Dyma said, “I am,” and Harlan smiled and said, “You are now.” Annabelle, meanwhile, was doing pushups. Many pushups. Harlan had put her on a training program for rowing, and Harlan didn’t mess around.
He glanced up when Jennifer came in, but kept counting reps, finally grabbing the barbell and helping Dyma put it back in the rack. Dyma lay still a minute, breathing hard, and Harlan said, “Arms out to the side. Let them hang so your chest stretches out, and we’ll do another set.”
“Wow,” Jennifer said. “You know—could you hook me up with some of that?”
He got alert. That was the only way she could describe it. When his attention sharpened and his eyes seemed to lock onto yours. Exactly like the white wolf. That look still made her knees weak, and he didn’t even seem to know it.
“You want a pregnancy workout?” he asked.
“Well, yeah,” she said. “I have that first OB appointment on Monday, and when she asks me if I’ve been exercising, I want to say, ‘Oh, yeah, I have a gym routine.’ It sounds so much better than, ‘I stroll in the woods and swim extremely slowly.’”
He smiled, his expression still calm and fully controlled, and told Dyma, “Last set.”
“Too hard,” she said. “My arms are like spaghetti.”
“Nope,” he said. “One more. Six reps, that’s all. I’ve got my hands on your bar. Let’s go.” Without looking up, he said, “And if I set that program up for you, Jennifer, I’ll be your witness. That the idea?”
“Yep. That’s my plan.”
“All right,” he said, “but we’re not getting crazy. We’re starting easy, and I’m doing some research to make sure I keep you safe. Two more, Dyma. Annabelle, abs next. On the slant board. And Jennifer, you could get on that elliptical machine and get yourself warmed up. Start slow, and take it easy. If you get lightheaded, stop.”
“Do you realize,” Dyma puffed out as she shoved the bar up again, “that this is my mom you’re talking to? She’s … not going to be getting crazy. Not with fitness. Not with anything.”
Harlan racked the barbell again and said, “Maybe you don’t know her as well as you think, because your mom’s as tough as they come.”
Dyma, who was stretching her chest and arms again and doing a little moaning about it, said, “Uh, excuse me? Are we talking about the same person? Redhead? Pregnant? Extremely conservative dresser?”
“Yep,” he said. “The day I met you, what was she doing? Get on that machine, Jennifer, if we’re doing this. Bug, ride the bike for twelve minutes when you’re done with those. Hill program, level nine. Time to push it.”
“Uh …” Dyma said, “What was she doing? Whining about skiing, you mean?”
“Nope. Planning how she’d fight the wolves so you could escape. You don’t get much tougher than that.”
“She was not,” Dyma said.
“Well, yeah,” Harlan said. “She was.”
Jennifer thought, Ha. After that, she just did what Harlan said for about half an hour, after which she felt more sympathetic toward Dyma. He had been careful, she guessed, checking in with her during every exercise, but “easy” wasn’t how she’d have described that. She could barely move her arms today. She was going to have great muscle definition, though. Eventually.
Which was why, right now, she was stroking languidly through the pool, focusing on stretching out her sore muscles. She hadn’t turned the lights on in here, and the corners of the room were shadowy, while the sky outside glowed the kind of deep blue that made your heart happy. Tomorrow was Saturday, she and Harlan were going to the farmers market, and she was wearing the prettiest dress they’d bought, one she absolutely wouldn’t be wearing to work, but that Harlan had insisted she needed anyway. It was a white sundress with an empire waistline and crocheted strings that tied under your breasts, with delicate pale-blue crocheted edging around the hem. It looked like an old-fashioned petticoat, and it was purely pretty.
After the farmers market, though, she was going to … She had no idea what. But something.
He’d been sweet. You bet he had. He’d shopped online with her last weekend, just like he’d promised. He’d shopped in person with her, taking her to Nordstrom for shoes and another swimsuit, even though they’d just bought one online. Also a pair of pink shortie PJs and a matching cotton robe trimmed with ivory lace that was the kind of thing you could live in, and a deep-blue nightgown with the prettiest Italian-lace racerback and tiny little straps, just because it was beautiful. He’d posed for a selfie and talked football very seriously with a bored six-year-old big-brother-to-be who’d had his day made and been temporarily rendered speechless with awe, and he’d taken Jennifer to lunch afterwards. He’d kissed her when they’d come back home, too, just like he’d kissed her every night this week when he walked her back to her place after their family dinner.
He’d kissed her like some guy from the 1950s, that is. They were Ward and June Cleaver, and Dyma was the Beaver, the one who got to have all the fun. Any minute now, Harlan would start smoking a pipe and wearing a cardigan. Even when she’d been half-naked last week, all he’d done was kiss her neck! And when she’d been sighing and boneless and ready, he’d slapped her butt and told her to go swimming.
Of course, she’d been tearstained and weepy, and she was also five and a half months pregnant and had the belly to show for it, so there was that.
She didn’t notice him until he touched her hand as she hit the pool wall. When he did, she flinched, bobbed up like an apple, grabbed for the edge, and said, “Don’t do that!”
“Sorry,” he said with a grin. “Those suits not working out for you, then?”
“What?” He was still in his running gear, though he’d taken off his shoes and socks, and as she watched, he pulled his T-shirt over his head. He didn’t show off. He didn’t have to. He just … took his shirt off. The shorts rode low, and that line of darker hair disappeared into the waistband. She noticed that, because he was right there, lean and lithe and hard-muscled. Looking like he didn’t know it. Looking relaxed.
When she didn’t move, he dropped down to sit on the edge of the pool and said, “Well, not to make a big deal of it or anything, but … you’re naked.”
“Oh.” Well, yes, she was. She’d forgotten. He seemed completely casual about it, though.
He said, “Mind if I come in and do a few laps?”
“No. Of course. I was just finishing anyway.” She swam over to the ladder and hauled herself out, trying to do it with some modicum of grace, then reached for her towel.
He was staring. Why was he staring?
Oh. She said, “It got bigger, yeah. My belly. It’s not that big, though. My weight gain’s, uh, pretty low. Actually.”
“You look great,” he said. “Beautiful. Actually.” He was still just sitting on the edge and staring at her. A smile on his face, and that intensity in his eyes. Like the wolf. She pulled on her robe, and he watched that, too.
She was about to tie the robe. She changed her mind. She said, “You know, you don’t have to do this.”