Page 43 of Salty Pickle

I’m sure I did that to her. This is why no one should pin their happiness on me. I’m not up for the job.

In fact, this kid, even if he is mine, should probably stay far away.

If I can be raised by two perfectly good parents in a normal, happy family, and turn out like this, then there’s no hope for something as gentle and impressionable as a small child, not around me.

13

LUCY

Ican’t read Court’s mood at all. He’s swinging faster than a carnival ride.

I thought for a moment, when we were listening to the baby’s heartbeat, that he felt something. He got so still. So fully attentive.

But then he was back to his usual self, barely letting me dress without bringing up paternity.

He doesn’t believe the baby is his. And if he doesn’t, he can’t bond with his child.

At least not until the paternity test is done.

We check out, and I schedule bloodwork and a sonogram for next week. Court is impassive, giving me only the smallest nod when the clerk tells me what times are available.

This is going worse than I hoped.

As we walk out, he says, “I can take you back to the farm. I brought my car.”

That’s something, I guess. I’m emotional from the doctor visit and want to make progress, anything I can get, in forging some sort of partnership for when the baby is born. He may not believe it’s his, but I know.

The sunlight is blinding, and I shield my eyes as Court unlocks a sleek black Ferrari, low to the ground, and wildly sexy. It’s definitely a fit for him.

He almost sits behind the wheel, then realizes he should probably be polite, and rounds the car to open the passenger side.

I peer down at the low-slung seat with trepidation. I’m not sure I can get in, much less get out.

I duck my head and hang onto the edge of the door as I maneuver inside. There’s nothing for my left hand to grab onto. The dash is too far forward. The steering wheel is out of reach.

I hesitate, worried I’m about to fall onto the seat in a heap of yellow dress and belly.

“Everything okay?” Court asks.

I back out. “Trying to figure out how to sit down.”

He leans down to peer inside. “I guess it is a little low.”

“I’ll figure it out.”

I try putting a leg in first, but I can’t get my butt anywhere near the seat. I’m afraid to let go of the door. I don’t want to fall into place. It feels like a mile between my body and the seat.

I hover over the cushion, but my arm starts to shake. I’m about to crash land when Court leans down and cradles my thighs and back.

“Here you go,” he says, lowering me carefully.

As I expected, the seat is too deep for me to sit properly, so I have to stretch out to fit. I can’t bend in half enough to settle onto the bottom.

“Maybe if we lower the back.” Court reaches for a lever, and the rear cushion hums as it smoothly lies back.

His face is perilously near mine as I settle more comfortably on the seat. As I slide down and below him, it’s almost the same feeling as falling onto a bed. I flash with the one night we knew each other, his face hovering over mine.

And there it is, that intense flash of need. I suck in a breath.

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