The Other Side of Us (Harlequin Superromance) (21 page)

Oliver wanted to reject his brother’s words in the same way
he’d rejected everything else Brent had said, but he could hear the very real
concern in his brother’s tone. As much as it galled him to admit it, were Brent
and Sandra ever to break up, Oliver would be pretty worried, too, if Brent
started waxing poetic about another woman so quickly. As irritating as his
brother’s fussing was, it came from a good place.

“If you’d met Mackenzie, you’d understand.” Oliver thought for
a moment, trying to articulate his feelings. “When I’m with her, it feels right,
you know? Am I a little freaked out by how fast it’s all happened? Yes. But life
doesn’t work to schedule.”

Brent was silent for a long beat. “Does she feel the same?”

The million-dollar question. Oliver squinted into the sun.

“We haven’t talked about it.”

Another silence. “Okay. It’s your life.” Brent said it with all
the weighted doom of someone handing out a death sentence.

“Stranger things have happened, you know,” Oliver said quietly.
“Who says that because I wasn’t looking for it, this isn’t the best thing that’s
ever happened to me?”

“For your sake, I hope you’re right.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Oliver saw the vet come out and
talk to the receptionist.

“I have to go. Did you need anything?”

“Yeah. I wanted to let you know that Sandra’s offered to load
all the furniture on eBay so we can sell it off. If you send her the pictures
and descriptions, she’ll take care of it.”

“Great. Tell her thanks from me.”

“Okay.”

Oliver ended the call and shoved the phone into his pocket. His
brother’s timing was awesome. As if he didn’t have enough on his plate right
this second with Strudel being under the weather.

He shortened the dog’s lead and reentered the clinic.

“Sorry about that,” he told the receptionist.

“You’re fine. All taken care of?” she asked.

Her gaze was curious and he wondered how much she’d heard.

“Thanks, yeah.”

“The vet will be with you in a minute.”

Oliver resumed his seat, signaling for Strudel to sit at his
feet.

He felt rattled and off balance after Brent’s call. He should
have told his brother to pull his head in rather than feed his curiosity. Oliver
didn’t need to justify himself to anyone.

He picked up one of the magazines piled next to his seat, then
put it down again. Brent’s words kept echoing through his head, setting his
teeth on edge.

There is an extremely high likelihood that
thanks to what happened with Edie your head is still up your ass in some
capacity right now.

And:
You probably want to be sure that
you’re jumping into something because you really want it, not because you’ve
gotten comfortable living your life a certain way.

He shifted in his seat, forcing himself to consider his
brother’s words, even though they made him uncomfortable. Was it possible he was
simply seeking to replicate what he’d lost? Was he simply one lonely, pathetic
half of a whole, looking for another half—
any
other
half—now that Edie had revealed their marriage to be a sham?

He was relatively certain the answer was a resounding no. Being
married had suited him in many ways, but he hadn’t loved being married
that
much. He wasn’t lying awake at night missing
arguments over the remote control and who left the lid off the toothpaste and
whose turn it was to empty the dishwasher. His attraction to Mackenzie was
because of who she was, not some sort of limpet instinct on his behalf.

“Strudel Garrett?” a male voice said.

Oliver shot to his feet, wondering how long the other man had
been standing there, waiting for him to notice him.

“Sorry. This is Strudel. I’m Oliver.”

“Nice to meet you. I’m Jacob. Come in.”

Strudel tried to dig her heels in when Oliver led her toward
the examination room and he had to coax her then lift her onto the examination
table.

“So, what seems to be the problem?”

Now that it was the moment of truth, Oliver felt both foolish
and anxious. Recited cold, Strudel’s symptoms didn’t seem that ominous, and he
suspected he was about to be given a reassuring chat and sent home with some
information brochures. And yet he couldn’t let go of the fear that something
really was wrong.

He listed Strudel’s symptoms dutifully, explaining how rarely
she threw up and how bouncy she usually was. He even mentioned that Mr. Smith
had been concerned, as though a dachshund’s behavior could corroborate his own
observations. A definite low point in the conversation.

Jacob hmmed and aahed, listened to Strudel’s heart, then got a
curious look on his face.

“Interesting.”

“In a good way or a bad way?”

Jacob held up a finger to indicate he needed silence, shifting
his attentions from Strudel’s heart to her abdomen.

“Right. Well, that would do it,” the vet said, slipping the
stethoscope from his ears.

“What?”

“Your dog is pregnant.”

* * *

M
ACKENZIE
HAD
A
SHOWER
after Oliver left, then
proceeded to do laps of the house—kitchen to study to exercise room and
back—anxiously waiting for Oliver’s call.

She had his phone charging and was so eager for his call she
pounced on it when it rang, inadvertently taking a call from his brother.

The other man sounded deeply suspicious until Mackenzie
explained the situation in detail. Clearly, he thought she’d lifted Oliver’s
phone. She did what she could to reassure him, then resumed her pacing.

After Oliver had been gone an hour she started to create
excuses to call him, even though he’d assured her he’d let her know as soon as
he had any information about Strudel. She managed to sit on her hands for
another twenty minutes, then—finally—Oliver’s phone rang and her number flashed
on the screen.

“How is she?”

“She’s fine.”

“Really? Oh, that’s great.” She sat in the chair with a thump.
“I’m so relieved.”

“She’s also pregnant.”

“What?”

“Tell me, is Mr. Smith still in possession of the crown
jewels?”

“Um, yes. He is. I was going to breed him. Wire-haired
dachshunds are really hard to come by....” Guilt washed over her. She hadn’t
even thought to mention that he was packing heat. Most bitches were spayed these
days. And Smitty was very rarely out unattended. With many male dogs, a warning
wouldn’t have been necessary since the fact that they weren’t neutered would be
readily discernible at first glance. But Mr. Smith was so furry and so low to
the ground Oliver could be forgiven for not noticing his small but apparently
very efficient man parts.

“I see.”

“I take it Strudel hasn’t been spayed?” she asked, even though
she knew it was stating the bleeding obvious.

“No, she has not.” He sounded pissed.

“It might not have been Mr. Smith,” she said. Then she realized
it sounded as though she was calling Strudel a strumpet. “I mean, has she been
around any other dogs lately?”

“Mackenzie, I caught them in the act.”

“Oh, right. Now I remember.” She and Oliver had even had a
fight about it, after he’d deposited Mr. Smith on her side of the fence.

“When is she due?”

“The vet isn’t sure. But if we use the first week we arrived as
a guide, she’s due in five weeks or so.”

“Wow. That soon.”

“Yep. That soon.”

He was definitely pissed.

“Are you guys coming home now?”

“We’ll be there in half an hour or so.”

“Good. I’ll see you then.”

Mackenzie winced as she ended the call. Then she went in search
of her dog.

“Mr. Smith, you are in so much trouble. Oliver is going to kill
us, you know that, right?” she told him when she found him. “Why couldn’t you
keep your furry little paws to yourself?”

Mr. Smith looked up at her with his bright button eyes, his
mouth slightly open. The picture of innocence. Except she knew better.

“Prepare yourself for some major sucking up, my friend. You
need to charm Oliver within an inch of his life.”

She was waiting on the porch of Oliver’s place when he turned
into the driveway, her reprobate dog unhappily locked up next door. She wasn’t
about to wave a red flag in front of Oliver while he was on the warpath.

“Hey,” he said as he exited the car.

“Hi,” she said, way too brightly. “How was the drive?”

“Uneventful.” Oliver shot her a curious look before letting
Strudel out of the car.

“Hey, girl. How are you? You’re going to be a mummy, are you?”
Mackenzie scratched Strudel’s chest and fondled her ears. She shook the bag
she’d brought with her. “I brought you some rawhides and a couple of pig’s ears
to chew on. And a nice warm blanket for you to sleep on.”

She saw Oliver frown out of the corner of her eyes.

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“Well, she’s a VIP now, isn’t she?” While her dog was a
VNP—very naughty pet.

“It’s okay, Mackenzie, I’m not angry,” he said.

She glanced at him quickly. “Aren’t you?” She really hoped that
was true, because she was painfully aware that they had only a handful of days
left and she didn’t want anything to ruin their limited time together.

If it was limited. But now was definitely not the time to
broach
that
subject.

“I was at first. But it takes two to tango, right?”

“I think it must have been more of a pole vault in this case,
but yes. I guess it does.”

“I wasn’t planning to breed her, and they are going to be
weird-ass puppies, but what the hell. We can’t do anything about it now.”

“No.”

“I’m going to set her up in front of the fire,” he said, moving
past her and climbing onto the porch.

“Sure. Okay.”

“You want to come in?” Oliver’s eyes crinkled at the corners as
he smiled at her, waiting for her response.

Relief washed over her. They were okay.

“I’ll go get your phone.”

“See you in five, then.”

She crunched her way up the driveway, inordinately relieved
that Oliver’s sense of humor extended to animal husbandry. She wasn’t sure that
she would be quite so understanding in his position. Mr. Smith jumped on her the
moment he walked in the door, balancing on his hind legs, letting her know in
his special way that he was glad she was home—even though she’d only been gone
give minutes.

“Yes, yes, you’re very cute, but you’re still in big trouble,”
she told him.

He sat and looked at her with such a wounded expression she
almost believed he understood her. She bent and rubbed his chest.

“I know you were only doing what comes naturally. But if you
tell Oliver I said that, you’re in big trouble.”

Stars skittered across her vision as she straightened. She
closed her eyes briefly and they continued to dance behind her eyelids.

“Shit.”

In the months immediately following the accident she’d suffered
from some skull-splitting migraines. They’d tapered off as she recovered,
however, and the worst she’d had in recent months had been bad headaches that
she’d been able to keep at bay with over-the-counter medicine. The stars were
not a good sign, though. If they presaged a migraine, within thirty minutes she
would be in her own personal hell, nauseous and in pain and unable to endure
light.

Please let it be a false alarm.

She walked carefully to her bedroom and into the en suite, keen
to do an inventory of what painkillers she had on hand. To her dismay, she
quickly discovered that she was out of the prescribed migraine medication she’d
been given when she left rehab. Panic fluttered behind her breastbone. An
over-the-counter painkiller wouldn’t even put a dent in a migraine. She returned
to her bedroom and did a quick rifle through the prescriptions in her bedside
drawer. Sure enough, she had one for the medication she needed. The problem
would be filling it before the migraine set up camp in her head. Already she
could feel her neck becoming stiff, and the stars danced every time she moved
too quickly. If she drove into town, there was every chance she’d be stranded
there.

There was really only one option. Prescription in hand, she
made her way next door.

“If Mr. Smith has come to grovel and beg for forgiveness, he’s
more than welcome,” Oliver said the moment he opened the door.

“I need a favor,” she asked.

Pain stabbed behind her temple and she pressed her fingers to
her forehead.

“Hey. Are you okay?” He stepped closer.

“I think I have a migraine coming on. I thought I had some
meds, but I’m all out and I need to get a prescription filled....”

His gaze dropped to the piece of paper in her hand.

“You need me to go get it? Not a problem.”

“Okay. Thanks. That would be great. Listen, I need to go lie
down.”

“I’ll walk you home,” Oliver said, stepping onto the porch.

“You don’t need to do that.”

His arm came around her as they started down the steps. “Yeah,
I do.”

They slowly traversed the driveways, his body warming her side,
his arm strong around her. He didn’t say anything, a gift for which she was
supremely grateful because she was starting to feel as though she was going to
lose her breakfast any second and every fiber of her being was focused on
walking and not throwing up.

He walked her all the way to her bedroom, helping her undress
and slip between the covers.

“Can you take anything else until I get back?”

“I don’t know if I should mix things. I’ll tough it out until
you get back.”

He brushed the hair from her forehead, his expression
concerned. “I’ll be back in ten. Hang in there.”

“Okay.”

He was so worried for her she couldn’t help but be touched. She
reached out and caught his hand. “I’ll be fine. It’s just a headache. Believe
me, I’ve survived worse.”