Page 21 of A Baby for the Mountain Man

I say it for a third time, and an unexpected warmth spreads through my chest.

“Sophie is pregnant. She’s having my baby.”

A slow grin spreads across my face.

Then, I remember what I said when she told me. I remember the look on her face as she got out of the truck and the smile falls away.

“Fuck. I mean shit.” I wince, because that’s not much better. I really need to work on my language before the baby gets here. You’re not supposed to swear around babies. Right?

Hell, what do I know? You could take everything I know about raising a baby, and it wouldn’t even fill the dirty coffee mug still sitting in my kitchen sink.

Luckily, I had the world’s best dad growing up. If I do even half as good of a job as he did, I might not screw up this whole fatherhood thing.

That is, if Sophie will forgive me. I’ll probably have to do some groveling. And… I’ll have to explain a couple of things about my past. It won’t make up for the way I treated her. But maybe, if she understands, she’ll give me another chance.

A chance to be a father to a baby. A chance to be a partner to her.

I glance down the sidewalk looking for a glimpse of her and frown. She must have gone into one of the stores.

It doesn’t matter. I’ll stop at each one and even—sigh—talk to the townies until I find her. I’d do even more, because… Well, because I’m falling for Sophie.

And I want to have a life with her.

TEN

SOPHIE

Hearing my name, I glance up from the display of onesies covered in whales and puffins and into Cliff’s intense stare. I suck in a breath and drop the onesie I was holding.

He strides across the shop, not bothering to acknowledge the couple of people who call out greetings to him. I guess I should be glad he’s so stern and outgoing with everyone here as he was back in Seattle.

“Good.” He stops a few feet from me. “You’re still here.”

“Of course, I’m still here.” I raise my jaw, hoping it gives me the appearance of having more confidence than I do. “I couldn’t get a seat on the next flight to Seattle, so I’m here until at least morning.”

“Good. I’m coming with you.”

I frown at him. “No, you aren’t.”

“Yes, I am.”

“No,” I say more defiantly. “You don’t just get to storm in here and tell me what’s going to happen, without at least giving me some kind of explanation.”

Or, at the very least, an apology.

He moves toward me, but I take a step back. Stopping in place, he hangs his shoulders and gives me a wry half-grin.

“You’re right.” He sighs, and if possible his shoulders droop even lower. “Do you mind if we go somewhere more private to talk?”

I want to tell him no. That the time for talking was earlier, when I told him our—no, my—news. But the plea in his expression, the panic in his eyes, is my undoing.

“Yeah, okay. Let me pay for my stuff first.”

Nodding, he leans over to pick up the onesie I was holding when he first came in. He traces a thumb over the outline of a seal. I search his expression for any sign of emotion, but I can’t find one.

We move wordlessly to the counter, where he only speaks up when the cashier gives the total.

“I’ve got this.” I start to protest, but he puts down the money before I can.

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