Page 7 of His to Own

I look her over once again. “No.”

“Good. Move her to the table. Elevate her feet. I’ll be there in a few minutes.” The conversation is over. I drop my phone to the floor, and it can stay there. My arms go beneath her knees and neck, and after a few awkward movements, I’m up on my feet with Juniper in my arms.

“Damn, Juniper, whatever is going on with you, it’s not great, babe.” She’s like a limp noodle in my arms, and my only hope is Doc will make good on his promise. Seeing the strong, fierce, independent woman this way is not what I thought I’d ever expect when I left her place. I’m ready to kick my own ass for leaving her alone when whatever this is, is giving her a run for her money.

EIGHT

JUNIPER

My senses must be deceiving me. The mattress beneath my body isn’t my own. This feeling of luxuriousness is so far out of my own reality that I’m having a hard time deciding between opening my eyes or keeping them closed and staying in my very own dreamland. Unfortunately, my bladder is speaking volumes, and I’m not getting a choice in the matter. Lately, it’s as if I have no control over my body, and I’m reminded of this daily.

I blink the sleep out of my eyes and immediately realize I'm not in my bedroom where I’m usually surrounded by light and airy hues. The walls in my house are a soft cream and the light from the windows always lets the sunshine in, creating a kaleidoscope of colors. Not to mention my bedroom has a bohemian vibe. It's the exact opposite to this room. The walls and ceiling are a dark knotty wood, similar to what you’d see in a log cabin. There’s virtually no light except for an open door, which I’m assuming leads to a bathroom. Someone must have left it on and the door slightly ajar.

The call to use the restroom becomes too strong. I lift the covers off me, glancing down and realizing a different situation entirely. I’m not in my clothes. My fingers grasp the collar of the men’s shirt I'm wearing and I bring it to my nose.

“Lawson,” I say his name so low it’s barely above a whisper. It smells warm and rich, with hints of leather, wood, and amber. I inhale as deep as my lungs will allow before I exhale. He must be here somewhere close, and once I take care of business, I’m going to give him a piece of my mind. That is once I’m finished dealing with myself. The past few days have been rough, and it doesn’t seem like there’s an end in sight. I guess the good news is I was able to get in with my obstetrician the same day I saw Doctor Jimenez. Thankfully, she gave me some medicine to help combat the all-day sickness that will no doubt last for at least my first trimester. The only problem with the medicine is waiting for the pharmacy to get it in stock. Apparently, it’s not widely needed in town, so I’m waiting for them to get in, and then I’ll be able to start it immediately. For the time being, I’m stuck in the limbo of feeling great to all of a sudden being back to hugging my best friend, the toilet.

I lift myself up into a sitting position. Since I'm feeling okay, I spin my body so my legs are dangling over the edge. I flex my feet back and forth, making sure dizziness doesn’t take root before I stand up. The last thing I want is to fall flat on my face.

“What the fuck are you doing trying to get out of bed?” I’ve barely scooted to the edge. Jesus, this bed is massive, dark, and definitely manly, a lot like what I’m assuming is his owner.

“Going pee, so please get out of my way before I lose my bladder.” There’s no way I’ll be able to have the conversation of who, what, when, where, or how until I take care of business.

“Doc said bed rest. I’ll carry you.” Lawson’s tone isn’t leaving a whole lot to reason with. I’m all for angering the beast, when I’m not doing it peeing myself, that is.

“Lawson, if you pick me up, it’ll be a bad idea. I promise you this.” I stand up, and he’s instantly at my side.

“Juniper,” he starts to talk, but the look I send his way must make him have enough sense to shut his trap. His hand goes to my elbow, guiding me toward where the door is open and a light is shining. I glance at him out of the corner of my eye. He’s wearing nothing except a loose pair of flannel pajama pants. They’re hanging low on his hips and showing off his trim waist. And now, I really need to get away from Mister Sex-on-a-Stick. My hormones are in overdrive when I’m not losing what little food I have in my body. Lawson is doing me absolutely no favors, and the small grin he has plastered on his face right now tells me he knows exactly what he’s doing.

“I can handle it from here,” I state once we’re at the doorway.

“Juni, the last time you went to the bathroom, you didn’t get up on your own.” I can hear the gruffness, and I’m well aware of what he’s talking about. I shouldn’t have gone in to work. I should have kept my butt at home. Constantly running to the bathroom and heaving knocked me flat on my ass. At least I sat on my ass before I lost consciousness, and I guess Lawson is the one who found me.

“I’m okay.” I give him a small smile.

“Leave the door open. I’ll give you my back. And, Juniper?” His request is more of a demand.

“No, there’s no and. What the hell, Lawson? I’m not doing that. You have no problem knocking a door down. You’ll be just fine.” I yank my elbow away from his hold, march my ass into the bathroom, closing the door in his face before he can so much as utter another word, and lock it, too.

I don’t look at the mirror, too afraid of what I might find. A few minutes later I’m done. I'm aware that Lawson’s shirt on me is more like a dress, hanging down to my knees, and now I’m going to have to look at myself while washing my hands.

“Juni, open the door.” This damn man. I’m ready to box his ears. I ignore his ranting and raving, going about washing my hands.

“Go away, Lawson. I’ll be out in a minute.”

He keeps at the door. “Not happening, not in your condition.” My eyes snap to the mirror. My hair is a knotted and tangled mess, my skin looks like it hasn’t seen the sun in a year, and that’s when I realize I’ve got a bandage on the inside of my arm. I rip it away to find a needle pinprick, and my whole body breaks out in a cold sweat.

My condition, I say in my head, wondering what the hell he’s talking about. And which doctor did Lawson call? I spin around, unlocking the door before opening the damn thing.

“My condition?” I all but scream, throwing my attitude at him. Lawson has no idea what is going on. The palm of my hand goes to my lower stomach, worry sinking in at the what-ifs.

“Yes, your condition. A condition Doctor Jimenez wouldn’t tell me what it is, only that you’ve been sick for too damn long, you were too dehydrated. He left me in the fucking dark.” He's standing right at the entrance, legs spread shoulder-width apart, arms resting on his amazingly built chest. I’m trying to keep my anger built up inside me when all I really want to do is stand here, take him in, and maybe persuade him to take me to bed.

“Doctor Jimenez didn’t tell you?” I breathe a massive sigh of relief. Doctor Jimenez knows I’m pregnant and would never administer medicine that would hurt my unborn baby.

“No, he just said you were seeing a specialist. You wanna tell me what all that’s about?” Lawson sounds exhausted. Well, I feel as tired as he sounds. How it’s even remotely possible to be tired after sleeping any time Lawson is near, I have no idea.

“A specialist?” I’m trying not to bust a gut laughing. Doctor Jimenez really covered his bases in order to keep everything to himself.

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