More Than a Silly Crush, page 1
More Than a Silly Crush
A Sweet Small-Town Romantic Comedy
Remi Carrington
Copyright ©2023 Pamela Humphrey
All Rights Reserved
Phrey Press
www.phreypress.com
www.remicarrington.com
First Edition
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
ISBN-13: 978-1-947685-81-9
Created with Vellum
More Than A silly Crush
I only saw him as my best friend’s little brother . . . until I married him
Getting pregnant before the wedding wasn’t my plan, but surprise! Then my fiancé (correction, ex-fiancé) tells me to take care of the problem. And that’s how he becomes my ex.
But being a single mom in this small town won’t be easy. Maybe not even possible. I’m a large animal vet. It’s not like I can take my baby to work with me.
Then my best friend’s younger brother drops to one knee and proposes so that I won’t be a single mom. And after days of pondering, I accept Parker’s impulsive proposal.
Romance has never been part of our relationship, but he treats me better than anyone I’ve ever dated. He’s caring, protective, and more than a little good looking. Way more than I deserve.
But I really didn’t think about the day-to-day of married life. Or what it would be like to see him without a shirt all the time. He’s no longer the scrawny kid who liked to tag along. He’s a full-grown cowboy and quickly becoming my best friend. (Well, my other best friend.)
Just when I think a happily-ever-after is possible, tragedy strikes.
Now that there’s nothing to save me from, I have to let him go. But walking away from my knight in shining armor will absolutely shatter my heart.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Epilogue
Bonus Epilogue
A Note to Readers
Chapter 1
Bluebonnet
Locked in the bathroom of my little cabin, I stare at the double lines on all five tests laid out in a row. This is an unexpected twist. How am I going to tell my fiancé? He won’t be pleased.
My phone alarm goes off, signaling that it’s time to look at the results. But I’ve been glued to this spot, watching since I set the last one down. I’ll totally have to disinfect this counter because eww, but right now, I have other worries.
John is a reasonable person. His life plan focuses more on travel and promotions and expensive houses, and he explicitly told me children are a nuisance. But that was before.
My pep talk is helping to calm my nerves. Slow breaths in and out bring my heart rate down.
What if he’s not on board with this new development? How will I raise a child alone? Those two questions completely undo all the calming from my pep talk. Panic grips me in full force, and my heart rate skyrockets. My breathing speeds up, and I know I’m about to hyperventilate. I don’t need this right now.
Lips pursed, I do my best to return to a normal breathing pattern, but with all those pink lines spread out in front of me, it doesn’t work.
My fingers start to tingle, and I sit on the toilet—with the lid down of course—and put my head between my knees, hoping I can avoid fainting.
Why did I let John talk me into intimacy before I was ready? But once we were engaged, it seemed like a formality. My skepticism kicks in, and I wonder if he only proposed so that I’d agree. But it doesn’t matter now. I’ve spent my whole life doing whatever I can to keep those around me happy, and it was no different with John. I gave him what he wanted even if I wanted something different.
That changes now. I have a baby to think about.
And I need a plan.
The old plan where I live in the cabin on the ranch, work for the nice vet here in town until the wedding, and then move to the big city after might still work, but I’ll be the talk of the town. And the old plan is really John’s plan. If I had my druthers, I’d stay in this small town and take over the practice when Dr. Monroe finally retires. But John doesn’t want to live here.
What am I going to do? If I calculated correctly, which there is a good chance I messed that up because thinking is currently hard, I’ll be nine months pregnant when I’m supposed to walk down the aisle. Talk about a scheduling nightmare. With my luck, my water would break about the time the officiant says, “We are gathered together.” I’d be anything but together.
I really need a new plan. And I need to tell John.
He golfs on Saturdays, so now is a very bad time to call.
When my phone buzzes, I glance at the screen. Paisley calls me almost every Saturday. In middle school and high school, there were five of us who hung out all the time. We hardly hear from the other three. But Paisley and I have kept in touch. She lives a few hours away, but her parents are still here. And her little brother. Sweet Parker, or Dumplin’ as I prefer to call him. He was the extra in our group, always tagging along.
Her husband recently accepted a job in San Antonio, and I’m crazy excited about having her close again. While I’m not in the habit of labeling people as my BFF, that’s exactly what she is. But if I answer this call, I’ll do nothing but sob. So I let it roll to voice mail.
I glance at the tests again, checking to see if all of them spontaneously switched to not pregnant. What are the chances that they’re all false positives?
Astronomical.
Once the tingling has stopped, and I’m no longer hyperventilating, I tap out a text to John.
Me: Hope your golf game is great today. Call me when you get a chance. I have news.
News that requires regular doctor appointments, a crib, and lots of diapers. I’m really not looking forward to our conversation.
Clutching the sink cabinet, I stand, hoping my knees are functioning and that blood doesn’t rush to my feet. I don’t want a rescue team charging in here with all these tests visible.
But I’m not ready to throw them away. I need to check them a few hundred more times to be sure this is actually happening to me.
I walk to the bed, lay my phone on my pillow, and curl up under the covers. With my red swollen eyes and tear-stained cheeks, it’s best if I don’t bump into anyone. A nap is the safest way to kill time.
Ringing wakes me, and I blink as I grab for the phone. It’s not on my pillow, so I dig around in the sheets until I find it under my hip.
“Hello?”
“Hey, hun. I saw your text. Golf was fine, I missed a couple of shots on purpose so that I didn’t score lower than any of the partners, but there are things more important than golf. Hang on.” Muffled voices sound on his end of the call. “I’m back. What’s up?”
“Some unexpected news. Not what we planned, but we’re going to have a baby.” I load my announcement with glee, hoping it’s contagious and can travel over phone waves, or whatever it is that makes these calls connect.
After three seconds, the silence starts to worry me. But I give him time to process. I had my mini panic attack earlier. He deserves some time.
When it hits the one-minute mark, I can no longer hold my tongue. “Are you going to say anything?”
“We’ve talked about this, Bluebonnet. We are not going to have a baby. Fix the problem, or I’ll pick up my ring the next time I’m in town. But I have to go. Let me know what you decide.” The call ends, and I’m left staring at my phone.
It’s not panic that grips me. It’s anger. At myself. How did I get taken in by someone like John? He was so cold. It’s not like I tricked him. It’s a surprise for me too. But this isn’t in his life plan, so now neither am I.
I yank off my engagement ring and throw it against the wall. It clinks as it bounces out of sight, and my throat tightens as I think about the reality of my predicament.
My parents don’t live here anymore. They aren’t even together. And my mom is the queen of pointing out what I can do better. I can’t imagine trying to parent with her looking over my shoulder. Not long after I moved out, they announced the divorce. It wasn’t much of a surprise. Mom always hated it here. And I’m not sure she liked my dad that much either.
Now she’s enjoying her life in Los Angeles, a
Unless I’m having quintuplets, my news won’t be but a blip on their radar. And I truly hope I’m not having quintuplets.
I’ve seen mama kitties that are pregnant with five or more kittens come into the vet clinic, and those poor cats look miserable. Besides, I’m not built for that.
My tummy rumbles, complaining because I missed breakfast and lunch. During breakfast, I was in my bathroom peeing on sticks. Then I napped through lunch. But Ava always has something available in the mess hall, and Beau, the ranch owner, told me to make myself at home.
I wash my face, pull on my shoes, and take a deep breath before opening the door. If I don’t get food in me, I’m going to puke, and that would only make this day worse.
Hopefully, I can make it to the mess hall and get food without bumping into anyone.
Chapter 2
Parker
With Kent and Poppy away on their honeymoon, I’m on kid duty. Not full time. Mason stays with Ava and Mad Dog at night, but during the day, he works with me at the barn, and when we have free time, we have fun.
Now is one of those times.
I turn off the hose and plug the hole on the water tank of my super soaker. It’s hard to tell where his giggles are coming from. He’s gotten better at this game. I often end up soaked.
But today, I’m ready. Wearing only my swimming trunks and boots, I won’t be bothered by the water. I tiptoe across the porch outside the mess hall, then stop when I hear gravel crunching. Mason has given away his location. He’s headed right toward me.
Super soaker raised, I aim for the corner of the house, waiting for him to step into view.
One tug on this trigger and he’ll be doused with water.
I wait, the rush of blood thumping against my eardrums. He’s seven, but I’d be silly to underestimate him. My only chance of winning this round is to catch him off guard and hold that trigger until my tank is empty.
I catch motion at the corner, and water shoots across the porch.
Horror renders me mute as water soaks the front of Bluebonnet’s white T-shirt. And when I scrape together enough courage to look at her face, my horror changes to shame.
She’s crying.
That kicks me into motion. I toss the super soaker aside and race toward her. “I’m soooo sorry, Bonny Blue. I didn’t know it was you. Mason and I were playing a game, and I thought . . .” I drag my hands through my hair. “Are you hurt?”
My thoughts are so chaotic, I used my old nickname for her, which I haven’t used in ages, and definitely not since she got engaged. But I’ll deal with that later.
She stares at my face, her tears morphing into full-on sobs.
What have I done?
“I swear I didn’t mean to.” I stick my right hand in the air, then do the same with my left, as if that will make my swear more believable.
But she doesn’t say anything for a second. Then trying to catch her breath, she chokes out, “Dumplin’,” and buries her face against my bare chest.
So I reach around her and pat her back. “I’m sorry. Please don’t cry.”
Mason pokes his head around the corner, his eyes as big as saucers. Flying saucers. Massive ones. And his idea of showing support in the midst of my nightmare is to shake his head back and forth slowly.
With his nose scrunched up, he waves and takes off toward Ava’s. How can that kid abandon me in the middle of my worst nightmare?
Bluebonnet’s sobs aren’t stopping, so I give up patting her on the back and hug her. I don’t want it to look like cheating, but what else am I supposed to do?
When my buddies need relationship advice, I’m the voice of reason. But this is different. The woman I’ve crushed on for fifteen years is sobbing against my bare chest because I sprayed her with a giant water gun. Way to go, Parker.
After several minutes, the sobs subside, but now she’s hyperventilating, and I feel worse hearing those little stutter breaths.
Hoping that if I slow my breathing it will help her calm down, I’m intentional about taking measured breaths.
She turns, pressing her cheek to my chest, and I tighten my embrace.
“Hey, you okay? I totally didn’t mean to drench you. I thought you were Mason.”
Her laugh catches me off guard, and I smile in spite of how awful I feel about the whole thing.
“Was that funny?” I’m happy to hear a laugh but confused about what prompted it.
“A little. Because you were planning to drench an unsuspecting seven-year-old.”
“Oh, he was suspecting. I was his target. And he’s much too good at this game for me to go easy on him.”
She laughs again, and I’m feeling a little better about the situation, a little more confident.
After picking her head up, she swipes at my chest, wiping off the tears. It was easier when she wasn’t running her fingers all over me. “That’s so like you, Dumplin’. Saturday afternoon, and you’re playing with a kid.”
My confidence is now in tiny pieces and scattered on the porch. “Kent and Poppy don’t get back from their honeymoon until tomorrow, and I’m trying to keep Mason busy and entertained. That’s why. Plus, he’s fun.”
Pressing a hand to my chest, she meets my gaze. “It’s sweet.” Her words dissolve into sobs.
I need cue cards to keep up. “Do you, um, want me to take you home?”
She catches her breath long enough to announce, “I want food.”
That is a wish I can fulfill.
Rubbing her back, I say, “I’m sure I can find you something in the mess hall.”
“Thank you, Dumplin’.” She wipes her eyes again, then starts rubbing my damp chest. “Oh, I cried all over you. I’m so sorry.”
I clasped her hands, before her frantic fingers stray anywhere else. Then I lead her into the big room where meals are served. It’s a homey space with a big kitchen on the other side of the long counter and one long wooden table in the center of the room.
“Have a seat here.” I pull a bench away from the table for her.
“Thank you.” She drops into her seat and watches as I open the fridge.
The deli drawer is full of sandwich fixin’s, and I pull out meat and cheese, then grab the jar of pickles out of the door. For fifteen years, I’ve devoted myself to knowing all the things that make Bluebonnet smile, so I slather a hefty portion of mayo onto two slices of bread, pile thinly sliced ham on one piece and a slice of mild cheddar cheese on the other. With a fork, I fish two pickle spears out of the jar and set them on the plate. Before carrying the plate to the table I cut diagonally through the sandwich, creating two equally sized triangles. The shape allows for the optimal sandwich-eating experience.
“And here you go. Water, Coke, or sweet tea?” I haven’t quite figured out the pattern of her drink choices.
Tears well up in her eyes again, and I’m about to lose my mind. I hate seeing her cry. When she was fifteen and didn’t make the volleyball team, I sat beside her, handing her chips, chocolates, and tissues until she calmed down.
Chips! That’s what I forgot to grab. Ava keeps a stash in the pantry. And a second lesser-known assortment in the corner cabinet. I’m pretty sure Kent and I are the only ones who know about the other stash.
Sniffling, Bluebonnet says, “It’s probably best if I have water.”
“Healthy choice.” I set a water bottle and a bag of chips beside her plate. “I am so sorry about making you cry.”
She’s just taken a bite, and her mouth is full of ham and cheese. She blinks, her brow knitted. After swallowing, she shakes her head. “It’s not your fault.”
