The Rancher's Full House, page 21
He jammed his hands into his jacket pockets. “I—uh—I meant I was surprised to see you. Not because I don’t think you can do the job. I didn’t know that you were doing the job—”
“You said it like it was a problem,” she said.
“Aleja...” He forced a blank expression.
“Is it a problem?”
“Of course not.” This clearly wasn’t the first time she’d had this argument. He wished he hadn’t misspoken and come across as one more prick determined to undervalue her.
“Your sister trusts me. And I don’t want you in her ear, trying to change her mind.”
“I wouldn’t do that. I’m glad you got the contract.”
He swallowed, trying to get the moisture back in his mouth. Aleja, here. Daily. Damn.
There was no chance of an apartment he could afford turning up in town until May at the earliest. Until the seasonal mountain workers left town, he’d be living in the lodge.
Running into Aleja all the time.
Four months of having to ignore how beautiful she was in overalls and a tool belt.
Yikes.
Back in ninth grade, his friends had worshipped Katy Perry and Rihanna. He’d had Alejandra Brooks Flores coming in on careers day to talk about women in trades, all competence and kindness, with an extra smile for him and a chat about how she’d heard he’d played well in his last hockey game.
His feelings had gotten easier to hide when he went to college and then came home to join the department. His siblings hadn’t teased him about being infatuated with Aleja since before he was with his college girlfriend, and he intended to keep it that way.
Not by making himself scarce, though. He’d committed to putting in hours for his sister. Flaking out on Emma wasn’t an option, not if he wanted to shed the spoiled-youngest-child albatross he’d hung around his own neck as a teenager. Years of being responsible hadn’t freed him from that reputation, but he had to believe he’d eventually succeed.
He took the last box off the cart and added it to his pile.
Relief shot across Aleja’s face, and she dropped the edge of the cart.
“Oh, crap—” She slapped a hand across her mouth and took off, darting out from under the portico, down the gravel path to the river, until she was out of sight.
Gray stared at the corner of the building where she disappeared. His gut nagged him. The boxes would have to wait.
He pushed the broken cart to the side, pulled out his phone and found his text thread with Emma.
He winced at her last message—get in by 11—and checked his watch: 10:55.
Sorry, Em.
He typed his reply.
2 probs. (1) Your cart is garbage. (2) Aleja is sick & might need 1st aid. Sorry re: pile @ front. Will move ASAP.
Knowing he’d get an earful regardless, he took off down the same path as Aleja.
* * *
Alejandra rested her forehead against the log side of the lodge. The winter-chilled wood cooled her clammy skin. So much for finding a garbage can—she’d settled for the ground next to an unsuspecting rhododendron.
She took a deep breath. All right, stomach. I get it. Toast is the most offensive food known to humanity.
Maybe now she’d feel less queasy for the rest of the day.
Unlikely. The morning sickness she’d been lucky enough to be dealing with since week freaking four of her pregnancy was more like all-day nausea. It had been going on for five weeks and was not abating.
And to have Gray Halloran witness her sprint for privacy? Embarrassment flooded in, twisting her empty stomach. The man wasn’t known for being a vault—her best friend Nora had complained about Gray’s loose lips a million times when he was younger. What if he figured out the reason for her nausea and told his sister? She wanted to get established on the project before Emma or her work crew found out she was expecting.
At least her overalls hid her bloated belly. Most of her pants were way too tight despite her meagre diet of crackers, toast and her abuela’s corn tortillas.
Pregnancy was a hundred percent awful so far.
And she could not be more excited to be miserable.
Life was nothing if not full of chaos energy, and right after spending Christmas hiding how sick she was, Aleja had got a call from Emma saying she needed a contractor. On the heels of the lake mansion getting scrapped and used to grappling for contracts in the small Montana ski town where she’d grown up, she wasn’t going to let being pregnant get in the way of a career-changing opportunity.
Emma had big dreams of turning Moosehorn River Lodge into a five-star wedding destination. Aleja intended to facilitate them.
She was starting the overhaul downstairs, transforming the honeycomb of storage rooms and old staff housing into a larger multipurpose area. When construction shifted to the grand dining hall in a couple of months, Emma would have an alternate place to serve meals to her guests. Aleja couldn’t wait to get started on turning the lodge basement into a cozy nook for dining and lounging.
Frustratingly, until she could trust her stomach, she was better off in the fresh air.
She leaned back against the log wall. End game, Aleja—a baby. And all that joy.
She’d been desperate to be a mom ever since her first nephew was born when she was barely twenty. Her Tía Aleja role—Ti-leja, in toddler-speak—had only satisfied for so long, though. She had no problem being a “come from a big family, want a big family” cliché. It should have happened with her ex. Thank God she’d found out he was a liar before they’d gotten married. After breaking things off with Trace, she’d worried she was never going to find the right partner. But then her youngest sister and her wife went the donor route and ended up with Aleja’s beautiful niece, and she’d been inspired to rely on science instead of an unreliable man. Two rounds of IUI later, and she got two blue lines.
She splayed a hand on her belly and took a breath of cold mountain air. Yup. She and the sprout were going to be fine as a duo, especially surrounded by Aleja’s parents, abuela, siblings and their own families.
“You’re going to be loved, kiddo. More than you can handle. I promise.”
Of course, she’d been throwing promises around like snowballs in a schoolyard these past few weeks. She was going to have to work faster than she ever had in her life if she wanted to get this project done before her baby arrived.
That meant efficiency, every day.
Not needing twenty-minute breaks to retch in the bushes.
“Aleja?” Gray’s low voice drifted from around the corner.
Oh, crud, he’d followed her. Maybe if she stayed quiet...
His footsteps slowed and his big frame came into view. “There you are.”
He’d been taller than her since he was in elementary school but looking up at him was always a bit of a trip. A baseball cap covered his messy blond hair. Gold stubble glinted on his usually clean-shaven face, and his chest was broad enough to sub in for one of the weight-bearing walls they’d need to replace as they tore out the existing studs.
The universe had not skipped any steps when forming the firefighter’s square jaw and tilted smile.
Objectively, she could accept he was attractive.
Subjectively, not so much.
He was her best friend’s little brother.
Since when had she started noticing he was muscular and tall and saved lives for a living and in no way could be described as “little” anymore? Was it pregnancy hormones? Argh.
Her cheeks heated, prickling from the January nip in the air. She put on her best nothing-to-see-here expression. “Did you need something else?”
He cocked a brow and handed her a bottle of water. “Yeah, to figure out if you need medical help.”
“Absolutely not.”
“You were sick, though.”
“It happens.” She took a few small sips and rinsed her mouth before straightening away from the wall. Time to get to work.
Sliding the plastic bottle into her jacket pocket, she unclipped her respirator from her tool belt and shifted past him.
His gaze caught on the protective equipment. “Those are heavy duty filters.”
She turned to face him. “And?”
“Thought my sister said everything was tested for lead and asbestos.”
Her stomach jittered. He was too observant. He was also treading close to questioning her expertise, which wasn’t going to fly. As a woman in the trades, Latinx to boot, she’d been second-guessed her whole career. She sure as hell wasn’t going to take it from the kid who’d pretended to be a poltergeist on the nights she and Nora had slept in the hayloft of the Hallorans’ barn.
“Correct—the site is lead-free, and we know where any asbestos is and have a removal crew lined up,” she said.
“But the filters—”
“I just need to be careful,” she said. “Long story.”
His eyebrows furrowed.
Acid burned her throat. She covered her mouth with a fist and looked away.
Come on, stomach. Hold off the revolt.
At least until she got rid of Gray and made sure the sledgehammers were swinging.
He studied her with an EMT’s eye. “Do you need to sit down?”
“No, I need to get to—” Nope. The miniscule amount of water she’d consumed was losing its fight for internal supremacy. Whirling back to the rhodo, she tried to hide as much as she could.
Gray swore and came closer, resting a palm on her back and rubbing a soothing circle.
She hunched over, trying to regain control over her body.
“What’s going on, Aleja?”
Son of a mother, for all she felt like garbage baking in the sun, Gray’s hand, steady and comforting, was exactly what she needed.
No way was she going to try swallowing anything, but she couldn’t handle the taste in her mouth. She rinsed her mouth out. “Nothing you need to be concerned about.”
“I disagree,” he said. “If you’ve got food poisoning or a virus, you shouldn’t be here.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not. You should be snuggled on your couch with tea and Netflix.”
“I don’t have time to rest. This job needs to be done by July.” She straightened. The too-quick motion set her head spinning. She wobbled.
He steadied her shoulders with both hands. “One day won’t—”
“You have a pile of boxes jamming up your sister’s main entrance. You should go deal with them.”
“I can’t leave you if you’re shaky. If it’s not flu, what is it? Prolonged nausea—” His eyes widened, flicking down to her stomach. He swiped a palm over his mouth. “Oh. Oh. Are you preg—Uh, never mind. Not my business.”
Oh, crap. Gray had outstanding heavy respirator plus puking plus dizziness math.
“Y-you know,” she stammered, “the only time it’s appropriate to assume a person is pregnant is when a baby is literally emerging from their body.”
He laughed awkwardly. “Had that happen to me on my second week on the job. I showed up at what I thought was a fender bender and discovered Missy Flanagan—crowning—instead. Turned out she wasn’t able to teach a full day’s kindergarten while in labor and still get to the hospital in time.”
“I’ll make sure to call the firehouse if I can’t make it to the hospital,” she said.
“Call 911, but yeah, that’s what we get paid for.”
“Gray...” This was delicate—if news got out, would her team trust her ability to lead and do the work? “I have a couple of old-school workers and subcontractors, and if any of them have an outdated picture in their heads of what a pregnant woman can and can’t do, I’ll be screwed. I’m going to tell them soon, but until I find the right time, please don’t say anything to anyone, including Emma. Only my family and Nora know.”
He palmed the top of his ball cap. “You think I’d talk behind your back?”
“I can’t take the risk of not being clear.” Her first ultrasound appointment on Thursday, delayed by a week due to a scheduling error, would bring some relief. But she’d still only be nine weeks along and vulnerable to miscarriage. Twelve weeks seemed safer. “Can’t you see why I need to be cautious?”
A shadow crossed his face. Disappointment?
“Your secret’s safe,” he said after a long pause. “You take care of yourself.”
He strode off, shoulders stiff and frown firmly in place.
She groaned. He’d connected the dots. What a slippery slope.
And an even slipperier slope? Watching him walk away and seeing nothing but a whole lot of man under all that denim and flannel.
Copyright © 2022 by Lindsay Macgowan
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ISBN-13: 9780369733184
The Rancher’s Full House
Copyright © 2022 by Sasha Best
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Sasha Summers, The Rancher's Full House
