Page 30 of Forsaken Trail (Runaway 4)

When I chanced a look at my reflection, the mirror showed me that I looked the way I felt. Like shit.

My face was pale. The purple circles under my eyes were darker than they’d been yesterday. My shoulders slumped because the weight on them was so heavy I couldn’t muster the strength to snap them straight.

Pregnancy had more of a greenish tinge than a glow.

What am I going to do?

Was I ready for this? I’d hoped kids would come after I’d found the man of my dreams. How was I going to do this on my own?

One day at a time. That’s what I’d told Clara when she’d been the woman in the bathroom. I’d heed my own advice.

First things first, it was time to tell my sister. Two days, and this secret was barking to be let out of its cage. Clara had done this before. She’d navigated a pregnancy and faced single motherhood. Clara would make it all better—after she reamed my ass for sleeping with her boss.

“I’m going to tell her.” I nodded to myself. “Today. As soon as I feel better.”

Before my reflection could convince me one more day of secrecy wouldn’t hurt, I walked away from the sink. The women’s locker room at The Gallaway was empty. Most of the staff had already dropped off their personal belongings to start work for the day.

This time of year, the hotel wasn’t as busy as it was during the warmer months. December’s pace around the hotel was slower as the guest count dwindled. The housekeepers were less frantic. The grounds staff had been cut down to the bare minimum. Our seasonal workers would return in the spring.

With Christmas only five days away, this week would be one of the quietest all year. Though some families came to celebrate at The Gallaway, per their annual tradition. They’d be fussed over and given extra attention. Our chef was busy preparing for extravagant holiday meals.

Any other year and the kitchen would have been a regular stop on my daily rounds. But now, with the smells and my queasy stomach, I’d been avoiding that end of the hotel for the same reason I avoided marigolds in planters. They stank.

I wandered down the hallway, fighting to put on a happy face. I was five minutes late for a meeting with my boss, Andy, the new general manager.

Mark had hired Andy earlier this year, and the duties I’d covered as temporary GM had been handed over, but Andy insisted we continue this daily meeting. I’m too tired for this.

Regardless, I made my way to the lobby. Three Christmas trees decorated the vast space, each with golden lights and silver ribbons that had been wrapped in perfect spirals around the boughs. The crystal chandelier hanging low in the center of the space cast fractured beams across the marble floors.

The hotel looked magical, though I still preferred the spring and summer, when fresh flowers decorated the space and my plants greeted guests as they strolled through the wide front entrance.

I waved at the receptionist stationed at the desk, then disappeared through the door behind the counter marked for employees only. Then, using the last of my reserves, I trudged up the staircase to the second floor.

The corner office, Mark’s, was dark. In the winter, he took Wednesdays off as personal days. His beachfront home was as impressive as his hotel, and if I owned it, I’d make it a point to spend time there too.

Beside Mark’s was Andy’s office. It wasn’t quite as impressive as the corner, but with the view overlooking the ocean and the cliffs that gave way to the sandy beach, it sure didn’t suck.

Forcing some pep into my expression, I knocked on Andy’s door.

“Come in.”

I turned the knob and entered. “Hey.”

“Aria.” He st

ood from his desk and straightened the lapel on his suit jacket. Then he smiled, a pleasant smile but one that betrayed his feelings.

Andy’s crush on me was the worst-kept secret at The Gallaway.

“Please, allow me.” He rounded his desk and pulled out the guest chair. “Have a seat.”

“Thanks.” I shied away as he lingered just a second too long beside the armrest.

Awkward and uncomfortable crush aside, Andy had proved to be a good boss in the months he’d been here. He treated the staff with kindness. He worked hard and had earned Mark’s respect. But Andy was a single man in his midforties, and the affection he had for me was as obvious as the waves crashing onto the shore outside.

“Have you had lunch?” he asked, returning to his side of the desk.

Beyond him and through the windows, the winter sky was a lighter shade of gray than the ocean itself. Part of me wanted to find a quiet bench somewhere on the sprawling deck outside, curl up under a blanket and let the caw of the seagulls lull me to sleep.