Page 74 of Saved By the Boss

“I think that’s the best decision,” she encourages. “Now, how about we get out of here? Sitting around is only going to make you spiral more. Don’t you have to work today?”

The drive into town is quiet, a comfortable silence settling between us. Tawny hums along to the radio, drumming her fingers on the steering wheel, while I stare out the window, lost in thought. The white fields of snow blur past, the trees dead but somehow beautiful under the weight of the snow. It’s a beautiful and magical world, a good distraction from the thoughts racing through my head.

Everything essentially looks the same as it did yesterday, but it feels like a different world. Somehow, I’ve been transported from being a single woman keeping a low profile in a small town to being a future mother. My hands instinctively cradle my flat stomach, as if I might already be able to feel the life growing there. It’s ridiculous, of course, but I want to feel some kind of physical connection to it, hoping maybe that can help me decide what to do.

“So,” Tawny says after a while, breaking the silence. “Have you calmed down enough to tell me what exactly happened between you and Mountain Man?”

I hesitate, not wanting to shatter the beauty of what we had by getting outside opinions on it. But she’ll be relentless if I don’t tell her what happened between me and Declan.

“What do you want to know?”

“Everything,” she hums, so excited she’s nearly buzzing. “How did it happen?”

A small smile tugs at my lips despite myself. I tell her about him coming to the cabin, how the storm came on suddenly, how the tree fell on his truck, and he ended up stranded at my place.

“I don’t know,” I muse. “I was just trying to be friendly, so I pulled out a bottle of whiskey to help with his pain and things started to happen between us. It was kind of a blur the first time.”

“The first time?” she squeals, her voice too loud in the small space. “Exactly how many times did you two…” she trails off, knowing I understand her meaning perfectly.

“Let’s just say he showed me that the first time wasn’t a fluke.”

“So he’s good in bed?” she asks, he lips pinched in a smirk.

“He’s phenomenal in bed.” I sigh, remembering exactly how well he satisfied me. Then my stomach turns and I’m slammed back into the present, where our actions have had serious consequences.

“Sounds promising,” she says, not noticing my sudden change in demeanor. “But the storm was like a month ago. You guys haven’t seen each other since then?”

I sigh. “No,” I admit sadly. “If it isn’t one thing, it’s another. He’s said his injury has really been bothering him, which is totally fair. But I’ve often wondered if he isn’t just trying to put me off, to delay the inevitable. I wish he would just say, ‘Hey, we had fun, but I don’t think I want to do it again.’”

“You are such a Negative Nancy sometimes,” Tawny complains. “Who’s to say that’s what he’s thinking? Maybe his injury is really bad and he doesn’t want you to see him in pain. You know how guys can be. He’s just being macho.”

I chew on this, and I realize she’s probably right. A month is a hell of a long time to string someone along if he really just wants to call it quits.

“And, hey, if he turns out to be a jerk, you’ve got me,” Tawny goes on when I don’t say anything. “We’ll egg his car or something. No one hurts my friend and gets away with it.”

I laugh, the sound bubbling up unexpectedly. “You really are the worst influence.”

“The best influence,” she corrects, grinning. “Don’t you forget it.”

By the time we pull into the parking lot behind the hardware store, I’m feeling a little lighter. Not much, but enough to take a deep breath and step out of the car without my knees buckling. Tawny gives me a quick squeeze on the shoulder before driving off, and I watch her go, grateful beyond words for her.

The bell above the door jingles as I step inside. The familiar scent of sawdust and metal greets me like an old friend. It’s a slow day, and for once, I’m thankful for that. I settle in behind the counter, trying to focus on organizing receipts and restocking shelves. But my mind keeps wandering back to the pregnancy tests, to Declan, to the million questions swirling in my head.

I’m halfway through pricing a new shipment of tools when the door jingles again. Instinctively, I glance up, prepared to offer a polite smile and a, “How can I help you?” But the words catch in my throat.

The man standing in the doorway isn’t like anyone I’ve ever seen in this sleepy little town. He’s tall, broad-shouldered, with a face that looks like it’s been through one too many bar fights. There’sa dangerous edge to him; something that makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up. His eyes sweep across the store, landing on me.

“Can I help you?” I ask, forcing my voice to stay steady.

He steps closer, his boots thudding heavily against the floor.

“Maybe,” he says, his voice low and gravelly. “You got any saws? Circular, preferably.”

I nod and lead him to the aisle where we keep the saws. My pulse quickens with every step. There’s something off about him, something that puts me on edge. He picks up a saw, examines it briefly, and carries it to the counter.

I start ringing it up, eager to get him out of the store as quickly as possible. But just as I’m about to hand him his receipt, he leans forward slightly, his expression shifting into something colder, more calculated.

“Hey, you wouldn’t happen to know where Cater Street is, would you?” he asks casually.

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