I pick up the phone Zane gave me. It still feels like a ticking time bomb when I hold it, but I’m not stupid. I know how to open an incognito browser window.
I do a pregnancy calculator from my last period, which confirms that I’m about nine weeks pregnant. Another month until I start showing.
Tonight at dinner, Luna surprised me by asking if I want to stay longer and save up more money.
I surprised us both by saying yes, I’d like that. But for how much longer can I pretend that I’m not hiding a big secret?
If my due date is December, then I need to have us settled somewhere by September, probably, at the latest.
The growl of an engine in the driveway interrupts my spinning thoughts and makes my heart leap into my throat. I have a sudden appreciation for Zane’s point that my phone can track his family members, because who is driving in at almost midnight?
It turns out, it’s my cowboy himself.
He’s notyourcowboy. And that’s another reason not to stick around too long.
That doesn’t stop me from staring at his name on the screen. Zane’s dot is right outside, where the truck lights are shining against the side of the barn.
The truck turns off, then the yard goes dark, and a minute later the front door opens and closes softly. He takes off his boots in the foyer, a strange sound to be able to identify so clearly, before his quieter footsteps disappear toward the back of the house. To the library.
I shouldn’t slide out of bed and head to the stairs. After what we shared in the barn, another late night private conversation in the library might not be wise, but I’m drawn to him, and I can’t deny that magnetic pull.
Part of me was relieved when he disappeared and wasn’t around for dinner, but another part of me is very happy he’s returned now.
I follow the glow of the light he’s left on and knock on the wide open door.
"Hey," I say quietly.
He's standing at the window, one hand braced against the frame, looking out into the darkness. He turns his head, but not sharply, and nods.
"Long day?"
"Something like that." He drops his hand and turns to face me fully. In the soft lamplight, his jaw looks harder than usual. "Come in, though. How was the rest of your day?"
I step inside. “Very puddle oriented. And we were very careful not to track mud inside. I think your mom appreciated that?”
He huffs a quiet laugh that does something warm and inconvenient to my chest.
I take a deep breath. “Luna’s suggested we stay a few weeks more.”
His head snaps up, his gaze sharpening. “Did she? And what did you say?”
“I think it’s a good idea.” And then I rush past that, because what if it’s not? It’s what I want anyway. “I made hamburger soup for dinner, by the way, if you’re hungry.”
He shakes his head. “I’m fine.”
It occurs to me that he may have had dinner somewhere else, may have been out all night for personal reasons, and that makes my cheeks burn.
His gaze narrows, as if he can read me like a book. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“Not nothing,” he growls. I shrink back, and he swears under his breath. “Jesus, Hope, don’t be afraid of me.”
“I’m not,” I stammer.
He gives me a look that verges on tortured. “This might be hard for you to believe, but Zane Kincaid doesn’tgrowl.”
I blink in surprise.
