Page 103 of Protecting Her Secrets

“Yes. It’s so weird. This whole thing’s just. . . strange. Like, I’m growing a penis inside me. It just doesn’t feel right.”

“It feels right when my penis is inside you.” He lifts his hips, grinding his erection on me.

“None of that, mister!” I climb off the sofa and adjust my clothes, which do nothing to hide my bump.

“Seriously, Skylar. Just shut the shop down. I can’t have my pregnant wife taking care of the animals, running my business, and dealing with my cranky ass. It’s too much.”

“It’s not. And if you shut the shop down, Corbin and Laken will be out of a job. Do you want to be responsible for that? Plus, I like taking care of the animals, and they like me too, maybe even more than they like you.”

“Moodonna would never betray me like that.”

“Not yet, but I’m working on her.” I walk down the hall to the mudroom, passing by an entire wall of framed pictures I recently hung. Most are of Walker and me, both past and present, but there are a couple from the boxes of mementos Amy gave me. I hate what she did, but I’ll be forever grateful for the nearly lost memories. “See you later, husband.”

“Bye, wife.”

“I’m taking your dog,” I call out as I dash out the door, Sprocket hot on my heels.

I’m grinning as I let Sprocket into the back then slip into the driver’s seat of my brand-new, all-wheel drive SUV. I inhale the new car scent mixed with the new leather scent. I’ve never had a new car before, and even though I told Walker a vehicle like this with all the gizmos and gadgets would be wasted on me, he insisted, stating we needed something safe for when the baby comes. It’s his argument for everything because he knows I only want the best for the little guy.

Twenty minutes later, I pull up to the cute little red shop with paddle boards propped against the siding and a couple mountain bikes parked out front next to a sign announcing recreation rentals. Walker’s busy season wasn’t going to wait for him to heal, so I’ve been running things. Every day is different, and I get to meet people from all over the world. I love it and will be sad when Walker’s able to return.

Laken’s prepping for a two-day camping excursion when I walk in. He’s a cute kid who’s always happy and down for a good time. I can see why Walker renews his contract each year.

“’Sup, Walker’s Wife? Hey, Sprocket.” He gives the dog a rub down.

“Please don’t call me that. It’s embarrassing.”

“Sorry. Can’t risk pissing the boss man off.” He grins.

I mutter something about idiotic husbands as I put my stuff away and log into the computer system. Walker forces both his employees to call me Walker’s Wife so they never forget who I am. It’s barbaric and dumb, but it also feels good, like he wants the world to know I’m his, so I don’t fight him too hard on it.

For the next eight hours, I rent out paddle boards and bikes and book excursions. Springtime in NoCal is absolutely stunning, and I can see why it’s a tourist destination. While I haven’t had a chance to get out in the mountains and dosome hiking, since Walker refuses to let me go with Corbin or Laken, I’ve seen photos our guests take while they’re out there. Wildflowers are just starting to pop up, and all the little animals, and a few big ones I’d rather avoid, are out and about, giving everyone who ventures out a good show.

Each night, one of Walker’s friends shows up to help me close, since Walker doesn’t like me moving the rental equipment inside the shed. Tonight, it’s Ridge. He makes quick work of it and walks me to my car, making sure I’m driving away before he leaves. He’ll make a good husband when the right woman shows up.

Back home, I notice Walker’s truck isn’t in the same place it was when I left. He’s not supposed to be driving! I don’t even know how he would with a broken left shoulder and right hand. I’m pissed when I walk through the door because how hard is it to follow the doctor’s instructions?

“What the hell?” I ask after kicking off my shoes and hanging my jacket in the mudroom. Feeling the tension in me, Sprocket runs to his bed and lies down.

“What do you mean?” Walker’s lounging on his recliner, remote in hand.

“Did you drive today?”

“No.”

“Don’t lie. The truck was under the carport when I left.”

“I’m not lying. Wilder drove.”

The fire ants dancing in my belly, ready to spew venom, start to settle down. “Oh. He needed to borrow it for something?”

“No, he took me somewhere.”

“Where?” I ask, the fire ants starting to move around again at his pervasiveness.

“Come sit.”

“Why?”

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