Paradise Valley (Virgin River #7)(38)

“Spaghetti with meatballs and sausage,” he answered with a grimace. “I don’t have ice cream, but I do have Tums. I never even thought of heartburn.”

“I might go light on the sausage, but I so love it,” she said, sitting down. He’d set the table in mismatched stoneware. She ran a finger around the plate in front of her.

“Doc’s old stuff,” he said. “If I’d known the kitchen wasn’t very well stocked, I could have brought my own stuff. I don’t mind cooking and I’m kind of good. All my kitchenware is in storage at the moment.”

“So is mine,” she said. “We’re both like a couple of Gypsies right now, aren’t we?” She leaned back in her chair and rubbed the small of her back.

“How about sparkling cider?” Cameron asked, glancing down at her feet. Her slacks rose up just enough for him to see her ankles.

“That would be great, thanks. And water?”

He got both for her and then sat in the chair beside hers. “Just a little heartburn?”

“Oh, you know…”

“Backache, edema, heartburn… What else?”

She took a sip of her cider. “Something they call ligament pains that feel remarkably like a wide-awake cesarean section.”

He winced.

“I pee on the half hour.”

He laughed.

“You think it’s funny? A few more years, when your prostate is a bit larger, you won’t think it’s all that funny.”

“I hope it’s more than just a few more years, Ab,” he said. But he smiled. He touched her hand, gave it a little squeeze. Then he stood and went to the stove. He gave the pasta a swirl, the sauce a stir, then grabbed a leafy salad from the refrigerator and put it on the table along with a small bowl of dressing. “How’d you like to toss that for me?”

“Sure,” she said, digging a pair of large spoons into the salad. “So. What did you want to talk to me about?”

“Well, for starters, how about names? For the kids?”

“You want to be involved in names?” she asked, surprised.

“Sure. If I were having the babies, wouldn’t you want input in that? Or—if I were having them, would you drop out of sight? Pretend you didn’t know?”

Shock settled over her features. Jesus, did that ever cut deep. Would she? Would she shake it off, run for her life, refuse to be involved, just let him deal with it? Oh God, of course not! She swallowed. But isn’t that just what she’d hoped he would do? Go away and leave her alone. “Um, have you thought of any?”

“My grandmothers are Alice and Eleanor. They’re awesome and those are cool names….”

“Alice and Eleanor?” she said, making a face.

“Ally and Elly, that’s what they go by. Wait till you meet them—you’ll love them.”

“But we don’t know if we’re getting a girl! We only know about—” She stopped talking.

He glanced at her over his shoulder as he lifted the steaming pot off the stove and tossed the cooked pasta into the colander in the sink. He glanced over his shoulder again and grinned at her. She realized what she’d done—she’d coupled them in parenthood.

“I hope we get a boy and a girl, but I’m good with two boys. I love all those little-guy things—T-ball, soccer, catching bugs.”

“I played T-ball,” she said softly. “And soccer. And I used to go to the lake with my family and catch a jarful of fireflies to put on the nightstand for when I went to bed.” She swallowed. “If I’d known I was killing them, I would never have done it.”

“See, you’ll be good with either boys or girls. We’re all set—but they don’t have names.” He picked up her plate and put some pasta and sauce on it for her. He included a couple of meatballs and a sausage and put it in front of her. “Don’t eat anything you think will give you heartburn.” Then he served himself and sat down with her. “Try it, Ab. See how I cook. It’s an old family recipe.”

She took a tentative taste, rolled the food around in her mouth and tilted her head with lifted eyebrows. “Mmm.”

“I wasn’t smart enough to leave out the sausage—but I didn’t make it as garlicky and spicy as usual. I toned it down for you.”

“Normally I like spicy. But it’s out to get me lately. So,” she said, lifting some salad into his bowl, then hers. “What else is on your mind?”

He chuckled. “In a hurry to get this over with?”

“No,” she said, surprised and maybe a little embarrassed. “I’m just— I mean, we talk all the time and this sounded kind of serious.”

He stabbed some lettuce and brought it to his mouth, chewed, swallowed. “We have a few minutes on the phone, see each other at Jack’s for a couple of minutes here and there, and there’s no yelling or shooting—which is a big improvement—but we don’t get down to business. Abby, we’re having two babies in a couple of months, three months at the outside. Nah,” he said, shaking his head. “We’ll never make it three months. Do you have any of the details worked out?”

“Well,” she said. “Sure. Some.”

He leaned toward her and smiled pleasantly. “Care to share?”