His Shotgun Proposal. Karen Whittenburg Toller
himself to believe her. He just couldn’t. “Then, I guess you’ll have to come up with another excuse to stay out of the water, won’t you, little chick?” He walked to the edge of the pier and stretched lazily, glancing at her over his shoulder. “Oh, and don’t bother pulling some juvenile stunt like stealing my clothes as you leave. I promise it would turn out to be far more embarrassing for you in the long run, if I have to walk back to the house in my birthday suit.” Feeling that he’d successfully called her bluff, he made a clean, leisurely dive into the cool, cleansing water.
Abbie was reaching for the buttons of her shirt even before Mac completely disappeared beneath the surface. She’d show him she wasn’t afraid of him or his stupid threats. She didn’t care if he saw her body, rounding with the shape of the pregnancy. It was his fault she was in this shape, anyway. Another man’s child. She should drown him for saying such a thing. For being such a jerk. How could she have been so stupid as to fantasize about him for the past five months, turning him into some kind of movie-idol hero in her mind, never imagining he’d reject her and the baby out of hand. It had never once occurred to her that he wouldn’t believe her, that he’d accuse her of the blackest of lies and an attempt to trap him into marriage, as well.
Her fingers fumbled with the buttons. Going skinny-dipping to prove her point was only stooping to his level. It would do nothing more than make an awkward situation worse. But she couldn’t just walk away, either. Retreat felt too much like surrender. She watched him, swimming in long, powerful strokes against the dark water, his muscular arms, legs, shoulders and buttocks visible in intermittent flashes of moonlit gold.
Okay, so if she wasn’t going to strip naked and follow him in and she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of her retreat, what other option did she have? Jumping in, fully clothed? Well, she was only wearing a white cotton shirt and a pair of maternity underpants, which would both be disgustingly revealing when dripping wet. If she’d had any idea she’d see anyone on this late night quest for a few moments of peace, she’d have put on something more suitable, although perhaps not as comfortable in this heat. On the other hand, if she’d known Mac was still out roaming the countryside like an alley cat, she’d never have ventured from her room in the first place, much less worried about what to wear.
Her gaze shifted to the clothes he’d flung carelessly across the dock railing. A paid of boots, socks, a belt, a pair of jeans, a denim…shirt. The first smile of the evening lifted her spirits. It wasn’t the comeuppance she’d like to deliver him, by a long shot. On a scale of annoyance, it would barely rate a one and a half or a two, but it looked like her only option and therefore, it would have to do. In a matter of minutes, she was wrapped in his shirt, while hers hung, dry and waiting for her return, on the railing. As she rolled up the sleeves and turned down the collar, the scent of him surrounded her in a tide of memories that would be best forgotten. But for just a second…one little flashback of a moment…she remembered him as he’d been—as she’d thought he was—and wished things might have turned out differently. Then, arcing her hands high over her head, she dove straight and true into the water.
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