“Have you picked out a name for the baby?”
Twenty-six-year-old Mikayla Brown looked from the display of baby photos on the wall of the Rust Creek Falls Clinic, where she was waiting for her ob-gyn appointment, to her friend Amy Wainwright. Names? Oh, yeah, she had names. Mikayla’s life might be entirely up in the air at the moment, but names were easy. Late at night, when she lay in bed, unable at this point—seven months along—to get all that comfortable, she’d picture herself sitting in the rocking chair on the farmhouse porch with a baby in her arms and she’d try out all her name ideas on the little one.
Problem was, she had too many possibilities. “I have six if it’s a girl,” she told Amy. “Seven if it’s a boy. And ten or so more I’m thinking of for middle names. Can I give my child four names?”
Amy laughed, putting the Parenting Now magazine she’d been flipping through back on the table. “Sure, why not? You’re the mama.”
Mikayla shivered just slightly. The mama. Her. Mikayla Brown. She barely had her own life together these days, and soon she’d be solely responsible for another life—a tiny, helpless little one with no one to depend on but her. Mikayla had always been a dependable, do-the-right-thing kind of person, and she’d fallen in love with a man she’d thought was cut the same way. Then, boom—her life exploded like a rogue firecracker. One moment, she’d been working happily at a local day care in Cheyenne, Wyoming, and in love with her boyfriend, a good-looking, ambitious lawyer, with her entire future ahead of her. The next moment, she was a single mother-to-be. No engagement. No marriage. No loving father-to-be beside her, just as excited about her prenatal checkup as she was.
But who was here today? A good friend. Mikayla was so thankful for Amy Wainwright she could reach over and hug her, and she would if her belly weren’t in the way. Her belly was always in the way these days.
Hey, you in there, she directed to her stomach. Are you a Hazel? A George? Mikayla loved the idea of honoring her late parents, who’d always been so loving and kind. Or her maternal grandparents, also long gone—Leigh and Clinton, who’d sent birthday and Christmas cards without fail but had moved to Florida when Mikayla was young. Then there was her dear aunt Elizabeth, her mother’s sister, who went by Lizzie, and her hilarious uncle Tyler, and their one-of-a-kind son, Brent, Mikayla’s cousin. Brent was the one who’d suggested Mikayla move up to Montana—to Rust Creek Falls—for a fresh start. Which was how Brent’s name had ended up on the possibilities list. She owed him big.
Moving to this tiny town in the Montana wilderness had sounded crazy at first. Population five hundred something? More than a half hour’s drive from the nearest hospital—when she was now seven months pregnant? No family or friends?
You’ll make friends, Brent had assured her. Sunshine Farm will feel like home.
Brent had been right. Mikayla had been a little worried that she’d get the side-eye or pity glances from the town’s residents. Pregnant and alone. But from the moment she’d arrived at Sunshine Farm three weeks ago and met the owner, Brent’s friend Luke Stockton, she’d been invited to Luke and his fiancée’s joint bachelor-bachelorette party held that very day. Since the recent wedding, she’d become good friends with Luke’s wife, Eva, and Amy, who’d also lived at Sunshine Farm at the time.
Now Amy was engaged, with a gorgeous, sparkling diamond ring on her finger. Mikayla sighed inwardly while ogling the rock. She’d over-fantasized like a bridezilla in training about a ring on her own finger and a fairy-tale wedding. Hell, even a city hall wedding would have been fine. But all that was before she’d caught her baby’s father having sex with his paralegal in his law-firm office.
The more Mikayla admired Amy’s ring and thought about how her friend had reconnected with her first love, Derek Dalton, the man she’d married and divorced when they’d both been teenagers (long story!), the more Mikayla thought anything was possible. Even for seven-months-pregnant single women far from home and trying to figure out where to go from here.
A door opened, and a woman with a baby bump exited, followed by a man carrying a pamphlet. Your Second Trimester. Both their gold wedding rings shone in the room. Or maybe Mikayla’s gaze just beelined to rings on fingers these days.
A nurse appeared at the door and smiled at Mikayla. “Mikayla Brown? Dr. Strickland is ready to see you now.”
Well, where she was going right now was Exam Room 1. That was all she needed to know at the moment. One step at a time, deep breaths, and she’d be fine.
Mikayla and Amy stood and followed the nurse into the examination room. Mikayla sat on the paper-covered table and Amy on the chair in the corner. The nurse took Mikayla’s vitals, handed her a paper gown to change into, then let them know Dr. Strickland would be in shortly.
“You’re the absolute best, Amy,” Mikayla said, her voice a little clogged with emotion, when the door closed behind the nurse. She quickly shimmied out of her maternity sundress and into the gown, Amy tying the back for her. “Thank you for coming with me today.” It meant a lot not to come alone. Her ex had accompanied her to her first appointment back in Cheyenne when she discovered she was pregnant, but he had made it clear he didn’t want a baby, wasn’t ready for a baby and wasn’t sure of anything.
