It wasn’t possible, she told herself firmly, fighting the need to throw up. She would be fine.
Seventeen days after her night with Carter and fourteen days after considering the possibility of pregnancy, Rachel sat on the edge of her tub and told herself not to break into hysterics.
She’d waited an extra two days just to be sure. She’d been patient, she’d done her best not to think about it. She’d willed her period to start exactly on time and when it hadn’t, she’d gone the extra mile just to be sure.
Now, she stared at the seven plastic sticks she’d neatly lined up on two paper towels. They were from three different kits and they all said exactly the same thing.
Positively pregnant.
Chapter Three
Rachel hadn’t planned on ever returning to the Blue Dog Bar. Unfortunately, since she’d tossed the note with Carter’s cell number on it, she had no way to get in touch with the man. But she had remembered that one of the bartenders—Rachel couldn’t remember her name—had known Carter well enough to have his number and so here she was, showing up at three-thirty in the afternoon, with a nervous stomach and several spots of drying paste on the hem of her skirt.
Kindergarteners were hard on their teacher’s clothes, she thought as she glanced down at the dark patches. At least the paste would wash out. If only her problem with Carter could be solved as easily.
She drew in a deep breath, wished she hadn’t been so hasty with that note he’d left and walked into the dim building.
It was early enough that there weren’t many customers. Rachel ignored the few patrons and made her way to the bar, where she sighed in relief when she recognized the same woman who had been here that night three weeks ago.
The woman behind the bar smiled. “Hi. Can I help you?” She was pretty—late twenties, with a cute, short haircut and big green eyes.
“I hope so,” Rachel said, wishing she weren’t so nervous. She could feel herself shaking. “I’m, ah, looking for Carter.”
The bartender continued to smile. “Okay. Carter who?”
Rachel held in a moan of humiliation. “I don’t know,” she admitted in a rush. “I met him here three weeks ago. I didn’t mean to. I was here with a friend and she was breaking up with this guy and…” She sucked in a breath and clutched the large envelope of papers to her chest. “That’s not important, right? Because no one cares. Okay. We, ah, met and I need to talk to him. It’s really important. Carter. He’s about six-two with dark blond hair and a diamond stud earring.”
Honestly, how many Carters could there be? Rachel swallowed hard, then blurted out, “He has a scar shaped like a lightning bolt on his thigh right by his…”
“Oh,” the woman said, knowing. “That Carter. Have a seat. I’ll see if I can get in touch with him.”
Carter couldn’t decide if he was annoyed or relieved. He couldn’t believe it had been three weeks and Rachel was only now getting in touch with him. Sure, hard-to-get was a time-honored game between the sexes, but hey—it was him. He’d never had to wait to get a call before.
Logically, this was probably better. He knew better than to get involved and if she were the kind of female totally into games, he wouldn’t be into her. Problem solved.
Except he had a feeling it wouldn’t be that simple. He hadn’t been able to get Rachel out of his mind. He knew where she lived and could have gone to see her, but that wasn’t his style. Besides, he’d left her his number and she hadn’t called. What did that say about what she thought about him?
He walked into the Blue Dog Bar determined to make her want him, even though he didn’t know if he wanted her. His male pride was at stake. He nodded at Jenny, who pointed to a booth in the back. He squared his shoulders and strolled casually in that direction.
Only to get broadsided by a two-by-four.
It didn’t matter that the hunk of wood was metaphorical. His gut twisted, the air rushed out of his lungs and he would swear he could hear angels singing. Damn, she looked good.
Rachel sat facing the bar, her back all straight, her clothes prissy enough for a preacher’s wife and her hair tied back in some kind of fancy braid. But he knew the truth. He knew that behind that don’t-touch-me-I’m-a-good-girl exterior beat the heart of a wanton. She kissed like a dream and made love as if it were her last time.
Heat poured through him and he had a brief but intense fantasy about dragging her onto the table and taking her right there. Only he’d never been one to show off in front of strangers. Besides, she hadn’t called and that might have hurt his feelings.
“Rachel,” he said as he approached.
She half stood, then sank back into the seat. “Hello, Carter.”
He slid into the seat across from her, then noticed the large legal-sized envelope she’d placed on the table. What was that about?
“It’s been awhile,” he said.
She nodded. “Three weeks.”
She licked her lips, which made his whole body clench. Damn, why did she have to get to him?
She put her hands on the table, laced her fingers together, then pulled back and dropped them to her lap. Nervousness radiated from her like a fine mist. He half expected her to clutch her stomach and run for the bathroom.
He’d decided to play it cool, to let her do all the talking. Not only was it a power play, but he would learn more that way. So he got really annoyed with himself when he blurted out, “You didn’t call.”
She blinked at him. “Excuse me?”
“You didn’t call. I was polite. I had to be up early and I didn’t want to wake you, so I left a note. And my phone number.” He leaned toward her. “I don’t go home with just anyone. Is that what you thought? You could use me and forget about me?”
He swore silently. Had those words come out of his mouth? If anyone ever found out he’d said them, he would be drummed out of the male gender and forced to live as a eunuch.
Her eyes widened. “I didn’t use you.”
“What would you call it? You had your way with me and then walked away without a second thought.” Until today, but he doubted she would think of that.
“I’m the woman. I can’t use you,” she said.
“Right. Because only guys can be jerks. Women always act perfectly.”
“Well, no. Of course not.” She stared at him. “I wasn’t trying to use you.”
“You could have called.”
“I didn’t know what to say.”
“How about ‘Thanks for the great night. We should go out sometime.’”
