Page 9

MERIT

Two days. Two nights.

Two days of him working with Daddy.

Two nights of us all eating supper together.

And two showers.

That’s where he is now. Upstairs, showering. In my shower. The thought alone is so distracting I can’t even focus on the John Wayne movie playing on the TV. And it’s a good one too.

The sad truth is, I think I need to check myself into an insane asylum. Because at the heart of this entire screwed-up situation, there is only one reality: I’m still in love with him.

How can I still be in love with him? After what he did to me?

Don’t get me wrong, I’m angry. Furious and hurt and devastated. But… the more time I spend with him, the more I remember how things used to be. Just a few short months ago, I was happy. Holt made me happier than Edward ever did. Of course, the major difference is I never actually loved Edward.

I had a life with Holt. I had my store. I had his family. I had friends.

I had his love.

And then, he threw it all away. He threw it all away—and I lost everything in the process; and yet, I’m still in love with him.

I’m totally pathetic.

Yep. I’m the pathetic, glutton-for-punishment, apparently-brain-dead moron still in love with Holt Hill.

The whole situation is unbelievably tragic, and what makes me even sadder is that no matter what happens—no matter what he does—we can never be a couple again.

Co-parents? Yes.

A loving couple? No.

A married couple? Building a life and growing old together? No.

And it’s all because of him. And Delaney.

That bitch-ass Delaney.

Scowling, I take another big bite of my chocolate chip ice cream. The ice cream slides off my spoon and plops on my chest. I stare down at it, debating what to do. Well, it’s my last bite, and I’m eating for two, so I guess there really is no debate. I scoop it up with my fingers and toss it in my mouth.

Unfortunately, that’s right when Holt peeks around the corner. “Thanks for letting me use the shower again.” He fails to hide his chuckle.

I quickly grab a napkin and try to clean myself.

Great. Just great.

Not only do I look like a big, old pig, but there’s a piece of shirt fuzz stuck to the ice cream that I shoved in my mouth and now I have to swallow it.

Leaning against the doorframe, he studies me. “Feel like talking?”

Of course, I do. Because like we established, I’m totally pathetic. He offers me his hand but I ignore it, hopping up from the couch on my own. I mean, everyone is watching us. I don’t need them getting the wrong idea.

It’s raining tonight, so sitting by the firepit—like he wanted to do last night, before I shot him down—doesn’t appear to be on the agenda. We settle in the side-by-side rocking chairs on the front porch instead. We chitchat about my incredibly boring job and my dick of a boss. He tells me what work he helped Daddy with today. I have to stifle my laugh when he runs through the list of back-breaking, bone-crushing work that Daddy has him doing. Some of it is so hard, we typically use the machinery for it. And yet, Daddy has Holt doing it by hand like we’re living on the Ingalls Farm in Walnut Grove. He catches my eye, studying me for a moment. Gifting me with a sexy, little smirk, he shifts in his chair before glancing down.

Huh.

I wonder if he recognizes that Daddy is giving him the crap jobs on purpose. Surely, he knows what a manure spreader does. It’s not like we actually expect him to spread the cow shit over every single acre by hand.

That shit—literal to the word—can have bacteria and parasites and pathogens harmful to your skin if you roll around in it for long enough.

“Hey, you’re wearing gloves when you work with the fertilizers, right?”

When I catch him looking at his hand, I can’t help but reach over and grab it.

“You’re hurt.” I lean closer to him, eyeing the roadmap of his hard labor—the rough patches here and there, dotted with a couple of puffy bumps, colored red and black.

He shakes his head. “It’s nothing. Just a couple of blood blisters. And yes, I wear gloves when working with the fertilizer, but some of the other stuff is just easier without those getting in the way.” He sighs a small, breathy chuckle. “I can definitely say farming is much harder on the body than football.”

He turns his hand, caressing his calloused fingertips across my palm. My breath catches in my throat, and a flutter of excitement floods through my core.

It’s a small gesture.

How can something so small feel so erotic and forbidden?

I pull my hand away.

Exhaling long and deep, Holt rocks back and forth, watching the night sky. “You haven’t told me how far along you are. I mean, I know from Raylee and Ella that the normal time is forty weeks. That y’all count it at forty weeks while the rest of us just say nine months. Which I still don’t understand because isn’t that more like ten months?”

I ignore his second question and just answer his first one—because I’m not about to attempt to explain something as complicated as gestational calculations. “I’m a little over twenty-three weeks. My due date is October 3 rd .”

He nods. “So, it definitely happened that morning? That morning in the living room, right?”

Instantly, my defenses go up. I’m on high alert like a military man, waiting for a bomb to strike. “I didn’t do this on purpose, to trap you, if that’s what you’re thinking. I took the morning-after pill, just like I told you I would. Bought it that morning and chased it with a bottle of chocolate milk. It’s not like I planned this.”

He stops rocking. “Mer, that’s not what I was insinuating. I know this was an accident.” A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “A wonderful-amazing-perfect accident.” He chuckles. “In fact, from here on out, I vote that we never refer to our son as an accident again.”

Instantly, I feel like a crushing weight has been lifted from my shoulders. A weight I didn’t even realize was pounding me into the ground. And it’s not just knowing that he believes I didn’t do this to get to his money; it’s the fact that he thinks this accident is wonderful and amazing. Because I do too. It’s pretty damn spectacular.

“It’s funny, you know?” There’s no hiding the amusement in his voice.

My brow furrows. “What’s funny? Our baby?”

He shakes his head. “Definitely not our baby. But you know that was my first time ever having sex without a condom. Very first time and bam…you get pregnant.” He leans his head back and hums around a throaty whisper. “Pretty damn wild, huh?”

A slow burn sizzles in my body. “Are you serious? I was your first?” Well, that came out wrong. Obviously, I’m not his first . “I mean, you’ve never had sex with any other woman without a condom before? Never?”

Rubbing his hand across his lips, he tells me no.

That shouldn’t make me feel special. That shouldn’t be hot. That shouldn’t turn me on. But it does. So, help me, it does. And I’m blaming these damn pregnancy hormones for having me all up in my feels right now—and not the fact that I haven’t been with a man in one-hundred-and-forty-six days. Not that anyone is counting. And what’s even fucking sadder is I probably wouldn’t even be counting if I got knocked-up by any other guy. But this is Holt we’re talking about. The man who buried himself so deep in my heart and soul that I never thought we could be separated. Never thought we could fracture.

That is until the seismic event known as Delaney Fitts ruptured our world.

Pathetic City. Population One.

I’m the mayor, chief of police, and citizen of the year.

When I don’t comment on the fact that I’m the only woman who has ever felt the warmth and hardness of his bare cock inside of her body, he changes the subject. “You’re small.”

Well, that’s an unexpected turn in conversation. “Huh?”

“Next week will be five months since I got you pregnant,” he says with a sexy wink, made even sexier by the darkness of the stormy night, “but I remember Raylee and Ella being way bigger at five months. In the stomach, I mean.” The teasing smile on his face falls as the possibilities flood his mind. “Are you okay? I know I asked yesterday, but the baby is healthy?”

“We’re fine. We’re both perfectly healthy.” I shrug. “What can I say, I’m working on a farm every single evening and weekend. I guess the activity is keeping me slim. Well, as slim as I can be in my position.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

“What about the doctor? Do you even have an OB/GYN in this town?”

“No, there’s not one in town. I have to drive closer to the beach.”

“What if he’s a hack? You sure he’s good? Are you positive you’re okay?”

Rolling my eyes, I grab my phone and pull up the digital photo album I created for the ultrasound pictures. I dangle the phone in front of him. “He’s not a hack. He even does ultrasounds at every appointment for no extra charge.”

Well, ‘no extra charge’ might be overstating it. Daddy did give him six free pallets of Tifway 419 Bermuda. And that’s not exactly cheap.

Holt’s eyes widen, and he eagerly grabs the phone, intently studying picture after picture. “Holy hell, Mer. Look at this.”

I bite back my smile, realizing I should have showed him these yesterday. “I know. I’ve seen them.”

The rain starts falling harder, tapping against the roof like a drum. He cocks an eyebrow when he hands my phone back. “What are you craving?”

“Craving?”

“Well, with Anna, Raylee couldn’t eat enough cheeseburgers. I swear she had five a week. With Ty, it was chips and cheese. You know, the kind from the Mexican restaurant.”

I could lie and say I don’t have any cravings, but he would just call me out for lying. “Fried rice. The kind you get at the Japanese restaurant. With the yum yum sauce.”

He laughs. I ignore the way the sound makes my heart flutter. “Your town doesn’t have an OB/GYN, but you have a Japanese steakhouse?”

“Yeah.” I fold my hands over my stomach, wondering how much bigger I’m going to get. “I’m there so much he gives me a discount. Twenty-five percent off. He knows I hate spending money on eating out for lunch, but he knows the cravings are worse.”

That makes him laugh even harder.

“I’m glad my addiction brings you so much joy, sir ,” I tease.

He’s silent for an extra beat—an extra second longer than normal. And that one little second fills the air with an electric charge. A charge that makes my hair stand on end and gives me chill bumps. It fills me with coldness and warmth at the exact same time. It’s strange how two completely opposite emotions can exist in the same space.

Loneliness and companionship.

Apathy and passion.

Hurt and healing.

Dislike and want.

His whisper is low and powerful. “I missed that. It’s funny how the small stuff can bring you to your knees. Like what you just said. I missed you calling me, ‘ sir’ . You do it when you’re mad or when you think I’m being too protective or when you’re teasing me. And I missed how excited you would get every time I wanted to watch one of your old movies with you.” He looks over at me. His gaze falls to my mouth, and he licks his lips. “And I missed your scrunched-up nose.”

My body feels heavy and thick. “I don’t scrunch my nose.”

“Whatever you say, Mer.”

I tell myself to shut up, not to say anything more, but my brain doesn’t listen. “I missed your winks. You winked at me the very first time we met.”

“That’s it?” he asks.

“No. But I think that’s all we should talk about,” I answer honestly.

Why talk about the other stuff?

The way he always protected me. The way he brought me back out of my shell. The way he always supported my wants and dreams.

His kisses. His touch. The feel of his body on mine.

There’s no need to talk about any of that. Because all those good memories coat my brain in a blanket of sunshine. But then the terrible truth of what he did spins around like a typhoon, wiping out all the good. He left me—alone and broke. Alone and broken . No home, no store, no safety.

No future husband.

And let’s be real…that’s where I thought our relationship was going.

He softly clears his throat. “Something is coming on TV tomorrow night. I’d really like for you to watch it.”

“Your interview.”

In true Holt fashion, he seems shocked that I know. “Deke told you about it?”

“Daddy didn’t have to tell me. It’s being advertised everywhere. I’d have to live in Siberia not to know about it.”

He nods. “Will you watch it?”

I shrug. “If nothing better is on.”