Seeing Red (Wells Ranch #2)

by Bailey Hannah

It doesn’t feel right to leave, but it also doesn’t feel right to stay. So I shut her front door softly behind me, then drive back to the ranch with one hand on the steering wheel and the other over my chest pocket, holding the most important photo of my life secure.

OMG that is the cutest response, he's going to be a great dad

“Well, your blood pressure is normal. Your endocrinologist is still handling your medications, correct?” Cass nods, and the doctor’s fingers clack on the keyboard. “As you know, you lost some weight during the first trimester. But you’re gaining it back quicker than I’d like to see, so be extra mindful of what you’re eating from here on out, okay?”

Look the doctor may seem harsh, but gaining too much weight during pregnancy can cause gestational diabetes, and that can be bad. Also when you tack on her other disorders as well, that can be an issue during pregnancy.

“Absolutely fucking not. For as long as you’re carrying our baby, you’re not letting any strange men near you. If you’re that damn horny, you come to me. Use me. Got it?” Cass’s eyebrows bunch together, and her lips part slightly like she’s struggling to find words, so I cut her off. “Before you backhand me, I’m not trying to be your boyfriend. We’ve fucked without feelings before so, if you need an orgasm, I’ll give it to you. No feelings. You don’t have to like me to fuck me, and we both know it was great last time—even if you don’t want to admit you love my cock. But some random dude’s dick will not be inside of you while my baby still is.” “I’m not fucking anything other than my vibrator, but thanks for offering to take one for the team.” Now I’m going to have the image of her using a toy on herself permanently trapped in my brain. I’ve seen what she looks like when she makes herself come, so it comes to mind too easily. I keep my eyes trained on the road ahead, knowing I’ll have an instant hard-on if I look at her. It’s difficult enough to keep it from happening, anyway.

I don't blame him

“Holy fuck…a girl,” he whispers—to himself, I think. I kick myself for not wearing waterproof mascara as I come away from wiping my tears with black streaks across my hands. I know my face is probably a disaster but I’m comforted by looking at the man gently crying next to me. At least we can both be weepy messes together. “Think you can handle a girl?” “Fuck yeah, I can. We’ll paint our nails, then go work cows together.” “You’re going to paint your nails?” The way I’m blubbering, I feel drunk. “Abso-fucking-lutely. Painted nails, hair bows, whatever she wants. Not ashamed at all of being wrapped around her finger.”

Awww so sweet

“What’s your poison?” “Plain cranberry juice for me tonight.” I have to lean in close enough I can smell his spicy aftershave to be heard over the pounding bass. “Being responsible tonight, eh? Hopefully not too responsible, though.” He winks and places a hand on the small of my back, ushering me across the sticky club floor before I have the chance to turn him down. Fresh drink in hand, I scrunch my nose and say something that’s neither true nor necessary information to share right now. “I have a boyfriend.” “Okay?” He smirks, not giving a shit whether it’s the truth or not. “And I’m pregnant.” I tap my fingernail on the side of my nonalcoholic drink, smoothing my free hand over my stomach to pull the dress taut.

This reminds me of the movie Knocked Up. Girl, why are you at a night club pregnant? Come on now

“We could be…a couple.” I sit straight up, a jumble of Blair’s words about leading him on swimming through my orgasm-hazed brain. A couple? Shit. Shit. Shit. I should have ended this weeks ago instead of giving him the wrong idea. I knew a friends-with-benefits arrangement was stupid. Damn hormones got the better of me, and now I’m in over my head. “Chase, I told you I didn’t want to risk fucking things up between us. Honestly, things are probably too messy as it is, and I wasn’t trying to make you think this could turn into something more. I’m sorry for making you think we could be…I’m not in the right headspace for a relationship with anybody. I need to focus on the fact that I’m having a baby in a few months. I know we keep saying it’s the last time, but I’m serious now. I think it would be best for Little Spud if we just be friends…nothing more. No more benefits.” “Okay,” he mumbles. He’s lying. I know him well enough to know the tone in his voice means it’s not okay, which absolutely guts me. “Just…if you ever decide you want to date somebody, consider giving me a chance? Get some sleep, Cass. Sweet dreams.”

Girl you are so dumb, for real. This man worships the ground you walk on. You don't deserve him.

“Yep, I know you don’t.” “He started a bar fight for no good reason tonight. That’s the kind of guy you want in your life? I thought I raised you better—did a good job of showing you how men should act.” “You did. Honestly, you set a great example, Dad. I’m not saying he’ll be anywhere near as good of a dad as you are, but I want my baby to have both parents around. He’s a different person outside of this bar, and I wish you could see that side of him.” “Doesn’t it concern you that he has sides?” Dad raises an eyebrow, pinning me with a stare as I meagerly shrug. “So when he’s here, he punches people for no good reason, but I’m supposed to trust when you say he’s capable of treating you with respect elsewhere? You could’ve gotten hurt tonight when the fight he started turned into a brawl. You think he would’ve even cared? Or noticed? Seemed like you were the last thing on his mind when you should’ve been the first.”

I hate that they are both judging Chase, and not getting to the bottom of WHY Chase does bar fights? Come on, stop judging him and talk to the man. Poor Chase.

“Can I be honest?” His tongue darts out to lick his lips, and his gaze burns clear through me. “I never wanted to be your fucking friend or your friend-with-benefits or your goddamn co-parent. But I would settle for any of those titles if it meant going back to cooking you dinner and watching crappy reality shows on your couch, and falling asleep with you. Being at your doctor’s appointments, glaring at Dr. Dickhead—not getting a text message after. I want to be holding your hand when you have our baby and see your eyes light up when you hold her for the first time. I want to take care of you so you can take care of her. Hell, I even want to change a shitty diaper at two o’clock in the morning.” I blink down, letting tears splatter on the dusty floor. “And it fucking sucks to know I maybe had all of that before I opened my mouth and suggested something as laughable as—” His voice falters with a flustered, sharp inhale. A fist comes up to cover his mouth, and he exhales hard through his nose.

Aww, he wears his heart on his sleeve. He's still a little boy looking for love and comfort. He never got that growing up.