Montana Homecoming (The Wildes of Birch Bay Book 6) Read online

  The door opened and the whistle of wind rushed in. Maggie sniffed at the soup.

  The door closed.

  A tiny foot jabbed at her from the inside.

  When no additional sounds came from the other side of the cabin—or movements from within—Maggie caved. She peeked over. Cord remained just inside the door, a perplexed look on his face as if surprised to find her standing there. He had one hand lifted to the tab of the zipper on his jacket, and his cap had been pulled low over his ears and down to his eyebrows. He appeared to be damp all over, and he had to be freezing.

  “How’s your dad?” She smoothed her hands over the shirt she’d now been in for over twenty-four hours.

  “He’s . . .” Cord finally moved, shaking his head as if emerging from a trance. He shrugged out of his jacket and headed for the fireplace. “He needs his prosthesis adjusted.” He practically grunted out the words. “The thing has rubbed sores in several places, and he thought that keeping the skin soft with lotion would be a solution.”

  “Gloria thought lotion would be enough, too?”

  Cord looked over his shoulder as he stooped, his mouth twisting into a frown, and she could read his mind as clear as day. He hadn’t meant to say anything to her about his dad. He’d done the same back in April, intending to keep personal topics exactly that. But after an exhausting trip to the rehab center that Saturday, a visit in which he’d eventually admitted the pain it caused seeing his dad like that, he’d opened up. Slightly. Max Wilde had been a topic of conversation a couple of times after that, and though he’d been the only personal subject Cord had spoken about, that alone had provided an additional layer to what they’d been doing that weekend.

  Cord was likely remembering those details right now. And most likely, refortifying his resolve to keep her at a distance.

  “Gloria?” Maggie prodded. She stared him down. She could appreciate boundaries, and she acknowledged that Max and Gloria weren’t a part of her family. So, Max’s health wasn’t actually any of her concern.

  However, she detested being ignored simply due to someone being in a foul mood.

  And she hated undeserved foul moods being directed at her.

  Finally, Cord replied. But he clearly did so grudgingly. “He hadn’t told Gloria.”

  He returned to the fire, adding another log, and the way his shoulders went rigid was a clear sign that she wouldn’t be getting anything more out of him. However, as Maggie watched, even as her irritation made a valiant effort at bubbling to an eruption, she couldn’t help but sense Cord’s utter frustration. For a man who liked to control the situations around him, his life must seem completely chaotic at the moment. A baby . . . his father needing help that he clearly hadn’t wanted to ask for . . . stuck in a cabin with her.

  She wasn’t heartless. The man was having a rough day. She could cut him some slack.

  At least, a little.

  “I made soup,” she offered. They might as well get the conversation started so they could get it over with.

  He didn’t look at her.

  “I also thought—” She clenched her hands into fists as he needlessly poked at the fire again, his intention to continue ignoring her made perfectly clear. And she decided on a change of plans. She wasn’t in the mood to tiptoe around this guy’s fragile ego, after all. “We need to talk, Cord. Now.”

  That brought his gaze to hers.

  “And don’t worry. I’m not going to try to change your mind. Not if you’re still set on your decision.” She paused, expecting him to point out that he most definitely was still set on his decision . . . or maybe to insinuate that he’d had time to think things over. To reevaluate.

  Instead, he said nothing, and that silence left a lump in her throat.

  He rose to his full height, his eyes boring into hers, so she lifted her chin.

  “I made a few of my own decisions overnight.” She refused to let his attempt at intimidation by silence and steely-eyed glare rattle her. “Things you and I need to discuss, such as my expectations where you’re concerned.” At his raised brows, she continued, “Or the lack thereof,” she finished with sarcasm.

  Instead of keeping her hands gripped at her sides, she very pointedly uncurled her fingers and straightened her shoulders. Then she motioned toward the stove. “So, I made soup.”

  His gaze finally moved from her over to the pot still simmering on the stove. “Soup?” he said. She could read nothing into the one word.

  “Truce soup.”

  At that, his gaze came back, and for just a second, she thought he might relax his stance. Maybe even offer a tiny smile. He did neither.

  “Others call it potato soup,” she added, being sure to keep her own emotionless stare in place. She flicked her gaze to the tiny pantry where she’d found the vegetables. “There were only three potatoes, and given that I also found three steaks, you probably meant to use them for baking. I made soup instead. So, what do you say? Can you drop the attitude for ten minutes while we call a truce and have a conversation?”

  There was a pause before he replied. “What happens after ten minutes?”

  The sigh slipped out before she could restrain it. “Whatever you want to happen, Cord. I’ll go back into hiding in the bedroom until my car arrives if you wish. Or if it’ll make you happier, I’ll grab my things and wait in the front seat of your truck.” Her glare now matched the one he’d been dishing out. “Whatever Dr. Wilde deems appropriate.”

  She narrowed her eyes, miffed because he’d made her lose her calm so easily. But dang, the man acted as if she’d personally set out to wrong him. When, from what she remembered, the so-called “wrongs” that had been done, had been done personally to each other.

  “You’re not going to wait in my truck,” he stated.

  “Fine. The bedroom it is, then.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Truce?”

  Twelve feet separated them, but it suddenly felt like none. Cord’s presence invaded the entire cabin, and though the smell of soup had filled the space not thirty seconds before, all she could currently breathe in was Cord.

  She had to get a grip.

  She had to quit thinking of him as anything but a sperm donor.

  His stony façade seemed to crack just a fraction, his gaze darting away from hers for the briefest of moments before warily making its way back. His jawline tensed. “Have you told anyone else about the baby?”

  It took her a minute to change subjects. “That I’m pregnant?” She looked down at herself. “Geez. It’s not like it can be hidden.”

  His eyes traveled over her body, as well, but this time, she didn’t feel as if what he saw disgusted him the way it had the night before. She didn’t know exactly what he might be thinking, but the invisible hunk of a wall separating them seemed to crumble a tiny inch. “That I’m the father.” Blue eyes locked back on hers. “Have you told any of my family that I’m the father of your baby?”

  Oh. It hadn’t occurred to her he wouldn’t know that.

  She shook her head. “I haven’t.” And that hadn’t been easy. Erica and Arsula were two of her closest friends. It had been tough not sharing everything with them. Hard not being able to lean on them when Cord wouldn’t return her call.

  But if she opened up to them about her baby’s parentage, they’d in turn feel obligated to share the information with Gabe and Jaden. And it wasn’t her friends’ places to let Cord’s family know he was going to be a father. That would be Cord’s decision. Or his decision not to inform them.

  “What have you told them?” he pushed. “I know Erica and Arsula are friends.”

  The baby shifted, pushing down on the bottom of her uterus, and she put one hand under her belly and the other to her lower back. “They are friends, yes. But they don’t know you’re the father.”

  “Who do they think is?”

  She wanted to let him know that it was none of his business what she’d told her friends. If he didn’t wish to be in his son’s life, then he shoul
d have no vested interest in any part of it or in hers. Her indignation had passed, however, and at this point she just wanted to be real. She was exhausted of everything else. “They think it’s a man from out of town who I met at the grand opening of The Cherry Basket.” Which was when the two of them had gotten together. It just hadn’t been when they’d officially met.

  They’d met two months before at Gabe and Erica’s wedding. She simply hadn’t managed to get his attention that day.

  Cord’s eyes remained distant as they continued to watch her. “And if I hadn’t found you on the side of the road last night, would you have ever told me about the baby?”

  At his question, her surprise showed. “Cord. I tried to tell you. More than once.”

  “I know that. But would you have tried again?” He shifted, his stiff posture suddenly seeming difficult to pull off. His throat moved as he swallowed. “Or were you finished trying?”

  She didn’t know what he wanted her to say. What was he getting at? “Would you have wanted me to try again?”

  His eyes bore into hers, his jaw tight. Then in a blink, his expression changed. For the first time since the night before as he’d reminded her to breathe through the beginning of a panic attack, he didn’t wear a glare. He tilted his head, and his eyes softened just the slightest. And she saw the man who’d spent the weekend with her back in the spring. “Please answer the question, Maggie.”

  What was she supposed to do when presented with a plea like that?

  She nodded. “I would have tried again.” Glancing at the phone, where it lay on the table, she added, “In fact, I wouldn’t have only tried, this time I would’ve succeeded. I intended to send you a text Monday morning announcing the good news. I can show you the drafted message if you don’t believe me.”

  His gaze shifted to the phone, his features giving nothing away, then he offered a small nod of his head. “I believe you. And I accept your offer of a truce.”

  Chapter Six

  Truce soup.

  Cord stared at himself in the mirror of the steamed-over bathroom, squinting to see past the condensation rapidly reforming over the circle he’d cleared. Maggie had made truce soup. And he’d thought that was cute.

  He shook his head in disgust. Maggie Crowder was nothing but a fling, and he couldn’t let her get under his skin. He couldn’t allow her to charm him like she had back in April. And that’s exactly what she’d done. She’d been helping to clean up after the grand reopening party he and his family had thrown on the town square, but she’d also been noticeably putting herself within viewing and speaking distance of him. Often. Even so, he’d maintained his decision not to come on to his sister-in-law’s friend. Just as he’d told himself during Gabe’s wedding: sisters-in-law’s friends were off-limits.

  However, after one particularly obvious sweep of her gaze over his body followed by a groin tightening come-hither grin. . . and then followed by an oops-I-didn’t-mean-to-trip-and-fall-right-into-your-arms move, he’d slipped and given her his best smile. And them getting together at that point couldn’t have been stopped even if God himself had reached down and put a hand between them.

  If Maggie hadn’t followed her not-so-subtle move by asking if he wanted to hang out, he would have. Because he’d liked her, all the way back to their meeting in February. She was bold, cute, clearly had enough gumption to go after what she wanted, and her humor was more than a little off-center. She made him laugh.

  Grabbing a hand towel, he swiped at the mirror again. After agreeing to a truce, he’d requested a shower before soup. He’d not only needed to warm up from the time spent outdoors, but he’d desperately desired a few minutes alone. Away from the mouthwatering smell of potatoes, broth, and onions—and away from the picture of a pregnant woman standing at the stove as he’d first come through the door.

  He glowered at himself. That had not been what he’d expected to find upon returning to the cabin.

  It wasn’t what he ever expected to find.

  Still . . . for a moment it had felt right. Homey.

  Personal.

  Tossing the towel into the open hamper, he pulled a clean set of clothes from his bag and dressed. He’d been in the compact bathroom for only a handful of minutes, but even so, he felt as if he were in Maggie’s space. Upon entering the room, he’d noticed a single brush lying precisely along the side of the sink and a wet washcloth hung over the shower rod, and he’d almost turned around and left. He showered with women all the time. Or he showered in the same room as them, after they’d finished and stepped out. But being in this space made him uncomfortable. He told himself he hurried because he was hungry. However, he also knew he hurried because Maggie Crowder was already getting to him.

  Heading back to the main part of the cabin, he cleared his mind of the gut-churning thoughts that had been going through him since the evening before and determined to remain calm and to keep things casual. To “lose the attitude,” as Maggie had requested. He didn’t make a habit of being a jerk to women, so he could get through this one meal, and one more discussion, without doing so.

  Upon seeing him return, Maggie immediately started to rise from the table.

  “Don’t get up.” He held out a hand. “You’ve done enough. I’ll serve the soup.”

  At his words, she paused, her rear half off the seat and her long hair slipping over one shoulder. She seemed as exhausted as she had the night before.

  “Put your feet up while you’re at it.” He nodded toward the chair nearest her. He’d noticed her ankles swelling again when he’d first come in. “Do they swell like that every day?”

  Her gaze lowered to her feet. “Most days,” she muttered. She plopped back down and did as he’d suggested, creating a horizontal bridge between the two seats. Then she leaned her head back and let out a weary sigh. Her eyes closed. “There’s also bread in the oven.”

  With minimal direction, he ladled soup into the waiting bowls, grabbed the warming bread and the silverware, and had everything on the table in record time.

  Once they were both settled, and after he’d returned to the fridge to retrieve a bottle of water for her and a can of soda for him, they both finally dug in. And the moan of satisfaction that slipped from his lips was both undignified and unmanly.

  “Damn,” he murmured.

  “My momma’s recipe,” she offered. “She’s had the soup added to the menu at the guest ranch they own.”

  He spooned up another bite. “Your mother is an excellent cook.”

  “Sometimes.”

  Cord looked up at the solitary word, but Maggie had her eyes downcast, focusing entirely too closely on the soup. He tried to remember if she’d mentioned anything about her parents before.

  He knew that her brother lived in Whitefish. Cord had seen Mason at the grand reopening party, and that subject had come up. They knew each other because the two of them once played football on the same high school team. And if Cord remembered correctly, when the subject of Maggie’s parents entered the conversation that weekend, she’d said that they’d moved away a few years ago, as well. He recalled her pointing out that she was the only one left in Birch Bay now.

  “They own a guest ranch?” He tore off a hunk of bread and dipped a piece into the soup.

  “They do.” She still hadn’t looked up from her soup. “It stays busy year-round, so they don’t get home very often. That’s where I was coming from yesterday when heading to Mace’s.” When he’d found her on the side of the road and discovered he’d gotten her pregnant.

  He continued to eat his soup. He knew the point of the meal was to discuss whatever decisions she’d made the night before, but he wasn’t ready to go there yet. Her car wouldn’t be towed to the house for a while, so he’d prefer to keep things on a more even keel as long as possible.

  “Did you ever think about moving closer to them? Especially now with the baby?”

  At her side glance, he realized he’d just taken them exactly where he’d hoped to av
oid. He mentally cringed. Flat in the middle of a discussion about the baby.

  “No.” She didn’t offer anything more, so he took that as a sign that she also wasn’t ready to get serious, and he quickly changed the subject.

  “I called a tow truck while over at Dad’s.”

  “What?” She paused, a spoonful of soup halfway to her mouth. “There wasn’t any need for you to do that. I called one as soon as I woke up this morning.”

  “Which I found out when I called. I apparently chose the same company.” He swirled a piece of bread in his bowl and scooped out a bite. “But I told you last night that I’d call,” he reminded her. “So, I did.”

  Her gaze never wavered. “What you actually said last night was ‘we’ll call a tow truck.’” She put her spoon down. “So, I did. Because it’s my car, Cord. My call to make. I didn’t need you to do that for me.”

  He stared at her in surprise. Tension filled her words, and Cord couldn’t help but wonder if she didn’t like anyone doing things for her or if it was just that she didn’t want him doing anything?

  Or was it him because of the baby?

  He glanced at her belly. It probably had more to do with that. He didn’t want to be in the baby’s life, and no doubt she remained upset. What had she said earlier? That she wanted to talk about her expectations concerning him?

  Well, he had news for her. There would be no expectations.

  “I was only trying to help.” He reined in his own irritation. There was zero need to turn this into an argument.

  When she went back to eating instead of saying anything else, he considered letting her in on the fact that he’d also told the owner of the tow company to call him instead of her if there were any issues. He’d enjoy seeing what her reaction would be to that. He decided against it, however. Chances were the car would show up without a call needing to be made, and not bringing the subject up would be one less “discussion” they’d be required to have.