a good boy.”

Our eyes meet and the teasing moment turns to an inferno between us.

“Fuck,” he bites out. “That’s pretty damn hot. I’m game if you are.”

Before I can respond, two flashes of fur blur toward me.

“Speaking of good boys,” Isaac says, shaking his head at the dogs making a beeline for me. “These two just got back from a week-long cattle drive.”

I glance down in time to see the ankle biters in question descending upon me.

Isaac moves his hand in a command, and they stop.

A blue heeler and what looks like an unknown breed mixed with a blue heeler turn toward him obediently.

“This is Rowdy and Blue he says, clapping a hand against his thigh once. “They’re semi-retired cattle dogs and mostly assholes, but?—”

Before he can finish, the bigger one—Rowdy, I assume—returns to me. Sniffs once. Then presses the side of his face against the backs of my legs like he’s staking a claim. Or he’s trying to herd me toward Isaac.

“Uh.”