Page 50 of Protecting Her Secrets

“Baby, you d?—”

“I said we’re coming back to that. Let’s get back to the whole reading up thing.”

“I know how to read. I even went to college, remember? You were there, supporting me. I didn’t graduate, but—” I slam into him, wrapping my arms around his middle and knocking the wind out of him. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

My throat closes and my nose stings, but I fight back the tears. I don’t care that I could blame all the blubbering on hormones; I’ve cried more in the last couple of days than I have in the last couple of years—including Dad’s funeral—and I hate it.

“Nothing’s wrong. I just. . . you read up on pregnancy.”

“I know. I’m the one who told you that. Pregnancy brain must be a real thing.”

“Shut up. We’re having a moment.”

“I wish I knew what the moment was.” He pats my back like I’m a child.

“Why did you read about pregnancy?” I ask.

“Because you’re pregnant,” he says slowly. “I’m late to the game, but it sounds like all I missed was you puking in the morning, which I’m a little happy about, since I’m a sympathetic puker. But I’m just in time for a heightened sex drive, and it’ll be hard, but I’m willing to step up to the plate. You can use my body any time, day or night. I’m selfless like that.”

I hiccup. “You’re an idiot.”

He crouches down—yes, he has to crouch to look me in the eye—and tips my chin up. “What’s all this about?”

“It’s not your baby,” I say, though that’s not exactly what I mean. I just can’t find the right words.

“Sweetheart, just because the baby hasn’t been born doesn’t mean I want nothing to do with it. If you’d shown up with a five-year-old and we decided to give us another chance, I wouldn’t ignore your child. You’re a package deal, so when I said I wantedyou, I meant I wanted you and this baby.” He places a hand on my lower belly, and it’s so heartbreakingly sweet, I can’t hold the tears in anymore. “And since I don’t know shit about pregnancy or babies, don’t be surprised that I’m reading up on it, especially when I can’t sleep because you’re sawing logs.”

I give him a shove, knocking him off balance and making him fall back onto his ass. “I don’t snore.”

He pats his coat pockets and pulls out his phone. “I can prove it. I took a video.”

“I’m leaving now. Hopefully, you warmed up that monstrosity of a truck because I hate being cold.”

A sound that couldn’t possibly have come from me fills the air. “Hold on, this is my favorite part. You snort like a cute little piggy.”

“I hate you.” I throw my middle finger in the air.

“You love me,” he says right before sleeping-me snorts.

The driveto Ridge’s place left me white-knuckling the “oh shit” handle with one hand while the other clutched the dash. Walker’s truck looked big and bad with the big snow shovel attachment on the front, but he still lost traction a couple times down the hill, then again as we drove up the neighboring mountain hill Ridge lives on.

I quickly realized all my future winters will be spent at home, where it’s safe. Halfway down from Walker’s place, we passed evidence I shouldn’t drive in the snow. My rental car was still right where I left it, crashed into a tree. Of course, I could onlysee the top half of it, since the bottom was buried under snow. Hard to believe that was just days ago.

After the longest thirty minutes of my life, we finally pulled up to Ridge’s home. It’s a modern double A-frame cottage with glass exterior walls, meaning I can see right through it to the other side. Walker tells me it was prefabricated into three parts and trucked in before being reassembled on top of six-foot stilts.

“Why is it on stilts? And why are there no outer walls?” I ask as I stare up at the home.

“You’ll have to ask him about the walls because I have no fucking clue other than he’s a strange dude. The stilts have something to do with keeping the snow off the glass and not wanting his house to disturb nature. This way, it can do its thing underneath. Plus, the ground is cold, so keeping it up higher makes the temperature inside easier to control.” Walker pulls off his beanie and runs a hand through his mussed hair. “But in the summer, those walls swing all the way open. It’s pretty cool.”

“I’ve never seen anything like it. I guess living way out here, he doesn’t have to worry about people spying on him, huh?”

“That and Rowan?—”

“Made his place safer than Fort Knox, same as you.”

“You’re catching on.”

“You’ll be back by tonight, right?” I ask.

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