The loser.
“They’re discharging you tomorrow. We want you to come to the house.”
His parents always called it the house as if there were some other place they would call home. It grated on Kieran at that moment so much he had to grit his teeth against the urge to curse. He shook his head.
“I have a place. I’ll go there. I don’t need twenty-four-hour care.”
“You need somethin’,” his father said. “I’ll be damned if I know what it is right now, but your mama wants you home. And I’m about gettin’ your mama what she wants. So I’ll be here to fetch you in the morning. Be ready.”
Chapter Eleven
Cara held on tight when Kent swung the boat around so it bumped against the dock. Her stomach gave a sickening lurch at the sudden switch in direction. She shot Kent’s mother and father a weak smile as they climbed in and took their seats, settling a picnic basket between them.
“You look a little peaked, hon.” Mrs. Lowery patted her knee. “Hope it’s not catching.” She shot her husband a classic she’s not strong stock I told you so arched brow.
Ignoring his mother’s commentary, Kent steered out toward the anchored pontoon boat where they’d be dining this evening. Cara blushed when he raised his sunglasses and winked at her. They’d been going at it nearly nonstop for the last few weeks, ever since the reunion ¸ as he liked to call it, at the cheesy B&B.
She sipped ginger ale in a feeble attempt to manage her newly discovered nausea. The wind whipped a strand of hair loose. The sun heated her face as she tilted it up, feeling like a snake basking on a rock, although she knew she’d regret it in a few hours. No matter how much sunblock she used, her nose, cheeks, and ears would get pink and sensitive after a while. And her freckles would multiply, something that had given her no end of grief as a teenager.
Touching her flat stomach, she smiled. If there were ever any doubt that she’d indeed be walking down the aisle, tying her future forever-and-ever-amen to this rich, snooty family of lawyers, it no longer taunted her, not even when she thought about Kieran.
“Here we are. All aboard,” Kent declared as he executed a perfect maneuver and pulled alongside the pontoon boat, latching them at both ends before assisting his mother then Cara onto the deck. She’d already set the table on her first trip out here. They’d made out for a while under the awning until it became obvious that if they went much further they’d be putting on a show for fellow boaters.
“I adore you,” he’d said, staring deep into her soul as they caught their breath. “I’m so happy. You make me so very happy.” He’d placed his palm on her stomach. “I’m even happy we have to get married now.”
“I’m happy you’re happy. We can’t tell your mother though. She’ll just die and then toss me into the lake.”
“Oh, you might be surprised. I can count you know, and my older brother’s birthday is suspiciously inside a nine-month window after their wedding anniversary.”
“No, I can’t take the embarrassment. We’ll hope the baby is small and we can call it premature.”
He’d frowned at her.
“What?” she’d asked.
“I don’t want lie to my parents. Not about this.”
She’d sighed. “Well, at least not today, please, for me? We have to talk engagement teas and all sorts of things that already make my head ache. I can’t take her thinking I’m a gold-digging slut on top of it.”
“My love, she thinks that already. She thought that about Robert’s wife, too, and that woman makes more money than my brother ever will.”
And now, as they settled in at their seats around the table anchored to the deck, using fine china and crystal for their chicken-salad sandwiches, deviled eggs, and coleslaw meal, Cara knew he was going to do it—to inform his mother that they were in the family way…bun in the oven…preggers. Cara’s stomach lurched and she had to concentrate hard on not puking.
Kent held his Waterford wine glass to the middle of the table. They all touched theirs to his. Cara put her lips to the edge of the glass but didn’t take a sip. Truth be told, being pregnant didn’t freak her out. It gave her something to focus on that did not concern her inexplicable lukewarm feelings toward her future husband.
Mrs. Lowery noted her lack of drinking with the eagle eye of a woman fixated on her son’s future. When she touched the edge of the linen napkin to her perfectly lipsticked mouth, Cara ducked her head, feeling all sorts of busted.
She should know better than to put one of this magnitude over the formidable Vivian Lowery. The group ate in silence for a few moments, the only sounds chewing, and metal on china. Cara’s nerves stretched thin in a way she didn’t much care for.