FORD
Imeet Olivia at the top of the hill once the ambulance takes the skinny-dipper away.
“How are they?” she asks when I’m close, her hands clutched together in front of her, worry creasing her forehead.
Gently, I run my fingers down her cheek. “Fine. Hit their head underwater. The group were in a no-jumping area. Signs, a fence, everything. Didn’t stop them, though.”
She presses her lips into a firm line as she leans into my tough. “That’s not great.”
“The ranch is safe considering we have all the necessary signage up. Although, I don’t think they’ll want to sue after the talking to they got.” It wouldn’t be the first time guests got into an area they shouldn’t have, but this might be one of the unluckiest situations. “Not as serious as it could have been, which is a blessing.”
“At least they’re alive,” she murmurs, gaze darting to the water, and the disbanded group.
I take Olivia’s hand, interlocking our fingers. “Let’s go back,” I suggest. “There was still something you needed to tell me, right?”
The colour drains from her cheeks, and I watch as she swallows hard. “Yeah,” she whispers, nodding, eyes flickering behind me. “Not here.”
“I’ll take you back to the cabin,” I offer, squeezing her hand. “We’re less likely to be interrupted there.”
The corners of her lips twitch into a smile, though it doesn’t reach her eyes. “That might be a good idea.”
I don’t know whether to feel sick over what she has to tell me, or excited. Her nerves are palpable, but it can’t be that bad. At least she doesn’t have a husband or fiancé I need to worry about. As much as I’m certain I love Olivia, I wouldn’t dare step into a relationship with her, not now or not with the other man out of the picture. Knowing that isn’t the case alleviates some of my own inner turmoil, but that doesn’t seem to be the case with her.
We make our way back to the clearing silently, re-entering the trees and leaving the commotion behind. It has to be close to five in the morning, meaning I’m about to lose my chance at keeping our marriage.
The bet seems useless now, especially since Olivia has this secret hanging over us.
“Are you pregnant?” I ask, thinking back to earlier—our conversation about kids, about wanting them. “Is that what you’re scared to tell me? What you’re worried will change my mind?”
“What?” Her head snaps towards me, her eyes widening with shock. “No. I’m not pregnant. What made you think?—”
I shrug as we hit the clearing. “You asked about kids,” I reply, sparing her a look. “And it’s the only other thing I can think of that might be making you so nervous. I guess it would mean you’ve had sex before or after we got married, but I won’t hold it against you if that’s the case.”
Olivia makes a sound in the back of her throat. “I haven’t been with anyone since you,” she says, stopping by the picnicblanket. I bend down to pick it up, pulling it off the ground, but it sends her purse flying.
The contents come spilling out, wallet, keys, cell phone, and a lot of polaroids. “Shit, sorry,” I stammer, dropping to my knees, picking up one of the photographs. “What are these?—”
I have to blink despite the image being so clear. I’d recognise Olivia anywhere, only here, she looks tired. Happy, yet exhausted. She’s hooked up to different machines in a hospital bed, and in her arms is a blue bundle.
My mouth goes dry. “What?”
Olivia drops to her knees beside me, tears shining in her eyes as she snatches the rest up. I grab another before she can add it to her pile, but this one is newer. The baby is an actual baby, not a bundle in her arms. It’s a picture of it in a crib, taken from between the bars, a smiling, dimple-cheeked baby staring back at me with eyes like mine.
I smooth my thumb over the grinning face as I look at Olivia. Tears run down her cheeks, the rest of the polaroids tucked against her chest.
“I couldn’t figure out the best way to tell you,” she whispers, voice raw.
“Tell me what?” I ask, voice breaking. “Who is this?”
She sniffs. “That’s Christopher. My son.Ourson.”
I sit back, breath leaving me, and stare at her. “What?”
“He’s seven months old now,” she explains, sobbing. “I didn’t know I was pregnant until a few months after we met. You-you were the only one I’d been with in months. He’s yours.”
My gaze flickers to the photo again. It has to be more recent, because he looks like a real fucking baby. “I…I have a son?”
“I wasn’t sure when I saw you if you were…if you were the same man from the bar,” she whispers, eyes closing. “It’s why I wanted the annulment. I’ve been looking for you for months.What happened in Vegas felt like a huge obstacle. I came here to deal with this so I could go back to looking for his dad.”
