Prologue
Skylar Ellison hated being naked in public.
Not that she was positioned on a bridge waving her hoo-hoos and va-jay-jay at passersby, but damn, wearing just her birthday suit made her oh-so conscious of the flaws in that aging suit. The paper covering the patient’s exam table crinkled beneath her sweaty thighs. A cold breeze from the air duct wafted across her bare butt exactly where the itsy bitsy cloth gown gapped.
That wasn’t as bad as having her lower half completely exposed, her knees spread wide, her feet in metal stirrups as she stared at the “Hang In There, Baby” poster plastered to the ceiling.
Skylar dreaded pelvic exams, pap smears, shots, and teeth cleanings—anything resembling a medical procedure. So far she’d been poked, prodded and they’d taken a sample of damn near every bodily fluid imaginable; blood, urine, saliva, a throat culture, earwax, toe-jam—not so much the last two, but it’d sure seemed like it.
She’d been cooling her heels in this sterile room for thirty minutes. Which gave her plenty of time to wonder: what the hell was wrong with her?
For the last month she’d experienced constant nausea. Not enough to make her barf, but wooziness, usually worse at night. She didn’t feel like eating, yet, according to the doctor’s scale, she’d managed to pack on five pounds since the last time she’d weighed herself at home.
She could attribute her physical changes to stress. Owning her own business was nerve-racking, even when her all-natural, made-in-Wyoming beauty products contained aromatherapy properties. Construction delays caused her extra anxiety, but she’d finally opened the retail store of Sky Blue in Sundance. The manufacturing plant outside of Moorcroft was in full swing filling holiday orders.
Still, stress wouldn’t make her skin hurt to the touch. Tension might push her to the edge of exhaustion, causing her to sleep for twelve hours straight. She’d missed two or three periods—who kept track? She’d always been irregular. But that didn’t explain the weird vaginal discharge. Plus, she was moody. She couldn’t regulate her body temp; she was either too hot or too cold. It was all so eerily familiar. She recognized the signs, though never on herself.
Cancer.
Skylar closed her eyes. Please. Not cancer. She couldn’t have cancer. The universe couldn’t be that damn cruel. Eight years ago her mother had been diagnosed with uterine cancer. Her mom believed she’d hit menopause. She’d exhibited all the signs—signs Skylar recognized because she’d been experiencing them herself recently.
A cancer diagnosis would decimate her sister, India. Ironically enough, their father had been a victim of prostate cancer eleven years ago. Sky’s thoughts flashed to the rounds of chemo and radiation. The endless trips to the hospital. If anything would send India back to the shady world of booze, drugs and random sexual encounters, it’d be dealing with another cancer-stricken family member.
The door made a metallic snick and Skylar’s stomach lurched. She peeled her eyes open to look at the doctor, a striking petite redhead.
“The tests are back,” Doctor Monroe said.
“And? Do I have cancer?”
Doctor Monroe frowned and studied the pages inside the file folder. “Why on earth would you think…oh, I see. A family history of cancer. Huh. A lot of cancer. But no. It’s not cancer.”
Skylar stifled the urge to weep with relief. “Then what on earth is wrong with me? Is it a bug or something I picked up someplace? Is it contagious?” For some reason the impulsive event from a few months back clicked front and center in her mind.
Contagious.
Kade McKay. That rat bastard. He’d given her the clap.
“I have to say, Skylar, I’m not particularly surprised.”
Skylar’s mouth dropped open. “Not surprised that I have an STD? I have unprotected sex one time, one freakin’ time in all the years I’ve been sexually active and you’re not surprised that the jerk I slept with gave me crotch crud?”
Doctor Monroe smiled—grinned actually. “Oh, he didn’t give you an STD. He gave you a baby.”
“WHAT?” Skylar shrieked. “I’m…I’m… Omigod. I’m pregnant?”
“Three months, does that sound right?”
Skylar nodded dumbly. Numbly.
Pregnant. Good God. She hadn’t seen Kade since that blow up at Ziggy’s three and a half months ago. The night they’d done the deed in his pickup in the parking lot of a honky-tonk. Immediately after that romp she’d found out he’d tricked her. She’d cut him out of her life, dodged his phone calls and eventually he’d stopped calling.
Yet, recently she’d found herself thinking of patient, sexy-as-sin Kade McKay at the oddest times, wondering if she hadn’t gone off half-cocked. Although he’d never corrected her assumption he was pretending to be his identical twin brother, the time they’d spent together never seemed like a trick or a joke, or forced but something promising. Something real.
Right. It didn’t get any more real than a baby.
A baby. Jesus.
“Any excessive drinking or other substances I should be worried about that might’ve affected this pregnancy?”
“No. My sister is a recovering alcoholic and she’s been living with me, so I haven’t had a drop of alcohol for months.”
“Good.” Doctor Monroe scooted forward and clasped Skylar’s hands in her own. “A surprise pregnancy isn’t always a pleasant surprise. You understand as your physician there is no judgment on my part on the decision you make. You’re a healthy thirty-four-year-old woman. Pregnancy and childbirth isn’t a risk to you healthwise.
“That said, if this pregnancy isn’t something you want, you’ll need to schedule an appointment with the clinic in Billings or one in Denver within the next week to terminate it. After that, you’re starting the second trimester and the health risks to you double.”
“So I’m a third of the way through?”
Dr. Monroe nodded.
A baby. Growing inside her. How weird. How…cool.
And suddenly Sky wanted this baby fiercely. “Well, Doc, I’m looking at this as a good surprise.”
“I thought you might say that.”
“Why?”
“Because we’re the same age and if I had the same surprise, I’d be over the moon.”
Sky definitely felt as if she’d been launched into another galaxy, spawning a new life form inside her. “Guess I’d better bone up on Mr. Spock’s pregnancy and childbirth books.”