Pregnant with the Soldier's Son. Amy Ruttan

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think you can make some time for me.” He escorted her into the consult room, rooms that were used to deliver bad or serious news, and shut the door, pulling the blind down.

      Ingrid stood her ground. She wanted to cross her arms, but her belly was in the way. One of the downsides to being only five feet five and having a short torso, the belly took up a lot of room.

      Dr. Allen blocked the doorway, and his face was just blank as he stared at her. Ingrid felt like she was in the middle of some Western movie and this was some kind of high noon showdown. She was tempted to shout out “Draw,” but resisted her silliness.

      “You’ve let your hair grow,” she said, breaking the unbearable tension that had descended between them.

      He cocked his head to one side. “You’ve changed a lot too …”

      “Ingrid.”

      They’d used protection, but the condom, on her first time ever with a man, had broken.

      Stupid Murphy and his freaking laws had been out to get her that night.

      Now she was pregnant, alone and scared. Scared she couldn’t give this baby all he or she needed. Terrified of not knowing what the future held.

      “I thought it was Philomena?” There was a sarcastic edge to his voice.

      “I lied.”

      “So I gathered,” he said. Clint’s gaze raked her body from head to toe, finally resting on her rounded belly.

      Ingrid fought the urge to cover her belly but instead held her ground.

      She was tired of being ashamed of her glaring mistake. She braced herself for a slew of questions.

      “I’m not used to people lying to me.”

      Ingrid was stunned. That’s what he was ticked about?

      “I didn’t know people are always compelled to tell you the truth. Are you telling me all your trauma patients are totally up front with you?”

      “What do my patients have to do with anything?”

      “I don’t know, Dr. Allen. You brought it up.”

      “I was talking about the name, Ingrid. Why did you lie to me about your name?”

      “It was a one-night stand. What does it matter?”

      “It matters to me,” Clint snapped.

      “I wasn’t looking for a relationship that night. It didn’t matter what I called myself. Now, if my misnomer is all you want to discuss, I’ll be on my way. I have X-rays to examine.” She turned to leave, but he grabbed her arm.

      “Will you kindly let go of me?”

      “We’re not done here.” His eyes were dark, his lips pressed together in a thin line.

      Ingrid shrugged out of his grasp. “Oh, I think we are. Unless you have something else to ask me?” She waited, but he didn’t say anything. “I thought not.”

      When she turned to leave again, he didn’t grab her but stepped in front of the door.

      “Is it mine?”

      She wanted to slap him, but reined in her irrational hormonal-induced anger.

      “What a foolish question,” she said in a deadpan voice.

      Clint crossed his arms. “I don’t think so since you lied about your name.”

      “Since I lost my virginity to you that night, yes. It’s yours. I can’t lie or fake that.”

      Clint cursed under his breath and scrubbed a hand over his face. “How far along are you?”

      “Seven months.”

      “I thought you were on birth control?”

      “No, but don’t you recall that night at all? I think you forget the condom you used was a bit ‘faulty.’” She made quote signs with her fingers, trying to ram it in how she felt about the whole debacle. “Don’t you remember what happened when you discovered that?”

      Clint let out a string of curses under his breath. “Yeah, I think I mentally blocked that part out.”

      “I tried to as well, until the stick turned blue.”

      Clint dragged his hand through his hair, making it stand on end. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

      “Tell you what?” she asked, her frustration rising. “Oh, no, I think I might get pregnant in a month.”

      “About the pregnancy. You could’ve told me when you found out.” Clint began to pace. “I had the right to know.”

      “Right, and how was I supposed to do that when I didn’t even know your last name or what base you were stationed at? Was I supposed to contact the nearest army base and say, ‘Yeah, I’d like to talk to the hot guy named Clint with the blue, blue eyes who had sex about a month ago with a short blonde woman and who is shipping out for an extensive tour of duty somewhere overseas.’ I bet there’s only one of you who fits that description. If I’d had a way to contact you, I would’ve.”

      Clint obviously didn’t have much of a sense of humor, because he still looked a bit dazed. “Of course.”

      She’d been the same when that pregnancy test had come up positive. Kids had never been part of the plan, but she couldn’t get rid of the child. That would have been taking the easy way out. Besides, like her father had taught her, she didn’t run away from her mistakes.

      Of course, now she wanted her baby more than anything, but her life, which had been so organized and efficient before, had been turned topsy-turvy. When she was home alone in her cluttered room, staring at the piles of baby stuff overtaking her clean, orderly existence, she was terrified. Motherhood was an unknown and beyond her control.

      Ingrid sighed. “Look, I could’ve gotten rid of the baby, but I wanted it. I still want it and I plan to raise the baby on my own. I don’t expect anything from you.”

      “Like hell.” Clint’s stance relaxed and his expression softened, the prominent frown lines disappearing. “I’ll help the best I can. I owe you that much.”

      “Well, thank you, Dr. Allen.”

      “Clint.”

      She sighed. “Clint, but you really don’t have to.”

      “I have to,” he said earnestly. “It’s the right thing to do.”

      “You’re under no obligation. I’m giving you an out.”

      “No.”

      Though he was an unnecessary complication in her already chaotic life, she was secretly relieved and a little deep-down voice said that maybe she wouldn’t have to do this

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