Paradise Valley (Virgin River #7)(52)

He lifted one dark brow. “How does complete bed rest sound? Because it’s not unusual for women carrying twins to be put to bed at the end to hang on and grow them a little more. You can avoid that for a long time by taking it easy while you can.”

Her eyes clouded over. “I think I want my mother.”

He brushed the hair back from her temple and over her ear. “You’re past traveling, Ab. But we can call your mother if you’d like, ask her if she can come. I could give her my bed and sleep at the clinic. Maybe a visit from your mother would help. Think about it—but remember, she’ll want to be here when the babies come. That’s not far away, Abby. Even if you go as far as Dr. Stone and Mel would like.”

“It’s just that…she always calms me down when I get all upset.”

“Well, I’d like to apply for that job—see if I have any talent in that department.”

“Oh! Cameron! There’s another one,” she said, her hand on her belly and her eyes wide as doughnuts.

He carefully lifted her top and put his hand, firm and warm, on her belly. “Doesn’t hurt at all, does it?”

“No. But it’s for real.”

“Braxton Hicks. Bet it doesn’t last thirty seconds. Having a lot of those can soften the cervix, which is probably why there are some OBs who think the more of those practice contractions you have, the smoother and quicker the labor will be, but I can’t recall if there’s any research to that effect. Ah.” He grinned. “Over in less than thirty seconds. It’s all right, honey. Nothing to worry about.”

“You’re sure?”

“I could check you, see if you’re dilated or effaced at all, but really, I don’t think it’s necessary. Not yet.”

“God, don’t do that. It’s so…intimate.”

He laughed at her. “Abby, we didn’t get this way sharing a glass.”

“I know, but— That was such a long time ago.”

“Thirty weeks,” he said. Then he smiled warmly. “Stay calm. I had some training in this.” He leaned over and gave her belly a kiss. “Sweet,” he murmured, pulling her top down.

She smiled a small smile. “Have you told your mother yet?”

“Not yet. I better do that, huh?”

“Probably. What will you tell her?”

“That’s the part I’m having some trouble with….”

“What if you were blatantly honest?”

He laughed. “The unvarnished truth would be—I met this knockout woman, had a wonderful but too short relationship with her, and found out later we’re expecting twins. So of course we’re having them. Together.” Then he added, “Congratulations, Gram.”

“And if she says, ‘Cameron Michaels, you get married at once, or else!’”

“I’m thirty-six, Abby. My mother can’t tell me what to do anymore. What we do is our business, not hers.”

“Right,” she said quietly. “You’d better tell her soon.”

“I have some good news for you,” he said, deftly changing the subject. “Your credit cards are paid off. You don’t owe anything more to your ex-husband. Brie is drafting a letter to him to explain you won’t be accepting any more alimony and want to consider the matter closed. You might want to talk to her about that so you understand exactly what she can do, what she can’t do. But it looks like it’s just about over.”

“That is good news. I can’t wait until all that’s behind me. Do you think there’s any chance I can still get into trouble for—you know—breaking my prenup with you?”

“I think that’s so unlikely. He has bigger fish to fry. But just so you don’t let that possibility get you all worked up, if there’s a problem, we’ll have Brie negotiate it down and pay it off, fifty dollars a month if we have to. Abby, even the worst case isn’t going to be a big deal. Let’s move on from that. It’s given us enough trouble.”

“I like that idea,” she said.

“Why don’t I finish the dinner you started,” he asked.

“You don’t mind?”

“What do you have going out there?” he asked, pointing his chin toward the kitchen.

“Chicken cacciatore.”

“Hmm. You couldn’t have been whipping up an omelet or hamburgers, huh?”

She laughed. “It’s almost done. Simmer what’s in the skillet, make the pasta, finish the salad.”

He stood up. “You must have been hungry when you started this meal. What about your heartburn?”

“Well, it’s chicken cacciatore without onions and peppers and only a small amount of garlic. It could be awful.”

He touched her nose. “Go get into something comfortable. Your flannel nightgown or some sweats. Grab your DVD player and some movies. We’ll eat on the sofa and put on a DVD.”

“Good idea,” she said. “Sorry about the dinner.”

He grinned. “Sorry about the backache and the—”

“Cankles,” she supplied.

“Cankles?”

“That’s when there’s no definition between your calves and ankles.” She held up a foot. “Cankles.” And she pushed herself up from the couch, falling back. He put out a hand to pull her up and she said, “Thank you.”