“Do you want to hang out for a bit longer?” I nod my head in the direction of the living room on the other side of the archway.
“Yeah, for sure.”
“I have a doctor’s appointment next week, by the way. No pressure at all, but you said you wanted to know these things.” We settle onto the plush grey couch, and I wrap a blanket around myself, wiggling my toes to ensure they’re fully tucked in. “I understand if youhave work to do. I know mid-week isn’t the most convenient. And, like… it’s not a veryexcitingappointment. They basically just check my blood pressure and ask how I’m feeling.”
“No. I’ll talk to Austin, but I’m sure I can make it work, if you want me to come.”
“I felt like a potato-shaped lump of trash after my last appointment, and it would be nice to know if the doctor’s a dickhead, or if I’m hormonal and crazy. I need a third-party there to confirm.” Also, something is terribly wrong with me. Maybe I have brain cancer on top of being pregnant because the possibility of spending hours in the car together actually sounds exciting.
Plus, it would be wonderful not to endure the sad looks when I’m alone at my appointmentagain. I bet we can make a somewhat convincing couple.
See?I’m sick.
“You’re definitely at least one of those two things.” He flashes me a teasing smile. “Sure you want me there? Because if he’s a dickhead, I’ll kick the shit out of him.”
I swat my hand at him—getting nowhere close because we’re sitting on opposite ends of my couch. “And then we’ll be banned from the hospital and I won’t have anywhere within three hours to deliver a baby.”
“I’ve pulled enough calves, I’m sure we’ll manage.”
My jaw drops, and I brave the cold, swinging a leg out from under the blanket to kick him hard in the thigh. “Shut the fuck up. You ever say shit like that again, I’ll castrate you.”
He’s laughing. A gut busting, wheezy laugh I’ve never heard before. As annoyed as I want to be at him, I can’t help the smile bursting at the seams.
“Shut up.” I nudge him with my toes again. “Serious, Red. No fighting my doctor. You can be pissed off all you want, but we’ll vent about it on the drive home like normal people.”
“Okay, okay. Stop kicking me with your damn ice cube feet.”
“Promise you won’t.” I point a threatening finger in his direction, narrowing my eyes with a serious intent despite the smile I can’t shake.
“Yes, Cass, I promise. Even if he’s a tool.”
I retreat back under the covers, and Red reaches over to carefully tuck the blanket around my toes. All I can do is stare at him and clasp my hands, gripping hard to stop from launching into his stupid, annoying, cute, sexy lap.
Fuck.
Glancing at the clock above the fireplace, he scrubs a hand across his chiselled jaw. “I should get going. Four a.m. comes sooner than I ever want it to. I’ll text you after I talk to Austin.”
“Okay. Night.” I watch him stand up, refusing to budge from my comfy seat. Partially because I’m a terrible hostess, but mostly because I know I would kiss him if I gave him a proper goodbye.
9
Red
17 weeks (baby is the size of a potato)
Fences to mend, tractors to repair, and Austin’s never-ending shit-list of chores to be done before we bring the cattle home for the winter. From May until October, all 20,000 head live out on grazing land in the mountains surrounding Wells Ranch. The cattle drives bringing them to and from the ranch are a multiple day, all-hands-on-deck affair. Since the first time I was allowed to help out when I was twelve, those have easily been my favourite days on the ranch. The shit that makes me proud to be part of this place. Except now the idea of spending multiple days next week without Cass—even without the ability to text her—sounds like hell to me.
As I’d hoped, potatoes were my in. Even with little downtime, and a lot of heckling from the guys, I’ve been playing around with potato recipes every chance I get. Both because it’s fun to fuck around with different recipes and because Cassidy’s facelights upevery single time. Not to mention, the soft moan at the back of her throat when she takes the first bite has been giving me some great spank bank material. So any night when she isn’t working late at the bar, I bring dinner and we eat together at her cartoonishly small table.
But being invited to her doctor’s appointment feels like the real deal. Despite what Kate and Cecily constantly yammer in my ear, I haven’t been convinced the dinners are enough. She could be using me for food—in fact, she’s stated that’s what she’s doing multiple times.
I need something to help convince me she actually wants me to be the dad. Wants me around, period. Lately, it seems like she’s content with keeping me a secret forever, and I’ve been bottling my emotions—the frustration, the hurt, the anger.
The highway’s quiet, but not nearly as quiet as the first ten minutes of the drive have been. My thumb taps repeatedly on the steering wheel, playing to the beat of “Guitars, Cadillacs.” Something about the silence makes it impossible to keep my thoughts contained.
“So, are youevergoing to tell your dad?”
Likely not the best time for this conversation, but it’s a fair fucking question if you ask me. She’s almost halfway through the pregnancy, has known about it for months, and is still happily going along pretendingDerek—the rotten scumbag—is the father, while I’m over here busting my ass for her.
