What the hell?
She tried a strawberry and that tasted fine. She picked up a piece of the pineapple and sniffed—absolutely fresh. She nibbled off a corner of the wedge she’d sliced and nearly gagged. It was completely sour even though it smelled sweet. Possibly a little too sweet.
She made a pit stop in the bathroom and brushed her teeth, glanced at the clock and winced. It was nearly eleven in the morning, but they’d seen the sunrise before they’d gone to sleep. She climbed onto the bed and maneuvered her way under his arm. He rolled into her, cuddling into her back without waking. The man never had trouble sleeping. Harper smoothed her hand lightly over his wide forearms, unable to shut her brain off.
As tired as she was, sleep just wouldn’t come. She should Google her symptoms, but she didn’t want to move and wake Deacon. Two trips out of bed would be pushing her luck. She was rarely sick with even a head cold. So why was food suddenly her…
She stopped stroking, her hand clamping on his wrist.
No.
There was no way.
She ducked under his arm, her heartbeat filling her ears and trying to blast its way out of her chest. She glanced over her shoulder, but Deacon flopped onto his stomach and put his head under a pillow.
She padded over to her purse and took out her phone, flicking through her screens until she came to her My Days app. She’d always been as regular as the sun, but with stress and living on the road she’d gotten in the habit of keeping track of her period.
Who wanted to be stuck in Albuquerque without a tampon?
It had to be just a few days. She was just being…six weeks late.
She thumbed back through the month.
No.
She had to have forgotten to put it down. She backed up into the fat little club chair at the end of their bed. Her feet collapsed out from under her and she slithered to the floor.
Pregnant?
She cradled her hand over her flat belly, then curled her knees up into her chest. She couldn’t. They hadn’t even been together long enough to let the ink on their freaking marriage license dry.
She was twenty-three years old, for fuck’s sake.
There was no baby in the plan.
She was on the pill, goddammit.
Ninety-nine percent effective unless it’s against the super sperm of one Deacon McCoy. What the hell was he shooting, for God’s sake? How did he find the way into her freaking cache of eggs?
The eggs that were supposed to stay right there for at least a few…hell, maybe more than a few years.
She brought her hand over her mouth. They hadn’t even discussed children. Did he even want them?
Shouldn’t that have been a conversation beforehand, Harper Lee?
Fuck off.
She pressed her forehead into her knees, wrapping her arms around her shins.
Did she even want them?
She rolled onto her knees and peeked over the footboard of the bed. Deacon was sprawled out, the sheet pooling around his hips, leaving a wide expanse of deeply tanned back. His armor-like tattoo making him look more warrior than killer bass master of a band.
Her eyes traveled to his wide, palmed hand with the long elegant fingers. Strong, sure hands that would protect and cherish a baby as surely as he did her. Instantly, she knew that.
The gentle giant of a man would make the most amazing father.
He rolled onto his side, his arm flung out looking for her. She quickly jumped to her feet and tucked a pillow beside him. He wound his way around the pillow, and a light snore told her he was still down for the count.
You don’t know for sure, Harper Lee. Calm yourself.
She grabbed her purse and found her notebook. She scribbled off a note to tell him she went for a walk and left it in front of the clock beside the bed.
No, she didn’t know if she was pregnant. And the only way to tell was to get a freaking test. They were in the most remote area of Galveston, but there had to be a drugstore around there somewhere.
It was better to know before she worried Deacon. Before she worried herself for that matter. They’d both been overloaded with stress for the last few months.
She just needed to go and get a test.
Or three.
Just in case.
She looked back at Deacon. She’d go, get the test, and then she’d deal.
Jenn. DJ.
She’d know.
Harper quickly tugged on shorts and a t-shirt and flips before rushing out the back and down the beach. The ten minute walk felt eternal, but finally the fin from Rhianna’s mermaid tail sign came into sight.
She climbed the sandy steps and found a dark haired woman behind the bar.
Shit.
“Hi.”
“Hi there. Whatya have?”
Tequila.
Oh, my sweet God.