Malory asked, exaggerating her surprise. “Because I sure wanted ice cream.”
Katy’s face screwed up into a wail before the sound even started, and then she flopped herself onto the ground and howled. Malory winced.
“Wow,” Mike said.
Malory shrugged. “It happens. She’s three. Expect more of this.”
“Over ice cream?” Mike looked incredulous.
“Why not? She’s been through a lot. She doesn’t know how to make sense of it. Sometimes a little venting helps.”
Katy was in full tantrum now, but she wasn’t going to hurt herself. Malory tried to stand up and she suddenly knew what had changed over the past couple of days—her center of gravity. Her stomach sank. This was the last thing she’d expected, and she glanced nervously toward Mike.
“Could I get a hand?” she asked, attempting to sound as natural as possible. Mike looked back at her curiously, then down at the wailing toddler. Katy hadn’t let up, but she couldn’t keep going forever, either.
“You okay?” Mike held out a hand, and when she took it, he lifted her easily to her feet. She stumbled forward as she rose and landed in Mike’s strong arms. He was like a tank—solid with muscle and about as immovable. Her body connected with his, and Mike froze, then looked down at her in unveiled surprise.
“Wait, you’re—” He released her and stepped back, looking her up and down. Malory quickly adjusted her top and turned her attention to Katy, whose wails were now abating.
“Are we ready for ice cream, then?” Malory asked brightly. “I like vanilla ice cream. What kind do you like, sweetie?”
Katy sniffled and looked up at Malory dubiously.
“I don’t know,” Katy said after a moment, and she got back to her feet.
Malory glanced at Mike once more, and she found his dark eyes locked on her. He knew. He’d felt her belly when he caught her. She knew she couldn’t unring that bell, but she still held on to a fragment of hope that she might be able to hide her pregnancy awhile longer.
“So...” His voice was low and calm.
She sighed, giving in to the impulse and putting a hand onto her belly. “Yes, I’m pregnant. I thought I could keep it to myself, but—” She glanced down at her stomach. She’d been growing, and even the most careful dressing couldn’t fully mask it any longer. She’d wondered when she’d start to show—apparently, at four and a half months.
“Okay.” He looked toward the door of the shop but didn’t move. “You didn’t want to mention it?”
“It’s personal.” She threw him a defiant look, then dropped the bravado. “Mike, I need this job. The agency won’t keep me on if I can’t get a position, and I need the health insurance. It costs a lot to have a baby, and if I lost my health insurance...” She didn’t need to finish.
“Yeah, I could see that.” He sighed. “I wish you’d said something.”
The wind whisked some hair into her eyes and she pulled it back irritably. He wanted her to say something? Had he ever had to risk his ability to keep his health insurance? This pregnancy had been a shock. It wasn’t as if she had a contingency plan! The father was canoodling with the one woman she’d thought she’d always be able to count on, and she had to figure this all out before the baby was born.
“So am I fired?” she asked abruptly.
His dark eyes swept over her, his emotions hidden behind that mask of his. Then he shook his head. “No. Legally, you don’t need to disclose that information.”
She tried to suppress the sigh of relief. “But you’re still probably annoyed.”
He nodded slowly, and for a brief moment disappointment cracked through his professional demeanor.
“I like honesty.” His expression froze her in place for what felt like an eternal moment.
Honesty. His words stung more than any firing would have. She’d always considered herself an honest person. She believed in honesty, too, but when things got complicated, she also had a real appreciation for privacy. She’d never imagined herself pregnant and alone. She’d always wanted to be married first. Maybe even own a home. But here she was, on the cusp of single parenthood. Did he have any idea how terrifying that was?
“Let’s get some ice cream,” he said after a moment and pulled open the door and held it for her, a bell tinkling overhead. The gesture was sweetly old-fashioned.
“Come on, sweetie,” she said softly, taking Katy’s hand in hers. “We need ice cream.”
Her stomach rumbled. She needed more than comfort; she was hungry. As she approached the door to the shop, held open by the broad-shouldered sheriff, she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that nothing would ever be the same again.
She could finally admit it. She was officially eating—and working—for two.
Pregnant.
Mike eyed Malory cautiously as she stepped through into the air-conditioned ice-cream shop. Her lightly scented perfume lingered. He could see it now: the way her body swelled at her waistline, the way she moved with careful, certain steps. He was a sheriff. He was supposed to see the details, and this one had swept right by him with embarrassing ease.
The only excuse he could offer up to his tattered ego was that he’d been too focused on the rest of her. They were swimming farther and farther away from the Mrs.-Doubtfire-and-Mary-Poppins hybrid he’d been hoping for.
Katy clung to Malory’s hand, dancing along happily, her tantrum already forgotten. Mike stepped inside after them and caught himself short of putting a hand on Malory’s back to guide her forward. He shoved his hand in his pocket instead.
What was with him? He felt a sudden protective surge, but she was his employee, nothing more. And she’d preferred to keep this information to herself, so she obviously wasn’t looked for a big, strong man to take care of her.
“Look, Mike—” Malory tipped her face up to meet his gaze, worry swimming in her eyes.
“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “What kind of ice cream do you want?”
She blinked, then dropped her gaze to Katy. They conversed softly, and then Malory answered, “I’d like vanilla, and Katy wants the blue one. What is that, bubble gum?”
Mike scanned the tubs of ice cream through the glass guard.
“How’s it going, Mike?” Trent, the store owner, asked. He was a portly man, bald on top and gray on the sides. He wore a white apron over a Beatles T-shirt. Trent’s ice cream came from milk from his own dairy farm. It was a creamy delicacy that drew people from miles around, and he’d named the shop after his favorite dairy cow.
“Not too bad. Just taking these ladies out for a treat.”
