shirt. He’d had a haircut since Christmas and he looked tanned and rested. Rested! He was rested, and she hadn’t slept for weeks.
“Hello, Nic.”
“Gabe. Come on in.” As he stepped inside, Nic was tempted to slam the door behind him. He paused in the entry hall, and while his expression remained impassive, she recognized his discomfort at being here. It was obvious. He looked anywhere but at her.
Tiger came galloping down the stairs from his favorite afternoon lying-in-the-sunshine-spot in front of the window in her bedroom. He jumped excitedly around Gabe, who looked happy for the distraction of the dog.
“Hey there, boy,” he said, scratching the boxer behind the ears. “How you doing? Have you been behaving while I was gone?”
It was the most attention she’d seen Gabe pay the dog since the first day she’d met him. The boxer’s tail wagged so fast it stirred up a breeze.
As Nic waited for the lovefest to end, the timer buzzed on her oven, so she turned and headed for the kitchen. The pale yellow tile and muted green cabinets dated to the fifties, and while not the epitome of fashion, the room served as the very heart of her home. Here she was comforted. From here she drew strength. Strength she knew she’d need in the moments to come.
Gabe trailed after her and stood poised in the doorway as she set a hot tray of cookies on a rack to cool. He folded his arms and leaned against the doorjamb. “Cookies smell good.”
If that was a hint, she was ignoring it. He could just starve.
He tried again. “I heard that y’all solved the big mystery and identified the Cellar Bride. Good work.”
Nic wasn’t in the mood for small talk. “Where have you been?”
“The Caribbean, then South America. I tagged along with Jack Davenport on his work trip. It took longer than we expected.” He took a deep breath, then added, “Nicole, about what happened Christmas Eve—”
“Don’t.” She cut him off. “Please, just let me say this. I’ve been trying to reach you the past couple of weeks. I didn’t know how to find you. I began to think this would be a rerun of Sarah’s situation. I need to tell you …” She closed her eyes, exhaled a heavy breath. Say it. Now. Just say it. Nic squared her shoulders, stared him straight in the eyes, and announced, “I’m pregnant.”
Gabe closed his eyes. The unacknowledged dread that had swirled in his gut since he’d turned on his phone to see he’d missed a number of calls from Nic swamped him. No. Please, no.
Maybe he’d heard her wrong. Hadn’t he heard her wrong? Or could it be a joke? A really bad joke?
He looked at her. She didn’t look like she was joking. She looked upset. Annoyed. A little scared.
Whoa.
“Did you hear me?”
He didn’t respond. He couldn’t have forced words out of his mouth right then if his life had depended on it. He blinked hard. His heart pounded. Blood roared in his ears.
She’s pregnant? He closed his eyes and dragged a hand over his face. No. Dear Lord, no. Let him be asleep. Let this be a dream so that it wasn’t a nightmare. She couldn’t be pregnant. This wasn’t happening. I can’t do this again.
Daddy, look! They’re starting to bubble! Bubble bubble bubble bubble.
He filled his lungs with cookie-scented air. He’d gone cold and clammy inside, but his mouth was desert dry. This had to be a joke. It had to be! With effort, he croaked out a reply. “You’re kidding, right?”
She folded her arms. “No, I assure you, I’m not kidding. We had sex. We didn’t use anything. I’m pregnant.”
Gabe raked his fingers through his hair, locking his fingers atop his head as scenes from Christmas Eve flashed through his mind. He’d been drunk but not that drunk, cold and dark and desperate. She’d been blond and beautiful, light and bright and oh so hot. “Okay … yeah … we were careless. But I did think about it afterward. You’re on the pill.”
“What?” Shock registered on her face. “Why in heaven’s name would you think that?”
“I saw them. The blister pack. In your purse.”
“And what were you doing in my purse?”
He took another deep breath and blew it out hard, clearing the fog from his head. Panic rushed into the void as his thoughts spun back to early December. Restlessly he paced the small kitchen. “Remember that day at Cavanaugh House when the dog got mud all over you