Holly Pritchett sat in a booth at DJ's Rib Shack, subtly cradling an arm over her tiny swell of a belly. She wore yet another massive sweater, the better to hide the little secret she'd been keeping for the past seven months.

"What couldn't you tell me on the phone?" Erika Rodriguez asked while tossing her purse into the booth and taking a seat, all while fixing a sympathetic brown gaze on her friend. She'd come straight to the restaurant from her office here, at the Thunder Canyon Resort, so her dark hair was pulled back and she was dressed in a conservative skirt suit. She looked just like the put-together big sister figure Holly needed right now.

Around them, the dinner crowd murmured from the long family-style tables in the main area. Sepia-tinged pictures of cowboys and ranches hung on the walls, along with a painted mural showcasing the town's history. The heavy sweet/tangy aroma of the restaurant's original barbecue sauce permeated the air, but that wasn't exactly what was tightening Holly's stomach.

She took a deep breath and stopped touching her belly, just in case anyone might be looking. Her baby— Hopper, she liked to call him or her because of the tiny jumps Holly would feel every so often—didn't need anyone knowing what straits good old Mommy was in.

"It's my father," Holly said, anxiety chasing her even now, although she tried to quell it for the baby's sake. "I think he knows."

Erika closed her eyes, clearly guessing where this was going. "How could he tell? You've been hiding it really well under those clothes."

"I know. I've been carrying small and haven't popped yet."