Page 7 of Stowaway Whirlwind
“Yup. Couldn’t imagine living anywhere else. Plus, my mom and dad are buried here, and I could…could never leave them.”
Goldie reaches across and lightly rests her hand on my forearm. It’s the first time she’s initiated contact, and I nearly lose my breath at howrightit feels. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Thanks,” I say with a croak.
“Family means a lot to you, huh?”
“Of course. Family is the only thing that matters.”
“If you’re this nice to a stranger who broke into your truck and pointed a gun at you, then I can only imagine how lucky they were to have you.” Goldie removes her hand and drops it in her lap, and I already miss her touch.
Trying to lighten the mood, I tease her by asking, “Even if I’m a judgmental asshole?”
“Just the teensiest bit,” she says sarcastically with an unexpected laugh, then sucks in a harsh breath and clutches her stomach.
“You ok?” Without thinking, I reach across and lay by hand on her belly. I can’t feel as much as I’d like with the thick hoodie in the way, but there’s something different about it. Harder, maybe?
“Yeah, yeah, it’s just these Braxton Hicks kicking my butt. I’ll be happy to get out of this truck and stretch. My back is killing me.”
Resisting the urge to ask her to pull her hoodie up so I can palm her bare skin, I ask, “Are you sure it’s just Braxton Hicks?”
“Yeah. Nothing to worry about,” she says as she wipes away a drop of sweat from her temple with her sleeve, even with the A/C blasting and me shivering in my boots. “I’m only thirty-eight weeks, so I’ve got another week or two to get through before I get to the real deal.”
I nod, but my mind is spinning. I thought she was just angry with me, but if she’s been having contractions this whole time, it’s possible—“There’s the warehouse,” I point out. I slow the truck as we crest a small hill, then swing out and pull into the lot.
“Oh, thank god. I really need to use the restroom.” I’m sure she does after I kept prompting her to sip her water to stay hydrated and keep cool.
It takes a few minutes to back the truck up to the loading dock. Goldie’s clutching her stomach again, which heightens myworry. After packing up my rig and grabbing my duffel bag, I hop out and wave to Russell, the owner of Berenson Trucking, who comes out of the front office to greet me. I keep one eye on Goldie through the window as Russell and I talk.
He follows my gaze and asks in his thick drawl, “We got another Wyatt and Dolly situation on our hands?”
Yes. “No. It’s not like that.”
He raises a dark brown brow that’s recently started going gray. “You sure about that?”
No, I’m not sure, but I’m also not going to get into it with him when I need to help Goldie out of the truck. Leaving Russell’s question unanswered, I open the passenger door and carefully help her out.
This time, instead of holding back, I slip my hand under her hoodie when she turns around, making her gasp and her gray eyes widen with surprise. I rub my hand up and down her warm, bare skin, my knees weak as my mind conjures up a vision of me kneeling before her to kiss her belly. I push the absurd vision away to concentrate, and yup, there’s definitely something different about her. I don’t know much about pregnancy and labor, but even I can tell her belly is sitting lower than it was yesterday.
“Are you sure you’re ok, Goldie? Not to be an asshole, but your face is pretty red and sweaty.”
“I told you, I’m fine. These are just the practice ones. They’ll stop once I walk around and stretch my legs.” She smiles through small, gritted teeth, and alarm bells are ringing in my head.
Reluctantly, I drop my hand and move around her to grab her backpack from the passenger side footwell before closing the door. Keeping my hand low on Goldie’s back, I steer her toward the office so she can use the restroom before we leave. She hisses when we get to the glass door and clutches my sleeve.
“Seriously, honey, I hate to sound like a broken record, but are you sure—”
“Oh my god!” She groans and doubles over in front of me with a death grip on the door handle.
“What’s wrong?”
“Don’t look! Oh god, this is so embarrassing,” she whines.
“What’s embarrassing?” I ask with a raised voice, increasingly concerned as I sweep her curtain of hair behind her shoulder so I can see her face. So silky and smooth and so damn pretty. Young, though.Tooyoung for me to be thinking about how pretty she is and how much I love slipping my fingers through her golden-red hair.
“I knew I should have asked you to stop so I could use the restroom earlier. Turn around!” she shouts when she straightens and sees I’ve got my eyes glued to her stomach. She reaches for her backpack on my shoulder. “Is there anywhere I can change my clothes?”
I don’t turn around, and I drop my eyes to her leggings, which are damp below her hoodie, confirming my suspicions. “Honey, I don’t think you had an accident, and I don’t think those were Braxton Hicks.”
