“Some unexpected news. Not what we planned, but we’re going to have a baby.” I load my announcement with glee, hoping it’s contagious and can travel over phone waves, or whatever it is that makes these calls connect.
After three seconds, the silence starts to worry me. But I give him time to process. I had my mini panic attack earlier. He deserves some time.
When it hits the one-minute mark, I can no longer hold my tongue. “Are you going to say anything?”
“We’ve talked about this, Bluebonnet.Weare not going to have a baby. Fix the problem, or I’ll pick up my ring the next time I’m in town. But I have to go. Let me know what you decide.” The call ends, and I’m left staring at my phone.
It’s not panic that grips me. It’s anger. At myself. How did I get taken in by someone like John? He was so cold. It’s not like I tricked him. It’s a surprise for me too. But this isn’t in his life plan, so now neither am I.
I yank off my engagement ring and throw it against the wall. It clinks as it bounces out of sight, and my throat tightens as I think about the reality of my predicament.
My parents don’t live here anymore. They aren’t even together. And my mom is the queen of pointing out what I can do better. I can’t imagine trying to parent with her looking over my shoulder. Not long after I moved out, they announced the divorce. It wasn’t much of a surprise. Mom always hated it here. And I’m not sure she liked my dad that much either.
Now she’s enjoying her life in Los Angeles, and Dad is grieving the end of his marriage by gallivanting around the globe and doing who knows what.
Unless I’m having quintuplets, my news won’t be but a blip on their radar. And I truly hope I’m not having quintuplets.
I’ve seen mama kitties that are pregnant with five or more kittens come into the vet clinic, and those poor cats look miserable. Besides, I’m not built for that.
My tummy rumbles, complaining because I missed breakfast and lunch. During breakfast, I was in my bathroom peeing on sticks. Then I napped through lunch. But Ava always has something available in the mess hall, and Beau, the ranch owner, told me to make myself at home.
I wash my face, pull on my shoes, and take a deep breath before opening the door. If I don’t get food in me, I’m going to puke, and that would only make this day worse.
Hopefully, I can make it to the mess hall and get food without bumping into anyone.
Chapter 2
Parker
With Kent and Poppy away on their honeymoon, I’m on kid duty. Not full time. Mason stays with Ava and Mad Dog at night, but during the day, he works with me at the barn, and when we have free time, we have fun.
Now is one of those times.
I turn off the hose and plug the hole on the water tank of my super soaker. It’s hard to tell where his giggles are coming from. He’s gotten better at this game. I often end up soaked.
But today, I’m ready. Wearing only my swimming trunks and boots, I won’t be bothered by the water. I tiptoe across the porch outside the mess hall, then stop when I hear gravel crunching. Mason has given away his location. He’s headed right toward me.
Super soaker raised, I aim for the corner of the house, waiting for him to step into view.
One tug on this trigger and he’ll be doused with water.
I wait, the rush of blood thumping against my eardrums. He’s seven, but I’d be silly to underestimate him. My only chance of winning this round is to catch him off guard and hold that trigger until my tank is empty.
I catch motion at the corner, and water shoots across the porch.
Horror renders me mute as water soaks the front of Bluebonnet’s white T-shirt. And when I scrape together enough courage to look at her face, my horror changes to shame.
She’s crying.
That kicks me into motion. I toss the super soaker aside and race toward her. “I’m soooo sorry, Bonny Blue. I didn’t know it was you. Mason and I were playing a game, and I thought...” I drag my hands through my hair. “Are you hurt?”
My thoughts are so chaotic, I used my old nickname for her, which I haven’t used in ages, and definitely not since she got engaged. But I’ll deal with that later.
She stares at my face, her tears morphing into full-on sobs.
What have I done?
“I swear I didn’t mean to.” I stick my right hand in the air, then do the same with my left, as if that will make my swear more believable.
