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“Mrs. O, I'm not—”

  “Thirsty,” Goldie said. “She's not thirsty because I just saw her have a drink from her water bottle.”

  Mrs. O eyed me, concerned. “Still, ginger ale should settle your stomach until the sickness passes.”

  “What the hell is Susan nattering on about now?” Mike asked as he approached our seats. We all looked up at him. Way up. Man, was he tall. And he had amazingly broad shoulders. And his jaw— “I swear she scared off all wildlife within five miles of the train. She said something about a baby?”

  Mrs. O stood quickly and gave Mike a fierce hug. He absently patted her back, clearly unsure why his mother was so affectionate all of a sudden. The woman was an amazing mom, but she did try to smother her only child.

  “I'm so happy for you and Violet.”

  “Mom, I—” He paused, obviously thinking about the conversation so far. He looked to me, stunned, and then ran his hand through his hair.

  I shook my head, rolled my eyes and pointed to Goldie. Mike's gaze shifted from me to the meddler. I bet he wished he had a musket right about now, too.

  “Do you think the baby will have red hair?” Goldie asked, as if sugar couldn't melt in her mouth.

  I didn't know if it was the thought of making a red-haired baby, Mike's look of unease when he heard, or my roiling stomach, but the vodka, gin and other liquor from the night before decided to join the party. I vaulted over Goldie, my hand copping a feel of her ample bosom on the way over, practically knocked Mrs. O off her feet and shoved Mike back like a linebacker from the NFL in order to make it to the bathroom in time. Unfortunately, it was occupied. I slapped a hand over my mouth, spun in a circle panicking. Mike's big hand reached from behind me and smacked the large button on the door to the observation deck and it slid wide.

  I dashed out onto the overlook area, bent over the railing and yakked.

  Chapter 13

  “We have a nice photo of you vomiting. You jumped in front of Mr. O's camera right as he took a picture of an eagle's nest,” Goldie told me two hours later.

  We sat at a picnic table in Seward's Waterfront Park after walking the few blocks from the train station. The others were in the parking lot nearby, pulling items out of the two cars that had driven down from Anchorage. In my delicate condition, I was off the hook for retrieving the picnic items.

  Jubal, the Wonder Twins, Banks and family had just met up with us. Banks had a rental I bet Mike had contemplated stealing, but not big enough for six. Everyone but Goldie and I were in the lot, chatting and pulling things from the cars. Folding camp chairs, a picnic basket, brown grocery bags, and a cooler.

  I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Not because I was still nauseous. In fact, the duly recorded spew-fest made me feel much better. Now, I had to listen to Goldie and know I could relive the mortifying moment in full color, high-definition, digital glory. That was stomach churning all by itself. “That's just great,” I said, sarcasm dripping. “Why, Goldie? Why on earth did you tell Mrs. O I'm pregnant?”

  “Are you?” Goldie eyed me closely.

  “Of course not! Mike and I haven't—”

  She waved her hand in the air as if that was of no consequence. “We were in a DEFCON ONE situation. That should get the crazy woman off Mike's back once and for all.”

  “You could have just told Susan off, not say I was having a baby! What happens next week when we're back home? What happens in a few months when I don't start showing?” Goldie clearly didn't understand the magnitude of the situation. “It's one thing to pretend to be a girlfriend, or even a fiancée. But, a baby? I can't fake that!”

  She fluffed her hair. “You did a pretty good job earlier. You have everyone convinced.”

  “Convinced I was sick, sure. But not an actual baby! I could have told them it was the stomach flu, or a hangover. Imagine that, a hangover.” I was tired and very grumpy. I wanted, no needed, coffee, preferably in IV drip form, but Mrs. O would have none of it.

  “What would Claudine think of you then?”

  “A lush. An alcoholic.” I started to flap my arms as I got riled up. The woman all but admitted she hadn't liked me much. She was going to hire a hit man to kill me once she found out I faked a grandchild. “Either's fine with me. Instead, to her I'm an out-of-wedlock, pregnant woman who's seduced and trapped her only child into a surprise marriage.”

  “Violet!” Alex asked, running up to me all flushed cheeks and tousled hair. “Where's the gnome?”

  I turned to face him, smiled. “Hi! I left the gnome back at the house. I didn't want him to get broken.” The little boy's face fell. “He belongs to a boy just a little older than you, named Zach. In fact, this woman here, Miss Goldie, is his grandmother.”

  Alex was breathing hard from his run. He glanced at Goldie as if he didn't believe me.

  “What's this about Zach's gnome? Did he sneak up here?” Goldie asked, feigning surprise.

  Alex nodded and pointed at me. “In her suitcase.”

  “Zach snuck up in Violet's suitcase?” Her eyebrows went up in fake shock.

  Alex giggled. “No, silly. George the Gnome did.”

  Goldie held a hand up to her chest. “Oh, my! Why do you think he snuck in there? Do you think Zach knows?”

  Alex looked at me. I looked at Goldie. We both shrugged our shoulders.

  “I tell you what, young man. Once we're back to the house, we'll give Zach a call and you can tell him you found his gnome. It's a good thing, too. I bet he's worried about him sneaking off like that.”

  Alex giggled some more and ran off back toward his dad.

  “The gnome was in your suitcase?”

  “I think Zach put him there so he could go to Nome.”

  Goldie just stared at me for a moment before bursting out laughing. She laughed so hard she started crying, using a paper napkin pulled from the top of a grocery bag to wipe her eyes. “Oh, Zach. I do love that boy. So smart.”

  I had to agree with her. It was cute. And it was really smart for a seven-year-old. To hear about a town called Nome and think George should go on a trip there was brilliant. “Oh, I forgot to text Jane and tell her.”

  Goldie dabbed at her eyes. “I'll call her. You've got enough going on with the baby and all.”

  Jean-Paul or Marc hefted a large cooler and placed it on the ground next to the picnic table. The look he gave me before he returned to the cars was easily translatable in any language.

  “What's Marc's problem?” Goldie asked, blowing her nose.

  I took a sip of the ginger ale Mrs. O had forced upon me. Again. “How do you know that's Marc? You only met him thirty minutes ago.”

  “Because they look different to me. Marc has a slight scar in his left eyebrow.”

  “Huh. I never really noticed that.” That was because I'd been taking in the entire, very appealing package to notice any kind of imperfection. Times two. I watched Marc's retreat. His firm backside. So did Goldie.

  “Those two are hot. I wouldn't mind being part of that French sandwich. A little Dijon mustard makes it spicy. Mmm mmm.”

  My mouth fell open.

  “If I didn't know any better, or could understand French, I would think he's got a little tendre for you.” She pointed at me.

  “He does. They do. They want me. They want to share me. To take me back to France with them.”

  Goldie cocked her head, eyed me suspiciously. As if I could make that kind of story up. “They told you this?”

  I nodded.

  “I know you speak French and all, but you didn't mis-translate it or anything?”

  I shook my head.

  Goldie stared at me for a long moment. I'd actually stunned her into silence. Momentarily. “Holy hot, Batman. It's a shame you're pregnant then. They might have swayed you away from Mike, but now that you're having his baby, I guess that's the end of it.”

  “I'm not having his baby!”

  “Marc thinks you are.”

  I fiddled with the aluminum soda can. �
�Fine. Regardless, I don't want to move to France with polyamorous twins.”

  Goldie squinted her eyes, considered. “It might be good. Hell, it would be great. Have you ever been with two men?”

  I assumed that was a rhetorical question.

  “Two men as gorgeous as them? You still have eight weeks left until school starts. You could go with them and brush up on your French.”

  “Goldie,” I warned. If her meddling trend continued, I'd be on an Air France flight by dinnertime.

  “I bet they could get you saying 'Ooh La La' double time.” Goldie chuckled. “Double time, get it?”

  I faked a smile and nodded. “Good one.”

  “At least keep those two in mind if things don't work out with Mike. They could make you forget about him. About anything, hell, your own name, with four hands on your body.”

  Whatever.

  We both ogled Mike as he approached next, carrying a blanket folded beneath his arm. That zing of nerves jolted through me as I took him in. Jeans that molded just right to his long legs, muscular thighs. He'd shed his fleece jacket and his white T-shirt made his broad shoulders even more pronounced. His red hair was tousled as if a woman had run her fingers through it while he was making love to her. Ugh. My thoughts were definitely going the wrong way. It was more likely mussed from the wind, having had to stand out on the observation platform for the last two hours of the journey with Mr. O.

  “Ooh la la,” Goldie murmured. “The horse is out of the barn, Vi.”

  I looked down at Mike's crotch. “His fly isn't open,” I whispered back.

  Mike's eyebrow went up as he watched me; even thirty feet away he saw where I was looking. I felt heat creep into my cheeks.

  Goldie tsked me. “No. The saying, 'Closing the barn door after the horse has bolted.' You're already pregnant. Clearly everyone thinks you've had sex. Go for it. Why close the barn door? Do that man, Vi.”

  Do that man.

  “What about the French sandwich?” I hissed.

  “That's just the backup plan. The way he's looking at you, I don't think you'll need Plan B. Like I said, do Mike. Climb him like a rope in gym class.”

  I ogled the father of my imaginary baby until he stood in front of us, placing the blanket on the table.

  “We need to talk.” Mike kept his eyes trained on me. “Excuse us, Goldie.”

  He held out his hand.

  I took it.

  He led me down to the water's edge, the wind a little stronger making little whitecaps form. Seagulls squawked overhead. The scent of damp, salty earth was strong with the tide out. A hint of fishiness lingered.

  “I haven't had a chance to get to talk to you all morning,” Mike said, as if that wasn't a good thing.

  “It's not like we had to worry about keeping our stories straight. It's not like our engagement and everyone wanting to know how we got together. No one asks the details about how a baby is made.”

  “Like missionary in a truck?” He stopped and looked down at me, grinning.

  “Exactly.” I smiled a little envisioning the one time we'd had sex. Missionary in his old pick-up truck. He remembered. It was kind of hard to forget your first time, even more so when you got your hair caught in the seatbelt buckle and Mike had to turn on the overhead light to work it loose.

  “What are we going to do?” He ran a hand over his face. I could hear the rasp of his stubble beneath his palm. “This is not what I was envisioning when I had you come up here.”

  We both turned to look back at the rest of our group. They all were around the picnic table now, paper plates in hand, piling food on them from Tupperware containers or digging into pre-made sandwiches. Jubal lifted his arm and waved us over. Mike lifted his hand briefly in response.

  “Your mother took me to the dining car and stared at me the rest of the trip. She was beaming and sighing, not caring what was out the window. She wouldn't have noticed if Big Foot stepped out of the forest.”

  “Baby definitely trumps Big Foot. I was stuck with my dad on the observation deck. He was either slapping me on my back for my virility or taking pictures of bald eagles. And that moose that was in the pond. I think he has forty pictures of it alone.”

  “He's not happy about having an imaginary grandchild?” I asked, surprised.

  “It's not that. That was a once-in-a-lifetime train trip that lasted three hours. A baby takes nine months. He'll be happy for us now that he's off the train.”

  “Can you please tell me how we're going to get out of this one? I might have to borrow someone's red-headed baby if this keeps up.”

  “I have no idea, Vi.” He turned to face me, put his hands gently on my shoulders. “We're in this together, whatever happens.”

  “Why don't we just march over there and tell them the truth?” I asked, although I dreaded the prospect immensely.

  Mike took a deep breath, gave my shoulders a little squeeze. “Let's not do anything too hasty. We still have three more days here. Right now everyone still likes us, and we have to live with them for the rest of the trip.”

  “Yeah, but you're not the one who can't drink anymore and everyone's not staring at your belly.”

  Mike's gaze raked down my body, but didn't make it as far as my stomach. “It's not hard pretending I'm into you. I don't want a real baby right now, but I sure wouldn't mind practicing.”

  With that, Mike lowered his head and brushed his lips across mine. Once, twice. Softly and gently until I relaxed. He pulled me in closer so our bodies touched along with our mouths, his hands slipping from my shoulders, one to cup my nape, the other to curl around my jaw. Tilting his head, he ran his tongue over my lower lip and, when I gasped, slipped inside.

  The kiss was much shorter than I would have liked and, when Mike pulled back, the dark look he gave me said he wasn't finished either. But we were in a public park, with his family as chaperones not so far away. It wasn't the time or place. “Practice,” he repeated, as he ran his thumb over my lower lip.

  I was all for a little practicing. And later, when we were alone, I wouldn't mind if his horse came out of the barn.

  “If you keep looking at me that way, I'll....” Mike said, his voice rough.

  “You'll what?” I asked, my voice a little breathless.

  He leaned in and whispered what he'd do, his breath a soft caress against the shell of my ear.

  My gaze darted left and right, even knowing no one could hear Mike's erotic words. “Okay,” I said.

  “Really?” Mike's eyebrow went up and I heard him groan. “You'd do that? And the other thing, too?” I nodded. “Holy shit, Vi. Later. Definitely, later.”

  He took my hand and we headed back to the group. “By the way, it's nice of you to put that necklace on for Uncle Bob.”

  I looked down at the rapper cross. I'd tucked it in my bag with my camera and slipped it on once we pulled into Seward. “It was really sweet of Jubal to get this...thing for me, even though it's ridiculous. I don't want to hurt his feelings.”

  He stopped me by tugging on my hand, turned me to face him. Brushing my hair back from my face with his free hand, he simply said, “Thank you.”

  I shrugged off his words. “I wear holiday sweaters with reindeer on the front. Intentionally. A big pewter cross is nothing.”

  We started walking again, switched topics. “The only good news about this ridiculous baby situation—”

  “There's good news?” I interrupted.

  “—is that Susan may finally leave me alone.”

  “That's what my uterus is here for. Glad I could help.”

  “When you threw up over the railing, having some of it hit the edge of the deck and splatter back onto Susan's legs was the highlight of the train trip.”

  We looked at each other and started laughing. Mike's eyes crinkled at the corners, his whole body relaxed and he was at ease for the first time since I arrived. It may not have been the joke. The kiss probably helped a lot. It certainly helped me.

  The
baby news, needless to say, was received with mixed reviews. Obviously, Mike's mom and dad were thrilled. Jubal, too. He commented on the great necklace, then gave me a big bear hug, lifting me so my feet dangled a good foot off the ground, but when he realized he might be squeezing the baby too hard, he'd put me down and patted my head. Smiled like a Cheshire cat. Knowing my fishing lures and giving the family a new baby made me his new BFF.

  The twins and Susan were not as excited. They were upset for completely opposite reasons. Marc and Jean-Luc wanted me, Susan wanted Mike. All three didn't care for the baggage of a baby. Their battle was lost.

  Susan stayed with the group as long as the train was moving. After squealing like a stuck pig when I gave her legs and fancy shoes a vomit shower, she'd called a friend who lived in Seward once she had cell reception and was whisked away as soon as we pulled into the station.

  With everyone settled in the park having a picnic lunch, no one seemed to miss her. Even Mrs. O. I had a feeling she wouldn't be inviting Susan along anymore.

  As for Jean-Luc and Marc, the looks they sent me were certainly not heated, passionate stares of the past. In fact, they were clearly disappointed and downright surly. Fortunately, I wasn't interested in them anyway. My nipples didn't get hard thinking about them the way I thought about Mike. The baby news was a great way, like a Band-Aid being ripped off, to make them realize I wasn't expatriating for them.

  The train wouldn't make the return trip to Anchorage until after dinner, so those taking the train back had hours. For us returning in the cars, we were all content to stretch our legs before the ride home. The afternoon was spent split into groups. Jubal, the twins and Goldie went on a three-hour whale and fishing tour out of Seward's harbor. No one would know by looking at her, but Goldie loved to fish, and was pretty darn good at it. If they were given the opportunity to pull out their rods, I had no doubt Goldie would be pulling in her daily quota of salmon.

  No one questioned when I chose land over water. Although they missed the big event, I was sure Jubal and the twins didn't want to see a performance of my barfing, especially after Goldie shared the details of the story, using pantomime and charade-like hand gestures for the twins to understand.