The Maverick's Baby-In-Waiting. Melissa Senate
you picked out a name for the baby?”
Twenty-six-year-old Mikayla Brown looked from the display of baby photos on the wall of the Rust Creek Falls Clinic, where she was waiting for her ob-gyn appointment, to her friend Amy Wainwright. Names? Oh, yeah, she had names. Mikayla’s life might be entirely up in the air at the moment, but names were easy. Late at night, when she lay in bed, unable at this point—seven months along—to get all that comfortable, she’d picture herself sitting in the rocking chair on the farmhouse porch with a baby in her arms and she’d try out all her name ideas on the little one.
Problem was, she had too many possibilities. “I have six if it’s a girl,” she told Amy. “Seven if it’s a boy. And ten or so more I’m thinking of for middle names. Can I give my child four names?”
Amy laughed, putting the Parenting Now magazine she’d been flipping through back on the table. “Sure, why not? You’re the mama.”
Mikayla shivered just slightly. The mama. Her. Mikayla Brown. She barely had her own life together these days, and soon she’d be solely responsible for another life—a tiny, helpless little one with no one to depend on but her. Mikayla had always been a dependable, do-the-right-thing kind of person, and she’d fallen in love with a man she’d thought was cut the same way. Then, boom—her life exploded like a rogue firecracker. One moment, she’d been working happily at a local day care in Cheyenne, Wyoming, and in love with her boyfriend, a good-looking, ambitious lawyer, with her entire future ahead of her. The next moment, she was a single mother-to-be. No engagement. No marriage. No loving father-to-be beside her, just as excited about her prenatal checkup as she was.
But who was here today? A good friend. Mikayla was so thankful for Amy Wainwright she could reach over and hug her, and she would if her belly weren’t in the way. Her belly was always in the way these days.
Hey, you in there, she directed to her stomach. Are you a Hazel? A George? Mikayla loved the idea of honoring her late parents, who’d always been so loving and kind. Or her maternal grandparents, also long gone—Leigh and Clinton, who’d sent birthday and Christmas cards without fail but had moved to Florida when Mikayla was young. Then there was her dear aunt Elizabeth, her mother’s sister, who went by Lizzie, and her hilarious uncle Tyler, and their one-of-a-kind son, Brent, Mikayla’s cousin. Brent was the one who’d suggested Mikayla move up to Montana—to Rust Creek Falls—for a fresh start. Which was how Brent’s name had ended up on the possibilities list. She owed him big.
Moving to this tiny town in the Montana wilderness had sounded crazy at first. Population five hundred something? More than a half hour’s drive from the nearest hospital—when she was now seven months pregnant? No family or friends?
You’ll make friends, Brent had assured her. Sunshine Farm will feel like home.
Brent had been right. Mikayla had been a little worried that she’d get the side-eye or pity glances from the town’s residents. Pregnant and alone. But from the moment she’d arrived at Sunshine Farm three weeks ago and met the owner, Brent’s friend Luke Stockton, she’d been invited to Luke and his fiancée’s joint bachelor-bachelorette party held that very day. Since the recent wedding, she’d become good friends with Luke’s wife, Eva, and Amy, who’d also lived at Sunshine Farm at the time.
Now Amy was engaged, with a gorgeous, sparkling diamond ring on her finger. Mikayla sighed inwardly while ogling the rock. She’d over-fantasized like a bridezilla in training about a ring on her own finger and a fairy-tale wedding. Hell, even a city hall wedding would have been fine. But all that was before she’d caught her baby’s father having sex with his paralegal in his law-firm office.
The more Mikayla admired Amy’s ring and thought about how her friend had reconnected with her first love, Derek Dalton, the man she’d married and divorced when they’d both been teenagers (long story!), the more Mikayla thought anything was possible. Even for seven-months-pregnant single women far from home and trying to figure out where to go from here.
A door opened, and a woman with a baby bump exited, followed by a man carrying a pamphlet. Your Second Trimester. Both their gold wedding rings shone in the room. Or maybe Mikayla’s gaze just beelined to rings on fingers these days.
A nurse appeared at the door and smiled at Mikayla. “Mikayla Brown? Dr. Strickland is ready to see you now.”
Well, where she was going right now was Exam Room 1. That was all she needed to know at the moment. One step at a time, deep breaths, and she’d be fine.
Mikayla and Amy stood and followed the nurse into the examination room. Mikayla sat on the paper-covered table and Amy on the chair in the corner. The nurse took Mikayla’s vitals, handed her a paper gown to change into, then let them know Dr. Strickland would be in shortly.
“You’re the absolute best, Amy,” Mikayla said, her voice a little clogged with emotion, when the door closed behind the nurse. She quickly shimmied out of her maternity sundress and into the gown, Amy tying the back for her. “Thank you for coming with me today.” It meant a lot not to come alone. Her ex had accompanied her to her first appointment back in Cheyenne when she discovered she was pregnant, but he had made it clear he didn’t want a baby, wasn’t ready for a baby and wasn’t sure of anything. He’d added that he was a man of deep principles, a “crusading” attorney (read: litigator for a major corporation), and wouldn’t leave Mikayla, “of course.” Apparently, he’d been cheating even before she told him she was pregnant. I have strong feelings for you, Mik, but I am who I am, and I’m not ready for any of this. Sorry.
Who needed a lying, cheating, no-good rat sitting in the corner chair?
“That is what friends are for, my dear,” Amy said, flicking her long auburn hair behind her shoulder. “And honestly? I might have ulterior motives of finding out what goes on at these appointments. One day I hope to be sitting exactly where you are. Okay, maybe no woman loves putting her bare feet into those metal stirrups...”
Mikayla laughed. Amy would make an amazing mother.
And so would she. Mikayla had had to give herself a few too many pep talks over the past several months, that she could do this, that she would do this—and well.
There was a gentle knock on the door and a tall, attractive man wearing a white lab coat entered the room with her chart and a warm smile. He introduced himself as Dr. Drew Strickland, an ob-gyn on temporary assignment here from Thunder Canyon, but he let Mikayla know he would absolutely be here through her delivery.
Fifteen minutes later, assured all was progressing as it should with the pregnancy, Mikayla sat up, appreciating the hand squeeze from Amy.
A minute after that, her resolve was blown to bits. The doctor’s basic questions were difficult to answer, which made her feel like a moron. He asked if she was staying in Rust Creek Falls long-term, because he could recommend a terrific pediatrician here and a few out in Kalispell if she didn’t mind the drive. But Mikayla wasn’t too sure of anything.
She felt as though her empty ring finger was glowing neon in the room. No partner. No father for her baby. No family for the little one. Just her. A woman who had no idea what the future held.
“Will the baby’s father be present for the labor and delivery?” Dr. Strickland asked.
Were those tears stinging the backs of her eyes? Hadn’t she cried enough over that louse? When she first held on to hope that Scott would come around for her and the baby, she’d pictured him in the delivery room—or tried to, anyway. Not that she’d actually been able to imagine Scott Wilton there for the muck or the glory. Another reality check—which helped her rally. She and her baby would be just fine. She blinked those dopey tears away and lifted her chin.
“Nope. Just me.”
“And me,” Amy said with a hand on her shoulder. “Here if you need me. I’ll even coach you through Lamaze, not that I’d know what I’m doing.”
Mikayla smiled. “Thank God for girlfriends. Thank you, Amy. Honestly,