Page 65 of Nine Month Contract
I open my mouth to argue, but she holds her hand up to silence me.
“I don’t want to hear it,” she snaps, her tone lethal. “I’m a grieving widow who’s spent hours making this quilt for the woman carrying my future grandchild, and I will not be told I can’t give it to her. I will play the dead husband card until I’m also dead and cold in the ground beside him. You hear me?”
Blood rushes in my ears as I realize what a complete fucking asshole I just was to my own mother. My mother! I open my mouth to apologize but am interrupted by Trista. “Everything okay over here?”
My mom’s face morphs from rage-filled momma-bear mode to sweet, kind Johanna in the blink of an eye. She turns on her heel and coos softly, “There you are, Trista! Here, honey. This is just a little something to show my appreciation for letting me be a part of your first ultrasound. That was such a special day for me.”
“Oh, wow, you didn’t have to do that.” Trista reaches inside the gift bag and gasps at the intricately made quilt. Her lips part in shock. “Wait, this is incredible. Are you sure you don’t want to keep this for the baby?”
“No, silly, it’s for you.” My mom rubs Trista’s arm affectionately, proud of a creation I’m sure she’s worked around the clock on.
She’s quilted for as long as I can remember. After my dad died, she made all of us quilts from his old T-shirts. It was really thoughtful,but sadly, mine sits in a closet upstairs because it’s still too hard for me to look at.
“I know it’s summertime, but nights are cold up on the mountain, and this will make you feel nice and cozy up there.”
“Wow…this is so kind of you,” Trista says with a soft smile. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, sweetie.” My mom arches a knowing brow at me. “I just want you to know how much we appreciate you. I put my phone number in the gift bag, and I want you to use it if you ever need to talk. I’ve been pregnant a time or two.”
Trista looks touched, and they hug for a moment while my mom shoots daggers at me before excusing herself.
The pool lights glow through Trista’s curls as she approaches me, a nervous glint in her eye that I don’t like. “Do you know if an Uber will take me back up the mountain?”
My brows furrow. “Why would you take an Uber?”
“Because I’m exhausted, and we drove here with your brothers, and I don’t want to make you guys feel like you have to leave.”
“I’ll drive you.” I set my unfinished beer on the table and heave myself off the pool chair.
“What will your brothers do?” she asks, glancing over at the two of them sitting at the bar with a bunch of Max’s Boulder friends. They look like they’re several beers in and in no position to drive home anyway.
“They’ll probably crash here at Max’s or call me for a ride later. It’s fine, I’ll go get the keys.”
I make my way over to Calder and spot him at the edge of the bar in the middle of what looks like a tense discussion with Cozy’s best friend, Dakota. As far as I knew, these two hated each other. Ever since Calder fucked up Dakota’s house renovation years ago.
And as I draw nearer, I discover that is likely still the case because I hear Dakota say, “Go fuck yourself, Calder,” before she storms away, nearly knocking me over on her way by.
I slide my eyes to Calder. “What are you even doing? Isn’t she married?”
Calder smiles devilishly, his eyes following Dakota’s hasty exit. “Recently divorced, actually.”
“But doesn’t she hate you?”
“Loathes me.” Calder’s eyes lower, and he sucks in a sharp breath. “I think I’m in love.”
“Snap out of it,” I bark, hitting my brother on the shoulder. “I need the truck keys. Trista is ready to go. I’ll come back for you guys later.”
“No problem.” Calder waggles his eyebrows suggestively as he hands them over. “At least one of us is getting lucky.”
“Wrong,” I growl, shaking my head in defeat. “It’s not happening. And knowing Trista, it will never happen.”
Calder looks at me in confusion as I grab the keys and skulk off, admitting that I’ve read this maddening woman all wrong. It’s not that she doesn’t like receiving gifts. It’s that she doesn’t like receiving them from me. And that kind of rejection stirs up old wounds that I’d rather not dig into.
WeeksPregnant:14
AnimalsontheMountain:4
The car ride back to the mountain is quiet and charged with something I can’t quite put my finger on. It isn’t until Wyatt parks in front of the barn that I finally get the balls to ask, “Will you just tell me what the hell is wrong with you?”
