“This isn’t up for debate. You’re not staying in a motel in the middle of winter with no heater while you’re pregnant. You need home-cooked meals, not some fast-food garbage. You need a comfortable, sanitary bed, and a heater that actually works—not some blanket you’re likely not even supposed to be using.” He’d somehow drifted closer, and I welcomed the body heat emanating off him.
I lifted my chin. “You don’t even know how long I’m in Bell Buckle.”
Nothing in his expression changed as he said, “Doesn’t matter. You’re staying at my place. For a week, a month, until after this baby pops out, I don’t care. But you’re not staying here.”
I pursed my lips, hating him for so easily talking me into this. I did miss being warm, and if I was being honest, motel beds gave me the ick. I’d stayed in plenty of cabins and slept under the stars in nothing but a sleeping bag many times, but motels? That’s where I felt like bugs were crawling all over me.
“This doesn’t mean anything.” I narrowed my eyes for emphasis.
“Not a thing,” he agreed.
“Just a friend helping a friend,” I added for further clarification.
Beck gave a curt nod. “Just a friend helping a friend.”
As he walked me to my truck, neither of us mentioned that we’d crossed that line once before.
And I couldn’t help but ask myself: What was stopping us from doing it again?
3
PARKER
Ignawed on my lip the entire drive to Beckham’s double-wide. Questions about the last decade swirled around in my head as I followed his truck, begging to be voiced once I got out of my vehicle and came face-to-face with him again.
What had he been up to? Did he have a girlfriend? A job? Did he still ride broncs? How was his family?
Was it even my business?
Did he hate me for…everything?
I shouldn’t have come back to the motel after my father’s funeral. I should have gotten right back in my truck and driven far the fuck away. But where would that have landed me? I had nowhere to go. No one to help me care for this baby. And while the latter wasn’t changing, having a roof over my head for the foreseeable future definitely added a semblance of safety to the situation at hand.
The way Beckham had been so adamant about mestaying with him didn’t make me think I was a burden. Or at least, I hoped I wasn’t. Beckham had always been sweet to me. And his home, coming into view as we turned down his driveway, was proof that he hadn’t lost his humanity over the years.
The back door of my truck swung open as soon as I parked, and Beckham appeared, grabbing my luggage. My eyes darted to the bag before meeting his patient gaze.
“Ready?” His tone was calm, like he was approaching an injured animal and didn’t want to spook it.
With a swallow, I nodded. He closed the back door and came around to my side before I could open it. As I swung my legs out, he took a step back, his shoulder leaning against the door so I could walk past him. Once I was a few feet away, he shoved it shut, then came to a stop beside me as I stared up at his home.
“Not what you expected?” he guessed.
I shook my head, my hands involuntarily coming up to rest on my stomach. “No. It’s exactly what I pictured for you.”
He let out a breathy chuckle. “A double-wide, huh? I didn’t think I wasthatdisappointing.”
I elbowed his arm. “You’re not disappointing, Beck. It’s perfect.”
The following silence had me glancing his way, spotting a frown tugging at the corners of his mouth before he continued onward to the front door. Once there, he set my bag on the porch and dug his keys out of his pocket.
After the door was unlocked, he shoved it open, gesturing for me to go first while he grabbed the handle of my luggage. I strode past him, taking in the space as I entered.
Despite appearing to be an older double-wide from the outside, the interior seemed newly remodeled. What looked to be faux white granite merged into the short backdrop of the kitchen while the cabinets sported a warm, honey oak color, giving a warmth to the space.
As we passed the kitchen directly beside the front door, I walked into the living room where a brown leather couch sat in front of another piece of oak furniture—the coffee table.
The bare space made it seem like he’d just moved in. That, or he was really bad at decorating, save for the giant longhorn skull hanging on the wall directly above the TV.
