Do Anything (24 page)

“You’ve been giving me the cold shoulder for days. How can you say that’s how you feel,” I argue.

He’s laughing now, then crosses the room to sit across from me. We make direct eye contact. “Don’t you get it?”

“Get what?”

He closes his eyes for a second. He looks so sad; I hate seeing him look this way. I’m angry at the way he spoke to me, but his sadness still makes me weary. When he reopens his eyes it startles me. There’s a sparkle of moisture in them. “You share something pretty incredible with him. I’ve been terrified that you’re going to leave and go back with him.”

“Are you serious?” I gasp in disbelief. To see a man like this—so sexy and so confident—feel so insecure, it’s more than I can wrap my head around.

“I know you’re not ready for a relationship, and I meant what I said. I’m willing to wait until you are. I just don’t know if I can handle you being with someone else.” His words cause the corner of my lips to lift into a half-smile. “Are you seriously getting pleasure out of this?”

I bite my bottom lip and lift my shoulders into a shrug. “Maybe.”

“Oh wow.” He laughs, hopping to his feet, his head rolling around on his shoulders.

“Come on, it’s cute, you’re jealous,” I tease.

He stops; he’s serious again. “Tell me you’re not going back with him.”

I smile, and shake my head. “I’m not going back.”

With my words, his body language changes, and he swoops forward, pressing his lips against my forehead. I don’t have time to move away. “Good.” And then he’s gone, my door is still open, and I see him bounding down the stairs, practically soaring as he moves.

I’m still smiling.
Why does it make me feel so good to know he fears me leaving?
Then Jack’s warning is back in my thoughts. Perhaps he’s right in what he said. Maybe I’m out of my depth when it comes to Holden. I obviously feel something for him, but I had felt something for Jack once, too. I can’t imagine Holden ever hurting me in such a way, though until it happened, I never imagined Jack would either. My brain is going in circles.

That strong desire I had to write is gone, and now all I can seem to do is worry. I’ve tried to be cautious, and still, there it is—Holden loves me. If I want to keep my heart and this baby safe, I should walk away now, but I can’t seem to shake this feeling that I would be losing something once in a lifetime. How can I make a decision like this? Jack was right, though; it isn’t only my heart I am risking now.

There’s a knock at the door, but I don’t respond. The last thing I want to do is speak to anyone else. I feel like my room has been a constant hive of activity since I got back from my doctor appointment. Dr. Marshall assured me a lot of women experience a thinning of the wall around the baby at this point in their pregnancy; it is nothing abnormal. He would prefer, though, if I didn’t go into labor any sooner than thirty-eight weeks, and with that goal only a week away, he has ordered lots of rest.

Bea, Abner, and Holden have taken this to mean they must wait on me hand and foot. There have been tea, snacks, sweets, and thanks to Abner, a sandwich the size of my head brought up to me all within the last half-day. I know they mean well, but the constant attention is tiring.

Holden has also been frightening me with his topics of conversation lately. Only last night he asked me, out of nowhere, if I thought I would ever consider getting married, but not necessarily to him, he had added. I tripped over my words so severely he withdrew the question.

Then, in case the smothering affection from everyone wasn’t bad enough, I found out the baby could be here in as little as a week. All I want to do is write. Somehow, working on my manuscript helps me put the thoughts plaguing me to rest.

Jack’s warning to be careful of whom I trust, for the sake of our child, is not one I have been able to force from my mind. The harder Holden tries to convince me to give us a chance, the more it makes me suspicious and push him away. I knew Jack for years before we ever became engaged, and it ended up he was capable of an intense betrayal. How can I trust someone I’ve known for such a short amount of time?

The knocking continues at my door, interrupting my thoughts. My ignoring them won’t deter whoever it is. I turn and press myself up off the bed, crossing the room to the door. I crack it and peer out to get a look at my visitor.

Bea smiles at me. “I’m sorry to disturb you, dear, but can you come downstairs for a moment?”

I open the door the rest of the way and lean against the frame for support. “I was getting ready to take a nap,” I lie, but I assume working on my book won’t convince her to leave me alone.

“I promise it won’t take long,” she presses.

“The doctor wanted me to stay in bed—” I begin.

“It’s important, please.” There’s something in her stare that makes me listen. I nod and close the door, following her down the steps. Since I grew to the point where I’m having trouble seeing my feet, the narrow wooden staircase has become an annoyance. I hold tightly to the railing and shift myself down the steps one at a time.

When I make the last leap I realize Bea didn’t wait for me; she is already around the corner of the bar. Pressing my hand into my lower back, I cross the walkway and shift my body around.

“Surprise!” a thunderous cry comes from the dining area.

I feel my heart lodge itself in my throat, as I grip the counter and look out at the group of women in front of me. There are some faces I recognize right away. Bea, of course, who is standing directly in front of me at the edge of the group, her hands clasped together in anticipation.

Behind her I catch sight of Patricia, who works at the post office. Next to her is Abby, who I met at the beer brewing festival, and then there’s the woman down the street from the cattle farm … I think her name is Mary. There’s another half dozen women whose faces at least seem mildly familiar, but I can’t place their names.

I move forward a few steps, and my eyes wide, I ask, “What’s going on?”

With a huge smile plastered across her face, Bea points to a banner over the fireplace, the words BABY SHOWER prominently displayed. She walks forward a few steps, taking my hand into hers. “We all knew you couldn’t be home right now with your friends and family, so we wanted to celebrate with you.”

My breath catches as I rotate, soaking in the room. Everything is decorated in bright yellow streamers and balloons, a cheerful change from the winter outside. On the bar is a pile of gifts that spill over to the floor. On a table near the entrance is a cake with beautiful flowers adorning the edges.

“This is too much,” I gasp, raising my hand over my mouth. I can feel my legs begin to wobble, and I force myself not to cry, even though I have the sudden urge to bawl like a baby.

“Nonsense,” Bea says, waving a hand in my direction. She then takes my arm and leads me over to a circle of chairs. The women are chattering and offering me congratulations. With Bea’s assistance, I lower myself into a seat, the ladies quickly following suit.

I’ve been so consumed with the distractions of my life I haven’t had time to dwell on the fact that Kenzie was going to be missing one of the most important moments so far. And, even though I am furious with my mother, there’s an ache in my heart that she isn’t going to be at my side—a part of the birth of her first grandchild.

My head is swimming. I want to squeeze Bea and never let her go. Instead of distracting myself with my manuscript, I’m immersing myself in pregnancy games, conversations with other mothers, and opening baby gifts. I’m not sure this day could get any better. My heart is warm, and I’m thankful for the gift that is Bea.

I take a deep breath and prepare to type the words. I can hardly believe this moment is already here.
The End
scrolls across the bottom of the bright white screen, and I release the air in my lungs. I did it. I finished an entire manuscript, and I think it might actually be pretty good.

Opening my email, I flip through my contact list. After landing on Kenzie’s name, I attach the file. I instruct her to be brutally honest and hit send. So far she has loved all the previous sections. But because I also want someone tougher, someone I know would give me an honest opinion, I also decide to send it to my mother. She will not hesitate in her feedback.

I know if I think about it too much I’ll chicken out. I attach the file, explain that I want her honest opinion, and hit send. I set the laptop on the small coffee table in front of the fireplace and stand up to stretch. I can feel the smile on my face. The sense of accomplishment outweighs the fear of what my mother will think, though the ultimate acknowledgment of my talent will be her approval.

“What are you so happy about,” Holden asks, walking over to refill my glass of water.

Words seem too small to explain a moment so grand, so I decide to show him. Leaning down, I pick up the device and flip it around, revealing to him the two words on the screen.

“No,” he gasps in disbelief, and now he’s smiling just like me. He opens his arms, inviting me into a hug, and it feels natural. I need his arms around me. After all, it seems only right that the man who helped me get to this point should get to celebrate with me.

With the laptop in my hand, the hug is awkward. He pulls away, and I’m looking in his eyes. It would be a perfect moment for a kiss, but he doesn’t take the opportunity. This surprises me. Instead, he takes the laptop out of my hand and begins scrolling through the document.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“I can’t wait to read it,” he replies, not looking away from the screen.

I lunge forward, well, as much as a thirty-eight week pregnant woman can lunge, and push the lid shut. He looks up at me, seemingly shocked. Then he lets out a laugh and slides the laptop behind his back.

“Give it,” I demand.

“Not until you agree to let me read it.”

“It’s not ready.”

“Are you letting anyone else read it?”

I hesitate. “Just Kenzie … and my mom.”

“Oh, that’s it. I’m absolutely reading it now.”

“Come on, please. I promise I’ll let you read it when it’s ready.”

“Holden, he’s here,” Abner announces from the door, a cold blast of air following him in.

Holden swiftly returns my laptop, but before he releases his grip, he looks me in the eye and asks, “You promise you’ll let me read it?”

I grin and answer, “I promise, when it’s ready.” I’m secretly thrilled he wants to read it so badly.

“Fine, now get your coat,” he commands.

I shake my head, confusion painted on my face. “What are you talking about? Why?”

“I have a little surprise for you.”

“Wha—”

He places a finger against my lips to silence me. “Let’s not go around in circles. Just let me surprise you, for once.”

“But—” I try again.

“Belle,” he tries again to shut me up. I giggle and decide to go along with his game. Making my way around the bar, I slip the laptop onto a shelf underneath and grab my coat off the hook inside the supply closet.

“Do I need my gloves?” I ask, pausing and looking at him for an answer.

“Oh yeah, bundle up good and tight,” he instructs, and I fight the urge to ask more questions. I pull the gloves on, wrap a red scarf around my neck, and wait for him to lead the way.

I follow him to the exit where he grabs a blanket off of chair before opening the door. A cold blast hits me, and I shield my face. The ground is covered in a few more inches of fresh snow since the last time I’d been outside. The winter here is nothing like the ones I’ve experienced in Chicago. In an urban environment the snow is often a gray filth, cars are hidden in snowdrifts and plows constantly run through the streets. Not to mention the hundreds of footprints tromped through the snow on the sidewalks, removing any hint of the once pristine beauty. Here, though, the white is mostly untouched. When you look out at the countryside, instead of skyscrapers, you see rolling hills of white, shimmering under the light of the moon.

To my right I hear a thudding sound and turn my head. There, in the snow, is a bright red sleigh with gold trim, and at the front are two large Clydesdale horses, steam flaring out from their nostrils.