Chapter 1
Bluebonnet
Locked in the bathroom of my little cabin, I stare at the double lines on all five tests laid out in a row. This is an unexpected twist. How am I going to tell my fiancé? He won’t be pleased.
My phone alarm goes off, signaling that it’s time to look at the results. But I’ve been glued to this spot, watching since I set the last one down. I’ll totally have to disinfect this counter because eww, but right now, I have other worries.
John is a reasonable person. His life plan focuses more on travel and promotions and expensive houses, and he explicitly told me children are a nuisance. But that was before.
My pep talk is helping to calm my nerves. Slow breaths in and out bring my heart rate down.
What if he’s not on board with this new development? How will I raise a child alone? Those two questions completely undo all the calming from my pep talk. Panic grips me in full force, and my heart rate skyrockets. My breathing speeds up, and I know I’m about to hyperventilate. I don’t need this right now.
Lips pursed, I do my best to return to a normal breathing pattern, but with all those pink lines spread out in front of me, it doesn’t work.
My fingers start to tingle, and I sit on the toilet—with the lid down of course—and put my head between my knees, hoping I can avoid fainting.
Why did I let John talk me into intimacy before I was ready? But once we were engaged, it seemed like a formality. My skepticism kicks in, and I wonder if he only proposed so that I’d agree. But it doesn’t matter now. I’ve spent my whole life doing whatever I can to keep those around me happy, and it was no different with John. I gave him what he wanted even if I wanted something different.
That changes now. I have a baby to think about.
And I need a plan.
The old plan where I live in the cabin on the ranch, work for the nice vet here in town until the wedding, and then move to the big city after might still work, but I’ll be the talk of the town. And the old plan is really John’s plan. If I had my druthers, I’d stay in this small town and take over the practice when Dr. Monroe finally retires. But John doesn’t want to live here.
What am I going to do? If I calculated correctly, which there is a good chance I messed that up because thinking is currently hard, I’ll be nine months pregnant when I’m supposed to walk down the aisle. Talk about a scheduling nightmare. With my luck, my water would break about the time the officiant says, “We are gathered together.” I’d be anything but together.
I really need a new plan. And I need to tell John.
He golfs on Saturdays, so now is a very bad time to call.
When my phone buzzes, I glance at the screen. Paisley calls me almost every Saturday. In middle school and high school, there were five of us who hung out all the time. We hardly hear from the other three. But Paisley and I have kept in touch. She lives a few hours away, but her parents are still here. And her little brother. Sweet Parker, or Dumplin’ as I prefer to call him. He was the extra in our group, always tagging along.
Her husband recently accepted a job in San Antonio, and I’m crazy excited about having her close again. While I’m not in the habit of labeling people as my BFF, that’s exactly what she is. But if I answer this call, I’ll do nothing but sob. So I let it roll to voice mail.
I glance at the tests again, checking to see if all of them spontaneously switched to not pregnant. What are the chances that they’re all false positives?
Astronomical.
Once the tingling has stopped, and I’m no longer hyperventilating, I tap out a text to John.
Me:Hope your golf game is great today. Call me when you get a chance. I have news.
News that requires regular doctor appointments, a crib, and lots of diapers. I’m really not looking forward to our conversation.
Clutching the sink cabinet, I stand, hoping my knees are functioning and that blood doesn’t rush to my feet. I don’t want a rescue team charging in here with all these tests visible.
But I’m not ready to throw them away. I need to check them a few hundred more times to be sure this is actually happening to me.
I walk to the bed, lay my phone on my pillow, and curl up under the covers. With my red swollen eyes and tear-stained cheeks, it’s best if I don’t bump into anyone. A nap is the safest way to kill time.
* * *
Ringing wakes me,and I blink as I grab for the phone. It’s not on my pillow, so I dig around in the sheets until I find it under my hip.
“Hello?”
“Hey, hun. I saw your text. Golf was fine, I missed a couple of shots on purpose so that I didn’t score lower than any of the partners, but there are things more important than golf. Hang on.” Muffled voices sound on his end of the call. “I’m back. What’s up?”
