Page 70 of Pack Baby for the Silver Foxes

She smiled at the floor. “Am I?”

“You’ll work it out for yourself.”

I brought her into my office and shut the door.

Mary’s gaze went straight to the sculpture but she just smiled and let me guide her to the sofa instead of the chairs by the desk. She sat carefully, coat still buttoned, hands clasped in her lap. The sight of her there, rain in her hair and our child inside her, hit me so hard I had to turn toward the cabinet just to breathe.

“Tea?” I asked.

“Water.”

Good. Practical. I could do water.

I poured a glass and brought it to her. She took it with both hands.

“Thank you.”

I sat in the chair opposite her, leaving space.

She drank the water. Her hand shook less by the second sip.

“Have you seen a doctor?” I asked.

“Yes.”

Relief struck first. “Good.”

“I’m pregnant. I’m healthy. The baby is where it should be. I’ve been told to eat more often, rest more, reduce stress, and avoid dramatic emotional situations, which suggests the doctor has a sense of humor.”

“How far?” This time the question landed softer.

“Nearly eight weeks.”

I closed my eyes, and the hotel came back in pieces. The sheets, the smell of violet, and her laughter after the first time Lincoln made her drink juice.

The card bent in her hand.

“Ours,” I said. Not a question.

Mary looked into the glass. “I haven’t been with anyone else.”

Something primitive in me settled. Something civilized in me hated that it mattered so much. “I wasn’t asking that.”

“You were thinking about it.”

“No,” I said. “I was thinking I don’t know whether to hold you or call a doctor, and I’m trying very hard not to do either without permission.”

Her eyes lifted and the room softened around the edges. “That’s very you, Hudson.”

“What’s me?”

“I don’t know.” She paused then smiled. “Maybe you’re just controlled panic wearing a fancy pin-striped suit.”

I laughed. The sound startled her.

Then the office door opened. Lincoln walked in, phone in hand, with irritation written across every line of him.

“God,” he said, looking down at his screen, “I wish I could stop smelling her.”