The Pregnant Ms. Potter

“Sounds like you’ve already decided not to have an abortion.”

“I couldn’t. It wouldn’t be fair to the baby. He or she can’t help who their father is, or that their mother is an irresponsible lunatic.”

She looked so distraught that he wrapped a comforting arm about her shoulder and helped her back to the chair. Pete didn’t believe in kicking a body when it was already down, and Maggie looked about as low as a person could get at the moment. Besides, who was he to moralize? He’d certainly made his fair share of mistakes.

“Sit here. I’ll get you a glass of milk. That’ll probably go down a lot better than the orange juice. And you should eat some dry toast. I’ll fix it.”

“You can’t use the toaster.”

“I’m an Eagle Scout. I’ll improvise.” And he did, using the open flame of the gas jet to toast the bread golden brown.

“Tha…thank you.” His being nice made her want to cry, but she forced back the tears threatening to spill. She didn’t think Pete Taggart was the kind of man who did well with tears and weepy women.

Placing the milk and toast in front of her, he sat down beside her. “Eat. You’ll feel better.”

“I really think I should go. I—”

“No! I’ll not have another—” The wounded look in his eyes gave her pause.

He continued, “Have you looked outside? It’s still snowing like crazy. You won’t be going anywhere for a good long while, Maddy, so you may as well just get used to the idea that you’re stuck here with me.”

“But my clothes, the car…” She’d never felt so helpless. But at least she wasn’t alone, and for that she was grateful.

“I’ll saddle one of the draft horses and see if I can fetch your clothes. The car’ll have to remain where it is, until Willis can tow it into town. Trust me. No one’s going to bother it. Even a snowplow would have difficulty getting back in here now.”

“Quit trying to cheer me up.” She forced a strained smile.

He flicked the end of her nose and returned the smile. “I wouldn’t dream of it, Miz Potter, ma’am.”

This was just getting better and better, Maddy thought after he’d departed. Not only was she pregnant and unmarried, sick to her stomach and stuck out in the middle of nowhere with an arrogant rancher two weeks before Christmas, but she was starting to like Pete Taggart. And that would never do.

“I DON’T THINK YERK is a word. Are you sure you’re not trying to cheat by making that up?”

Dressed in the jeans and blue cashmere sweater Pete had fetched from the rental car, Maddy was lying flat on her stomach in front of the parlor fireplace facing him, the Scrabble board situated between them. “Of course, it’s a word. I admit, not many people use it, but it’s definitely a word.”

He shook his head in disbelief. “Guess I’m gonna have to challenge, then.”

She smiled confidently. “Go ahead. But if you’re wrong, I’m going to get the extra points, which means I’ll win the game.”

While Pete studied the dictionary, Maddy turned toward the fire, resting her head on her palm and staring into the blue and orange flames.

Playing Scrabble had been Pete’s idea, and she was having a wonderful time beating him. Of course, she’d never before played Scrabble or any other board game by firelight and lantern light—the generator still wasn’t fixed—which made the experience all that more fun and challenging.

“You win,” he conceded. “Still can’t believe yerk is a word. But it says right here—‘to beat vigorously, thrash.’” He slammed the dictionary closed.

“So, how about a game of cards, say strip poker? I’m better at that.”

There was a twinkle in his eye, making Maddy laugh, something she hadn’t done in quite a while.

“Maybe some other time. I’m too full from dinner right now to strip.”

“Those roast beef sandwiches you made were pretty good.”

“And don’t forget the chicken noodle soup. I’m dynamite with a can opener and water.”

“What shall we do now? It’s too early to go to bed.” Though going to bed with Maddy Potter would be a helluva lot more stimulating than playing board games. Stimulating but not smart.

She glanced up at the tall grandfather clock ticking away in the far corner. “Eight’s a bit early for me, too.” She thought a moment. “Got any marshmallows? I love roasting marshmallows. And we could have some hot chocolate, if you’ve got any.”

“Wait here,” he said, launching himself to his feet, grateful to have something to take his mind off the tightening in his groin. “I can do better than that.” He returned a few minutes later, carrying a large wooden tray containing a box of graham crackers, a few chocolate bars and a bag of marshmallows. “No hot chocolate, but I’ve got the fixings for s’mores.”

“Ooh!” she said, clapping her hands. “I haven’t fixed those since I was a kid.”

He removed the fireplace screen and handed her a long metal skewer. My mom loved doing this, so she had my dad make her some ‘marshmallow sticks,’ as she called them.” The memory brought a sad smile to his face. His mother had died three years ago from breast cancer. First Bethany, then his mom. All the women in his life were gone. It had been a hard burden to bear.

They sat shoulder to shoulder in companionable silence, Rufus nestled right up against Maddy’s back. When Maddy bit into her first s’more she made a moan of satisfaction that went straight to Pete’s lap. “These are yummy! I think I’ve died and gone to heaven.”

With her hair in a ponytail and an exuberant smile on her face, Maddy looked like a teenager, not a twenty-nine-year-old woman who was going to have a child. He cleared his throat. “Uh, have you been having any weird cravings lately?” he asked, trying to get his mind back on track.

She shook her head. “Not really. I eat just about everything anyway, so there’s not much I crave.”

“How do you feel about having this baby? Are you happy now that you’ve gotten used to the idea?”

She looked at him as if he’d lost his mind. “Who says I’m used to the idea? My body’s still the same as it was. I’ll probably feel a whole lot different when my belly grows to the size of a watermelon and my breasts—” She caught herself just in time. What on earth was she doing discussing breasts with a virtual stranger?

He grinned at her embarrassment. “You can say ‘breasts,’ Maddy. I’m quite familiar with those particular body parts. We ranchers have loads of experience.” And she certainly had a fine pair, he couldn’t help notice.

“Well, I’m not used to discussing things like this with anyone. I was so busy working that I didn’t develop many close female friends. And most of the men I worked with on Madison Avenue didn’t discuss female body parts as a topic of dinner conversation.”

Chocolate dribbled down her chin, and he reached over and scooped it up with his finger, then lifted it. “Stuffed shirts.”

The erotic gesture made Maddy’s stomach tighten, though she tried her best to ignore it. “Have you been ranching long?”

“All my life. I love it, though my two brothers don’t feel the same as me. John became a vet, and Mark, who’s a chef, owns a bed-and-breakfast in town called The Sweetheart Inn. The place I mentioned was full.”

“A chef. Now there’s a handy man to have around.”

“He’s divorced if you want to meet him.”

Her eyes widened at the offer. “No thanks! I’ve pretty much sworn off men for the time being. Besides, I doubt many men would jump at the chance at meeting a pregnant woman.”

“You’d be surprised. There aren’t that many eligible women in town, unless you count our librarian and resident spinster Ella Grady, but she’s sixty-four.”

Maddy smiled before asking, “You said you’d been married. Are you divorced, too?”

He paused a moment before answering, as if considering whether he would. “Widowed. Four years now.”

At the pain she saw reflected in his eyes, she reached out to touch his hand. It was obvious he was still mourning the loss of his wife. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pried.”