How the hell does she see that? I wonder as I struggle with how to respond. The truth is, she’s not wrong. Trista’s more perceptive than I give her credit for. But I shouldn’t be sad. My life is pretty damn perfect, despite my idiot brothers, but on days like today, when we achieve something amazing, I miss seeing the look of pride in my father’s eyes. I miss hearing him grumble over the missteps. I miss hearing his pride...when I was out of earshot.

  And even though I don’t generally share too much of myself with anyone outside of my family, it almost feels...important...to share this with her. Like she deserves it after everything we’re going through together.

  I slide my hands into my pockets and sigh heavily. “I guess I’m a little sad my dad isn’t here to see this.”

  Her face softens. “How long has he been gone now?”

  “A little over two years.”

  “Do you mind if I ask how he died?”

  My lips thin as I refuse to replay the course of that awful day. “Heart attack.”

  Trista nods. “Would he have been proud of you for selling this smart house?”

  “Not outwardly.” I huff with a knowing laugh. “He would have bitched that this development was more work than it was worth, and the old way of building houses was just fine. But then I’d catch him bragging to his friends about it.” I can still picture his knowing smile, sitting in his favorite chair in the bar we frequented after work.

  My chest aches as it always does when I think of him.

  “That’s odd.” Trista’s brows crinkle. “Why wouldn’t he want you to know he’s proud of you?”

  I smile and glance out the window at the mountains. “My dad was the king of being the devil’s advocate. He always challenged our ideas and pushed us to make sure we knew what we were getting into. But he never stopped us. I think he just wanted to make sure we considered all the angles. His voice lives rent-free in my mind all the time.”

  Trista bites her lip thoughtfully before she asks, “So were you guys super close?”

  My lips press together for a moment before I answer. “He was our boss, our coworker, our best friend, and our dad. I’m not sure we could have gotten any closer.”

  Trista gets a strange look in her eye that I want to ask about, but she distracts me when she says, “What would he think about what you’re doing with me? With this surrogacy stuff?”

  “Shockingly, I think he’d love it.” I pause as a pang of sadness hits me in the chest that I’ll never get to talk to him about it all. “He always hated that my brothers and I chose mountain life over traditional family life. And I thought when I bought the mountain, that would be my passion. I killed myself working the land, setting up a sustainable water source from the creek, installing solar panels, and mining the forest for stones for my fireplace. It was an obsession for years.”

  “So what changed your mind?” she asks, her eyes piercing into me in a way that makes me want to bare my soul to her.

  I hesitate for a moment as the memory of holding my mom in the hospital after they told us our father had died hits me like a ton of bricks. The memories of that day still cause my stomach to churn. Luke’s face...especially Luke’s face.

  “I think in the back of my mind, I always wanted to be a father. When my brother Max had Ethan, everyone talked about how much he looked like me. It’s probably vain or narcissistic, but it made me feel proud in some weird way. And once my dad died, I started to think about my own legacy and how I don’t want this mountain to end with me. Deep down, I’m still trying to make him proud...even in my own nontraditional way.”

  A smile lights up Trista’s face, and my eyes zero in on her upper lip as it curls. A flash of wondering what it’d be like to kiss her right there invades my thoughts, and I feel my mind going to a place it should definitely not be going.

  “Well, I should have brought you a cake or something to celebrate your big sale,” she says brightly, snapping me out of my fantasizing.

  My brows lift. “Cake? Is this a children’s birthday party?”

  “I don’t know. Do they serve cake at those?” she asks, and nothing in her expression tells me she’s joking.

  I frown curiously. “Have you never had a birthday party?”

  “None worth mentioning,” she replies dismissively and heads over to the windows to stare out at the view.

  The change in her energy is as obvious as the twenty-foot fireplace in the middle of my home. Our interactions this past week have been brief and mostly all business, which felt imperative to my sanity. I mean, shit, all she’s done today is ask me about my dad, yet one little smile from her and my dirty thoughts have come tumbling back into my mind. But this goes well beyond my attraction. I want to know this part of her, even if she doesn’t want me to.

  “Why didn’t you have any good birthday parties?” I ask, watching her shoulders rise slightly.

  “My parents were just really flaky.” She sighs. “They were either always working or trying to find jobs or caught up in their own personal stuff. They were messy. Birthdays and holidays were the last thing on their minds. And you kind of need money to have birthday parties.”

  Guilt darkens my vision as I process the struggle Trista just described because it’s completely foreign to me. My family didn’t have a ton of money, but we wanted for nothing, and my parents never missed an important event in my life. Even with four active sons, they would divide and conquer so one of them was always at our hockey games, school concerts, birthdays. Everything. I hate that Trista didn’t have that. Maybe that’s why she seems to think she needs to work all those hours at the rescue facility. Maybe I need to pay her more to let her feel like she doesn’t have to stretch herself so thin.

  “Is your upbringing the reason you work so many hours at your job?” I can’t help but ask.

  Trista cocks her head, her eyes blinking curiously at me. “Why do you ask?”

  I wince and grip the back of my neck, knowing I’m probably crossing a line here but unable to not feel protective over her. “I just noticed you’re getting back kind of late most nights, considering how early you leave in the morning. I hope your boss isn’t taking advantage of your work ethic.”

  “Who, Earl?” she scoffs and waves me off. “He’s an ass, but he’s not the one keeping me out late.”

  “Who is?” I brace myself as I consider that it might be a social thing keeping her out. Maybe she’s about to tell me about an ex-boyfriend that she’s recently reconnected with. I swear to God, if another man’s vehicle starts parking outside of the barn on a regular basis, I’ll need to board up my windows to survive this.

  “My vet friend, Avery,” she replies cheerily. “The one who takes care of Reggie. I assist on some of the large-animal house calls in rural areas. It’s a good learning opportunity that will give me great experience with all types of animals for when I start my own rescue center.”

  “Oh,” I reply with a forced smile as I try to mask the relief that washes over me when she confirms that she’s not off with some guy every day. She’s just helping animals with her girlfriend.

  She’s an ambitious workaholic, and I’m pathetic.

  With one last lingering look, I shake my head and take my cup down the hall into my bathroom, feeling somehow worse than I did the first night I did this fucking act. The more I know of Trista, the more she gets under my skin. But tonight is our last sundown session. Then it’s probably best to get some space until we find out if we’ve accomplished our goal...or if we have to do this song and dance again.

  God help me.

  Chapter 18

  Inseminations: 5

  Trista

  “Crap,” I shriek and chuck the fourth negative pregnancy test into the trash can with the others as a heavy weight settles in my stomach. “Crap, crap, crap.”

  I flip my two middle fingers off at them, feeling like a child as I pace inside the small bathroom in my new barn apartment. I’ve been here two weeks, and I’m nowhere near unpacked, but it’s already starting to feel like home, and I don’t want to leave. Which means I need to get knocked up.

  I grip my soft belly with two hands, trying to manifest that stress ball inside me into life. This is what I’m here for. This is my big idea that’s supposed to help get me ahead. If I can’t get pregnant, then I’m not just going to be out of a job, but I’m going to be out of a place to live. And apartment shopping with a potbellied pig is not easy. Plus, I’ll be back trying to figure out what the hell I’m doing with my life.

  Quitting the shelter is probably the first thing. The pay sucks, and there’s no chance of making more because we operate mostly on donations and volunteers. The problem is, I love the work and am lucky to be one of very few paid staff members. But ten years of my life there and still only making thirty-five grand annually doesn’t help me make any big life moves. That’s why this surrogacy thing appealed to me so much. It’s an incredible opportunity to continue to do what I love but in my own way.

  But I can’t “be the cow” if I don’t get pregnant first. With a heavy breath, I stare at myself in the vanity mirror.

  “I look tired,” I say out loud, my eyes sliding over the various beauty marks on my face. I used to hate them as a child, but as I’ve grown older, I’ve come to like them. They make me stand out in a world that likes to forget about me.

  My dad had these too, and I briefly wonder if I get pregnant, could the baby inherit them? Would Wyatt like that? I mean, he did pick me to do this, so he must not think I’m completely horrid-looking.

  I’d been mildly happy when he seemed concerned about my long hours the other week. It was nice to have someone other than Reginald care. Do I burn the candle at both ends? Quite likely. But I’ve never been one to be idle. And you’ve never been one to be vain either, so stop gawking at yourself in the mirror.

  But today is just not my day. My chestnut hair is piled on top of my head, and I have dark circles under my eyes from my sleepless nights after stressing over these negative tests. The pressure is real. How many cycles of this turkey-basting process will Wyatt allow? I know our contract allows for more chances, but at what point will he consider me more of a burden than a working cow? Especially if I’m not actually a working cow.

  I turn to the side and stick out my belly, trying to picture a big round bump. It feels impossible, so I shove the hand towel under there to get a better visual, and the reflection staring back at me is just...bizarre.

  Becoming a mother has never been something I wanted. As a kid, while other girls in my class would talk about getting married and starting a family, I could never relate. I knew by age eleven I never wanted to become a mom. The nagging fear of turning out like my own parents worried me to the point I didn’t even like boys for a long time.

  That changed as I got older, obviously, but the moment a guy would get serious, I’d find a reason to pull away. It was easier than having the “I don’t want children” talk.

  Besides, I’m better off on my own. I can accomplish a lot if I put my mind to it, and no one will disappoint me if it’s just me.

  I stare at myself, wondering how it will feel with an alien growing inside me. Even the thought is foreign for me, and I imagine the feel of a baby cow moving around. Cringing, I scrap the entire image, thinking about hooves punching me from the inside, and rip the towel out from under my shirt.

  Maybe I won’t be good at this after all.

  I glance out the window at Wyatt’s cabin, illuminated in the darkness. It looks so beautiful with the twinkling starry sky above it and mountain trees all around. The life Wyatt has built up here for himself with his brothers right next door is like a dream come true. No way will his baby go hungry. All sorts of people around here are checking in and making sure it’s okay.

  Is that what Wyatt wished for when he bought this land? Solitude within beauty? Within family? It’s impressive he actually did it.

  What I wish for still seems so out of reach, yet being here on this mountain strangely feels like it’s where dreams could come true. I can’t lose hope yet. And if it doesn’t work this month, all this means is I get to spend more nights walking up the hill to see my burly, dangerously hot mountain man.

  Well, not mine mine. That’s a dream even this magical mountain couldn’t provide. But my insides warm as I think of his steely blue eyes on me every time I came into his house for one of our sessions. He looked at me like he was happy to see me. Like I was a sight for sore eyes.

  That’s a feeling I could get used to.

  But I need to get myself pregnant to do that.

  Maybe it’s time for a backup plan.

  Chapter 19

  Animals on the Mountain: 2

  Unnecessary Solo Sessions: 5

  Wyatt

  “When do you guys start, like...trying to get her pregnant or whatever? Or have you already started?” Luke asks from the back seat of the truck as Calder drives us back home after a ten-hour workday.

  “None of your business,” I reply, staring out the window and not offering them a shred of detail.

  “Oh, come on,” Calder exclaims with a laugh. “I’ve seen her walk up to your cabin from the barn multiple times this past week.”

  “You have?” Luke asks, leaning over the bench seat as he swats me on the arm. “Damn, I can’t see anything from my cabin. Does this mean you guys are, like...doing it already? How does it work?”

  “I said it’s none of your business,” I growl and turn murderous eyes on Calder. “And stop staring out your window at her. Both of you just leave her the hell alone. I mean it. Don’t go in the barn, don’t talk to her, and don’t look at her. Don’t do anything with her.”

  Luke’s brows furrow, obviously hurt by my harsh words. “We would never do anything with her. Surely you know that, Wyatt.”

  I swallow the lump in my throat at that loaded remark and refuse to let my brain walk down memory lane. “I just don’t want her to feel pressured,” I offer, trying to soften my tone. It’s been fourteen days since we started trying, and she should be able to take a pregnancy test any day now. My anxiety is at an all-time high, as I wonder if it worked or not. This crazy plan of mine might become a reality.

  Holy shit.

  But I shouldn’t get my hopes up. We never even got a chance to try with that official Mosie Baby at-home insemination kit that arrived several days too late. The odds that a Tylenol syringe and plastic dressing cups worked are slim to none. We can try again next month.

  My phone pings, and I swipe it open to see a text from my mom. Luke reads over my shoulder and laughs. “She wants to meet Trista?”

  “Yes,” I groan and rub my hand aggressively over my hair. “She’s pissed at me because I won’t let her come up to the mountain and give Trista a welcome gift. She’s been bugging me all week.”

  “You’re not going to be able to hide her forever,” Calder says, eyeing me seriously.

  “You know our family,” I grind out. “This whole thing is stressful enough without comments from the peanut gallery.”

  Calder scoffs as he turns off the road and up Fletcher Mountain. My heart rate instantly increases when I see Trista’s car parked outside. She’s usually not home before us, so I can’t help but wonder if she’s home early because she has news.

  “Drop me at the barn,” I demand and ignore the look Calder and Luke shoot each other. As I slide out of the truck, I point my finger at them. “I’m serious. Don’t go near Trista.”

  Calder pounds his fists on the steering wheel and mimics the voice of a caveman. “Me no touch Wyatt’s toy or make Wyatt angry like demon dragon.”

  My eyes narrow on him, and he just laughs before taking off and kicking rocks all over as he heads up the lane toward his and Luke’s places.

  As soon as I walk into the barn, Trista’s head pops up out of Reginald’s pen. “My boobs aren’t sore!” she blurts out while tossing a pile of muck into a wheelbarrow.

  “What?” My brow folds in confusion as I make my way over to her.

  Trista stops working and props her hand on top of the gate, using the back of her hand to push her loose curls that have fallen out of her messy bun off her face. “All the baby-making forums say my tits should be sore by now. Or I should have some implantation spotting. I got nothing. I feel the same, and all the early response pregnancy tests I’ve taken the past few days are negative.”

  Disappointment shudders down around me, but I steel myself to remain calm. “Then we try again.”

  Trista studies me. “You’re not mad?”

  “Why would I be mad?” I mirror her stance on the fence, my hands inches from hers, noticing her long, elegant fingers for the first time.

  She digs her fingernail into the wood and kicks at the gate. “So much for your lucky number.”

  I harrumph as my mind rushes back to our first night of insemination. It feels like a million years ago. I barely remember half the things I grunted out in a horned-up daze that night. “Don’t give that another thought.”

  She swallows nervously, picking at a nail head sticking out of the wood. “I know, but I want this to work for you. For both of us.”

  “We’ll try again,” I repeat with a shrug. Yes, I’m disappointed it didn’t work on the first try, but I’m not concerned about having to do our whole process again. It got a little easier every time we did it. At least for me. All it took was thinking about my cum inside her and I was hard.

  Trying again is no problem, but I am bothered by her defeated attitude right now.

  “Trista, it’s okay,” I say firmly and reach out to tuck my finger under her chin to force her to look at me. Her sad copper-green eyes are like a gut punch, and I resist the urge to hug her to my chest. She looks so young right now. “We try again next month. Simple as that. We were prepared for this.”