“Charity?”
“Forgot that part, didn’t I? Yes, hi. It’s me. Can you give me a ride?” she asked. “I know that sounds really weird, and you have way more important things to do but—”
“Where are you?”
“Scoops,” she answered.
“At one in the morning?” he asked.
“Yep. I like living on the edge like that.” She covered her face with her hand. “Sorry if I woke you.”
“On patrol. Be there in five.” He hung up.
She was sitting on the curb when he got there. Her stomach was killing her now. And her lower back hurt, too. But she wasn’t going to cry. Because crying would mean something was wrong, and there was nothing wrong.
“You okay?” he asked as he climbed out of his patrol car.
“Honestly? I’m not sure.” She tried to smile up at him. “Maybe I had a little too much cherries jubilee—my favorite.”
He squatted in front of her, waiting.
“I’m pregnant, Braden,” she whispered, her voice wavering. “And something’s not right.”
His face twisted, raw with pain and grief. It was so quick, she might have imagined it—probably had. “I got you.” He scooped her up and deposited her in the patrol car before she knew what was happening. He turned on the lights, had the siren blaring, and sailed down the empty streets of Pecan Valley until they reached the hospital.
She didn’t want to be here. “I don’t think—”
He was already out, getting a nurse and a wheelchair and helping her from his car to the chair. “Want me to call someone?”
“No.” She grabbed his hand. “No. It’s sort of a secret. And everyone who knows has more than enough to worry about. Besides, this is probably nothing. Right?” She looked up to find him staring at their linked hands.
“We’ve got it from here, Sheriff Martinez.” The nurse smiled.
He nodded, his gaze searching Charity’s.
Why her hand tightened on his was a mystery. She was a strong, independent woman—a soon-to-be business owner. A mom-to-be. She wasn’t a clinger. At all. Except she was—clinging and pathetic and on the verge of tears.
No, no, no. Pull it together, Charity Ann. She let his hand go and forced a smile. “Thanks for the ride.”
He nodded again, his gaze never leaving her face.
The nurse wheeled her inside, her shoes squeaking on the linoleum floors as they cruised down the hall. Something about the bright overhead lights had Charity hugging herself and holding her breath. She hated this place. Everything about it. Hated being questioned and probed and having vials of blood taken and the gowns with the weird pockets and ties in the back. But she went into the bathroom and put it on, leaving a urine sample as requested before heading back to her bed. Her feet were freezing.
Braden Martinez sat at the bedside, spinning his hat in his hands, looking out of place and uncomfortable. But he was here. She was so damn happy he was here.
When he saw her, he stood and helped her into her bed.
“You stayed?” Obviously, Charity.
?
?I figured you’d need a ride after?” He kept spinning the hat. “Maybe.”
“Oh, right.” She nodded, running her hands along the sheet. “Guess it’s obvious I’m a little shaken?”
“Understandable.” He cleared his throat. “Scare like this… It’s not easy.”
She glanced his way, the gruffness in his voice surprising. Sort of like the way he’d looked at her when she’d told him she was pregnant. “No, it’s not. Now there are tests and waiting…” Her voice wavered, her eyes burning. Don’t cry. She sniffed.