Special Ops Cowboy. Addison Fox
That same sense of triumph filled his words when he spoke. “Why don’t we give them a few minutes.”
“But you’re still—”
Tate cut off Belle with a squeeze of her hand over the ice pack. “I’m fine. Or I will be, once Ace gets his damn hands off me.”
Reese knew it wasn’t polite to laugh, but the harried exit of four adults, all of whom looked as if they’d rather stay and watch, fell firmly into sitcom territory. She wouldn’t be half surprised if the four of them had considered taking up posts on the other side of the kitchen door to listen with empty glasses through the walls. In the end, though, it was Belle’s firmly worded instructions to head outside that had everyone moving, the kitchen door slamming in their wake.
And then she was alone with Hoyt.
He had tossed the bandage Arden had held against his head, his wound obviously tender but no longer bleeding, in a garbage can by the edge of the counter before turning to look at her. “Sorry about that.”
“About what?”
“The middle of our kitchen doesn’t usually look like a MASH unit.”
“Really?” Reese fought the butterflies that had suddenly taken flight in her stomach by picking up a box of bandages on the table and refitting them in the first aid kit. “With a working ranch full of cowboys, I figured this was par for the course.”
“Maybe.” He shrugged before a small grimace marred his firm, full lips. “But usually that’s due to an accident and not a fight between brothers.”
Although the tableau she’d walked in on—complete with Ace holding each man at bay—had suggested as much, it was curious that Hoyt would readily admit it. “What happened?”
“Nothing.”
“That was some heavy duty first aid for nothing.”
His grimace grew wider and for a moment, Reese was half convinced Hoyt wasn’t going to say anything. “He suggested I’ve been in a mood,” Hoyt said.
“At the risk of sounding indelicate, aren’t you always in a mood?”
The surly look on his face broke wide open with a smile so dazzling Reese had to take a moment and simply stare. Good Lord, why hadn’t she remembered just how attractive he was? Her fevered dreams each night had convinced her of just how handsome and good-looking he was, but nothing in those heated imaginings came close to the real thing. She’d thought more than once about calling him, but each time chalked it up to the whole one-night thing and left the situation alone. But now? With that broad smile? Oh, the man was lethal.
And she couldn’t help wondering why she’d stayed away so long.
When he finally stopped laughing, his face settled into easier lines than when she’d first walked in. “Right you are. A point my brother was attempting to point out. I think.”
“Why the fight?”
“Because he brought you up.”
“Me? What’s that supposed to mean? And why is it worthy of a brawl?”
“He had the nerve to suggest I’ve been a raging bastard for the past few months over you.”
“Oh.” She hesitated before pressing on. “Was he right?”
Hoyt seemed to consider the question before that gorgeous green gaze settled directly on hers. “Yeah. I think he is.”
“What would I have to do with anything?”
“Reese.” His voice stopped her, any hints of teasing gone. “You know what happened between us.”
Knew?
Goodness, she’d lived with that knowledge each and every day since. She knew the moments they’d spent together—had watched them on the backs of her eyelids like a vivid film—and hadn’t spent a single day since not thinking about him. While it hadn’t been the only cause of her delayed visit, those vivid reimaginings were one of the reasons she’d stayed away. What had been intended as a casual evening, assuaging an adult need in a very adult fashion, had grown out of proportion in her mind.
Hoyt Reynolds wasn’t her knight-errant come to save her from all the problems in her life. In fact, truth be told, he’d added a complication to her life that—while welcome—was absolutely an obstacle to getting her world back to normal.
Normal had vanished. It had begun back in the spring with her father’s deeds and had only gotten more and more pronounced with her own choices. She was pregnant. And this time next year she’d have a small child utterly dependent on her. Life had changed and it wasn’t ever going to return to where it had been.
“While I’m sorry you’re injured and that I might have had any cause in that, I do need to talk to you.”
“Sure.” Hoyt nodded, pulling out a chair. “Sit down. What is it? Something with your father?”
His concern touched her, as did his immediate willingness to speak to the elephant in the room that most everyone else went out of their way to ignore.
“No, not my father. Although the PTA isn’t crazy that the child of a killer is teaching their children.”
The words popped out before she could stop them, her discussion with Jake still bearing more residual anger than she’d realized.
Hoyt laid a hand over hers, folded on top of the kitchen table. “Reese. They don’t matter. You can’t believe they do. You’re a great teacher. Surely they understand that.”
That overwhelming support struck her hard and deep, like a punch to the chest. Only instead of pain, there was a strange warmth, filling her up even as she struggled to catch her breath at the kindness and ready support. “You going to go over and swing at them, too?”
“Will it work?”
“I doubt it. Although I’d pay big money to see Amanda Carneros take a punch to the nose.”
“She still kicking around?”
“She’s a fixture on the PTA. Eight kids have a way of doing that to a person.”
Hoyt gave a mock shudder. “My condolences.”
“Much as I appreciate the support and the diverting imagery, there’s actually another reason I’m here.”
“Sure.” A soft smile had settled over his features, which nothing—even a split lower lip—could mar. “What is it?”
The stomach jitters ramped up as she accepted the fact that she bore life-altering news. News, she knew, that wouldn’t change or grow any easier to hear by waiting another moment longer.
“I’m pregnant.”
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