Page 90 of Forsaken Trail (Runaway 4)

“I love you too, baby.” Those words never got old. “Rest.”

I closed my eyes but my mind refused to shut down. This was the most exhausted I’d ever been in my life, but there was daylight beyond the blinds and my brain wouldn’t shut the hell up.

Name. We needed a name.

What kind of mother couldn’t think of a name for her baby? We’d run through the entire list of family names on Brody’s side and mine. None fit. Clara had already named August after our dad so that wasn’t an option.

Why couldn’t we come up with something? Why wasn’t it bothering Brody more? Didn’t he care about our baby? Didn’t he want to get this right? Clearly not if he could just lie there and fall asleep in five seconds flat.

“Brody.”

He didn’t stir.

“Brody.”

Nothing.

“Brody.” I yanked my hand from his grip and poked him in the ribs.

He gasped awake, snapping up to look at the baby. “What? What’s wrong?”

“We need a name.”

He groaned and face-planted into his pillow. “Aria, he doesn’t need a name this second.”

“What kind of parents are we that we can’t give him a name?”

“The indecisive kind.” Brody reached for me, inching close. Then with my hand firmly in his once more, he held it to his heart. “We’re the kind of parents who love him so much that we’re not rushing a decision he’ll live with his entire life.”

I sighed. “I hate it when you win our fights.”

“Were we fighting?”

“In my head.”

He chuckled and scooched close to kiss my forehead. “Sleep. I don’t want you worn out.”

“Too late.”

“Close your eyes.” The command was meant for me, but he obeyed it himself. Those eyelashes fluttered shut.

I counted sixty-three sheep and still hadn’t drifted off. “Brody.”

He answered with a snore.

“Brody,” I whispered.

Brody.

Like the man, I loved the name. It was pretentious and arrogant. It fit him perfectly because he was both of those things. And loving. Generous. Kind.

Never in my life had I felt so cherished than when I was with my husband.

Brody and I were married not long after he’d proposed. We didn’t invite anyone but Clara and Marty. August was Brody’s best man. Ron, a man who never stopped surprising me with his hidden talents, performed the ceremony on the patio at sunset.

No fuss. No party. No expenses besides my dress, and since Brody hadn’t been able to buy it for me thanks to our purchasing armistice, I’d bought it myself. A long-sleeve, ivory tulle gown with lace on the bodice and wrists. The empire waist had showcased my belly, not hidden it away. Three hundred bucks and a floral arrangement from my own shop.

With the sunset at our backs and Brody impeccable in a tux, it was the second most special day of my life, eclipsed only by the day our son was born.