Page 35 of Knocked Up in Alaska

Chapter Ten

Ford felt like hammered shit. Hungover, hammered shit. Hard-up, hungover, hammered shit, to take things down to the gritty details, because instead of getting laid last night, per his plan, he’d ended up sitting in the hotel bar with Mad—who had been in an uncharacteristically contemplative mood—chugging whiskey like a rank amateur while Mad went on and on about how he’d grown tired of casual, meaningless sex. All of which had prevented him from pursuing any of the casual, meaningless sex he’d flown all the way to Juneau with the express intention of engaging in.

Shoving his F350 into gear, he reversed out of the Captivity Air parking lot, tires spitting gravel as he made the turn onto Coveside Drive while the desultory afternoon rain tapped a lazy rhythm on his windshield and roof. Fine by him. The weather suited his dreary mood, though as much as he wanted to attribute it to the hangover and the wasted trip to Juneau, he couldn’t. He appreciated a mutually entertaining one-night stand as much as the next guy—maybe more, judging by Mad’s current view on the subject—but he’d made it thirty-one years without being inside one woman’s body while another woman occupied his mind. He wouldn’t be able to say that this morning if he’d stuck with his original plan, and he was probably better off keeping that one shred of integrity intact. But the plain fact remained. Lilah was in his head.

He let out a breath and rolled his shoulders. In his head was okay. He could live with that. Had been living with it for the better part of his two years in Captivity. From the first time he’d met her, shortly after buying The Goose, he’d felt something shift inside him. A change in energy. Fate had tossed a pebble in his still waters, sending out quiet ripples of awareness and recognition of Lilah’s own still waters and the depths at which they ran. He’d taken a special interest, like many others, in a bright, beautiful person in their settled midst, so achingly full of potential her serene surface couldn’t conceal it. Interest had slowly built to alternating compulsions to protect her quiet serenity and encourage her boundless potential to run fast and free. Then those ripples had shifted on him again, carrying him into dangerous waters he’d never meant to enter with her but couldn’t seem to fight his way out of. He continued battling against the current, every damn day, but it took a lot of strength and discipline.

“But you’ll do it,” he vowed out loud. He’d do it because Lilah still needed protection and encouragement, now more than ever, and for reasons that ran deep beneath his own still surface, he needed to be the guy to provide it. Assuming she’d trust him after what he’d done last night. Winning back her trust was job number one. She’d stay in his head, probably for the rest of his life, because he honestly didn’t have the strength or discipline to change that, but she was off-limits to his body.

He drew his truck to the curb in front of the bar and checked his watch. Two o’clock. The lull between the lunch rush and happy hour seemed like as good a time as any to try and fix this clusterfuck he’d created. Still, to give himself extra time to mentally prepare, he bypassed the sidewalk entrance to The Goose and strode into the lobby of the inn, thinking he’d beg a couple industrial-strength ibuprofen from the bottle Rose kept behind the reception desk. He wasn’t too keen on tangling with Rose, given his pounding headache and relentless guilt over putting his hands on her pregnant daughter, but the Gods were on his side, for once, because when he approached, he saw one of the recently hired summer employees manned reception. After requesting the painkillers and downing them with a complimentary bottle of water, he looked around the expansive, lodge-like lobby. Guests loitered here and there, some coming, some going, some relaxing in the dark leather club chairs arranged in cozy groupings. No sign of the proprietress, though. Curiosity got the better of him. He turned to the clean-cut clerk. “Where’s Rose?”

“In Anchorage.” The young guy offered a small smirk as he said it. “She’ll be back tomorrow.”

Ford felt his brows lift. Was every business owner in town taking a sudden high-season getaway? “What’s she doing in Anchorage?”

The clerk shrugged, but the smirk remained. “Don’t know. She went with the pilot.”

“Which pilot?” Trace? Bridget?

“Uh, I don’t know his name. He doesn’t stay here when he’s in town. Tall, wiry guy. Dark hair. Forty-ish?”

Neither Shanahan, then. He was about to let it go, figuring the kid had his facts wrong, when all the little puzzle pieces fell into place. “Ray Sandoval?”

“Yeah.” The clerk smiled and nodded. “Ray. That’s the one.”

Right, because Ray, a bush pilot out of Anchorage, owned a small, shingle-covered saltbox cottage down by the cove and usually stayed there on overnighters, especially during the spring and summer months. All of which begged the question of why a pilot who rarely spent time at the Captivity Inn would, out of the blue, be flying Rose to Anchorage.

Maybe for the same reason he’d flown to Juneau? Fuck it, maybe Ray was making a play for Rose now that her nest was empty. They were around the same age, single, and perhaps ready to mingle. Very possible, as well as very none of his business. Though if that was the case, seemed like old Jorg would remain ogift. Just like him. He sure as hell wouldn’t be flying all the way to fucking Juneau to sit around drinking with Mad and not getting laid. He could do that right here in Captivity. And if the tedium of ogift-ity got to him, well, he had his knitting. He’d make it work.

After thanking the clerk, he rolled his shoulders, worked the kinks out of his neck, and headed to the bar. He entered from the lobby. A couple groups of late-lunchers occupied tables, and a few people getting a jump on happy hour sat at the bar. Tall, rangy, affable Owen nodded a greeting while he took an order from a table of tourists. Silent Mike lifted a hand from behind the bar.

No sign of Lilah.

He continued past the pool table, around the bar, and into the kitchen. Aside from Louis, the scrawny, pierced, and tattoo-covered local kid he’d hired to bus tables, haul out empties, and wash dishes, the room was unoccupied. The job was a condition of Lou’s parole after completing court-ordered rehab. Last summer the kid had worked on an older friend’s fishing boat, but after weeks in the Straight, instead of coming home with a full bank account, he’d washed ashore with a meth habit that had quickly gotten his ass into trouble on land. For all the drama leading to Louis’ employment at The Goose, he’d given Ford no reason to regret hiring him. The teen showed up on time, did the grunt work without complaint, and kept clean. He was about to ask Lou if he’d seen Lilah when she slammed through the back door that opened to the alley.

As far as break locations went, the alley ranked bottom of the list. On a nice day one could follow the narrow band of asphalt back to the inn’s dog run and check out the growlers, but on a breezy day it became a wind tunnel, and on a day like today, only a stingy little awning above the door shielded a body from the rain. Mostly, it was a charmless, sunless gap between the buildings meant to provide Captivity Sanitation with access to the dumpsters for the inn and The Goose.

He watched as Lilah closed the door, rested against it a moment before pushing away to cross the kitchen. Then she saw him and halted. One arm came to rest over her stomach, so plainly obvious to him now, even in a roomy blue-and-white tunic and blue leggings. The outfit made her look like she’d just returned from a cruise of the Greek islands rather than a dingy alley.

Except no vacation tan. Her pale face turned her eyes to huge green pools churning with worry, or worse, fear.

Your doing, his conscience accused. He took a step toward her, then remembered they weren’t alone. “Could I talk to you in my office for a minute?”

Lilah slowly shook her head. “I’m so sorry. I can’t. Not now.”

He closed the distance between them, the high-traction soles of his all-weather boots squeaking on the white tile floor as he abruptly stopped himself just outside her personal bubble. “This won’t take long. It’s important.”

A deep flush swept into cheeks, like a sudden fever. She closed her eyes and let out a slow, slightly ragged breath. “I’m sure, but Ford, I’m having a baby.”

“I know. Believe me, Lilah, I completely understand your priority. It’s my priority, too.” He sent a sidelong look at Lou, unloading lunch dishes from the dishwasher, seemingly paying them no mind. “I just want to make sure there’s no, ah, misunderstanding about that.”

She let out another long, almost relieved breath, and her color normalized. Good. This was going better than he’d hoped. Then she inhaled quickly and grabbed his hand. Hard. Like, bone-grindingly hard. “No,” she huffed, chin lowered to her chest, “you don’t understand. I think I’m having a baby now.”

“Now?” Now. Now? The word would not compute. “But you’re not due yet.”

“Close enough.” She made a strangled sound, cupped her hands under her belly, and looked down at herself. He looked, too, and saw a dark stain spreading along the inside seam of her legging.

“Oh, dude. I think she’s right.”

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