Mountain Man Lumberjack Read Online Natasha L. Black

Categories Genre: Alpha Male Tags Authors:
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Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 68074 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 340(@200wpm)___ 272(@250wpm)___ 227(@300wpm)
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“Okay,” I tried again. “What if the pregnancy test is wrong?”

She drew in a breath. “You’re right. Of course, we should make a doctor’s appointment.”

“Tammy should make a doctor’s appointment,” I said.

Mom put both her hands over one of mine, staring into my eyes as if I were still a child. “If she told you the baby is yours, then it is. You are partners in this, so you need to go with her to every appointment you can. It will be a big adjustment, but I think you’re ready.”

“Really?”

It was good to hear her say that. In the back of my mind, the demon of doubt had been questioning my ability to parent a child. I enjoyed making Nicky and Daisy laugh, and I had even held Mary Ellen, but was I really cut out for a baby of my own? Just because you got a girl pregnant didn’t make you father material. I didn’t know the first thing about changing diapers or spoon-feeding an infant. But to hear my mom express her faith that I would come out on top was really encouraging. She should know. Maybe it would be alright—maybe Tammy and I would be good parents.

“Where is Tammy now?” Mom asked.

“I don’t know,” I said, reaching for the lunch.

“What do you mean, you don’t know?” she asked again, like she was hard of hearing.

“I don’t know where she is,” I repeated. “I left without saying good morning.”

“Why would you do that?”

“I was angry,” I admitted.

“Why?” she gasped. It never occurred to her to be anything but excited at the prospect of a pregnancy.

“She lied to me,” I defended my actions. “She kept the pregnancy from me for two weeks.”

Mom frowned. “I know you didn’t leave that girl all alone after she told you she was carrying your child.”

I winced. “I did.”

“Michael!” she yelled, snatching my sandwich away from me. “Think about it from her perspective for a minute. She must have been terrified. She doesn’t know you that well, and now she finds herself pregnant. The worst thing you could have done is react in anger.”

I stared down at the table. She was right. I had only been thinking of myself. Of course, all the doubts and emotions that I was having now, Tammy had been dealing with for the past two weeks. She wasn’t prepared for parenthood any more than I was. She didn’t know if our relationship could weather the storm. Instead of becoming her ally, I had pushed her away. I forced her to deal with the pressure all on her own, abandoning her when I should have supported her.

I decided to make things right when I went home. I could pick up some flowers and apologize. The next step would be to go see the doctor, and I would offer to go with her. I could share how happy the news had made my mom and maybe begin thinking about things like gift registries.

“Can we not tell Dad yet?” I asked my mom. “Give me time to apologize to Tammy?”

Mom agreed with a nod, placing the sandwich back in front of me. I ate it with a grateful smile, all of the tension fueling my appetite. I went back to work with a renewed vigor, eager to get it all done and clock out.

When work was finally done for the day, I stopped by the gas station to grab a bouquet of roses. Pulling up outside our cabin, I saw that Tammy’s car wasn’t there. Sometimes she worked late. There were a few days when a client came in for a coloring late in the afternoon, and Tammy had to stay until six or seven. I wasn’t worried.

I went inside, found the pitcher that Tammy had used for lemonade, and filled it with water. The dishes were clean, Macy and Lindsey’s serving bowls set aside on the counter to return to their owners. Everything else was in the dishwasher. I set the roses in the pitcher and went to get changed. I thought about taking a shower but didn’t want to miss Tammy when she came home. Instead, I sat down in front of the television and turned ESPN on.

At six o’clock I checked my phone. No message from Tammy. At six fifteen, I sent her a quick text to ask if she was working late. I put a lot of effort into it, wanting to come off just right.

I’m happy about the baby. Hope we can talk soon. I covered all my bases in a single message. There was no response. At six thirty, I sent another text: Are you working late? There was no response to that one either. At quarter after seven, I began to get worried. Jason had given me his number when we were talking about woodworking. I called him, trying to iron out my nerves by pacing into the kitchen and out.


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