Page 1 of A Baby for the Mountain Man

ONE

SOPHIE

“These should only take a couple of minutes to process, Sophie.”

I give the nurse an absent nod as she gathers my chart and samples and leaves the room. If everything comes back the way I hope it will, today is the day.

“Today is the day I get pregnant,” I whisper to myself.

A butterfly flutters in my belly just saying those words out loud. I catch myself tapping a foot against the paper on the examination table, and I can’t help but give a shaky laugh at myself.

My life is about to change. As excited as I am—excited barely covers it—I’d be lying if I said there wasn’t a fair amount of nerves jittering through me.

It’s just… I’ve been waiting for this day—and what it means—for what feels like forever.

Me, a mom. It’s something I’ve wanted to be almost my whole life. It may not be happening in the way I always assumed it would. Me, married to a tall, broad-shouldered man with achiseled jaw. Dark hair with equally dark eyes that have so much depth in them if you really take the time to look.

A very clear picture of who that man would be pops into my head. I shake my head to dismiss the thought almost as soon as it appears.

It’s never going to happen. He was upfront from the start that he’s not the marrying or having babies with kind. He’s a loner in every sense of the word. Even though something inside of me desperately wants to show him how good life could be for us, I respect his boundaries.

Besides, it’s not like I ever thought there was even the hint of a chance with him. Until a little over a week ago. When we saw each other for the first time in years. For me, it was exactly the same as it’s been since the first time I saw him during my freshman year of college. When my roommate—his sister—invited me to spend the holidays with them.

As for him… Well, I can’t pretend to know what was on his mind. But I had the very distinct impression that he didn’t see me as just his little sister’s best friend anymore. A point he clearly proved on more than one occasion.

Maybe…

No. I shake my head back and forth, the sheet of paper crinkling underneath me. We’re not going down that road. I’ve already made my decision.

Heck, I made it months ago. Before we ever crossed paths again. I want to have a family, and I’m not going to wait around for him—or some mythical Prince Charming figure—to suddenly appear in my life to make it happen.

Determined to push all thoughts ofhimout of my head, I turn my attention to studying the rest of the room. On the counter, there’s a jar of conversation hearts and a little white teddy bear holding a red, heart-shaped box. They’re undoubtedly leftovers from Valentine’s Day.

A day I should probably not think about too much, because it involves a certain best friend’s brother who is currently tucked away in a remote cabin thousands of miles away.

Most of the pictures on the wall are what you’d expect to see in a doctor’s office. A vision testing chart. Anatomical charts showing the skeletal and circulatory systems.

I’ve always wondered why they have those pictures in here. The average person is going to look at those and understand them about as well as they would a page filled with Ancient Greek letters.

Doctors are about the only people who would understand any of it. And I hope they know anatomy well enough that they don’t need a reference picture that was probably drawn in the 1980s.

The picture closest to me shows the reproductive system. I squint as I look at the male anatomy. Most pictures show a side view, but this one is different. It’s almost bird’s eye, or, rather, whatever the opposite of bird’s eye would be called.

Buttholes look really weird from this view. I mean, I suppose they always look a little weird no matter where you’re coming from.

I turn my head away and focus on another wall. Maybe I should’ve gone to do this at a sperm bank. I bet they’d have more pictures of babies compared to this.

But considering that I’m now well into my thirties, and this is my first pregnancy—hopefully—I wanted to have my doctor’s support the whole way through.

Even if she keeps referring to it as a geriatric pregnancy. I suppose I get the meaning behind that, but it still seems pretty rude. Surely science could come up with a better name for it.

I’m studying the vision chart from my perch, with a hand covering one of my eyes, when the door creaks open. I quickly drop my hand to my side and straighten my shoulders. As if I’vebeen sitting here completely calm—and not at all anxious—the whole time I’ve been waiting.

“We’re just waiting for those tests to finish up, and then the doctor will be in to see you.” The nurse gives me a friendly enough smile. “I bet you’re pretty excited.”

“Very.”

She gives my shoulder a comforting pat. “It’s okay to be nervous.”

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