to be. Olympia’s eyes burned with tears. She wanted to sob and wail, but she couldn’t do any of that because she had to hold it together. A stranger stood on the other side of that door. A man she’d met at a friend’s wedding and who should have been a pleasant memory. Maybe when she was ninety and needed help getting things from the high shelf, she’d want to be tied down to a man. Until then, she’d follow the rodeo.
“It’s way past time.”
Olympia started, and the stick skittered across the bathroom tile.
“You okay?”
She crawled on the floor. The doorknob rattled. Her head swam. She stopped all movement, not sure whether she was going to pass out, throw up or just die of fear.
“Olympia, open the damned door.”
A giggle burst from her, the sound echoing in the gigantic bathroom, which would fit two of her bathrooms at the ranch.
“I’m going to break down the door if you don’t stop laughing.”
“Drama queen...wait...guess that’s drama king.” Her hysterical giggles escalated. The door handle jiggled violently. She sat against the vanity, ignoring the stick half a bathroom away. If she didn’t look, then it would go away. Even as that thought flashed through her head, she knew it was infantile, but her brain just wouldn’t accept that she could be pregnant. Not after all her vows and precautions and all the times she’d told her mama that she’d never have kids.
Thud. “Damn,” muttered Spence. He really was going to break down the door. Afraid to stand on her noodly legs, Olympia crawled to the door, then just stared at the handle as it forcefully shook.
“Open the door, Olympia,” Spence said in a new voice, neither authoritative nor wheedling. “We’ll take care of this.”
He said that now, but... She reached up and unlocked the door, catching a glimpse of the stick. In that moment her whole life passed before her eyes. Who was the drama queen now? She scooted away and sat again with her back pressed into the vanity, her head on her knees, gulping down the nausea and dizziness. Was this how Mama had felt the first time she’d gotten pregnant? Sick, scared and, crazily enough, hungry for animal crackers with hot sauce? Olympia stifled another moan of misery and embarrassment.
* * *
SPENCE OPENED THE door slowly, not sure what he’d find in the bathroom. He hadn’t heard anything that sounded like Olympia tearing up the room, but his ex-wife, Missy, had taught him destruction could take place in complete silence.
“Did you look?” he asked softly, kneeling beside her. She gulped hard. He didn’t move, trying to decide what the sound meant, then he saw the stick on the floor beyond her. Three feet away. He could reach out and touch it. Not that he really needed to see it. He knew. He heard a mouse-quiet “No, no, no” coming from Olympia. He stood, took a breath and reached for the stick. Pregnant. Written as clear as day, as clear as the type on their prenuptial contract. Olympia was going to have his baby.
The caveman part of his brain did a fist pump. This woman was carrying his baby. Wait. They’d been together one night. Who knew what had happened in the months since then? He remembered again the broken condom, and his sister-in-law, Jessie, telling him that she’d been surprised to see Olympia and him paired up. Jessie’d told him how her friend was nearly a nun, usually too busy with siblings and scraping together money. That didn’t mean that Olympia hadn’t done the two-step with another cowboy, though.
“Olympia,” he said, laying his hand gently on her back, like he would Calvin after a bad dream. “It’s positive.”
She shook her head.
“Now, I’ve got to ask. Is the baby mine?”
He never saw the punch that came at him sideways and smacked into his throat.
“I’m not a slut,” Olympia said low and fiercely.
He swallowed hard around the pain. “It’s a reasonable question. I only met you at the wedding, and you slept with me.”
Her head snapped up from where she’d let it drop onto her knees. Her slanted eyes narrowed further, the tabby-brown darkening to near black. “So I’m the slut, and you’re what, just a stud? How do I know you’re not a serial impregnator? You said the broken condom was an accident, but was it?”
“‘Serial impregnator’? That doesn’t even make sense.”
“Maybe you get some kind of sick thrill out of being a baby daddy and abandoning your children. Men are like that.”
Now she was starting to piss him off. “I have one child. I guess now I’ll have two. That’s it. And the reason I’m with you is because I want custody of my son.”
“Probably for the child support,” she muttered.
Hostile witness. Think of her as a hostile witness. He took a deep mental breath and worked on moving his features into a friendly smile, something that crossed good old boy with beta male. “Come on, darlin’, the floor in here is cold, and we’ve got some heavy-duty jawin’ to do. Let’s go sit on the couch so we can figure all this out.”
She pulled away from the fingers he’d laid on her shoulder. “That really works on people?” She clasped her hands together until her knuckles went white. “The test could be wrong. It says so in the fine print...”
“Darlin’—”
“Don’t call me that. I am not your darlin’, and you are not a cowpoke or whatever the hell you’re pretending to be.” Her chin came up, matching the flat annoyance in her eyes.
New tactic. He dropped the drawl and went for reasonable attorney. “Do you really think you’re not pregnant? You’ve been throwing up. You haven’t had your period, right? And the condom broke. How likely is it that the test is wrong?”
“It’s possible.”
“Take another one,” he said, holding on to his reasonable tone by the last thread of his patience. “I got three different ones.”
He hesitated a moment, then moved out of the bathroom to give her time for the news to sink in. He needed a few minutes, too. As an attorney, he knew how to look calm, cool and collected, even when he wasn’t. He went to the bucket with its celebratory bottle of champagne. No. He hated the stuff, plus this called for something stronger. Cracking open the minibar, he got out the two tiny bottles of whiskey and gulped down the liquor in the first one without bothering to find a glass. He enjoyed the warmth as it hit his stomach and spread out from there, thawing the cold ball of dread...and excitement...that had lodged in his gut. For the second bottle, he found a glass and left the room quietly for ice.
“Oh, my God,” he said to himself as he walked the corridor. A wife and a baby. That had not been how he’d imagined this day ending. Actually, his hope had been to convince her that there was no reason they shouldn’t enjoy each other again. They were married, after all, and had proved that night they were compatible sexually—more than once. The night, apparently. He stopped in the middle of the hall with the ice bucket, trying to take in the fact that he was going to be a father again. Maybe a little girl this time?
When he got back to their room, she’d closed the bathroom door again. He poured his whiskey on the rocks, went to the window and stared out over the golf course below them. Lifting his glass to take a drink, he stopped when he saw his reflection in the window, a silly grin splitting his face. Maybe this wasn’t exactly how he’d wanted things to go, but having another child, making a family would never be a bad thing.
They needed dinner—an amazing dinner with a spectacular dessert to celebrate. It was their honeymoon, and they were going to have a baby.
“Olympia, I’m ordering room service. Steak, beans, salad, with something decadent and chocolate for dessert. Is there anything you want?” He stepped back surprised when the door opened.
“That’ll