Page 6 of The Ranger (Black Hawke Security #5)

SCARLETT

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W orking for your best friend has its privileges. Cassy has been telling me to finish up at eight months and she’ll pay me. Paid maternity leave is not normal.

Finishing up early is tempting.

My back hurts.

My feet hurt.

My...everything fucking hurts. But sitting at home overthinking would be worse. I’m a single mother with little savings, a loan for my car, two credit cards, and I live in a rental property. Not exactly thriving.

Every time I climb into the stupid Panther, as Cole calls it, I hate him a little more. He’ll be able to continue growing his amazing career while I’ll be limited in what I can do for the next two decades.

One of them, anyway.

At least I didn’t get knocked up by a loser.

Cole is a decorated soldier. Our baby has good genes—at least from his side of the family. He’s gorgeous, with cropped dark hair, dark olive skin from some bloodline I’m yet to work out, bright blue eyes, a powerful jawline, and ripped alpha body.

Even his calves are sexy.

Don’t start me on his round tight ass.

God.

But it’s his muscular pecs and solid arms that make my pussy throb when I lie awake at night.

That is, until last weekend.

Ugh, my vagina is such a treacherous bitch. Between her and his amazing cock, I can’t believe we waited this long to do it again.

I meant it when I said I wasn’t sorry, but it can’t happen again.

Cole is going to be in my life forever, but not because I’m the woman of his dreams. If I were, he would’ve pursued a romantic relationship with me when he discovered I was pregnant. That didn’t happen.

The day I told him, there was a lot of cursing, running his fingers through his hair as he paced, and then saying okay, okay, this is okay. I’ll do what’s needed here. We will work this out.

I just listened and put my Doc Marten clad feet up on the table. Which I can’t wear anymore because my body is swollen like a damn balloon.

There was a small part of me that hoped, or wondered, if Cole would tell me he wanted to be with me. That he’d explain that he wanted to call and ask me out on a date. Tell me that it wasn’t just a wild one-night stand. That he’d only held back because of our mutual friends.

Didn’t happen.

Cole isn’t a man who would look twice at me normally. I might be (normally) petite but with curves and my short five-foot-four stature, but I’m far from the willowy blue-eyed blondes I’m sure he dates.

I have black hair, gray eyes and a goth-ish thing going on.

Correction: right now I’m rocking maternity wear. Sexy. Not.

But there is a chemistry between us neither can ignore. Last weekend proved that. I suppose it’s out of our system, and now the baby will arrive, and we will carry on with our lives.

Me, elbow deep in diapers while he dates other more sexy women.

Ugh.

In the past four months neither of us have discussed how we will parent together. He just butts his nose into everything, and I doubt things will be different when our alien arrives.

“How do you feel about him?” Cassy asked me once, not long after Cole found out.

“Indifferent.” I shrugged.

She reached across the table while we sat having lunch at her big, beautiful home she shared with Josh, and squeezed my hand. “It’s okay to like him.”

“What? Because he doesn’t feel the same way? So I shouldn’t be ashamed.” I tugged my hand back. “Who says I do, anyway?”

“No, I didn’t mean that.” Her cheeks warmed.

“You did,” I challenged.

Cassy went quiet. “I didn’t. But I can see how you’d think that. Cole might feel something back, though. I’ve seen him staring at you.”

“Like I’m in a horror movie.” I shrugged.

Shaking her head, Cassy leaned back in her chair. “You put up these gigantic walls, Scar. Let him in.”

“Um, I did that.” I pointed to my belly. “See what happened.”

All the girls—Savannah, Trina, Briar, Trixie (who is currently living in NYC) and Cassy—have tried to encourage me to open up to Cole. As if a conversation will make him fall in love with me.

I don’t even know if I want that.

God, the sex was amazing, but right now I’m just focused on having this baby. It’s an enormous moment in my life. The last thing I need is to tell the father of my kid I want more and for him to laugh me off.

Just because his dick wants me doesn’t mean the rest of him does.

Everything he says to me is about the baby. Which is good. That’s what I need him to do. The fact that it makes me feel like an incubator is a little annoying, but it’s better than him completely taking no responsibility.

“As I’ve demonstrated, opening up to Cole—in this case my legs—got me into this situation, so thanks for the advice, ladies, but I’m going to take it from here,” I told them, and they backed off.

I glance down at my client and put the last foil into her hair. We’re taking her a little blonder this month, and I just hope I didn’t mess up the color.

Baby brain has been a thing, and I’m obsessed with all the details of this baby arriving. Nesting. I was awake until one this morning searching on Google for a fifteen-inch wicker basket for the baby room.

At the time, it was the most important thing in the universe. Now? God, I wish I’d just gone to sleep.

I also went onto Cole’s Instagram account to see what he was doing after not hearing from him in two days. He doesn’t post often, but when he does, I try to work out if he’s dating.

“There we go. Twenty minutes and Jenna will take you to the basin to rinse.” I pat my client’s shoulder.

“Thanks Scarlett.” She glances up from her gossip magazine momentarily.

I walk—waddle—out the back just as my phone rings. Cole.

“What?” I ask, yawning.

“Good morning to you too, you beautiful ray of sunshine.” His voice is way too chirpy.

He’s driving, and I clench my thighs, remembering the sex dream I had last week where I was straddling the gear stick and came while Cole rubbed my clit.

Damn hormones.

I’m not ashamed. It was a great orgasm, even if I was alone. And that is why fucking him on the weekend was a good idea. Like scratching an itch. Nothing more.

“I’m busy growing a baby; what can I do for you, sperm donor?”

Opening the fridge, I pull out my lunch and rip open the Tupperware cover.

Chicken salad.

“To turn back time, but here we are,” he replies. “Just making sure you remember I’m on assignment this week. I’ll still pick you up on Thursday for your appointment but am unlikely to see you before that.”

Of course I remember.

It’s like he thinks I’m six.

“Thank you, Jesus. It’s like all my prayers are being answered,” I say instead.

There’s a pause, which surprises me. Getting a bite out of Cole is rare. Most of my quips seem to miss the mark. He has this rock-solid confidence, so things bounce off him.

I’m envious secretly.

“If you need anything—”

“I don’t. You can skip this week. You don’t need to be at every single appointment.” I grab a fork from the cutlery drawer and take a seat at our lunchroom table.

“Yes. I do.” Cole says firmly.

I let out a sigh. Mostly at the boring chicken salad, but I don’t clarify.

“Fine. Just so you know, I’m a healthy, independent woman who can fend for herself. You aren’t my husband, so carry on with your undercover whatever.”

Was that a growl?

“Scarlett, can you just for once be normal and... polite or something?”

“No,” I shovel the dumb lettuce into my mouth and chew loudly.

This time he sighs.

“Can’t wait to meet our kid,” he grumps. “Gotta go. See you Thursday.”

His mood cheers me up, so I end the call, smiling.

Then I stare at the phone, knowing I won’t see him until Thursday, and my mood falters.

I hate that I care.

Three days and two hours.

I mean, he’s just a habit. The annoying Ranger has shown up at my house with supplements and food, things for the baby and excuses about doing something to the house or its bedroom almost every day for four months.

I’d be sad in the same way if I didn’t see Cassy for a few days.

No, you wouldn’t.

Jenna pushes the door open. “Um, I think you better come see this. I don’t think a toner is going to fix it this time.”

Fuck.