His Pregnant Texas Sweetheart

Ryan pulled himself out of the past and back into the present, which wasn’t any less disconcerting, as he glanced over at Katie, a move that yet again threatened to knock the breath from his lungs.

She’d only become more beautiful with time.

He’d fallen in love with the self-conscious pretty girl he met as a kid when Katie and the girls’ very-much-in-love young parents moved next door to his seldom-happy home. But now she was a gorgeous, confident woman—comfortable in her own skin and feistier than ever.

He made himself engage in conversation, not wanting to seem rude. After all, he was the one who’d brought it up in the first place. “You must be excited,” he forced out over the lump in his throat.

As his question settled in the air, Katie’s smile changed into something different and a look of apprehension crossed her features before she could hide it from him. When she spoke, though, her voice was clear and firm. “I am. Very,” she said, then stopped suddenly, as if reconsidering her next comment.

“But—” Ryan offered, knowing better. He should have just let the conversation drop if he didn’t want to hear more about Katie’s baby. A little tingle of admonition lit through him.

That was just it. He did want to hear about it—about them.

No matter what he’d done or how far he’d moved from home, sitting there with his childhood best friend was like going back in time. The years of separation were no cure for what he’d felt. He supposed a piece of him would always belong to Katie Bloom.

She tossed a sideways glance at Ryan. “No but,” she said, pausing before she went on, as if determining how much it was wise to reveal. “It’s just that...well, circumstances are not ideal.” She waved a gentle hand over her abdomen. “I thought I’d have things all set and ready by the time I became a mom, and...I don’t. I mean, I did—” She stared out the passenger-side window as Ryan pulled his Jeep onto Main Street, unsure of what direction to head in “—but I don’t anymore.”

Katie looked ahead at the road, knitting her eyebrows. “Um, Ryan, where are we going?”

“To dinner,” he answered, surprised at her question. Old habits died hard; he’d just assumed it was okay to bring her along to a meal with him.

“No,” she said, and he glanced over at her quickly before returning his full attention to the road. It was late evening and most of the shops were closing, their owners heading home for the night, so Main Street was fairly deserted, except for a few people bustling down the sidewalk, carrying shopping bags and food containers.

Katie laughed at him. The sound filled Ryan with memories from their shared childhood—giggling together at the cinema, over-apologizing each time their hands inadvertently brushed inside the popcorn cup, him tickling her feet when he’d gotten tired of a long homework session, just to hear the infectious melody of her laughter.

“What’s so funny?” he asked, and Katie rolled her eyes.

“Where do you think you’re going to get dinner at this hour?” Her eyes sparkled as she teased him.

Ryan glanced at the clock on his dash. “It’s only eight.”

Kate’s expression told him he was being an idiot. “It’s Peach Leaf, Ryan. Surely you haven’t been gone so long you’ve forgotten the limited nightlife of a small town.”

Dammit, she was right. His stomach let out a groan of protest.

“It’s okay,” Katie said, chuckling, “you can eat at my place.” She lifted her chin to indicate the road. “Just keep going and turn left up here. June and I started sharing a little house after—” she hesitated “—after I left my old apartment. You remember June Leavy from high school.”

Ryan nodded.

Katie pointed up ahead. “It’s this street here. Left at the stop sign.”

Ryan switched on his signal and steered his truck as instructed down a narrow street lined with peach trees on the verge of shedding their leaves. The houses were familiar and soothing, and he could name just about every family who’d occupied each one before his departure—teachers, librarians, old friends from school. Some of the yards held evidence of new ownership; tricycles and shiny swing sets spoke of young families with children.

He’d found he’d really rather go back to the hotel and grab an unsatisfying snack from the vending machine than endure the generous kindness he knew to expect from Katie and her old friend, but it would be rude to turn down the invitation. He might’ve moved across the country all those years ago and rarely looked back, but, as Katie pointed out, Peach Leaf was a small town, immune to the rapid changes of the rest of the world, and Ryan hadn’t forgotten his Southern manners.

As he followed Katie’s directions and pulled into the gravel driveway of an aging but cozy-looking small blue cottage, he reminded himself that he’d agreed to spend an entire weekend with this woman—a woman he’d once loved so hard that leaving her had nearly ripped him apart—so what difference would an hour over dinner make?

The pain of loss was nothing new to Ryan, and he would just have to steady himself until the time with her passed. Then he’d do the same as he worked on the hospital plans with his father, and sat through the dreaded town meeting to inform the residents of his hometown of the timeline for razing and replacing their beloved museum.

He would endure, as he always had, and then it was back to his normal life in Seattle, the life he’d never adore but had come to tolerate for its predictable lack of complication.

A life that didn’t include the inevitable hazards of love, babies...or, especially, Katie Bloom.

* * *

“I still can’t believe Ryan Ford is sitting out on our deck,” June whispered like a little girl at a slumber party.

Katie just rolled her eyes. No matter the subject, June was always easily excited—it was one of the countless things she loved about her friend and housemate. The woman was a card-carrying, unapologetic romantic, and over the years she’d mused more than once about how sweet it would be if Katie’s childhood best friend, possibly divorced and pining over his long-lost sweetheart, swept back into town and earned Katie’s love again.

In your dreams, Katie thought.

Once, long ago, she might have indulged June’s silly fantasy, but she wasn’t a little girl anymore, and Ryan himself had taught her plenty about broken hearts. June could have her daydreams, but Katie preferred to stick with reality. She owed it to her soon-to-arrive little one to keep her head out of the clouds and to make decisions based on fact, rather than those tiny shivers of memory and desire that raced up her back every time she saw his face.

June reached out to grab the empty pitcher from Katie’s hands as they stepped into their shared little kitchen with its buttercup-colored walls and French-blue accents. Though Katie loved it in there, it was really June’s domain. Her friend had been employed at Peach Leaf Pizza since high school and was now the manager. While June enjoyed her work, deep down she hoped to open her own bakery someday. Katie often wished her friend could have her dream job sooner, rather than having to work so long to save up enough to buy a venue. Then they would both have careers they really loved...

Katie stopped what she was doing for a second as the awful recollection of her conversation with her boss pummeled into her with fresh intensity. She would have to tell June; in fact, there were a lot of unpleasant arrangements that would soon require attention. She wasn’t even certain she’d be able to continue living there in the shared home that had become her sanctuary after Bradley left.

So much for the stability she wanted desperately to give her unborn baby.

Katie pulled in a steadying breath and managed to pick her heart up from the floor before June’s cheery voice cut through. “I just cannot believe it. I always told you this day would come.”

“Well,” Katie said, her voice sounding thinner than she’d intended, “you’d better believe it because there he is. And it’s not what you think—” she aimed what she hoped was a cautionary look at June “—so don’t get any ideas in that wild imagination of yours.”

June ignored her and pulled a large container of lemonade out of the refrigerator. She refilled the pitcher while Katie pulled her friend’s fresh cobbler from the oven, the scent of warm vanilla and peaches, purchased from local farm stands and stored up for the winter months, filling the room—the perfect end to a lovely meal of rosemary-lemon chicken and potato salad. “And you expect me to believe you don’t feel anything for him anymore, after the history you two share? Time can’t erase everything, Katie.”

How right she was.

June studied her friend’s face and Katie shrugged, setting the warm dish of cobbler on a blue ceramic trivet, focusing her attention on the deepening twilight outside the kitchen window.

Katie’s heart gave a little kick at the mention of her and Ryan’s past. She’d come to anticipate the feeling by now. A few long-term relationships, the most recent failed but resulting in a welcome new life, and now the threat of unemployment, had done little to ease the ache that his leaving her caused back in high school. But she’d learned to ignore its presence, like a phantom pain after the loss of a limb. Nothing she couldn’t handle.

Katie pulled her gaze away from the window and pointed to a cabinet up high. June opened it effortlessly, her six-foot frame towering over Katie, who held out her hands to accept the china dessert plates she intended to use for the first time. “That’s just the thing, June bug—it’s history. In the past.” She glanced at the stack of plates as she set them on the counter next to the cobbler dish. “Just like Bradley.”

June squeezed Katie’s shoulder affectionately. “At least you’re finally going to use these babies.”

Katie grinned. The four-place china setting was supposed to be June’s housewarming present to Katie when she and Bradley bought the house they’d been admiring together, a gift June had worked extra hours to save for. When Katie told June she was returning the lot so June could have her money back after Bradley called off their plans and had the Realtor shred the house contract, June had insisted they keep and use it. The irony that its first guest would be Ryan Ford didn’t escape Katie.

“Can I just say one more thing, though, and then I’ll stop talking about him? I promise.”

Katie tossed a skeptical look at her housemate. “What do they say about making promises you can’t keep?”

June stuck out her tongue. “All right, fine. So maybe it won’t be the very last thing.”

“Uh-huh,” Katie said.

“It’s just that...well...he’s hot.” Mischief shone in June’s eyes as she glanced at Katie. “I noticed you left that part out when you texted to let me know you two were headed up the drive.”

Despite herself, Katie burst out laughing as she slid a third spoonful of cobbler onto one of the delicate black-and-white-patterned plates she’d picked out for her life with Bradley not so long ago. “I guess I just don’t think of him that way. He was my friend when we were kids. I mean, the guy used to throw water balloons at me and run up behind me to shove me into the pool when I least expected it.” She set the spoon aside and wiped her hands on a dishcloth. “Not exactly the stuff of fairy tales.”

June just blinked, clearly not convinced.

Katie shrugged her shoulders. “Okay, fine,” she said, arranging the plates on a tray with the refreshed pitcher of lemonade. “He does look good. I’ll admit that much.”

“What looks good?”

Katie started abruptly at the warm, low sound of Ryan’s voice coming from the kitchen archway, but caught herself in time to recover before she turned to face him. “Oh, we were just admiring June’s baking.” She pulled in a deep breath as she busied herself again with the tray. “It’s unparalleled in Texas.” She winked at June, who looked a little too pleased with herself. Catching the beginning of a grin on her friend’s lips, Katie shot June a warning look.

What? June mouthed silently, and Katie deployed the stern expression she saved for rare occasions when kids got too rambunctious at the museum.

“Yep, it’s true,” June said, holding Katie’s gaze, “this is one of my favorite recipes. I love how the peaches are so ripe and delicious. They’re just gorgeous.” She winked at Katie.

The nerve.

Evidently Katie’s laser-of-doom glare didn’t work on women over twenty-five.

Some of Ryan’s earlier discomfort at joining the two women for dinner seemed to have dissipated and, apparently oblivious to the ulterior meaning of the conversation going on about him, he rubbed his hands together and beamed. “Looks amazing, June,” he said, turning then to Katie. “Can I take that tray from you?”

Katie regained her composure and nodded. “Of course. Thanks.” She handed it over and let Ryan start out of the kitchen before she jabbed her elbow into June’s side as they followed him through the open sliding-glass door and out onto the lantern-lit patio. He placed the tray onto a turquoise-painted picnic table and sat down just as June’s cat, Harold, pounced onto the bench next to him, and Katie and June settled on the seat across.

“He likes you,” June offered with a smile. “He doesn’t feel that way about most people, especially those of the male variety.”

“What she means,” Katie said as she passed out each plate, “is that he’s kind of a jerk.”

June pretended to look offended, though she knew as well as anyone that her own cat—the cat she and Katie adored in equal measure—was the most irritable feline who ever lived. “He’s just...particular is all,” June said, taking a sip of lemonade.

Katie tucked a fork into her dessert and held it up to cool. “Well, he’s a terrible judge of character,” she argued. “The first night I moved in, he used my suitcase as a litter box, leaving me with nothing to wear to work the next day.”

June had a naughty look in her eyes. “He was just giving you a warm welcome,” she soothed, and Katie nearly choked on her own laughter.

Ryan chuckled, too, and the three of them ate in silence as a welcome October breeze swept over the deck, causing the flames to dance on the citronella candles scattered about. Katie was thankful June had remembered to light them to stave off the last of the summer mosquitoes, though she had to admit the candles, combined with a couple of solar-powered iron lanterns and a string of twinkling fairy lights, gave the deck a much more romantic appearance than Katie was comfortable with at the moment.

She caught Ryan watching as she savored her last bite. He gave her an open smile that spoke of campfires and sneaking out at night to the swimming pool when they were kids, of the delicious tingle that had arisen under Katie’s skin every time their limbs had brushed together.

How quickly life could change without notice, how easily the past could merge into the present...the future. Heat spread through her chest as the notion slipped into her mind, causing her to pull away from his gaze and stare down into her lap.

Ryan is the past, and only the past, she reminded herself in warning.

Letting him become anything else would only lead to sorrow again.

Katie set her shoulders back and lifted her chin. The look in his eyes as she caught them this time was both familiar and strange; it held a disconcerting mix of what they’d been and what she’d once wanted them to become. Part of her had enjoyed spending time with two of her favorite people as if not a day had passed since they were younger, but a wiser part was certain it wouldn’t last.

She didn’t regret inviting him to stay for dinner, and she’d been pleasantly surprised how easily his presence fit in with hers and June’s. And it was kind of Ryan to offer to drive her out to the camping ground in a few days, but she knew suddenly that she couldn’t ask him to stay the weekend, even though it would mean a canceled hayride and making plans for someone to drive her home. When he dropped her and the supplies off and headed back out of her life, she would feel relief.

Katie closed her eyes.

Another jolt of pain, too, but mostly relief.

Chapter Four

The next morning, Ryan stepped into the diner, half expecting all eyes to turn his way, and he was more than a little relieved when they didn’t. A few friendly faces greeted him with welcome-home smiles, and Barb, the owner, remembered the booth by the window that he and Katie used to share and led him in its direction. Thankfully, his father had agreed to meet later in the day, so the restaurant wasn’t teeming with regulars. Still, apprehension had settled in early that morning and didn’t seem to have any plan to leave.

Though Ryan would always love his father, it would be a lie to say he liked the man already seated on the other side of his and Katie’s bench.

He’d known about the cheating long before his mother found out. Ryan, only sixteen, had been the one to urge his father to tell his mother. The man’s refusal, and the resulting chasm it formed between father and son, was one of the more pressing reasons Ryan had left town so young. It had taken over a year for Ryan to be able to pick up the phone to call his mom, knowing there was a fifty-fifty chance the old man would be the one to answer.

Ryan felt many things toward him now—anger, betrayal, even disgust—but not the forgiveness his father’s eyes seemed to ask for as Ryan reluctantly reached out to shake his offered hand. He wouldn’t concentrate on how wrinkled it had become, or how the old man’s skin seemed a little looser on his frame since the last time they’d seen each other.

“Dad,” he said simply, firmly, determined not to let the sudden, unwelcome emotion creep into his words. His father didn’t deserve Ryan’s pity any more than he deserved to be forgiven. This was a business meeting, like the hundreds Ryan had led at his own architecture firm in Seattle, and he would treat it as such. Work was what got him through the last months of his failed marriage to Sarah, and their child’s bewildering death, and it was what he dived into to forget Katie. Surely he could make it through a short meeting with George Ford.

“Son,” George said, meeting Ryan’s eyes with unmistakable moisture in his own.

Ryan ignored their tug on his chest, looking away to study the menu. It didn’t take long to notice that it was unchanged, just like the cheery yellow walls and red-checkered tablecloths. Being there felt like stepping out of a time machine into his youth. He wished the same was true for his father; if the man looked as young and sturdy as he had years ago, it would have been a lot easier to maintain animosity. Instead, the pallor of his skin and the slight tremor of his hands made him seem almost ill, but there had been no mention of any such thing when they’d spoken on the phone. Perhaps George had a few more secrets up his sleeve.

“I’m so glad you decided to come home,” he said in a wavering voice.

Ryan stopped fiddling with the menu. He would order only drinks so as not to stretch out the meeting any longer than necessary, and then he’d be on his way to tie up some loose ends before the Pumpkin Festival. The thought gave him more pleasure than it should have and Ryan’s mood lifted unexpectedly. A weekend away before the serious building preparation began would be good for him; it would give him time to figure out how he planned to deal with the upcoming months of work with his father.

He gathered himself, annoyed by his father’s words after being there for less than five minutes. “I’ve said this already, Dad—” he corrected himself “—George. I didn’t come home. I’m here for one reason only, and after that, I’m heading back where I belong.”

At least part of his statement was true. Heading up a project of that size—a colossal, state-of-the-art cancer treatment center—was an undeniably excellent move for the company he’d built. The deal would ensure the continued prosperity of his young firm, and it would mean bigger and better future projects, all of which guaranteed he could give his employees the very best. He thought of them like family; as the owner, it was his duty to make decisions in their best interests—to care and provide for them so that they could give their own children their dreams.

Somehow it helped fill the void he felt each time he realized again that he might never have his own kids. It wasn’t a solution, but it took some of the sting away.

The other reason, though, the one he’d left out, was Katie.

But his father didn’t need to know that. The old man didn’t need to know anything about Ryan’s life that he didn’t already.

George cleared his throat and took a sip of the coffee he’d been nursing long before Ryan’s arrival. “Peach Leaf is where you belong, son. This is your home.”

I’m not your son anymore.

Ryan bit back the words and the surge of defensiveness they incited. “My home is in Seattle now, with my firm.” He let his eyes burn into his father’s as a waitress headed toward their table. “I’m here on business, as I said, and it would be a good idea to keep that in mind—” he looked up as the waitress approached “—for both of us.”

He ordered black coffee and orange juice and held his tongue when George’s full plate of bacon, eggs and biscuits with gravy arrived a short time later. They discussed building plans for half an hour while George ate. Ryan barely touched either of his beverages. By the time the waitress cleared their table, they’d managed to set personal matters aside and had made quite a bit of headway. Ryan grabbed the check when it arrived and held up a hand to preclude any argument.

He slipped a few bills onto the table and was halfway out of his seat when George wrapped fingers around his wrist. “Sit down, son,” George said, his tone firm and authoritative. “We’re not done here just yet.”

Ryan silently balked but remained calm as he wrenched his hand out of his father’s grip. “I beg to differ. I’m not staying to chat. I was clear when I agreed to come here that it wasn’t to make amends with you—it’s business only.”

George closed his eyes and nodded. “Yes, you’ve made yourself quite clear.” He held out his hands. “But this isn’t about me.”

Ryan’s eyes narrowed. “What are you talking about?”

George motioned to the booth’s bench. “Just...have a seat, will you?”

Ryan stood motionless for a moment before he acquiesced.

“There’s something we need to talk about.”

He glanced at his watch, then eyed his father across the table. “I’ve got to go soon, but if it’s important...”

George looked down into his coffee cup. “It’s about Annabelle.”

Ryan’s ears perked up at the sound of his mother’s name. They’d spoken on the phone every Thursday night since Ryan moved away, and had met annually, away from both of their homes, to vacation together, always at Ryan’s expense, per his insistence. Those getaways with Mom were his favorite part of the year. He hadn’t noticed any change in her at the most recent one, and he didn’t recall her mentioning anything out of the ordinary. They’d had a lovely time in Athens, Greece, only a few months prior, both commenting that it would be a wonderful place to return on a future trip.

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