Page 75 of Blue Norther
“Oh God,” she groaned as a smile formed on her lips. “Well, this is embarrassing.”
“Embarrassing?”
“I’m fine. The contractions haven’t come back. But I woke up and I couldn’t get comfortable because you weren’t there, and then I remembered I saw the jar of pickled beets in here earlier, and I had to have them.”
I laughed, taking a few steps to close the distance between us. “I remember how much you liked them.”
“They’re better than I remember. And our son really seems to be enjoying them, too.”
My eyes dropped to her belly. “May I?”
“You don’t need to ask.” Her hands slipped to her back and she turned so she was facing me. “He’s yours, too.”
“But it’s your body, Vi.” I reached my hand out, settling it on the top of her belly. “I’d never want to touch you if you didn’t want it.”
“I want it,” she whispered, the double meaning flashing in her eyes. I pressed my lips to her forehead.
“Good to know. But for now,” my hand slid over her bump, palming her belly, “I think we need to get you both back to bed.”
She nodded in agreement. “Did you find anything?” She yawned as we reached the stairs. “In the books?”
“No. Not yet.” But I knew I was close.
Violet
“It’s going to be great.” Colt lifted my fingers to his lips and kissed my hand as we drove across the ranch to his parents’ house.
God, my stomach was in knots. I blew out my breath, hoping the slow release of pressure in my lungs would somehow relieve the pressure behind my heart. Since he was attacked, I couldn’t stop these sticky, all-consuming thoughts about how I was responsible for what happened. And that made me want to run.
My free hand drifted to my belly. Our son was quiet this morning, probably saving his energy for all the kicks his aunts and granny would request. I had been so stubborn about not celebrating him because there was still a small voice in the back of my mind telling me we weren’t going to cross the finish line. That we weren’t going to get the happy ending we’d prayed all these years for.
“Hey.” Colt let go of my hand, moving his to my bump. “Is he giving you trouble this morning?”
“No,” I laughed. “He’s actually been pretty quiet. Why?”
His brows pulled together. “You look upset.”
“Not upset. Just…”
“Thinking about too many things?”
“Yeah. My brain is not a quiet place these days.”
He nodded, parking the truck next to his brother’s.
“Lach’s not here.”
I’d noticed while all the other Ford brothers, including Colt, had black trucks, Lachlan had a white one sitting in his driveway when I went to visit.
“I didn’t figure he would be,” Colt said, worry thick in his words.
“But you hoped.” It wasn’t a question. I knew Colt was concerned about his brother. I knew everyone was.
“Yep.”
“Alright, Deputy. Don’t use up your daily allotment of words all in one go here.”
He clicked his seat belt receiver, and then reached over to do the same for mine.
