Wild, Crazy Hearts – the Bradens & Montgomerys (Pleasant Hill – Oak Falls)

by Melissa Foster

  “I’m sorry. You’re right. But this is going to take some getting used to.” She touched her lips to his, and then she said, “How many stages of grief are there? I might have some mourning to do…”

  She removed his blindfold, and her beautiful face came into focus. Even though in his heart she’d always been his, it hit him anew each time they were together, bringing feelings of happiness and completeness like he’d never known possible. “Forget mourning, babe. Celebrate that we just made it through a conversation you hated and we didn’t fight.”

  “Tonight is a celebration.”

  She motioned to the blankets beneath them, the pillows piled around the back of the cab, and in the middle of it all was a plate of cookies, a quart of milk, two chili dogs, and fries. A metal web of white lights shimmered above them. The barn doors were open. Rain lights twinkled and danced in the breeze against the weathered wood. The gray night sky reflected in the creek a short distance from the barn.

  He pulled her onto his lap, his heart full to near bursting. “You re-created the first time we ever made love.”

  “Well, more like the first time we ever went at it,” she said playfully. “But yeah. I wanted to do it at Jericho Ridge, where we were that night, but they’re calling for snow. So I created our own starry sky.” She pointed to the metal web of lights. “Morgyn showed me how. I ruined four umbrellas trying to get it right. Since we’re starting over, I thought it might be nice to go back to the beginning. You know, to symbolize how far we’ve come.”

  “I love that idea, darlin’. I love it so damn much I’m kind of all choked up. I had no idea you remembered so much about that night. Right down to the chili dogs.”

  “I’ll never forget the night I gave you my V-card, or the way you held me afterward, stroking my back and kissing my temple. Or how we went skinny-dipping in the creek. I remember lying in the truck with my head on your chest when we wished on the same star.”

  “Know what I wished for?” He’d wished she’d be his forever.

  “Don’t tell me. It’s bad luck. That was the first time I asked you to close your eyes when we talked, remember?”

  “Every word of it. But that was the only time you’ve ever asked me to close my eyes and talk before having sex.” He remembered her innocent eyes closing and the nervous energy that had billowed off her, despite her confident seductress attitude, as she’d said, This will be my first time, so go easy. He’d known his brazen girl had a vulnerable side, but hearing it that night had changed him. He’d no longer wanted to conquer her as much as he’d wanted to protect her. He’d been so afraid of hurting her, he’d gone slow, loving her carefully until she’d said, Now go hard. He’d nearly lost it at those words coming out of her sexy mouth.

  “Did you close your eyes then?” she asked.

  “No,” he said honestly.

  Her eyes widened. “So you’ve been lying to me from the start?”

  “No, darlin’. I’ve been watching out for you since the start,” he clarified. “But there is one thing I don’t remember about that night. Did we have cookies and milk?”

  She wrinkled her perky nose and said, “I didn’t have cravings back then.”

  “Oh, yes, you did.” He brushed his scruff along her cheek and said, “If my memory serves me correctly, you had a taste for cowboy flesh.” He bit her earlobe. “I’m glad that hasn’t changed…”

  “It’s only gotten stronger, which is what I wanted to talk to you about.” Her expression turned serious. “We have the sonogram tomorrow.”

  “I’m looking forward to it.” He was nervous as hell to see their baby, but he was also excited. She climbed from his lap, and he draped a blanket over her belly and legs.

  “Thanks.” She smoothed the blanket nervously. “I’m not sure how to say this without it sounding weird, but I need you to hear it. We were both thrust into this situation—”

  “Are you having second thoughts?” Worry prickled up his spine.

  She shook her head. “No, I promise. But it’s important that you hear what I have to say. You have to remember that I didn’t know I was pregnant when I made my travel plans. I had an inkling the week I left, but I hadn’t confirmed it.”

  “You told me this already. Did something happen in Paris that I need to know about?”

  “Not with another guy or anything, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  “I’m not thinking that. I don’t know what to think.”

  “Because I’m confusing you.” She was shivering. “Okay, here it is. Tomorrow we’re going to see our baby, and I’m so excited I can barely see straight. But I don’t want you to think that’s why I agreed to a commitment. During that first week in Paris, before I took the pregnancy test, I realized how much I loved you. How much I’ve always loved you. The pregnancy complicated things, but I need you to know that with or without a baby, this is what I want. You are who I want.”

  He gathered her in his arms. “I know, darlin’. I feel it in your touch, and I see it in your eyes when you look at me. Everything has changed for us, and it’s going to change even more. Hopefully starting with this.”

  He dug the key he’d had made for her out of his pocket and dangled the key ring with the mustang charm in front of her. “I love falling asleep with you in my arms, and your sleepy kisses when I get out of bed to go to work at the crack of dawn. I like seeing your belongings mixed with mine, smelling your body wash in the shower, and seeing your face when I walk in the door every night. Move in with me, darlin’. Let’s start building a home together.”

  He placed the key in her palm, and as her fingers curled around it, she beamed like she’d been waiting her whole life for this very moment. “Trace, this is big. We’ve only been sleeping at your place for a little while. You know I can be a pain. You might get sick of having me around all the time. And I suck at cooking and cleaning. Are you sure?”

  “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.” He pressed his lips to hers and said, “Team Trindle forever, darlin’.”

  TRACE HALF EXPECTED Brindle to misguidedly see moving in as a strike against her independence and argue with him about it. But she was as elated as he was, and she couldn’t keep it under wraps. As they ate their chili dogs, she made comments between each bite. You’re really sure? You want me there every day? Every night? Oh my gosh, Trace! We’re moving in together!

  Trace was riding high as they fed each other French fries between kisses. When the first snowflakes drifted down from the sky, shimmering against the lights on the doors, Brindle popped to her knees and said, “It’s snowing! Come on.”

  She knee-walked to the edge of the truck and then turned her smoky blue eyes on him and said, “Help me down?”

  How could something so small feel so huge?

  He hopped off the tailgate, and when he reached for her, she put her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist. She pressed her lips to his, and when he set her feet on the ground, she twirled out of the barn, tipped her head back, and opened her mouth, catching snowflakes on her tongue.

  “Do it with me!” she urged.

  He laughed, and he couldn’t take his eyes off her. She looked so beautiful and happy, he wanted to memorize this moment to relive it over and over again.

  She tilted her head up and studied his face. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  “Because I just figured out what you’re made of.”

  “What? Just now? Equal parts of sugary goodness and stubborn pain in your ass, at your service.”

  “I’d have gone with the perfect combination of wild filly, sexy TILF, and mine.”

  They kissed as snowflakes melted against their cheeks and steam rose from their mouths.

  “TILF is Teacher I’d Like to Fuck. I think you mean TIDF,” Brindle said as he set her on her feet.

  “What’s the D for?”

  “Teacher I Do Fuck.”

  “Always the English teacher,” he said with a wink. “I’m stickin
g with TILF. Teacher I Love to Fuck. Come on, let’s take our baby for its first walk down by the creek.”

  He took her hand and they strolled down to the water. Snow gathered on rocks and caught on Brindle’s long eyelashes as they followed the creek along his parents’ property, stealing kisses between conversations. Trace wrote T + B in the snow with the toe of his boot, and then Brindle walked the shape of a heart around it. When they stopped to watch the creek trickle by, Trace secretly admired Brindle as he remembered something JJ had asked him when he was twenty years old or so. His brother had asked if he thought he was missing out by not pursuing other women. JJ wasn’t exactly a playboy, and Trace had wondered what was behind the question. But his answer had come easily. He’d said he had the prize mustang and he knew he wasn’t missing a thing. JJ had gotten a funny look in his eyes and said, Good to know you’re not an asshole after all.

  He might not be an asshole, but even now he wished he could erase the two other women he’d slept with. Because he’d been right all those years ago. There wasn’t a woman alive who could hold a candle to Brindle Montgomery, and he would be honored to say she was the only woman he’d ever slept with. But he’d been young and dumb, and he chalked it up to a learning experience.

  By the time they made their way back to the barn, Brindle’s nose and cheeks were bright pink.

  He gathered her in his arms and said, “Darlin’, I don’t know much about romance, but I think you nailed it. I loved every second of my surprise. But you’re freezing. How about we wrap this up in front of a roaring fire back home?” He pressed his lips to hers, and then he said, “Our home.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  “WHAT’S TAKING SO long?” Brindle said to Trace Tuesday afternoon in her obstetrician’s waiting room.

  “We’ve been here five minutes. Relax.”

  “I am relaxed.” She grabbed a magazine, then put it back on the table. They hadn’t done a sonogram at the clinic in Paris. But since she’d been home, she’d read all about what they could see on the ultrasound at this stage of her pregnancy, and it was terrifying. All of the baby’s fetal organs would be formed, even though immature. The doctor would use this scan to evaluate the anatomy of the baby. She’d look for spinal cord abnormalities, brain defects, heart defects, and more abnormalities than Brindle could handle thinking about. They could also tell the sex of the baby, which was the one thing she was excited about. “I lied. I’m not relaxed.”

  “Really? I never would have noticed.” He reached for her hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “I told you not to read all that stuff online. It’s going to be fine.”

  “I had to read about it. I’m a teacher. I like to be informed. Besides, you read the pregnancy books. That’s the same thing.”

  “Well, they didn’t freak me out, so they must have been different.”

  “This is crazy. I shouldn’t be so nervous.” If stressing out about the results weren’t enough, she’d drank so much water for the scan, she had to pee like a racehorse. What if she peed on the table? She kept that worry to herself. “What if she sees something bad?” She felt queasy. “Oh God, Trace, what if—”

  He moved from his seat and knelt before her, placing his hands on her waist, his dark eyes holding her attention just as they had last night when they’d made love in front of the fire.

  “Take a deep breath,” he said calmly. “Everything is going to be fine, and on the off chance they find something worrisome, we’ll deal with it together. There’s nothing we can’t handle.” He pressed his lips to hers. “We’ve got this, and I’ve got you, Brindle. Always.”

  “Okay, right. We do. But what if we don’t?” Her fears grew with every passing second. “What if they see something that can’t be fixed? I want this baby even if it has issues. I love it already. What if they find one of those things where they have to do surgery while the baby is in the womb? What if they mess up? What if—”

  “Brindle,” the nurse called out.

  Brindle flew to her feet, knocking Trace’s jaw with her chest and sending his head flying back. “Oh no! I’m sorry!”

  She reached for him as he rose to his feet, rubbing his jaw. “It’s fine. Relax.”

  “I’m so sorry. I’m just nervous.” Everyone in the waiting room was looking at her like she’d lost her mind, which she kind of had.

  “There’s nothing wrong with being nervous.” Trace’s gaze swept over the gawkers as he said, “Someday I’ll deserve to be socked in the jaw. You’re just one step ahead, darlin’.” He put an arm protectively around her. “Let’s go get a look at our little cowpoke.”

  A few minutes later, Brindle lay on the examination table with her pants pushed below her belly and her sweater pulled up to her sternum as Dr. Bryant, a pretty thirtysomething with blondish-brown hair, put gel on Brindle’s stomach. Trace sat in a chair beside the table, holding Brindle’s hand.

  “Are you excited to see your baby?” Dr. Bryant asked as she moved a wand over Brindle’s stomach, applying just enough pressure to make Brindle feel like she was going to pee right there on the table.

  “Yes,” Brindle and Trace said at once. He held her hand so tight, she knew he was nervous, too, which made her even more nervous. Nothing rattled him. She looked over and he was staring intently at the monitor, the muscles in his neck corded tight.

  “Good,” Dr. Bryant said, focusing on the monitor as the grayish-black blobs took shape and their baby’s profile became clear. A fast whooshing sound filled the room.

  “Holy…” Trace rose to his feet, astonishment written in his wide, emotion-filled eyes and in the strength of his grip on Brindle’s hand. “Is that him? Her? Our baby? What’s that noise? Is something wrong?”

  “No, Trace,” Dr. Bryant said. “That is the sound of your baby’s strong, healthy heartbeat.” She pointed to the monitor, where the baby’s arms were moving, it’s hands sweeping near its mouth, its knees pulling up toward its chest. The image went out of focus, and she moved the wand, and it became clear again.

  “Look, Brindle. Two hands, two legs.” Tears glistened in Trace’s eyes as he leaned down and kissed her. “That’s our baby, darlin’. We did this. Look at it. It’s perfect.” His head whipped toward the doctor. “Is it perfect? Is everything okay? Can you tell? You should be able to tell, right?”

  Dr. Bryant nodded and pointed to the screen as she spoke. “Everything looks good so far. This is your baby’s heart. See it beating? And the spine looks good. This black area is amniotic fluid, which looks sufficient.” She manipulated the machine. “I’m just taking a few measurements and pictures.”

  The baby moved in and out of focus.

  “That’s our baby, Brindle.” Trace brushed her hair away from her face and kissed her forehead, her cheek, and her hand, murmuring about their baby and how incredible it was. Every word was filled with love. “It has your perky nose.”

  Brindle laugh-cried. “Is it a boy or girl?” She looked up at Trace and said, “You still want to know, right?”

  “Yes, definitely,” Trace agreed.

  “Okay, let’s see if the baby will cooperate.” Dr. Bryant moved the wand, applying more pressure, and the baby shifted.

  “I can’t tell what we’re looking at,” Brindle said.

  “I know. Hold on,” Dr. Bryant said. “With any luck your little one will open its legs and give us a peek.” She pointed to the monitor and said, “This is a leg, this is a leg, and this is your baby’s bottom.”

  “Whoa! That baby’s got a huge package,” Trace exclaimed. “Just like his daddy.”

  “Actually, that’s the umbilical cord,” Dr. Bryant said kindly. “Everyone makes that mistake.”

  Brindle giggled, and she swore Trace blushed.

  “Okay, we have visuals,” Dr. Bryant said. “Congratulations. You’re having a baby girl.”

  “Holy smokes, a girl.” Trace kissed Brindle hard. “A girl, darlin’. We’re having a girl.”

  As happy tears rolled down her cheeks
, Brindle said, “We’re going to need to read more parenting books.”

  AS THEY LEFT the doctor’s office, Brindle chatted excitedly about telling their families, but Trace was only half listening. He couldn’t stop looking at the sonogram picture Dr. Bryant had given them. Their baby had already been real in his mind, but seeing it on the monitor like that? Watching it move, seeing and hearing its heart beating, had brought real to a whole new level.

  “I don’t think we should tell anyone yet,” Brindle said. “We should do something fun, like reveal the gender at the Turkey Trot. They’ll all be there, your family and mine. What do you think? Trace? Trace, are you even listening to me?”

  Brindle touched his arm, gazing up at him with those big blue eyes, which he now imagined on their little girl. Love swamped him like a tidal wave, and he stopped in the middle of the parking lot.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  “We’re having a baby girl,” he said absently, his mind trampling well past babyhood and toddler years to the images of teenage Brindle challenging him to kiss her. His protective urges surged, every muscle in his body flexing as tunnel vision took over. He snagged Brindle’s hand, half running toward the truck.

  “What’s wrong? Where are we going?”

  “To see Jeb,” Trace ground out as he helped her into the passenger seat.

  “About making a crib?”

  “That, and to make sure he knows how to make a chastity belt.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  TRACE AND BRINDLE didn’t ask Jeb about the chastity belt after all. They decided to keep their baby’s gender a secret and reveal it at the Turkey Trot. The week flew by with talks of baby names and parenting styles. Trace wanted to choose a name that their daughter wouldn’t have to “live up to,” which had confused Brindle at first. Then she realized what he was really saying was that he wanted their little girl to have a traditional name, like Mary or Margaret, so boys wouldn’t hear it and think it was sexy. How could he not know that names had nothing to do with sexiness? Brindle knew Marys and Margarets who were hot enough to catch fire. They were also at odds with parenting styles. Brindle felt it was important that children be taught about everything, even touchy topics like sex and drinking, and that they be given enough rope to make mistakes so they could feel the sting and learn from them. But Trace appeared to have an overprotective-daddy streak she hadn’t seen coming. No boy-girl parties until she’s sixteen. No thongs or sexy underwear—ever—and she’s not dating until she’s eighteen. We’re getting one of those tracking apps on her phone. Actually, forget the phone; they only lead to trouble.