Three days later, Brock found himself maneuvering his big truck down the gravel driveway to Krista’s house. She wasn’t expecting him. They’d agreed to meet at the ultrasound place, but he was curious to see where she lived and wanted to show her that he was all in for this baby thing. Even if she didn’t want him, he wanted her to know that this kid was going to be raised with a father and not just a weekend dad.

No.

He’d be there for everything. Birth to graduation, his kid would have a dad.

Slamming his truck door, he took in the property. It was a nice piece of land, with what looked like an old barn, a small field for some goats, horses or cows at one point, but the grass had taken over and the livestock was long gone. A chicken coop stood empty and quiet off near a small plot of raised beds, and what looked to be an old pigpen with a trough and lean-to was now filled with dandelions and weeds. The land had potential, but clearly the landlords were too uncaring or perhaps too old to fulfill that potential any longer, and it was falling into disrepair.

Oh, what he would do with a piece of land like this.

Her “front” door was around back and down a couple of steps. It didn’t look like she had much head room, but then again, the woman was lucky if she was five-foot-five. He ducked under the staircase leading up to the balcony above and rapped on her door.

No answer.

He knocked again, this time harder, longer and louder.

Still no answer.

Fuck.

Panic flooded him as his big palm engulfed the knob and he gave it a quick turn. If it wasn’t open, he’d kick the fucker down if he had to. Her car was out front; she was home. What the fuck was going on?

But the door was open, and he let himself inside, having to duck again to get in under the doorjamb. He was about to call out for her when the sound of puking caused him to pause.

The place was small and dated but clean and cozy. He saw the door to the bathroom leading off the hallway and made his way toward it.

“Krista?” he asked softly, seeing her kneeling on the floor, hunched over the toilet, one hand bunching her hair at the nape of her neck while the other one gripped the bowl tight enough to make her knuckles white.

He was about to say something when she pitched forward and heaved again. Before he knew it, he was inside the bathroom and pushing her hand away from her hair, holding it off her face for her as both her hands clutched the bowl. He located a black hair elastic on the sink counter and quickly tied her hair up, then his hand fell to her back, where he did the only thing he could think of. He began to gently rub. His big fingers traced her delicate spine, feeling every ridge and bump, every muscle tighten as she heaved up more into the bowl.

She groaned and slumped forward, resting her forehead on the back of her hand. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to offer you a ride to the ultrasound. Figured we could go and grab lunch after and discuss this baby-raising thing a little more. Set some parenting parameters.”

She twisted a bit and gave him the side-eye, only lifting her head slightly from her hand. “Parameters?”

He lifted one shoulder. “Or whatever.”

Suddenly, a little tabby wandered into the bathroom, brushing affectionately against his leg before stepping into the litter box beside the toilet. It scratched a few times in the sand, then began to do its business.

“You have a cat?” he asked, weirded out by the intense eye contact the cat was making with him as it squatted.

“Penelope.”

Lifting his hand from her back for a moment, he ran his fingers through his short, bristly hair. “Jesus, woman, don’t you know pregnant women aren’t supposed to change cat litter?”

She lifted her head up and, using her hands on the bowl, pushed herself up onto her knees. “How do you know that?”

“I’ve been reading.”

“Reading what?”

“Parenting books.”

“Who the fuck are you?” she murmured. He helped her with a hand under her elbow. He gave her some space by retreating to the narrow and dimly lit hallway.

She joined him a few moments later and followed him out to her kitchen. He went to her fridge and opened it. All it contained was half a carton of milk, a bowl of soup in a Tupperware container and three apples. Her freezer didn’t prove to be much better, besides a few bags of frozen french fries.

“That’s it,” he said, slamming her freezer. “You’re coming to live with me. Before I was willing to let you do what you wanted, but that was until I saw that you have no food and are cleaning a cat litter box. You need food.”

She rolled her eyes. “I have food. I’m not coming to live with you.”

He scoffed. “Not enough.” His eyes glanced at the clock on her oven. “Grab your purse. Otherwise we’ll be late.”

Glaring at him, she did as she was told, slinking into her jacket as she pushed past him and out into the cold November day.

“Don’t you lock your door?” he asked, watching her head to her car.

She rolled her eyes again and pushed past him, digging her keys out of her purse and locking it. “My landlords are always home. Besides, the door is shoddy. A raccoon could bust in if the wind was blowing from the right direction.”

He grunted. “No excuse. Lock it from now on. And we definitely lock the doors at my house. Have an alarm too.”

“I’m not living with you,” she murmured, not letting him get ahead of her and making her way toward her car.

“You’re driving with me into town, though. We’ll discuss the living together thing more later.”

“No,” she said, opening up her car door. “I plan to go grab some groceries after the ultrasound. I’ve worked nights the last three days and haven’t had time to go shopping.”

She didn’t give him a chance to respond before she started her car. Or at least attempted to start her car. But instead it just sat there and sputtered.

Not bothering to even ask, he made his way to his truck and drove it closer to her car, positioning them bumper to bumper. He popped the hood of his truck and motioned for her to do the same. With a growl he could practically hear through the car, she complied. He hooked up their batteries and instructed her to start ’er up. Seconds later, the sputter turned into a rumble, and exhaust was floating out from the back like a chimney.

He unhooked the jumper cables and shut both hoods. But before she could pull away and leave him there, he walked over to her side of the car, opened the door, leaned in, grabbed the key and shut it off.

“What the hell?” she asked, trying to push him out. Her car wasn’t exactly big, and he was taking up a lot of her personal space. But that smell of hers was making it hard for him to concentrate.

Pulling her key from the ignition, he stood. “You’re driving into town with me. Then we’ll grab lunch and groceries. I want to make sure you’re eating right. Taking care of our baby.”

If looks could kill, he’d be six feet under.

He snickered to himself but hid his face by glancing off toward the sky and the dark clouds. Shit, more rain. Like they needed more.

He liked her stubbornness. Liked her fight and temper. It was all the cuter coming from such a tiny package.

She growled and huffed as she abandoned her car and complied, falling into step with him as he headed to his truck. Like the gentleman his mother had raised, he held open her door for her and watched her tight little ass flex as she climbed up into the cab.

“That’s better,” he said, slamming her door and chuckling at the glare she was giving him as he rounded the front of the truck to the driver’s side. “Much better.”

“I have to pee,” Krista said with a wince as she and Brock sat there in the waiting room of the ultrasound clinic.

“Isn’t that a good thing?” he asked. “Means your bladder’s full.”

“Yes. Doesn’t mean it’s not uncomfortable as hell.” She gave him a curious side-eye. “How’d you know?”

One bulky, leather-clad shoulder lifted half an inch. “I’ve been reading.”

“Krista Matthews?” said a woman in blue scrubs and square frameless glasses, interrupting Krista’s thoughts before she could think of a witty comeback for the man sitting next to her. Instead she just breathed a sigh of relief and pushed herself up out of the chair.

“Oh, thank God,” she murmured, following the woman down the hallway to one of the rooms, her big burly shadow hot on her heels, smelling all sexy and shit.

“Just in here,” the ultrasound tech said, holding open the door.

Krista and Brock followed her inside, where a bed sat under an overhead light, and beside it was a monitor, keyboard and chair. A television was perched up in the corner of the room with a blinking screen.

“On the bed, please,” the technician instructed.

Brock held out his hand, and Krista gave him a dubious look.

What the heck was his hand for?

“Do you need a hand up onto the bed?” he asked.

Damn, he was being so nice it was hard to stay mad at him, despite how pushy he was behaving. Making her ride with him, insisting they grab lunch. What was he trying to do? Date her?

Not that she needed the assistance, she took his hand anyway and allowed him to help her hop up onto the bed.

She did as she was directed, and before too long, the tech was swirling the wand around in the goop on Krista’s flat abdomen.

“We’re just going to check on baby’s size today,” the tech said. “Make sure of your due date and that there is only one in there.”

Krista’s eyes went wide, and her head snapped from the technician’s face to Brock’s. “Do twins run in your family?” she asked, her tone edged with panic.

He simply shook his head.

She let out a long, loud sigh of relief. “Mine either.”

Quietly, they both watched as the technician continued to move the wand around her stomach. And then suddenly, a worry so startling, so frightening took over.

What if the woman couldn’t find a heartbeat? What if there was no baby?

A lump harder than stone formed in Krista’s throat. It may not have been planned or with someone she loved or was committed to, but that baby had already become such a fixture in her life. In her mind. It couldn’t not be there.

“I-is there … ” she started, not sure she wanted to finish her question for fear of the answer.

Thump, thump, thump, thump …

Before she knew what was happening, Brock’s hand was on hers, squeezing until she wasn’t sure there was any blood left in her fingers.

“And that’s baby’s heartbeat. Strong and steady,” the technician said. She pointed to the screen perched up in the corner of the room. “And there’s baby.”

Brock and Krista glanced up at the television, where lo and behold, a little black and white bean-shaped thing sat twitching on the screen. You could already see the formation of eyes, head, arms and legs.

“Holy shit,” Krista whispered, her eyes getting wet.

Brock squeezed her hand even tighter. “Yeah.”