Waiting for Willa (The Big Sky Series Book 3)

by Kristen Proby

  “Yes, ma’am,” Alex says excitedly. “C’mon, guys!”

  They hurry back outside.

  “We have about ten minutes to finish this up,” I inform Max, who’s standing next to me, watching the boys outside with longing in his eyes. “You can go play with them if you want.”

  I bump his hip with mine as I move to uncover the cake and put the candles in it.

  “I’m happy in here, helping you.”

  My cell phone rings.

  “That’ll be Jean and Dan. They always FaceTime in so they can watch Alex with his cake and presents.”

  “That’s awesome,” Max says with a grin. “I haven’t talked to them in a while. I’ll take the phone, and you finish this.”

  “Thanks.” I offer Max a grateful smile as he accepts the call.

  “Hi, Ms. Monroe,” Max says to Jean. “I am answering so Willa can finish getting the cake ready.”

  “It’s wonderful to see you, Max. How are you?”

  “I can’t complain at all.” Max walks out of the kitchen, his voice fading with him.

  “I’ve always liked Max,” my mom murmurs next to me as she unwraps paper plates and cups with dinosaurs on them.

  I just smile at her.

  “He’s handsome, too.” She winks at me.

  “I’m not having this conversation in the middle of my child’s birthday party,” I whisper, making her laugh. “Is the hot chocolate gone?”

  “Oh, yeah, they blew through that in the first thirty minutes,” she says.

  “Perfect. They can have juice with their cake.”

  We set about pouring juice into the cups and setting the dining room table—currently covered in a vinyl Star Wars tablecloth—with the plates, silverware, and drinks. There’s a sack full of party favors for each guest, and in addition to the cake decorated by Maisey, I have cupcakes, just in case we need extra.

  I learned early to always be prepared going into a child’s birthday party.

  Alex’s place is at the head of the table, so I set the cake there so he can blow out the candles.

  “It’s going to be so cool,” a little boy named Zane says as the boys start to pour into the house. They shed their winter gear in the garage like I asked and come running to the dining room.

  “You can sit anywhere you want,” I inform them. “Are you ready for some cake?”

  “Yeah!” they exclaim.

  Goodness, nine-year-old boys can make a lot of noise. My ears may never stop ringing.

  “Alex, you’re up here, buddy.” My kiddo joins me, sitting in his chair, and I light his candles. “Say hi to Nana and Papa.” I gesture to Max, who’s pointing my phone at us.

  “Hi,” Alex says, smiling and waving. “I’m going to blow out the candles now.”

  “Okay, boys, let’s sing.”

  The birthday song may not be perfectly harmonized or even in the right key, but it’s heartfelt and makes my boy feel like a million bucks. And when the song is over, he scrunches his eyes closed tightly to make his wish and then blows all nine candles out on the first try.

  Max passes my phone to Alex so he can talk to Nana and Papa while I cut the cake, and my mom passes it out to the boys, who all dig in like rabid dogs.

  There’s not even one drop of juice spilled—a miracle in and of itself—and within fifteen minutes, every crumb of cake has been devoured, green and orange icing is on every kiddo’s face, and the plates have been cleared away.

  “Present time!” my mom announces. She walks over to us, holding her phone up to take photos. Ken and Max are still on the other side of the room, talking with Jean and Dan.

  This might be the best birthday party I’ve ever thrown for Alex.

  I purposefully save my present for last. When all of the other gifts have been opened, I drag a huge box out of my bedroom, wrapped in Star Wars wrapping paper.

  “Holy cow, Mom,” Alex says, his eyes wide. “It’s huge!”

  “Do you need help opening it?”

  “Heck, no,” he says. My eyes find Max’s, and we share a smile. Alex tears into the paper, opens the box, and frowns. “A dog bed?”

  “What else?”

  I peer into the box with him as he pulls out more dog supplies.

  “A leash. Some dog toys and treats.”

  “I wonder if this present came to the wrong house?” I ask, frowning in mock confusion.

  “Mom.” Alex takes my cheeks in his little hands and looks me dead in the eyes. “Don’t play with my emotions.”

  “I wouldn’t do that.”

  “Does this mean I get a dog?”

  I can tell he’s holding his breath, waiting for me to answer.

  “We go pick him up later today,” I confirm. Suddenly, my nine-year-old has launched into my arms, holding on tightly. He doesn’t even care that all of his friends are watching.

  “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” he says, squirming while hugging me fiercely. “This is the best birthday ever.”

  “You’re welcome.” I kiss his cheek. “I love you, Bubba.”

  “I love you too, Mom. Guys! I get a puppy! What should I name him?”

  The boys start throwing out names like Rocky and George, and I start to clear the mess off the table.

  “You guys have one more hour to finish your forts,” I inform them, and they scramble back to the garage to put on their gear and get back out to play.

  “Well, that went perfectly,” Jean says when I get on the phone with her. “He’s so excited.”

  “I am, too, honestly,” I reply. “I always had a dog growing up. It’ll be good for him.”

  “Thanks for letting us join you,” Dan says and blows me a kiss. “Enjoy the rest of your day.”

  “And send us photos later of our boy with the puppy,” Jean adds.

  “I definitely will,” I promise.

  ***

  “Where is the puppy?” Alex asks from the backseat of the Range Rover, bouncing in his seat.

  “It’s not too far away.”

  Max is driving, and I’m in the passenger seat as if we’re just a normal family going to pick up their new puppy.

  It’s an odd sensation, and one that I like a little too much.

  “We’ll be there in about six minutes,” Max says.

  “What kind of a puppy is it?” Alex asks, making me laugh.

  “Hang in there for six minutes, and you’ll see for yourself,” I reply.

  “I can’t stand it,” Alex says. “I’m just too excited.”

  “I know. But we need to talk. Remember what I said before.”

  “Mom, I totally understand. I have to be responsible and take care of him and love him always.”

  “Why am I potty training in the winter?” I ask Max, suddenly horrified. “And why didn’t I think of this before?”

  “Because your son’s birthday is in the winter,” he says with a shrug. “It won’t be so bad.”

  “You won’t be the one outside with it at five in the morning with a wind chill of negative forty.”

  I sigh and drag my hand down my face.

  “I’ll do it, Mom.”

  No, you won’t. Because I won’t allow it.

  Max pulls into a driveway, and when we reach the house, he cuts the engine.

  “You wait here,” I insist. “I just want to make sure they’re ready for us.”

  I hop out and knock on the door. I can hear barking inside, some from adult dogs, and some from the babies, and it makes me grin.

  “Willa,” Sandy Gustafson, my former eighth-grade history teacher says as she opens her door. “I have the little guy ready for you.”

  “Do you mind if Alex comes in to meet him?” I ask.

  Sandy smiles. “Not at all.”

  I wave for both of the guys to join me. Alex runs up the steps as if he’s escaping the zombie apocalypse, coming to an abrupt halt at my side.

  “Alex, this is Mrs. Gustafson.”

  “Hi,” he says shyly.

  “Hell
o there,” Sandy says, holding her hand out for his. “Would you like to come and see the cutest puppies ever?”

  “Yes, please.”

  I smile up at Max as we follow Sandy and Alex inside to the back of the house, where she has an entire family room gated off for the dogs. She has five pups now, and the mama in the room with them.

  “Oh, wow!” Alex breathes. “Which one is mine?”

  “The one with the blue bow tied on his collar,” Sandy says, pointing to the little fella who’s playing with his sibling, biting on her ear.

  Being Basset Hounds, their ears are long and droopy, their legs short. They are also incredibly adorable.

  “Oh, I love him,” Alex whispers. “Can I go in?”

  “You bet.” Sandy opens the gate, and Alex carefully walks inside, approaches his pup, and sits on his butt, laughing when puppies immediately crawl all over him, snuggling and playing.

  “Mom!” Alex laughs again and kisses the cheek of a puppy. “They like me.”

  “Best birthday ever,” Max says with a grin. He wraps his arm around my shoulders. “You did good, Mom.”

  “Yeah.” I wipe a tear of joy from my cheek. “Who cares about early morning potty training in the snow?”

  Chapter Seven

  ~Willa~

  “I’LL TAKE HIM OUT,” Max offers. We’ve had the puppy for almost a full week, and it’s more work than I ever anticipated.

  I feel like I have a newborn and a toddler.

  “Thanks.” I smile in gratitude and return to browning the meat on the stove. Alex is at Pierce’s house for the night, having a sleepover. Which means, I have the puppy and Max for the night.

  I’m nervous as a virgin on her first date. The chemistry between Max and me is as strong as it ever was. Maybe even stronger.

  And with no kid at home tonight, there will be nudity.

  Please, God, let there be nakedness.

  But first, there’s dinner and puppy detail.

  My phone rings, and I frown at the number. It’s the mechanic.

  “Hello.”

  “Hey, Willa, it’s Tom. Say, I know I promised you the car back by Wednesday, but it looks like it’s going to take longer.”

  I sigh and rub my hand over my face.

  “How much longer?”

  “At least another week. I’m sorry to do that to you; we’re still waiting on parts.”

  “How is it taking this long?”

  “We live in the boonies, Willa,” he says, laughing in my ear. “Everything takes a long time. But I’ll let you know when the parts get here.”

  “Thanks. Keep me posted.”

  I hang up and sigh just as Max comes back in with Rocky, the name Alex settled on for his pup.

  “What’s up?” Max asks as Rocky runs over to his water dish.

  “That’s it, drink more water and pee on my rug again,” I mutter, shaking my head. “Why don’t they make diapers for puppies?”

  “Good question,” Max says, wrapping his arms around me from behind and burying his face in my neck, sending shivers over every damn inch of my body. “What’s wrong?”

  “Tom called. No car by Wednesday.”

  “Did he say why?”

  “Still waiting on parts. I don’t get it, Max. My car isn’t that old.”

  “Maybe they sent him the wrong ones to start with,” he suggests, his hands gliding down my sides to my hips. I suddenly don’t care about my car anymore. “This smells great.”

  “Tacos always were your favorite.”

  “Yeah, the tacos smell good, too.” He grins against my skin, and I want to turn in his arms and strip him naked, then have my way with him.

  But the ground beef is sizzling, so I turn my attention to dinner, sprinkling taco seasoning and water over the meat and giving it a stir.

  “The puppy is quiet,” I announce, looking around in panic.

  “I’m on it,” he says, leaving me to see where the little terrorist ran off to. “Found him.”

  “What’s he doing?”

  “You don’t want to know.”

  I blow out a breath while I question my life choices.

  “You’ll need to replace the rug after he grows out of this puppy phase.”

  “Did he pee on it again? You just took him out.”

  “No, he chewed the corner.”

  “Damn it.” I glare at the little thing and shake my spatula at him. “It’s a good thing you’re so cute.”

  “Arf,” Rocky replies, panting happily and snuggling against Max’s chin.

  “In the crate for him while we eat. He can have a chew bone and his rope toy.”

  Max gets Rocky settled, and I dish up dinner.

  “I guess I didn’t realize how much Alex does for Rocky,” I admit. “He’s really done a good job of taking care of that dog.”

  “What do you do with him during the day when Alex is at school, and you’re at work?”

  I cringe. “I’ve been taking him to the shop. I said I wouldn’t do that, but he’s just a baby. He shouldn’t be in that crate, alone, all day long. So, I have a bed, leash, and crate for him at work.”

  “You’re a sucker,” Max says with a laugh.

  “Would you leave him home alone for sometimes ten hours at a time?”

  He seems to think it over, chewing his tacos. “No. That’s a long time.”

  “Exactly. My hope is that as he gets older and calms down a bit, he’ll be easier.”

  “It will be,” Max assures me.

  He clears the dishes when we’re finished eating. I check on Rocky, who has his nose pressed to the edge of the crate as if to say, “help me! I’m in prison.”

  I let him out, scoop him up, and we go into the living room to turn on the TV.

  “Want to watch a movie?” I ask Max when he walks in from the kitchen, carrying two mugs of coffee. “Mm, thanks.”

  “We can watch whatever you like,” he says as he sits next to me. The way the man fills out a pair of jeans should be illegal. And when you add that black Henley with the sleeves pushed up on his forearms, well…

  Hello, sex on a stick.

  Rocky abandons me for Max, turns a circle, and falls asleep in his lap.

  Little traitor.

  I flip through the movie channels as we sip our coffee.

  “I like your house,” Max says.

  “Thank you.”

  “It’s not at all like I remember it.”

  I nod and set the remote aside, mid-search. Looks like it’ll be Armageddon in the background.

  I reach over and mute Bruce Willis and then turn to Max.

  “I’ve done a lot of work to it. When Cary and I bought it, we knew it was a fixer-upper. But we loved the property, and the size of the house was great.”

  “Agreed. How much square footage do you have?”

  “Almost four thousand,” I reply with a smile. “And one of the perks of being on my own large property outside of town? I can add on or do pretty much anything I want. The permits from the county aren’t as strict as in the city limits.”

  “I learned that last year,” Max says, shaking his head. “I wanted to add a boathouse, and the city threw a fit.”

  “Don’t you have a boathouse?”

  “No, I have a covered lift, which is okay. But I’d like to store the boats out of the elements on my property in the winter. A boathouse is the most efficient way to do that.”

  I nod as if I understand. There are moments when I’m reminded just how wealthy Max is.

  “But we’re not talking about my boathouse.” He reaches out and twists a strand of my hair around his finger. “Tell me more about your house.”

  “Well.” I clear my throat. “It’s finally just the way I want it. The new kitchen and master bathroom went in last year. I tore down the walls that separated the kitchen and main living area because I wanted an open concept. The beam that I had to put in was not cheap, but so worth it.”

  “It’s beautiful,” he agrees, looking ar
ound the space. “I like the farmhouse feel.”

  “Well, it’s no mansion on the lake, but we like it.”

  “Don’t do that,” Max says softly. “What you’ve built here is impressive and beautiful. It has your heart in it. That’s more than I can say about my house at the lake.”

  “You’re right,” I reply with a nod. “I am proud of my home. And I’m glad you like it.”

  His eyes are pinned to mine as he leans in and brushes his lips over my own, back and forth, then he sinks in, kissing me lazily. His lips are soft, taking my mouth on the dance of a lifetime.

  Max always did know how to kiss the pants off me.

  Suddenly, there’s an extra slurp, right on our lips.

  “Hey, buddy, you’re messing with my mojo here,” Max says, petting Rocky on the head. Rocky doggy-grins and boosts himself up to kiss my chin.

  “Yes, you like to kiss.” I plant one on the puppy’s cheek. “Don’t you?”

  “I think it’s time for this little guy to go back into his crate for a bit.”

  Max’s eyes are shining, and I know exactly what he’s talking about.

  “No more interruptions,” I say as I stand with Rocky in my arms. I take him outside so he can relieve himself and then get him settled in his crate. He lets out a little bark but then discovers his chew bone.

  When I walk back into the living room, Max is gone.

  I frown. “Max?”

  “Back here,” he calls out from the direction of my bedroom. I hurry back there and smile when I see him leaning his shoulder on the doorframe of my bathroom. “I wanted to see your handiwork.”

  “Ah.” I press my cheek against his back in the groove of his spine and sigh in happiness at his warmth. My arms are wrapped around his middle, pressed against his flat belly.

  He’s just…hard. Firm. Warm.

  Irresistible.

  “What do you think of it?” I press a kiss to his shoulder blade.

  “Just like the rest of the house, it’s beautiful.”

  Claw-foot soaking tub. Subway tile shower. Heated Moroccan tile floor.

  I freaking love my bathroom.

  “I’m glad you like it.”

  I press another kiss to his back just before he turns in my arms, frames my face in his hands, and lowers his lips to mine.

  We’re standing in my dark bedroom, kissing as if our lives depend on it.