Page 15 of Not Our First Rodeo
Damn small towns. Damn small-town people who think they know what’s best for everyone.
A muscle in my jaw ticks, and my hands ball into fists at my sides. Seriously, where thehellis my patience? “Can I just get the food, Grant?”
He gives me a long, lingering look, one full of meaning I don’t care to parse. “Sure thing, Beau. Give me a minute.”
I settle into a bar stool as I wait and allow my eyes to flit back over to where Elsie is seated. Her honey hair is down like it always is when she’s not dancing—then it’s in a tight bun at the back of her neck—and she’s dressed in an oversized turtleneck, her sherpa-lined leather jacket draped over the chair behind her, and jeans that hug her curves so beautifully that I had to force my gaze away from her when we left the cabin so I didn’t slip on the ice. That’s not what I notice now, though. She looks uncomfortable again, her hand pressed to her stomach beneath the table.
I’m about to head back without waiting for the food when Grant returns. “Nacho fries,” he says, sliding a massive plate across the wooden bar top. “And two beers.”
I grab it all without looking and shout athank youover my shoulder as I stride back to the table. Elsie glances up as I sit, her eyes blowing wide at the plate of nachos fries, and I stare at her, confused.
“Did you not want these?”
Her attention turns from the nachos to me, and she shakes her head. “No, of course not. This is great. Thank you.”
My stomach twists again at how stilted this all feels. Three weeks ago, we didn’t have this issue. Of course, there wasn’t much talking going on that night. I swallow hard at the thought and shift in my seat before motioning for Elsie to go ahead.
The plate of nachos between us smells amazing, and my mouth waters as I watch steam rising from it. I hadn’t realized how starving I was. I was happy to discover that Elsie was eating some when I was at the house last month, but I’m just now realizing I haven’t exactly been taking care of myself all that well either. I eat and sleep when I can but mostly work myself tothe bone and hope I’ll be exhausted enough to pass out without noticing how empty my bed feels without her.
Elsie doesn’t look as enticed by it as I am, but she lifts a fry without much substance on it and bites into it. I take a much heftier one and do the same, but I keep my eyes on her. She’s chewing slowly, her hand still pressed to her stomach.
“Are you sure you’re okay? You look like you’re going to be sick.”
Her eyes snag on mine and hold. Something passes behind them, and then she pushes her chair back, the legs squealing against the dirty hardwoods. She spares me one more look before darting away. My heart pounds in my throat as I follow her.
She makes it to the bathrooms before me and tries the door to both, but they’re locked. I reach her just as she makes a beeline for the front door. She crashes through it a second before me, and by the time the icy air hits me, slicing straight to the bone, she’s heaving into the bushes.
I slide my hands beneath her hair without thinking, brushing against her sweating neck. I hold her hair back with one and use the other to rub small circles on her back. The move throws me back in time to every other time I’ve done this. After drinking too much or during very unfortunate stomach bugs. And then, more recently, months ago, when she would get sick multiple times a day during her pregnancy.
The hand on her back stills as a thought grips me. I’m wrong, I have to be. But the timing adds up. That night flashes behind my eyes again, burned into my memory like nothing before or after it. We weren’t careful. In fact, we were anything but. We werecarelessin a way we had only been one other time before.
She finally stops getting sick, standing to her full height beside me. Her body is shaking, and she presses a trembling hand toher mouth before turning to face me. Sky blue eyes lock on mine, and I see the answer there before I even ask, but I have to.
“Els…”
Her shoulders slump, and a tired sigh escapes her. But her eyes still hold mine, a fire behind them that I haven’t seen in so long. One that was doused months ago. “I’m pregnant.”
Mymindisstillwhirring when we pull up to our house twenty minutes later. Elsie insisted we head back to the ranch to pick up her truck, and I considered protesting so we could talk sooner, but I think she needed a few minutes alone. And maybe I did too.
I stuff my shaking hands into my pockets so she doesn’t see as I step over the threshold. For the second time in three weeks, I’m walking through the front door of my house that I no longer live in, unsure of how I ended up here. I don’t know if I expected things to look different, but they look almost exactly the same as they did the last time I was here. It feels strange that our lives are turning upside down, but this house remains untouched, frozen in time.
Elsie stares at me for a long moment, uncertainty written in every line of her face. I want to say something to reassure her, but before I can get a chance, she spins on her heel and disappears into the kitchen. She’s all long lines as she presses up onto her toes to pull a glass from the cabinet. I don’t miss theway her hands tremble as she fills it with water and walks back to me, liquid sloshing in the glass.
The sight of her, usually so self-assured, looking like she’s one second from breaking, has the nerves disappearing from my stomach and determination filling the space they left behind.
Instead of taking the glass she extends, I wrap my hands around hers, steadying them. I can feel her pulse racing beneath my fingertips. Blue eyes catch on mine, wide and unsure.
“Hey,” I say, relieved that my voice sounds calm. I sense she needs that. That her mind is a mess of tangled thoughts and that she needs me to be steady. “It’s all going to be okay.”
Her chest rises and falls as she takes a deep breath. I watch as her walls seem to build back up, strengthening her, but for the first time, it feels like she’s allowing me inside them. She’s still holding my gaze when she finally nods, and I let go of her hand, taking the glass of water and draining it, needing the feel of it on my parched throat.
She watches me closely, and when I’m done, she asks, “What are you thinking?” She sounds guarded, hesitant.
I stare at her blankly for a long minute, trying to put all my racing thoughts into words. But there’s one thought that keeps coming to the forefront of my mind, so I say, “I want to know how you’re doing.”
Surprise crosses her features before she blinks it away. Bone-deep relief courses through me when she smiles just the tiniest bit, the expression rueful. “Just as sick as last time, if tonight is any indication.”
That comment makes the relief sour in my stomach. The reminder that we’ve been through this before is heavy. Wehavebeen through this before. Last year, while still recovering from her injury, but finally seeing some marked improvement, she’d started to get sick.All the time. We hadn’t been tracking things like before, and it took us days to realize why she was sick. Iremember standing in our tiny bathroom, watching the second the digital pregnancy test had switched from loading to spell out the wordPregnant.
