Tangled (Steele Ranch 3)

“But you have three. I have no idea how you make that work.” She must have been reading my mind. She paused, then turned and looked at me. “I’ve only shared a bed with a man—with two men—for less than two months. I’m no expert.”

That’s right, she’d said she’d been a virgin before she met Jamison and Boone. She’d definitely made up for lost time with those two.

“It is complicated,” I countered, trying to give the most neutral answer possible. I wasn’t going to tell her about what was going on—or not going on—with Sutton. She might be my sister and this was what sisters did, but I had no idea. I’d never had any family before. I liked Penny. I liked her quite a bit and I was happy that she was in my life now, but it seemed like I was betraying my relationship with my men to air our problems.

Surely, Penny’s relationship wasn’t all rainbows and unicorns. Was it? “So what’s your biggest beef with your men?” I asked, heading up the walkway to my building. It wasn’t the fanciest of places. Three stories, brick, central staircase. Each apartment had a balcony and a few residents had potted plants hanging. But this was a working-class neighborhood and not many had extra cash for something frivolous that was going to die with the first frost.

“I miss pajamas.”

I stopped walking and stared at her. She was serious. I started to laugh. “You miss pajamas? That’s your beef with your men?”

She shrugged. “I’m still not used to being naked all night. Pajamas are cozy. Men are…well, a different kind of cozy. And because of the no pajama thing, I’m now pregnant and throw up every morning. I hate throwing up.”

I started laughing all over again. After a moment or two, she joined me. “I heard there’s something called pregnancy brain. I think I have it. I sound like an idiot.” She tucked her blonde hair behind her ear. “I hate Kady. She hasn’t thrown up once and she looks like she was hit by a sparkle dust bomb. I mean, she glows.”

Kady did look way too happy and how did she always look so put together? Today, I wore my usual jeans, but had put on a sleeveless top in deference to the heat, but wore no makeup and my hair was pulled back in a low ponytail. Penny didn’t look like death warmed over as she inferred. She was petite and blonde and beautiful, although she was definitely less high-maintenance than Kady.

“See? I do sound like an idiot.”

“No. You sound like you’re in love,” I countered.

She smiled, brilliantly, and placed her hand on her flat stomach. “I am.”

“Come on, let’s get my mail, collect a few things and then I’ll take you to my favorite place for lunch. Think you can keep it down?”

She nodded. “Absolutely. I only throw up before eight.”

I didn’t laugh at her preciseness because she was a scientist even when she wasn’t being one. Obviously, she’d collected her data of throwing up and had come to the conclusion that she would only become ill before a certain time and that would not change. I wasn’t up on babies or little kids, but I knew they weren’t consistent. She was in for it if she thought she could control what happened during her pregnancy and after.

We went up to the second floor and down the hall to my apartment. Mine faced the back, to the rear lot and to the back side of the grocery store beyond. The view from my balcony wasn’t the beach.

I put my key in the lock, turned it, but I didn’t hear the snick of it flipping. I frowned, gripped the knob and turned. It was unlocked. Had I forgotten to lock it after Archer had brought me over to grab some clothes a few days ago?

I pushed open the door, but didn’t go inside.

My apartment looked…lived in, and not by me. Clothing was strewn on the floor and the stench of stale cigarette smoke hit me. Yes, this was my apartment.

Penny glanced at me, her nose crinkled. “Um…”

My heart rate doubled and I didn’t know what to think. Violated. Scared. Confused. The toilet flushed and Penny and I stared at each other. My head whipped around when a man came out of my bathroom—he hadn’t closed the door—buttoning his pants, a newspaper tucked under his arm.

“You!” he said. “Nurse Ratchet.”

“Holy fuck,” I whispered. “Rocky.”

“Cricket,” Penny said, her voice a mixture of fear and warning.

I put my hand out in the stop short motion, although I didn’t care about copping a feel of Penny’s boobs. I didn’t want her going inside. Not that she’d made a move to do so. “Go back to the car.” My keys were pressed against her ribs. “Now.”

“I can’t leave you here with him,” she speed-talked.

It was Rocky from the strip club.

“And you can’t stay,” I countered. “Take that baby of yours and go to the car. I’ll be fine.”

I wasn’t so sure of that, but I wasn’t taking any chances with Penny. Rocky was my problem and she and her baby weren’t getting in the middle of it.

She left me, although reluctantly, and ran down the hall to the stairs. Good. I sighed a little bit, glad she would be safe.