My arm curls around Penny’s waist, my palm splayed protectively on her budding baby bump, and I guide her out of harm’s way.
I snarl. That’s what happens when you mess with a cowboy’s girl.
38
Penny
Shaking out my tingling fingers, I exit the employee change room and head in the direction of the admin office. A Carrie Underwood tune echoes throughout the almost empty building.
Tonight’s bartending shift is set to start in a half hour, but my boss, Cliff, left a voice message for me to come in a little early this evening. I’m not exactly sure what he wants to discuss, but I have a feeling it has to do with the fight.
The Frosty Pitcher is the most popular bar in town and Cliff hates it whenever drama finds its way in through the front door. Thankfully, the troublemaking douchebag from last night decided to take his beatdown quietly. He’s too damn vain to press charges against Walker at the risk of coming across as a softie.
I knock on Cliff’s dented-in door, opening it when I hear a muffled invitation from within. My boss looks tired, beat down, as he sits behind his paper-covered desk. It’s a mess, as always. Cliff’s not the most organized businessman which is precisely why he caved a few months ago and made me assistant manager of the place to handle some of the administrative tasks.
“Hey, boss,” I chirp, dropping into the cracked leather chair opposite his desk. I’m wearing a glittery off-the-shoulder top with leggings tonight. My bump is becoming more apparent and after yesterday’s events, the last thing I want is to draw unwanted attention to my body, attention that could put my baby at risk. Hence the loose-fitting outfit.
Cliff leans back and requests my version of what led to the fight. I lay it all out for him.
When I’m done, he exhales heavily, giving me a grim smile. “Look, Penny. I don’t blame you at all for what happened. And I sure as hell don’t blame your boyfriend because if my girl was pregnant and someone tried manhandling her, I would have beat the bastard so bad that—”
“Walker isn’t my boyfriend.” I feel the need to clarify. I don’t want anyone getting the wrong idea. For Walker’s sake.
I know what our situation must look like to outsiders—after all, he got me pregnant and I’m living in his house—but my friend made it clear that he doesn’t want to be a father. It’s not fair for the gossips around town to take it upon themselves to reframe our situation.
Cliff shakes his head. “Right. Right. He’s your ‘baby daddy’.” He draws air-quotes around the word. My eyes bulge. “I overheard some of the girls talking about it the other day,” he explains. He drops his head and shakes it, then mutters under his breath. “Fucking millennials. You complicate your lives for no reason.”
I feel a heated blush invade my cheeks. I don’t really expect people to understand.
Walker is not my man. He never will be. The moment I got pregnant, the chance for a happy-ever-after with him was permanently shoved off the table. Walker only sees me as the friend he’s been bailing out of trouble since forever. And continuing to pine away after him right now would be nothing but a distraction. All of my focus needs to be on this pregnancy.
But when he goes around knocking bastards out cold to defend me, I can’t help the tiny spark of hope that comes alive inside me. There’s a little voice in my head screaming, Penny, he punched a guy to protect you. If that doesn’t mean he loves you, I don’t know what does. I need to figure out how to turn that voice off.
“My point is,” Cliff carries on. “I think you know as well as I do, this environment…well, it’s not appropriate for a pregnant chick—err—I mean, lady. It’s not appropriate for a pregnant lady,” he corrects, his tone cautious.
A snort-laugh gets caught in my sinuses. I can’t help it. Although I couldn’t agree with him more, seeing Cliff try to be all politically correct—seeing this oversized guy, with his long, graying beard become all flustered and red and tongue-tied—it’s pretty entertaining. Even if it looks like the man is trying to fire me.
I woke up this morning with every intention of handing in my two weeks’ notice today. But now that Cliff appears to be on the verge of kicking my butt to the curb, I hold my tongue just to see how this conversation plays out.
“Look,” Cliff tries again. “I’m just trying to do the right thing without getting my ass sued for gender discrimination or something. That whole Pregnancy Discrimination Act makes me queasy enough to chug a case of Pepto Bismal.”
I shrug. “Well, women don’t have enough rights in the workplace, that’s for damn sure, but we do have that.”
And lucky girls like me have big, burly farmers who fly into an overprotective fit at the first sign of trouble.
Maybe Walker did overreact last night but I can’t even be mad about what he did. I’m independent and I don’t like being thrust into the role of the distressed damsel but the truth is, I needed him yesterday. I can push my pride aside and admit that. If he hadn’t knocked that dude out cold, I don’t want to imagine what might have happened next.
I was already trying everything in my arsenal of tricks to defuse the situation politely and distance myself from the guy. When the asshole yanked me around like a rag doll, insisting that I have a beer with him, my heart leapt into my throat. I panicked. Not for me, but for my baby.
I like to think that I’ve earned a self-taught PhD in dealing with drunk jackasses in all the years I’ve worked here. But last night, I was scared—actually scared—for my wellbeing. I
