The Bachelor's Baby (Bachelor Auction Book 3)(33)

He shrugged it off. “It was in my way. And single parenting is hard, Meg.” He opened the door of his truck for her. “Not just financially, but in every way. It was hard on my mother and hard on me. I’m not saying it’s a cake-walk when there are two parents, but single parenting is tough on the good days. If something happens…” He jerked his head back toward where they’d chatted with Molly. “I wouldn’t choose to go it alone. I won’t. Not if I have the option of going in with you.”

She swallowed, moved in a weird sort of way. It wasn’t like he was expressing undying devotion. It just sounded nice that he wanted to be a team.

“I keep thinking—” Damn these hormones! Her throat went thick and her mouth quivered.

She stayed in the little shelter provided by his body and the door of the truck. The day was blustery, the rain spitting across at them, and the low clouds matched her mood.

“I keep thinking about my birth mother. As soon as I found out about the baby, I was terrified, but I knew I had Blake and a place here. I’m not broke and now you’re on board… That means so much to me, Linc, it really does.” She squeezed his arm, eyes tearing up so she couldn’t see him very well, but she persevered, needing to get this out. “Maybe my birth mother didn’t have any of these things. No one to help her, no father willing to take responsibility, no place to go. Maybe she did the best thing she could for me. I love it here. I can’t be angry with her when coming home to this town is what has saved me when I wound up in the same situation, can I?”

He gathered her into his front. His jacket hung open so she was pulled into the heat of his big body where she felt warm and protected. “I like that you’re here, that we met. I’m scared shitless that you’re pregnant with my baby, but I’m still happy about it.” He rubbed strong fingertips through her hair into her scalp, massaging gently. “That wouldn’t have happened if you weren’t here.”

She chuckled through her sniffles, hugging him tightly while she fought for control. “Is the entire town watching us?”

“The entire town has gathered to watch me feel you up in the parking lot of the medical building, yes.”

She laughed again, drying her cheeks on his shirt as she tilted her face up to his. “You’re an idiot.”

“I know better than to argue with a woman when she resorts to name-calling. You want to come out to my place for the afternoon? Before you buy into an apartment I hate on principle?”

“People always know where they stand with you, don’t they?”

“What you see is what you get.”

“Mmm,” she agreed circumspectly. “I see a guy who doesn’t give up until he gets the result he wants.”

“No need for an optometrist. There’s good news.”

*

“I think that’s my new tractor,” Linc said as they caught up to a slow moving flatbed on their way home. He edged toward the centerline, looking for a chance to overtake.

“They didn’t call to make sure you’d be home?”

“They said this week. I thought they would have let me know before showing up.” He shrugged it off and they followed the truck all the way down his driveway.

She was thankful for the distraction. All his reasons for her marrying him kept resounding in her head. She was trying not to be offended at how practical it all sounded, trying to focus on how he’d said he was happy about the baby, but a huge piece of her was still holding out for the love part of marriage before the baby carriage.

“Leave the groceries,” he said when he parked and she got out to reach into the bed of the truck.

“I’ll put them away while you help them unload,” she said. It was only three bags.

“They’re heavy. I’ll do it in a few minutes.”

“It’s cereal and frozen dinners, Linc. I’ll be fine.” Seriously.

Inside, the house smelled faintly of sawdust and paint. His office was walled in and painted, floors down, just needing finishing touches like molding. The kitchen was still in chaos, however, and the bed was still in the living room.

After getting the groceries into the cupboards and fridge—the man really needed a woman to cook him something decent—she slipped upstairs to scope the layout and saw such potential her blood sang. The previous owners had been victims of hard years, ill health, and a lack of willingness to advance with the times, but they’d had age-old romanticism. They’d placed the homestead in the perfect spot on the property so a vista rolled away from the master bedroom windows and sunlight poured in through gabled windows in the smaller bedrooms.

The entire house was desperate for updating, of course. The wallpaper was peeling, the blinds on the windows so faded and brittle they looked like they’d disintegrate into powder at the least touch. The stairs creaked atrociously as she came down and the kitchen door stuck so badly she wound up going out through the office door and circling around to properly see the back yard, but, “Oh,” she breathed.

A broken picket fence bordered a small orchard of apple, plum and pear. Overgrown raspberry canes were looped down to the ground and pinned by the melting snow. Weeds and grass poked up around everything, but she saw abundance and felt like she’d swallowed the sun. There was where she’d put the cold frame and there was where the compost would go and over there was where their son or daughter could swing while she planted the garden.