Page 11 of Bride for Keeps

But he thought of his life without Sierra in it, and even though it didn’t make any sense, even though he was stable and methodical and laser focused and she was mercurial and spontaneous and pure fun, he loved her. With everything he had. He’d married her—this whirlwind of vivaciouslife—even knowing his parents disapproved, even knowing just abouteveryonethought it was a joke. He’d done this one rebellious, spontaneous thing in his whole life because he’dhadto. There had been no other way, no other choice. She was a magnet and every particle of his being was drawn to her.

He just didn’t know what to do with it all, how to showloveor care. He’d never seen it in action, not really. He knew bedside manner, though it wasn’t his best quality. He knew how to pick the right words when it came to tell someone they needed to see a specialist, or be admitted, or even that the future looked stark.

He didn’t know how to explain love, to put into words this big, horrible thing inside him. It was too messy. Too unpredictable.

He looked down at his desk. It was a mess of papers—mostly computer printouts of his calendar, though there were a few lists. Apology gifts. Second honeymoon ideas. A grand anniversary gesture.

He hated grand gestures and attention, but Sierra didn’t.

And this was where he came to at the end of every thought. Gestures and gifts didn’t solve the problem. He couldn’t think of anything that would because he didn’t know why the problem had happened. He was trying to fix symptoms of something bigger, but he didn’t know what that something bigger was.

He crumpled up a piece of paper and threw it across the room, which only frustrated him more because paper was hardly a satisfying thing to throw. So, he went about reorganizing his stacks of papers for the who-knew-what-th time.

If he kept looking, he’d find the answers there, in neatly piled stacks and organized thoughts. Lists and calendars held the answer,somewhere, because they were the things he understood.

Except once he’d finished making everything look neat and organized, and he stared down at his desk that had all the right electronics and pens andthings, he didn’t feel any of the ordered relief.

Because Sierra still wasn’t here.

He frowned, broken from that horrible train of thought by the creak of a door, and the soft sound of whathadto be footsteps.

When Sierra appeared in the doorway to his office, he briefly considered the possibility he’d had a break with reality. Except she looked a little too pale for a fantasy, and her expression was grim rather than happy. Surely if he was losing his mind, it’d at least be with a happy Sierra.

“Hey,” she said, and her voice sounded raw. In fact, everything about her looked a little raw. She wasn’t wearing any makeup, which was rare for her—she didn’t like to leave the house without it. She was wearing a baggy sweatshirt and sweatpants and her golden hair was pulled back into a haphazard ponytail. But the most disorienting thing was the utter flatness in her brown eyes. A complete lack of spark, which had always been that thing that had drawn him to her.

“You’re back.”

“No.” She let out a bitter laugh. “I’m notback, Carter. You haven’t filed your answer, and I have a life to move on with.”

Carter ignored that and gestured to the armchair in the corner. “Sit. We should talk.” He settled himself at the seat behind his desk. This was perfect, really. A calm, rational sit-down to work this all out.

She stared at his desk, his perfectly arranged papers, but she didn’t sit. She just stood there and stared at his desk as if it was some horrifying foreign object.

“Sit,” he repeated, because maybe she hadn’t heard him. Maybe she needed to be encouraged. “Please.”

“No.” She shook her head, that bitter laugh escaping her mouth again, making him frown. “No, I won’t be doing that.”

“We need to talk,” he emphasized, changing theshouldtoneed, because itwasa need, not a request.

Her eyes flicked to his, still so flat and blank, and no matter that her laugh was bitter and her frown harsh, her eyes were just…empty. “No, we don’tneedto talk. Not anymore. You had months to talk and you didn’t and I’m not going to sit here and having ameetingwith you,Dr. McArthur. I won’t be lectured or talkedat.”

“Sierra—”

“No.” She hugged her arms around herself and shook her head vigorously. “I won’t do this. Not when you use your father’s exasperated, condescending voice on me. That heavy sigh as you say my name.” Her gaze held his, and there was a tiny spark. Something he didn’t recognize though. Not her usual light. “Thatisn’t love.”

“I’m not talking about love,” he replied, very calmly and reasonably if he did say so himself.

“Yes, I’m very well aware.”

He closed his eyes in pain for a moment. “That isn’t what I—”

“I’m pregnant,” she said, not giving him a chance to explain anything. She cut off all rational thought with that…bomb.

Pregnant.

He opened his mouth to say something, but he didn’t have words. Throughout his residency and his, albeit still rather short, career as a doctor, he’d had to break all manner of horrible news, and he knew the right words for that.

What words were there for this?

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