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“I don’t know,” Liam said honestly. “There are too many balls in the air. Catch one, drop another. At the end of the day, it’s not solely my call. Three people are involved in this; three opinions need to be heard.”
“Well, it’ll be what it’ll be. Maybe think about sharing all those damn balls with everyone who holds a stake in what comes next; more hands means a better chance of catching them all.”
“Yeah, I guess that’s all I can—” Breaking off at the sound of wheels rumbling along the floor, Liam straightened. “I think that’ll be the finishing touches.”
Sure enough, the small team of four guys he’d borrowed from the maintenance crew were heading across the Nursery. Two were pushing a rolling table heavily laden with Sierra’s equipment from the cabin, while another held on to said equipment like his life depended on it—which it did.
If anything broke, Sierra would kill Liam.
Behind them, the fourth man followed, pulling a large metal bin on wheels. The mountain of stuffies inside wobbled and jiggled in various states of disrepair; Liam didn’t know where the hell Elias managed to find them all, but there were enough to keep Sierra busy for months.
“Thanks, guys. Matt, the stuffies need to go over in that corner.” Liam pointed to the space he’d reserved for the bin. As it rumbled in that direction, he turned to the other three. “The boxes of thread, sewing stuff, whatever the hell, need stacking on those shelves please. Ford and I have got the machines.”
“Oh, have we now?” Ford murmured, sliding off the table.
Sierra’s original sewing machine was at the bottom of the pile, but Evander and Eli had treated her to some new toys. Apparently Callie had been sent in to do some recon during a playdate, sneakily ferreting out which machines would make Sierra’s job easier and which ones she coveted.
Rather than unpacking them, Liam arranged the boxes artfully on one side of the table, adding the gold-and-red bow and envelope from the trio, as Ford hoisted the sewing machine onto the other side.
“Thanks, guys, couldn’t have done it without you.” Liam shook the hands of each maintenance guy, slipping them each a tip as they left. When it was just Ford and him alone, he exhaled slowly and turned to check everything one final time before sending a volley of texts.
“She never officially said yes to this, did she?” Ford asked.
“Don’t remind me.”
“Mmm-hmm, so are we expecting fireworks? Tears, fists, maybe some flying objects? Just so I know whether to duck and cover,” he said with a shrug and an amused smirk.
Honestly, Liam wasn’t sure what she was going to do. Throwing things was probably not in her arsenal; tears and a panic-induced temper tantrum were a distinct possibility. Sierra was not a fan of change, no matter how well-intended.
This was a huge step in a positive direction, yet it was inevitable she’d fight it on principle.
“She’ll cry,” he predicted. “She might try and run, find somewhere to hide and process it all. Gifts make her feel undeserving; grand gestures scare the shit out of her.”
“Her self-esteem is that low?”
Liam smiled ruefully. “Not for lack of trying to boost it. We gain an inch, maybe two, then something trips in that smart brain and we lose it all. It doesn’t help that we can’t get pregnant. She’s tied her whole worth into her ability to be a mom.”
Ford patted him on the back. “Did you bring up fostering again? Adoption?”
“No. I want her to settle here, relax, before we start digging up the hard issues. She understands the merits of both options, but her heart is set on having her own. It doesn’t help that all our friends in Phoenix keep popping kids out faster than rabbits.”
“Shit. How to make a woman feel ineffective without saying a word. I assume you’ve both been tested? For fertility and whatever else.”
God, hadn’t that been fun? Jacking off into a cup while wondering if he was the cause of his girl’s constant distress. Trying to figure out how the hell he was going to fix it if he was the source of their failure. “Several times. Sperm is fine—better than fine—and more than capable of doing the job. Poor Sierra went through the wringer; they tested everything, did physical exams, scans, blood tests. Having polycystic ovaries isn’t helping, but the doctors aren’t convinced that’s the issue.”
“A friend of mine had trouble conceiving with his wife. I asked him if he had any advice that might help you, and he wanted to know if Sierra has had a saliva test? What the hell did he say they tested that for?” Ford muttered under his breath, then cursed and pulled out his phone. Scrolling down with his thumb, he grunted. “Alpha-amylase. Does that sound familiar?”
That wasn’t ringing any bells. Shaking his head, Liam asked, “What’s that?”
“Hang on, it’s here somewhere… uh, it’s a stress marker, an enzyme. Alex says their doctor advised that women with higher levels can take up to twenty-nine percent longer to get pregnant.” He glanced up from the screen. “Might be worth trying. At least a saliva test isn’t intrusive like all the other stuff.”
That was true. He could only take seeing his minx being poked and prodded for so long before his protective instincts kicked in. He hated how she suffered silently through the examinations, bottling her discomfort and embarrassment because hope, ever dwindling, kept the dream alive.
“Can you forward me that message? I’ll make an appointment next week.”
“Already done.” As voices drew closer, Ford tilted his head. Resignation sagged his shoulders as Callie’s voice babbled with delight. “Maybe I should go. This should be a private moment of celebration between you six.”
“Are you ever going to tell me what set this wedge between you and Callie?”
