Christmas Baby for the Cowboy (Diamond Ridge Mountain Men Holidays Book 2) by Brynn Hale

Author:Brynn Hale [Hale, Brynn]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2021-12-02T16:00:00+00:00

7 MONICA

He felt it. He felt me. The changes. My secret. Our secret, actually.

I exhale slowly, lips still tingly from his kiss. He makes me royally flushed, all kinds of hot and bothered and it isn’t fair. Damn baby hormones. Even though I know he knows, I brush it off, trying to be a cool cat even with everything imploding inside and outside of me.

“No. I—” I slip out from his hold looking for cooler air and a place to think. “Maybe.”

There’s no point in lying, sort of.

I take the opportunity of space and settle behind my desk chair, my feet were hurting anyway.

“Monica, I felt it. I’ve felt many farm animals pregnant. I’m not stupid.”

“So now I’m a sow?” I snap back.

“Shit, no! I just meant. I felt him, the baby.”

He’s staring hard at me as I respond and my jaw tightens.

“Him? So certain it’s a boy?” I ask.

“Is it?”

Why the fuck does he sound so hopeful? He should be furious, upset, maybe he doesn’t even think it’s his?

“I don’t know. I haven’t found out yet. I’m thinking of waiting.” I shift in my chair.

“Monica, is he—”

“It is neither a boy nor a girl right now. It’s baby Wheatfield.”

His fists clench and unclench and he paces the small length of carpet by the door and back to the bookcase.

The man’s a caged stallion, and I can’t bring myself to break him in. I let him pace and bite my tongue, trying to think of a way to not involve him. I don’t want him to feel trapped, to be obligated with me…us. I think that’s why I haven’t told anyone. I’ve shouldered all the responsibility and built walls to protect me and my baby from heartache and disappointment. And Christian isn’t a sure thing. If anything he’s as fleeting as the wind that whips over these mountains—here and gone in the next breath.

“How far along are you,” Christian asks, shoving his hands in his pockets.

It’s better than asking me who the father is. “Sixteen weeks.”

“Second trimester,” he mutters.

He surprises me.

“How do you know that?” I ask, crossing my arms across my enlarged chest, his eyes dropping but coming back quickly.

“Internet.” I swear at him and his lips twitch into a smile.

He’s counting in his head, brown eyes glazing over in thought.

“It’s mine.” The words are soft and there’s a happiness to them that I’m not sure I’m hearing right.

I inhale sharply and shake my head, not verbally lying at least.

He steps closer. “I’m not the brightest, Monica, but I don’t—fucking can’t—and won’t forget what we did.”

My heart triple-times. The walls have cracks and I’m trying to putty them internally as fast as I can. “I could’ve been with someone before you or after.”

Per usual, he doesn’t take the bait. “No, ma’am. Deny it all you like. But I know I’m that baby's daddy. I wasn’t wearing a condom and we went at it three times. Three baby girl.”

My face burns, his memory is just as good as mine. The

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