The Rancher's Second Chance (Martin's Crossing Book 3) by Brenda Minton Page B

don’t, but she needs someone.”
    “I didn’t say I wouldn’t check on her, just, you know, the pregnancy stuff. It’s a little above my pay grade.”
    Oregon laughed. “Gotcha. No pregnancy talk. But you will check on her.”
    “I will check on her.”
    He slid the phone back in his pocket and headed for the truck’s cab. Jake joined him, sending him a sly look. “She okay?”
    “Far as I know. I’m not the pregnancy expert.”
    Jake started the truck and pulled out slowly. The cattle weighed down the trailer and made it a little wonky as the animals shifted. “You know, when you took that vow at sixteen, I didn’t think you would stick with it.”
    Another subject he didn’t want to talk about—that vow he’d taken during a youth service at church. “Well, I have. It’s not a big deal.”
    “It’s pretty commendable.”
    “This is why I keep things to myself,” Brody grumbled. “Because my brothers have turned into women.”
    Jake laughed, the way Brody had known he would. That was a perfect example of how a woman changed a man. Maybe he should be glad he’d dodged that bullet.
    Jake pulled off the dirt trail and onto the driveway. “So I’ll drop you at Oregon’s?”
    “That would be good.”
    “It’s been an enlightening day,” Jake said as he pulled down the drive to the stone cottage. “Think about moving into Lawton and Elizabeth’s place. It’s empty and has a lot fewer stairs.”
    “I’ll keep that in mind, but I kinda like my trailer.”
    “Lawton’s is just as far off the beaten track. Duke and I wouldn’t be in your business there anymore than at the trailer.”
    Brody grinned. “I guess that’s true. And it has that handy walk-in shower for a guy with bad knees. See you later.”
    He jumped out of the truck and headed for the front door of Oregon’s place, his dog racing ahead of him. Oregon’s car was gone. When he opened the door he saw Grace curled up in the big, overstuffed chair, an afghan covering her still form.
    “Bad morning?” he asked as he sat on the arm of the chair.
    “She didn’t have to call you. I’m fine.”
    “Of course you are. You’re pale.” He put his hand on her forehead. “And clammy. Symptoms that definitely point to a person who is fine.”
    “I can’t argue with you right now.”
    “Another sign of illness—a woman who can’t argue.”
    He slid down next to her in the giant chair and pulled her onto his lap. Sally, not taking the hint, jumped up in the middle of them, licking Grace’s face, then curling in a ball on her lap.
    “You smell like cattle.” She leaned into his neck. “I like it.”
    “That’s really strange, you know.” He tucked her head under his chin and inhaled. “You smell like spring.”
    He should stop, because this wouldn’t end well. He knew the signs just as well as he knew signs of illness.
    “Today you make a doctor’s appointment. If you don’t do it, I’ll do it for you.”
    “I’ll call.”
    “I’ll go with you,” he whispered into her hair, into the scent of springtime and jasmine. “You don’t have to do this alone.”
    It was a mistake. A big mistake.
    But before he could dwell on it, she was off his lap and running down the hall.
    * * *
    Brody’s words were so sweet, so sincere. Grace wanted to stay in his arms, in the comfort of his embrace. But that was wrong for many reasons. Unfortunately, or maybe fortunately, a wave of nausea rolled through her stomach. Brody’s hand held her arm and she twisted, trying to move away. He let go and she hurried down the hall to the bathroom.
    She didn’t get sick. The nausea passed but her skin was cold and clammy, her eyes unfocused. Water ran in the sink and Brody moved around the room. He placed a cool, damp cloth in her hand and she settled it on her eyes for a minute, taking deep breaths and letting her stomach settle.
    “Come on, I’ll help you up.”
    She didn’t look at him, but he took her hand, hauling her gently to her feet.