Penelope (6 page)

The doctor gave him a pat to the shoulder. “Perfectly normal.” He offered her a smile and walked out of the room.

As the door closed, Penelope wiped her tears from her cheeks and Brock plopped down in the chair next to her.

“I didn’t expect to be doing this today,” he said on an expelled breath.

“I’m sorry you got dragged in here…”

“I’m not,” he quickly interrupted. “That had to have been the coolest thing I’ve ever seen in my entire life.”

She smiled so wide her cheeks nearly ached. “Really?”

“Oh, yeah. I’ve seen men die, but…” He stopped and looked away. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t the right thing to say.”

Penelope reached for his hand. “It’s okay. I’m comforted knowing you were with him when he died. And you offered me great comfort today. I know the girls would have been here if they could have been.”

Brock’s thumb brushed over her knuckles and it sent a surge through her that was nearly orgasmic. It must have surged enough that the baby moved and she quickly placed her other hand on her stomach.

“Did he move?” Brock asked.

Penelope nodded. “He does it a lot when you’re near me. It’s like he knows your voice.”

Brock bit down on his lip and a crease formed between his brows. “Can I feel?”

Oh, this man was a gem. She was going to miss him when he left.

Penelope nodded and then took his hand and rested it on her stomach.

The contact of his hand on her skin had her gasping for breath. It was so intimate, she hoped she didn’t moan. At least not out loud.

A moment later the baby kicked right under his hand and his eyes lit up. “Oh, wow. Wow!”

“Pretty cool, huh?”

He only nodded. He kept his hand on her stomach and the baby moved against him.

“I think he knows you were important to his father.”

That had broken him. Whatever she’d said in that statement caused him to retract his hand. “I should let you get dressed. Thank you for sharing this with me.”

He quickly stood, walked to the door, and was gone.

Penelope lay there a moment longer thinking about how it felt to have him touch her. Even when Adam had first touched her it didn’t feel the same as when Brock had laid his hand on her stomach.

It wasn’t right to be laying there, in a doctor’s office thinking about another man besides your late husband—especially when your husband’s baby was kicking you. But Penelope couldn’t help it.

Hormones, she reminded herself. She’d read about it in that book that Vivian had given her. Pregnant women were just horny. But what she wouldn’t give to have Brock touch her just one more time as he had on that bed.

Penelope swung her legs over the edge of the bed and sat up. That was about the stupidest thought she’d ever had. It was time to get dressed and go on with her life.

This sad life of just her and her baby. Vivian had her girls. Amelia had Sam. And in time, she’d have her baby. It was just going to have to be enough.

It should have been awkward, Brock thought as he drove back to Penelope’s. He hadn’t even known her a full twelve hours and yet he’d shared one of the most intimate moments of a lifetime with her.

Did he dare say Sergeant Monroe’s baby was
cute
? But he was, she was. Oh, it was a confusing thought. And what about that moment when he kicked? It should have been strange to touch a woman’s stomach like that, but it wasn’t. In fact, it did things to him that only Shirley Ann had done when she first showed him her breasts, way back when, under the fort they’d made in his back yard. Okay, those weren’t breasts and he wasn’t thinking straight.

This woman with her curly blonde hair, and those ocean blue eyes, and that swollen stomach—he made sure to remind himself—was toying with all those manly emotions. It had just been a long time since he’d had the pleasure of a woman. That must be it. Really, who in their right mind returns from the spoils of war and seeks out a pregnant woman for companionship?

He needed to give her the box that Sergeant Monroe had entrusted to him. He needed to high tail it out of Parson’s Gulch, Oklahoma and find his way to his mother’s house in Missouri. That should be far enough away to keep him sane. Yep, that would do it.

And, maybe Shirley Ann was single now and looking for nothing more than a roll in the sack, because he was going to need to do something with this built up energy. Certainly the pregnant woman beside him would think he was an absolute pig for how he felt.

As they pulled up in front of the house, a man stood outside digging a hole in the yard.

“What is he doing?” Brock asked. His instinct was to jump out of the car and chase down the man ruining the grass.

He pushed back the thought. What the hell had gotten in to him?

“Oh, he’s putting up the sign.” Her voice rose to a near squeal with anticipation. “I’m so excited. When the sign goes up we can start taking applications for students.”

She reached across the cab and grabbed his hand, still on the steering wheel. “Isn’t that exciting?”

He had to admit it was. “When will you open?”

“Next month. We hope. The only thing left to do really, is assemble the rooms with the tables, chairs, bookshelves, and those kinds of things. We’ve been getting boxes of donated toys and books. It’s very exciting. Sam will pick up the play yard next weekend and we will put it up and have it inspected before we have kids here.”

She clapped her hands together and bounced on the seat like a small girl.

“I’ll help build the playground.” The words were out before he’d even thought them.

“You will?” Those bright blue eyes opened wide and her pink lips curled up into a smile he thought he might just have to kiss.

He forced his manly cravings back down. He was a pig.

“Um, sure. If you could use the help, I’d be happy to help. I can help with the tables and the bookcases. Whatever you need.”

Her brows came together. “You’re heading to your mother’s, in Missouri, right?”

“Yes,” he said with a nod. Reality check—his mother. “I have to go see her. But I’ll come right back and help.”

He’d done it again! No, he would not be back. He was heading to his mother’s to see her. That was where he was from. That was where he lived. He couldn’t afford hotels in Oklahoma and gas back and forth. He didn’t have a job. He didn’t have a house. He didn’t have anything. So why was he making all these promises to another man’s wife after having touched her pregnant stomach after accidentally ending up in her ultra sound appointment?

“You’re a man of your word, so I know you’ll be back.” She was smiling again and she’d called him out.

He was a man of his word. Wasn’t that why he was here in the first place?

Okay, so he’d go home and see his mom. He’d call up someone and find himself a date for the night. Yep, one of those dates who didn’t care if they just rolled around and did kinky things—or not. He didn’t need kinky. He needed to not think of this woman—this other man’s wife. Okay, that man was dead.

Damn! If it wasn’t obvious, he’d bang his head on the steering wheel. Instead, he opened his door.

When she reached for her handle he held up his hand. “I’ll get it for you.”

He stepped around the truck, making sure to kick the tire super hard as he passed. He reached for the handle of her door and pulled it open.

When she turned in the seat and moved to climb down, a flash of the swell of her breast from the V in her shirt nearly had him pushing her back into the truck and taking her right there. He was going to die. God was going to strike him down right there. He was going to die with a hard on.

Penelope stepped out of the truck and nearly right into Brock’s arms. Was it too much to want him to wrap them around her and hold her? Oh, she wanted to be held close just one more time. But why would he want to? She was a fat, pregnant woman he didn’t know.

She tucked her curls behind her ear as Brock stepped back from her. “Thank you for going. It really did mean a lot to have someone there.”

“I’m glad I was there.” He cleared his throat. “For Sergeant Monroe’s sake. I know he’d have liked to have been there.”

She wondered if he would have. In her mind, she was going to keep it as he still loved her the most. After all, she was the only wife Brock Romero had ever heard him speak of.

That should be enough to get her over this emotional bump in the road wanting men to touch her. She hadn’t had another man touch her but her husband. There was no need in thinking she needed one now.

Brock moved to the side, his hand still on the door, and she stepped up on to the curb. But her footing wasn’t very good and she slipped and began to tumble backward. However, she never hit the ground. A set of very sturdy, strong arms came around her right above the baby, just below her growing, swollen breasts.

She let out a horrid grunt.

“Did I hurt you? Oh, please tell me I didn’t hurt the baby.” Brock was scrambling to get her back on her feet and before he was done he was in front of her—arms wrapped around her.

She swallowed hard as her body pressed against his and he looked down at her with concern buried in those deep, dark eyes.

It was there. There was a moment when she was sure he felt it too—that rage of a pregnant woman’s hormones and opportunity.

Her lips trembled as he looked at her. Their faces were drawing near and she was going to kiss him. Him, this man her husband sent to her whom she’d only known a day. Him, whose hands were pressed into the small of her back and lazily making circles in the fabric of her shirt. God, she was an idiot, but what did it matter if she moved in further and kissed him. He was leaving anyway.

“Mrs. Monroe!” A man called out and Penelope pushed back and out of Brock’s arms. “Oh, Mrs. Monroe. I’ve got the sign in the truck. Would you like to see it? It’s a beauty.”

Penelope pushed back her shoulders and nodded to the man who had been digging the hole. “Yes. Thank you.”

Brock slammed the door on the truck and the man looked back at him and gave him a genuine smile. “Nice day, huh?”

“Sure is,” Brock said, but he was thinking
sure was, until you interrupted.

He’d almost kissed her. What a shameful thing to have done.

Brock followed the man to his truck where Penelope was looking down into the truck bed. She was crying again. And there, he thought was one of the reasons not to get involved with a pregnant woman. How many times was she going to cry today?

“It’s beautiful. Just beautiful.”

In the truck was a wooden sign that had been carved. It read
Our Little Ones Daycare.

“My son does the crafting. I do the lifting and the digging. He does fine work,” the man said with pride in his voice. The same kind of pride his father had when he spoke of Brock.

“I can’t wait until Vivian and Amelia get home. They are going to love this,” Penelope smiled.

“I’ll get it up for you,” the man gave her a nod and extended a considerate glance at Brock.

Penelope smiled and then headed toward the house. Brock turned back to the truck to get the item he’d brought with him.

As he opened the door to the truck he thought about Sergeant Monroe’s last words as he lay bleeding to death in his arms. They were ringing clear in his head now.
We’re having a baby. I’ll never see that baby.
He had gasped for air and coughed up blood as he reached for his pocket and pulled out the contents.
Find her. Give her these and the box in my footlocker. Tell her I love her. Take care of her.

Brock blinked hard against his own tears. Get the box. Give it to her. Get out of town. It would be okay if he didn’t hold up to one damn promise in his life and not come back to help build the play set. Things come up all the time. He’d just tell her that’s what happened.

He pulled the box from the glove compartment and shut the door. As he headed to the house the man putting up the sign gave him a wave.

“Congratulations!” He called out and Brock turned. “Being a father is the best thing I ever did.”

The man went back to digging the hole and Brock kept walking. He should have corrected the man. So why didn’t he?

Penelope had left the screen open for him and he could hear noises from the kitchen. He noticed that there were flat boxes in all of the rooms. Those unassembled tables and shelves, he assumed. Guilt stabbed at him and he let out a breath. Okay, he’d be back.

She was standing over the sink with both hands on the counter and the water was running.

He set the box on the table and went to her, resting his hand on her back.

“Everything okay?”

She shook her head. “I just got hot. I needed to cool off.”

That’s when he noticed the hair around her face was wet and her cheeks glistened with droplets of water.

“Why don’t you sit down? I’ll get you some water to drink and a wet towel.”

She nodded and reached for him and he helped her to the chair. Was it possible she was equally as beautiful when she didn’t feel good as when she was basking in the sunlight on the front porch?