Emergency Engagement (Love Emergency 1)

He had a vague idea of where Sinclair lived, and steered the truck along the lonely back road in the direction of the Whitehall Plantation. The antebellum stone and plank barn rose behind a screen of willow trees that managed to look like giant, graceful artifacts with their bare winter branches. He pulled into the packed dirt driveway and bounced along under the leafless canopy until the big, rolling wooden doors came into view. Then he spotted Sinclair in the yard, adding seed to a bird feeder. She dropped the scoop into the bag on the ground and dusted her hands off on her jeans as he rolled to a stop. By the time he stepped out, she’d made it to the side of the truck.

“Hi—” That’s as far as he got before her palm connected with his cheek and the air around them echoed with the impact. It could have been worse, he acknowledged as the sting subsided. He’d seen a Smith girl throw a punch.

She shook out her hand. “Merry Christmas, Montgomery. You look like shit.”

“Thanks. Merry Christmas to you, too. Is Savannah available?”

Her body language told him the slap wasn’t all the punishment he should expect. She folded her arms and rocked back on the flat heels of her tall black boots. “As a matter of fact, she’s not.”

“My parents told me she’s here.”

“I didn’t say she’s not here. I said she wasn’t available.”

He pressed his fingers to his brow bone i

n an attempt to ease the tension headache blooming behind his eye socket. “I realize I’m on your shit list, and hers, and pretty much everybody’s at this point, but there’s more to resolve here than the fact that I acted like an asshole last night. I need to talk to her.”

“I’ll let her know you stopped by and give her the message.”

“Goddammit, Sinclair—”

She marched up to go head-to-head with him. “Look, she’s asleep, finally, and I’m not going to wake her. She’s exhausted. If you want to talk to her, you’re going to have to wait until she’s ready to have a conversation. I don’t think that’s too much to ask, do you?”

Fuck. He exhaled slowly and stared hard at the horizon. “No. I don’t think that’s too much to ask.”

“Go home, Beau.” Sinclair turned and walked toward her door. “Savannah will be in touch when she’s ready.”

…

Savannah trudged up the stairs to her apartment for the first time since she and Beau had left to spend Christmas at home, like the happy couple they’d been pretending to be. Now, seven days later, the pretense was over, leaving behind a very real consequence. Officially real, as of today, though she’d never had much doubt.

Beau’s door swung open before she reached the landing, and he stepped out. She’d tried her best over the last few days to prepare for seeing him again. To steel herself against the feelings.

“You’re here.” His dark, shadowed eyes met hers, and in their depths she saw some of the same things she saw in her own eyes these days—stress, fatigue, worry.

She shrugged. “You got my text yesterday. I told you I’d be home this evening if you wanted to talk.”

“And I told you I wanted to talk. Anytime, anywhere. It’s been days, Savannah. If you wanted to punish me with silence, you accomplished the goal.”

She could see the truth of that in his eyes, too, and guilt hacked away at her conscience. “I wasn’t trying to punish you.” Not much, anyway. “I wanted to have concrete information before I spoke to you again. I felt an obligation to improve over the haphazard way information came out Christmas Eve.” She reached into her purse and retrieved the lab report she’d received from her doctor earlier in the day. “Here.”

He took the paper, but didn’t take his eyes off her. “What is it?”

“Blood test results. It’s more foolproof than the drugstore test I took Christmas Eve, but entirely consistent. I’m pregnant.” With that, she turned and unlocked her door. “Would you like to come in?”

He put the report in his pocket and followed her inside. “I never doubted you,” he said quietly. “How are you? Does everything look okay at this point?”

“Everything looks fine. I’m about three weeks along. I asked my doctor how I got pregnant while on the pill, and I guess with the type of pill I use, I needed to be very diligent about taking them at the same time of day—”

“You’re moving,” he interrupted, glancing around her packed and considerably cleared out apartment.

“Yes. Sinclair and I have been packing and moving stuff for the last few days.”

“I didn’t realize. I mean, I knew you’d been here Sunday, because you moved your things out of my apartment, but I’ve been working a 12/4.”

“I know. I left your key under your mat. Did you get it?”

“Yes. Don’t go.”