Page 10 of Sweet Escape (Whispering Oaks Ranch #1)

Birds are Terrifying

? One Number Away - Luke Combs

Olivia

I shiver atop the plastic exam table in a paper gown with what amounts to single ply tissue paper sticking to my ass and fidget with the ring on my finger. Any minute now, the doctor will come in and confirm the pregnancy.Or not. Hopefully not.

Somehow, I’m both cold and sweaty, a particularly revolting state to be in when you’re about to have your body poked and prodded. It’s likely a combination of my anxiety and the overly aggressive air conditioning, but it could be the pregnancy hormones. Who’s to say?

The door slides open, and a woman who can’t be more than forty with a glowing, dark complexion and a blunt black bob comes into the room. She flips through the pages on a clipboard.

“Hello, Olivia. I’m Doctor Patel. It’s so nice to meet you.” Her kind smile sets me at ease the moment she looks up from the page.

“Your lab results are back, and you are definitely pregnant. I hope this is happy news.” She waits for my response with the knowledge that not all pregnancies are intentional or welcome.

I nod. “It is.”

Another smile. “Great. Congratulations are in order, then. I think you’ll find I don’t do a lot of beating around the bush, so I would like to get straight down to it. I see in your chart that there is a history of preeclampsia in your family.”

I shift, the unforgiving paper crinkling with the movement, partially lodging in places I’d rather not think about. Her matter-of-fact tone is jarring, so it takes me a moment to answer. “Yes. My… my mom had it with me and my twin brother.”

“I’m very sorry to hear that. Significant advancements have been made in the prediction and prevention of preterm preeclampsia.

It’s good that we are aware of the risks ahead of time so we can take the necessary precautions for you and your baby.

Rest assured, there are a number of things we can do to reduce those risks.

”She flips to the next page, scanning the rest of my medical history.

“You’re also on medication for ADHD and anxiety. Is that correct?”

“Yes. I’ve been on them for roughly two years now.”

“With your family history, I’d like to recommend we take you off them until after the baby is born.

There simply aren’t enough studies being done on the effects these drugs can have on fetal development, and as your doctor, I would be remiss if I didn’t present you with all of the information so we can make an informed decision together.

” Her tone is clinical, devoid of any judgment.

“Are you open to managing your mental health with a therapist rather than medication until after you give birth?”

Not a problem for me. I left them in Colorado and haven’t taken any since. They're probably still sitting in the drawer, right next to my birth control. “Yes. Of course. Whatever is best for the baby.”

“Excellent. That’s all I have for you. Do you have any questions before we proceed with the exam?”

“No, I think that covers everything.”

I exhale a ragged breath when I step out of the doctor’s office with an eight-week ultrasound in hand.

I wasn’t prepared for the profound loneliness I’d feel going to my first appointment on my own, staring at the tiny, formless being on the screen without any support.

I wanted to reach for someone, anyone, to hold my hand and tell me it would be alright.

This is something I should’ve been doing with a partner. I wonder if Wilder would've wanted to be there if he’d known. Guilt claws at my chest. I robbed him of that opportunity—I can’t keep this secret any longer. I have to tell him.

But how?

I don’t have his number, and it’s not like I can show up at the ranch and demand to see him. What would I say?

“Hi, Mr. Hayes. I fucked your son about six weeks ago… or he fucked me… we fucked each other? Anyway, now I’m pregnant. Can you point me to where I might find him? No, not that one. Not that one either. The big, broody one.”

Ok, so maybe that’s a teensy bit of an exaggeration. I’d at least use his name.

Would he even believe it’s his? I know we didn’t use a condom, and I hadn’t been intimate with Jake in months, but Wilder can’t know that for sure. I don’t have any way to prove it .

Lost in my downright unhinged musings, I nearly walk straight into someone on the sidewalk. I slide the slip of paper into the back pocket of my jeans, hiding the evidence of my impending motherhood.

Impending motherhood, like it’s some kind of life sentence. I snort internally—I guess it is.

“Olivia? Holy shit, it is you!” She pulls me in for a crushing hug, her familiar lavender scent wrapping around me, bringing me back to our childhood running around the farm.

“Sarah! Where the hell have you been? You haven’t been to any of the family dinners since I got back.”

My cousin is only a few months older than me, and we were thick as thieves growing up: swapping clothes, crushing on the same boys, and holding each other's hair back at parties we had no business attending.

She crosses her arms over her ample chest, quirking a well-manicured brow, partially obscured by her pastel pink curtain bangs. “You’re one to talk! No calls, no texts. Not even a single carrier pigeon.”

“Ha. Ha. Very funny. You know I hate talking on the phone, and birds are terrifying.” I lean in to whisper conspiratorially. “I heard they’re not even real.”

She giggles. “And the text messages?”

“I’ve just had a lot going on.” Her expression changes to something questioning, but I don’t elaborate, and Sarah knows better than to pry. It’s a surefire way to get me to shut down. “Where are you off to in a hurry?”

“I’m on my lunch break. Headed back to the salon now. You should stop by soon. I’ll give you the friends and family discount, and we can catch up. You can finally spill the beans about Jake.”

Ever the voice of reason, Sarah tried to stop me from moving to Colorado after a catfishing incident left me mortified and more than a little heartbroken. In true Olivia fashion, I fled as fast as my feet could carry me, fueled by my utter humiliation and more than a little recklessness.

I don’t know why I haven’t told her about Jake and Amber; Sarah never liked either of them. I wrongly attributed it to jealousy, and it drove a wedge between us far more than moving to Colorado ever did. I should’ve listened to her.

“I promise I’ll come by as soon as I can. Grammy’s keeping me busy at the diner. Will I see you on Sunday?”

She grimaces. “Probably not. Sundays are my busiest days with the early morning church crowd, and I’m usually exhausted by the end of the day. We’re looking at hiring a few more stylists to lighten my load.”

“Well, you know where to find me. And I promise to start responding to your texts.” If I don’t read them and completely forget about them first.

“I’ll hold you to that. Maybe we can plan a girls’ night out at The Ridge soon.”

I hold back my protest, not wanting to get into why I don’t want to hang out at the local bar completely sober while everyone around me gets shitfaced and makes poor life choices.

Says the girl who let a man she’d known for all of five hours fuck her senseless without protection. Pot meet kettle.

I nod and pull her in for another hug.

“I’m so glad you’re home. We’ve missed you,” she murmurs.

“Missed you, too.”

With a backward wave, she jogs across the street to her turquoise jeep, top down, with a row of rubber ducks in the window.

I didn’t realize just how much I missed home until this moment.

Seeing Sarah stirs up so many fond memories, and I don’t know how I stayed away for so long.

I guess that doesn't matter now. Even if I wanted to leave, I can’t.

My family is here. I’m going to need all the support I can get, even if Wilder does want to be a part of this.

We may have been intimate more than once, but I don’t know him any more than I know the regulars at the diner.

I thought we had a connection, but I could’ve been deluding myself, looking for affection in the first man I set my eyes on.

Did I misread the signs? God, I hope not.

Wilder

After parking across the street from the bank, I stare at the closed glove box like something might jump out at me. It’s the same song and dance I’ve been doing for days. She’s not for you, Wilder. Leave her alone.

A car door slams, jolting me out of my thoughts. When I look up, Olivia Sullivan’s unmistakable figure strides down the sidewalk. Every dip and curve calls to me like a goddamn siren song, threatening to drown me in her ocean eyes, and fuck do I want to let it.

Resisting the urge to go to her, claim her, and fuck her senseless right here in my truck, I pull away from the curb. I’m headed back to the ranch with the horse trailer attached to the hitch and a brand new gelding to add to our herd.

He was found at a farm about an hour away, malnourished and mistreated by his previous owner.

We’re not known for taking in charity cases, but Griffin is friends with the owner of the rescue out that way, and they’re at capacity.

I think this is also his way of getting Pops to see the benefits of opening up a rescue on the ranch.

Only time will tell. My brother has always had a soft spot for broken things.

I drop the gelding off to get settled with Griffin, then make my way back to the big house. I expect to hear Emmy when I step through the door, but it’s quiet— too quiet.

I kick off my boots in the entry and pad into the kitchen, then peek through the back door to the deck; there’s no sign of them anywhere. As I head back through the house toward the living room, a misshapen figure pops out from behind the massive grey sectional.

“Boo!”

My heart leaps out of my chest, and I fold in half, clutching my knees for support.

“Got you, Daddy!” Emmy squeals as my baby brother’s laughter fills the space.

“We got you good, Wild Man,” Jax says, using the nickname he gave me when he used to force me to play superheroes with him as a kid.

He’s wearing a set of Emmy’s fairy wings, and she has a blanket tied around her neck like a cape.

It seems I’m not the only one she’s got wrapped around her little finger.

I smile. “Are you trying to give me a heart attack, Emmy girl?”

“No,” she says through a giggle.

Jax sets her down at his feet, and she toddles over to her toy basket in the corner of the room, pulling out a wooden farm puzzle.

“How’s the gelding?”Jax asks.

“Not looking great, but I think Griff will do well with him.” I sink into the plush sectional and scrub a hand over my beard.

He nods, sliding his tattooed hands into his pockets. “You think about what you wanna do for Em’s birthday next month?”

The swift change in topic catches me off guard.

“I—fuck—I hadn’t really thought much about it, to be honest.” I’m so used to it just being the two of us, I didn’t consider that my family might want to be involved.

I’m an ass.

“Might wanna talk to Mama. I’m surprised she hasn’t brought it up already. She’ll be wanting to spoil her rotten, you know that.”

I nod. “Alright. I’ll figure something out. You gonna wear those wings all day?”

He gives me a lopsided smile and shrugs. “I’d get them permanently tattooed on my back if Em asked me to.” Jax plops down on the floor with Emmy, helping her find the matching slot for the cow shape as I contemplate what to do about her birthday. Her third one without her mom.

Grief has a funny way of sneaking up on you when you least expect it.

There’s no predictable pattern, no obvious triggers to avoid.

One minute you could be folding the laundry, then a memory flashes, bringing you to your knees.

Emmy’s birthday is a reminder of what I took from her, what I could’ve prevented, but I don’t want to reduce her special day to regrets and what-might-have-beens.

Emmy deserves better. She deserves balloons, cake, and a table piled high with gifts.

Cake.

Before I can talk myself out of it, I go to my truck and wrench open the glove box. I pluck out the recipe card that’s been taunting me for days and text two simple words.

Wilder: Hey Cupcake.