In a cruel twist of fate, she’d discovered she was having his baby the day she had been supposed to be marrying Callum. Thank all the stars in the sky she’d broken that engagement a month before or this situation could be worse and even more complicated than it already was. Everyone had thought her crazy, breaking up with the oldest McKinnel brother, but they’d lost their spark—if it had ever been there in the first place—and Callum was more in love with his work at the family distillery than he’d ever been with her. He’d also met Chelsea and they were already engaged—that fact only reinforced Bailey’s belief that she’d made the right decision.
But it hadn’t done much for her ego. Why hadn’t Callum been as head-over-heels crazy for her? Was there something wrong with her or did she just have zero talent at choosing the right guy? Either way, it didn’t make her current situation any better.
Four weeks ago, when she’d first seen the two little blue lines on the pregnancy test stick, she’d gone through a roller coaster of emotions.
Shock—that fireworks hadn’t been the only thing she and Quinn had created that night.
Denial—that one night, one time, when they’d used a condom, could actually result in this. Five more pregnancy tests later, she’d had to concede it had.
Terror—that she didn’t know the first thing about babies. Or motherhood.
Acceptance—that whether she was ready or not, whether Quinn was father material or not, this was real. In eight months’ time, she’d be a mom.
Excitement—that in eight months’ time, her life would change irrevocably for the better, because she’d be a mom.
And then confusion—because...well...Quinn.
If she were honest with herself, she’d had a crush on him years ago in high school—back then pretty much every girl her age in Jewell Rock had crushed on Quinn McKinnel. He’d been that guy; he skipped classes, took girls down to the lake at night to make out, drove way too fast, stayed out too late and came to school hungover. He’d been like Danny in Grease and every girl in their year had been desperate to play Sandy. He’d dated almost every one of those girls in their final year at school. At least, it had felt like that to Bailey when she’d been standing on the sidelines watching, wishing and hoping he’d notice her.
And he hadn’t slowed down any since.
But Bailey had grown up, and she knew that although Quinn might be charming and good in bed—heck, yeah, he was good in bed—he wasn’t the type of guy she should fall in love with. She’d almost forgotten that in the aftermath of the best sex of her life, but he’d set her straight and made it more than clear. He was way too much like her father for that to be a smart idea. And the last thing she wanted for her son or daughter was an unreliable dad like she’d had. It was this fear that wreaked havoc within—ethically, she knew it was wrong to keep the baby from Quinn, but her mama bear instincts had kicked in and she wanted more for her child than she’d had. She wanted stability and love without question, without obligation—the kind of love her stepfather, Reginald, had given her and her mother, the kind of love her younger brother and sister had been born to.
She pressed her hand against her stomach, something she’d been doing a lot these last few weeks, and closed her eyes, trying to imagine the tiny life inside. A site on the internet told her the baby was about the size of a lentil, but that its sex-defining parts were beginning to develop. Would it be a girl or a boy? Would it have dark hair and a pale complexion, like her, or dirty-blond hair and big brown eyes you could get lost in, like Quinn?
Her tummy still flat, Bailey was struggling to get her head around the fact that she was growing a real live human inside her, but she knew she was on borrowed time. Within a matter of months, she’d need a new wardrobe and would no longer be able to conceal her secret from the world.
If she decided not to tell Quinn, then she would have to come up with another story, because otherwise people would assume the baby was Callum’s. And while he was without a doubt better father material than Quinn and would not hesitate to stand by her and their child, it wasn’t his. Due to the timing of her cycle and the fact they’d drifted apart before the breakup, she knew this to be true. Thank God.
Oh, why did life have to get so complicated?
Of course, she knew the answer to that question, also. Even after their awkward meeting, Quinn had made no effort to contact her or apologize for his behavior.
Dammit, Bailey, why didn’t you just get drunk or go buy a puppy or something? Wasn’t that what normal people did when they were unhappy?
As a tear sneaked down her cheek, she once again contemplated the possibility of leaving town. Of starting afresh, someplace far away from Jewell Rock and Bend, someplace that wasn’t populated with McKinnels. That could be the answer, but, in addition to all her reasons for wanting to remain in Jewell Rock, she’d definitely need the assistance of her family. Only what would her mom and stepdad think of this situation? They’d be so disappointed in her, and her mom was sure to tell her best friend, Nora.
No doubt both their families would weigh in on the situation, offering suggestions and eventually support—but also a sweet dosage of judgment at the fact she’d been so stupid.
And there she went again. Problems and scenarios going round and round inside her head, intensifying her morning (or rather all-day) sickness but not making anything clearer. That was why she needed the advice of Aunt Bossy. Decision made, she shoved the envelope into her purse, switched off the lights in the office, as she was the last to leave, and then headed outside into the cool January evening to her car.
* * *
Quinn poured himself a measure of his family’s finest bourbon, grabbed the large yellow envelope he’d collected from the post office today, then took it and his drink across to the couch. He dumped the envelope on the coffee table, picked up his television remote with his free hand and aimed it at his big-screen TV. As the picture came to life and the sounds of tonight’s basketball game filled the room, he sat down and leaned back into the couch, taking a long sip of his drink.
Ah. His family might drive him insane sometimes—arguing about what was best for their little empire—but there was no doubt about it, they knew how to make good whiskey.
It was Friday night, and while usually he’d be out on the town with the guys, carousing or actually at a game, he hadn’t been in the mood for either of those options tonight. At the ripe old age of twenty-seven, maybe he was getting old.
Shaking out the contents of the package, he picked up the first letter and started to read about a woman who felt like she was playing second fiddle in her husband’s life to her mother-in-law.
Marriage—how many letters about marriage problems did he receive? Those and neighborhood disputes were biggies. And while he might not have any professional qualifications to fix such issues, he had an innate talent for telling things how they were, and this woman needed to take her husband’s balls in hand and give him an ultimatum.
He chuckled, looking forward to writing that letter. What had started as a dare six years ago when his friend from school was interning at the paper had become a large, important part of Quinn’s life. No one, aside from his friend, who had since moved on to a much bigger newspaper in Seattle, knew that he was the writer behind the popular Aunt Bossy column. All his exchanges with the local paper were anonymous and that was the way he intended it to stay. He could just imagine the ribbing he’d get if his older brothers ever found out about his secret side business, not to mention what women might think of it, but strangely he enjoyed this gig and felt like in some bizarre way he was doing good in the world.
He took another swig of his bourbon and picked up the next letter. He was halfway through reading about a woman who found herself unexpectedly pregnant, when