The Sheriff's Nine-Month Surprise. Brenda Harlen

the tears that filled her eyes again.

      “Jeez, will you stop with the waterworks?” he demanded, passing her a box of tissues.

      She plucked one out and dabbed at her eyes. “I can’t help it—it’s pregnancy hormones.”

      “Well, let your husband deal with your blubbering—he’s the one who knocked you up.”

      “Yes, he did,” she said proudly, rubbing a hand over the enormous swell of her belly. “And those hormones have also led to doing a lot more of what got me into this condition.”

      He lifted his hands to cover his ears. “Way too much information, Trish.”

      She laughed through her tears. Then she reached out a hand to touch his arm. “Can I give you one piece of advice?”

      “Can I stop you?” he countered drily.

      She ignored his question. “Before you get involved with this woman—before she gets involved with you—be honest about what you want and don’t want from a relationship.”

      “I never meant to be dishonest with you,” he said quietly.

      “I know,” she admitted. “The problem was, we rushed into marriage without ever talking about all the things we should have talked about.”

      He nodded. “But now you have everything you wanted.”

      “Soon,” she amended, rubbing a hand over her baby bump again. Then with her other hand, she grabbed his and drew it to the curve of her belly. “Do you feel that? He’s kicking.”

      He did feel it, little nudges against his palm. He wondered if it hurt her, to have a tiny human being moving around inside of her, but that seemed like too personal a question to ask. Not that his ex-wife seemed to care about boundaries, which was why Reid was moving out of state in an effort to establish some. Instead he asked, “He?”

      Trish smiled and nodded. “It’s a boy. We’re going name him Henry—for my dad.”

      Reid had to clear the tightness from his own throat before he could respond. “That’s a great name.”

      She watched him tape the flaps of the box shut. “I really wish you weren’t going.”

      He hadn’t expected that his ex-wife would make this easy for him, but he hadn’t expected that it would be so hard, either. But he didn’t—couldn’t—waver. He needed to move on with his life, and as long as he was living a stone’s throw away from her, he knew that wouldn’t happen.

      “You’re going to be okay, Trish. You don’t need me anymore.”

      She sniffed and knuckled away a tear that spilled onto her cheeks. “But what if you still need me?”

      She’d been his family—his only family—for seven years now. But it didn’t matter if he still needed her—it was time for him to move on.

      * * *

      Kate thanked the clerk as she slid the judge’s signed order into her client’s file, tucked the file into her briefcase and turned away from the desk. She exited the courthouse, pausing outside the doors to perch her sunglasses on her nose in defense against the bright afternoon sun, then continued on her way. She’d been told that she moved purposefully, like a woman on a mission, and she usually was.

      Today her mission was to get away from the courthouse before she threw up. She crossed the street and ducked into the shade of the trees that lined the perimeter of Shearing Park. The greenspace was usually quiet at this time of day, offering the privacy she needed. She lowered herself onto the wooden slats of a bench and reached into her briefcase for the sleeve of saltine crackers she’d been carrying for the past few days.

      She inhaled, taking three long deep breaths. Then she nibbled on a cracker and sipped some water. When she felt a little steadier, she pulled out her cell phone and dialed her office.

      “I’ve got the custody order for Debby Hansen,” she said when her assistant answered the phone. “If you want to print up the cover letter and final account so everything’s ready to go, that would be great. I’m heading to a settlement conference in Winnemucca this afternoon, but I’ll be back in the office in the morning.”

      She could picture Beth frowning at Kate’s schedule on her computer screen. “I don’t have anything about a settlement conference.”

      “I set it up myself—a favor for a friend,” she explained.

      Lied.

      If she was looking in a mirror, she would see flags of color on her cheeks. Thankfully, Beth wasn’t able to see the telltale proof of her deception.

      “Okay,” the other woman said agreeably. “I’ll leave your docket and the files for tomorrow morning on your desk before I lock up.”

      “Thanks, Beth.”

      She disconnected the call and nibbled on another cracker. She’d never felt good about lying, but lately she’d been doing a lot of it.

      Lying to her assistant, to explain her absences from the office. To her dad, when he said she looked peaked. To her sister, when Sky asked what was wrong. To her grandmother, when she hinted that Kate was working too hard.

      To herself, when she suggested that the first home pregnancy test was faulty and there was no reason to panic.

      It was only when a second, and then a third, test showed the same obviously inaccurate result that she’d decided to see an ob-gyn.

      She tucked her crackers back into her briefcase, walked to her car and headed toward Battle Mountain. Because she would rather drive thirty-five miles out of town than risk the inevitable speculation that would follow a visit to a local doctor.

      “Good afternoon, Ms. Gilmore—I’m Camila Amaro.”

      Kate accepted the proffered hand of the woman who entered the exam room. “Thank you for squeezing me in.”

      “You sounded a little panicked on the phone.”

      “I’m feeling a little panicked,” she admitted.

      The doctor didn’t go behind her desk to sit down but leaned back against it, facing her patient. “Is this your first pregnancy?”

      She managed a weak smile. “So much for thinking the results of three home pregnancy tests might be wrong.”

      “False results do happen,” the doctor acknowledged. “But a false positive is extremely rare, and the test we ran here confirms the presence of hCG—the pregnancy hormone—in your system.”

      “I’m really pregnant? I’m going to have a baby?”

      “You’re really pregnant,” the doctor confirmed.

      She’d dreaded receiving this confirmation. How could she possibly juggle her professional responsibilities with the demands of a baby? And yet, something surprising happened when the doctor said those three words. She felt a loosening of the knots in her stomach and unexpected joy in her heart.

      A baby.

      And she knew then that it didn’t matter that she hadn’t planned for this—she would figure out a way to make it work.

      “Do you want to set up a sonogram so we can establish how far along you are and discuss the options that are available to you?” Dr. Amaro asked.

      “Five weeks and six days,” Kate told her.

      “You’re sure?”

      She nodded. “Broken condom.”

      The doctor opened the folder she carried and made a note in the file. “Are you in an exclusive relationship with the father?”

      The question was matter-of-fact and without any hint of censure, but Kate felt her cheeks flush with embarrassment that she’d been so foolish and careless. A weekend fling