Total pages in book: 16
Estimated words: 15152 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 76(@200wpm)___ 61(@250wpm)___ 51(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 15152 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 76(@200wpm)___ 61(@250wpm)___ 51(@300wpm)
We got married in the backyard here at the ranch. The last six months have felt like a whirlwind, but I wouldn’t change one second of it. I take a deep breath, knowing that I need to get this off my chest. I think he’s going to be excited, but I’m hoping he doesn’t freak out.
“Well, we have time. I’m not riding today.”
He turns so quickly that I laugh at the shock on his face. He looks me up and down. “Are you sick? What’s wrong? Why aren’t you riding?”
I go to my tiptoes and kiss his lips. He leans into me before pulling back. “Don’t try and change the subject. What are you not telling me?”
I pick up a piece of the bacon and nibble a small bite of it. My stomach protests, and I set the rest of the piece back on the plate. “Well, I’m going to award the trophy at the end of the night, but I’m not riding.”
His hands go to my waist. “London, talk to me. What’s going on?”
I shrug. “Well, I figure in my condition, it might be better if I took some time off. I mean, I looked it up and it said that I could be safe for a few more weeks, but I don’t want to take any chances.”
I see the instant that he gets it. His eyes widen, and his hands go to my shoulders. “Are you…” He can’t even say it. He stares at me, excitement lighting up his face. He pulls me toward him. “London, don’t mess with me. Are you pregnant?”
I nod. “Yes.”
He lifts me in his arms and swings me around the kitchen. I clench my eyes shut. “Whoa.”
He stops instantly. “Fuck, London, I’m so sorry.”
I put one hand to my stomach. “I’m okay. Just a little queasy.”
He carries me over to the table and sits me down at the chair. He squats down in front of me, his hands on my thighs. “Are you okay?”
I put my hand on his shoulder. “Yes, I’m okay. It’s just morning sickness.”
The worried look on his face doesn’t lighten in the least. “Is that what the doctor said?”
Oh no, here we go. “I haven’t been to the doctor. I took a test this morning. I’ve been feeling off and—”
He cups my face in his hands. “We need to go to the doctor.”
I knew he would be protective and insist on going to the doctor. “I’ll call on Monday and schedule an appointment.”
He looks at me as if I’ve grown two heads. He stands up and walks over to the kitchen. He plates the food and then sets it in front of me and then takes a chair across from me.
He picks up his phone.
“What are you doing?” I ask him.
He looks up. “I’m going to get you an appointment today. Eat.”
I look down at the food, and my stomach turns.
He pulls the plate away. “Oh honey, what can you eat?”
I am trying not to turn green. “I dunno. Toast, maybe?”
He stands up and takes the plate to the counter. I watch as he gets some bread out and drops two pieces in the toaster. “Butter?” he asks.
I bite my lip. “Yeah, maybe a little.”
He nods. He pours a glass of orange juice and brings it over to me with a glass of water. As soon as the bread pops up, he butters it and brings it to me. He hovers over me as I take a bite. I nibble it slowly, then swallow and wait to see if my stomach turns, and when it goes down easily, I take another bite. Satisfied, Dillon sits across from me. “Maybe you should skip today and lie down instead.”
I laugh. “I’m not spending the next nine months in bed, Dillon.”
He reaches across the table and holds my hand. “I love you, London.”
I nod. “I know.”
He points to my plate. “Eat.”
I struggle through a few more bites, and while I do, he picks up his phone again and starts typing into it.
He reads silently for a minute and then points at it. “Okay, it says that morning sickness is normal.” He shakes his head, not satisfied. “After you eat, we’re going to the arena.”
I swallow my last bite. “We don’t have to be there for another four hours.”
He acts like I didn’t say anything. “Let’s shower and get on the road.”
“Dillon, Dr. Lane has real emergencies and real patients to deal with. He can’t do anything to help me at the arena.”
Dillon snaps his fingers. “Between Dr. Macks and Dr. Lane, they can figure out something.”
I gasp. “Dr. Macks? He’s a veterinarian.”
Dillon is on edge, and I stand up and come around the table to sit on his lap. “Dillon, honey, you have to calm down.” I pat his chest. “Take a deep breath.”