Page 10 of The Mountain Man's Mail Order Surprise
"Can I help you?" His voice is deep, rough around the edges, with just a hint of wariness. The same voice that whispered my name in the darkness six months ago.
I open my mouth to explain, but no words come out. How do you tell the man you've thought about every day for six months that you're carrying his baby and hoping he'll save your life?
His gaze drops to my belly, and I watch his expression shift from confusion to shock then back again.He doesn’t even remember me.
"You're pregnant."
"Very observant." The sarcasm slips out before I can stop it, a defense mechanism left over from too many years of dealing with men who thought they could intimidate me. I take a deep breath and meet his eyes. "Are you Rosco Kane from the Signed, Sealed, Hitched website?"
"Yeah, but I think there's been some kind of mistake. I just applied for that service last week. They haven't even gotten back to me yet."
Relief and terror war in my chest. He did apply. That means this could actually work. But he's not expecting me, which means I'm about to blindside him with the most complicated situation of his life.
"There's no mistake. I'm Gia Moreau, and we need to talk." I pause, gathering courage for what comes next. "About New York. About the Marriott hotel bar six months ago. About what happened between us."
His face goes completely still, eyes widening as recognition dawns. The coffee mug in his hand slips, hitting the porch with a crash that echoes through the mountain air.
"Holy shit. You're..." He stares at me like I'm a ghost, like I'm something he conjured from his dreams. "It's you."
"It's me."
"But how did you..." He looks from my face to my belly and back again, his mind clearly racing. "The baby. Six months. Is it..."
"Yours? Yes." The word comes out steady, certain. "The baby is yours, Rosco."
He grips the doorframe, knuckles white with tension. "Fuck. Gia. I've thought about you every day since that night. Every. Single. Day."
"So have I." Tears threaten, but I blink them back. "I never thought I'd see you again. When I found your profile on that website, it felt like fate."
"You were looking for a mail order husband?"
"I was looking for you." The truth slips out raw and honest. "I need help, Rosco. I need protection. But more than that, I needed to find you. To tell you about the baby. To see if what we had was real or just..." I gesture helplessly.
"It was real." He steps back, gesturing for me to come inside. "Jesus, Gia, come in. Sit down. You shouldn't be standing around in the cold."
I haul my duffel bag over the threshold and immediately feel overwhelmed by the warmth and coziness of his home. Leather furniture arranged around a massive stone fireplace. Exposed beam ceilings. And a kitchen that actually looks used, unlike the sterile showplace Zack kept.
It smells like coffee and wood smoke and something indefinably masculine that makes my hormones sit up and take notice. The same scent that clung to his skin when I woke up in his arms that morning in New York.
"Would you like some coffee? Water?" Rosco hovers near the kitchen, clearly unsure how to handle an unexpected pregnant woman in his living room. An unexpected pregnant woman carrying his child.
"Water would be great. And maybe we could sit down? It's been a long day."
He brings me a glass of ice water and settles into the chair across from the couch, maintaining careful distance. Smart man. I probably look like a disaster, all travel rumpled and emotional.
"So," he says, those dark eyes studying my face. "Want to explain what's going on? Because I'm pretty sure their process doesn't involve women showing up unannounced on my doorstep. Especially women I've been dreaming about for six months."
Heat floods my cheeks at his admission. He's been dreaming about me too.
"You're right, it doesn't. But I saw your profile before you officially applied, and I need to make you a proposition."
His eyebrows rise. "I'm listening."
"I need a husband. Temporarily. Just long enough to prove to the courts that I can provide a stable home environment for our baby."
"Our baby." He says the words like he's testing them out, and something warm and fierce flashes in his expression. "And why would you need to prove that?"
This is the hard part. The part where most men would run screaming. "Because my ex is trying to take custody, claiming I'm an unfit mother. He has money, lawyers, connections. I have nothing except the knowledge that he's dangerous and our child deserves better."
