She smoothed a hand over his blouse, then flicked open the top button. “I wouldn’t have left without offering you my biscuits.”
His delicious chuckle sent a shiver through her bones. “Thought you figured out I’m a pie man.”
His fingers went to work doing wicked things to the back of her neck. He was solid and safe and more dependable than she’d known she could possibly want. She didn’t care that the biscuits were burning, because he had six more buttons that needed undoing, plus the rest of his uniform to get through.
She pulled back to look into those wonderful, crinkled cobalt eyes while still working at his buttons. “I love you.”
“I love you. Pies and burnt biscuits and label maker and all.”
“You love my label maker?” Her voice cracked.
“You bet your biscuits.”
She grabbed his biscuits and gave them a squeeze.
Still solid and perfect as ever.
So was his mouth when he kissed her.
Slow and thorough and perfect.
The man didn’t just love her. He loved her good. She wrapped herself around him and kissed him and loved him back until they fell against the wall for support.
“Been thinking,” he said into her neck, “we could find you a job with that label maker.”
She knew. She’d been researching professional organizing while she baked, and already had a color-coded binder started. Best part was, it was a mobile career. It’d take a while to build up her reputation, to draw a regular, decent salary, but she didn’t plan on doing it alone. “Have I mentioned I love you?”
His eyes went soft and smoky. “I love your independence.”
“I love how you take care of me.”
His arms tightened. “I mean it, Anna Grace. If anything ever happened to me, I know you’re gonna be able to take care of things.”
The oven timer beeped again. “I need to take care of your biscuits.”
The rich sound of his laughter washed over her and enveloped her in bliss. “Darlin’, we got the rest of our lives for making biscuits.”
“Just biscuits?”
He swooped her up into his arms. “Biscuits. And pies. And stewed okra.”
She laid her head against his shoulder and let out a leaky laugh.
“And corn bread,” he said. “We haven’t talked about your corn bread yet. You make corn bread?”
She pressed a kiss to his jaw. “Three-point question.”
“You’re asking for trouble, Anna Grace.”
“And you’re going to love every minute of it.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
And he loved her so much, he even buttered her burnt biscuits.
Epilogue
OF ALL HIS ASSIGNMENTS, Jackson hadn’t thought of any of them as home. They’d merely been assignments, temporary places to do what he’d always thought he did best, Radish at his side. But Gellings?
Gellings felt like home.
He was willing to lay odds it wasn’t the house or the base, though.
It was his domestic Anna Grace frying up some chicken in the kitchen while Radish watched from under the table. Or maybe it was his brilliant Anna Grace putting the world in order, one house at a time, building up a reputation for herself. Probably, too, his beautiful Anna Grace growing his baby while she went on about her business making sure his world stayed put to rights.
He was one lucky son of a gun to come home to this every night.
He slid up behind his wife at the stove, put one hand to her belly that had started to swell, and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “’Bout to burn those biscuits again, Anna Grace.”
“Oh!” She swatted him away, snagged a hot pad, and rescued the biscuits from the oven.
They both stared at the smoking cast iron skillet on the counter.
Jackson smothered a grin. “Probably the oven’s off again.”
She gave him a look that could’ve come only from two and a half years of asking her favorite and not-so-favorite Southern women for their biscuit recipes. “Do you know anyone willing to tell me the real recipe for these stupid things?”
“Probably not, darlin’.”
“Then you can tell ’em all I’m fixin’ to feed you canned biscuits the rest of your life.” She looked at the stove and gave a girly shriek. The fried chicken was smoking now too.
Jackson snagged a plate and spread a couple of paper towels on it, then eased up next to her. “How about you let me finish up for you?”
He swallowed a chuckle at her I do it myself face, but then her doe eyes went all soft and a smile sweet as summer rain crossed her lips. “I’m in trouble if this is a boy, aren’t I?”
“You bet your pie, Anna Grace.”
She laughed while she heaped fried chicken onto the plate.
He waited until she’d turned the stove off and stepped over to the fridge. He knew his wife loved him more than he ever would’ve thought possible, but he also knew better than to spring potentially unhappy surprises on any woman while she was standing next to hot oil. “Think I might could get you a real biscuit recipe,” he said.
She plopped a Tupperware bowl full of potato salad onto the counter. “How’s that?”
“’Bout the same way I got you my momma’s sweet potato pie recipe.”
Her face went ghost white before she’d finished her surprised gasp.
“Not deploying,” he said quickly. He gave her belly a soft rub, then pulled her close. She’d handled his last deployment as only Anna Grace could, and he knew she’d pull through another one strong and steady as ever if she had to. But he’d move heaven and earth before he’d leave her to deliver their baby alone. “Cross my heart, Anna Grace, ain’t no way I’m letting you meet our little one by yourself.”
Her fingers flicked at the top button on his uniform blouse. “PCS orders?”
“To the Pentagon,” he said into her hair. “Got word about an hour ago.”
And he’d be lying if he said he didn’t felt a little itchy in his ABUs, worrying how she’d take the news. She’d done real good for herself setting up her business. Starting to get more work than she could handle on her own, baby or no baby.
She straightened, eyes darting about the kitchen.
Then toward the bedroom.
Up to the ceiling, then to the living room.
Plotting the packing, if he knew his Anna Grace.
Amazing woman.
“Okay, Anna Grace?” They both knew what he was asking her to give up.
She flashed a brilliant smile. “Jackson Davis, you don’t think I haven’t planned for this, do you? I thought you knew me better than that.”
Huh.
Maybe he wasn’t always as smart as he thought.
She laughed, and he found himself chuckling too. “I love you, you know that?” he said.
“That’s also part of the plan. Let’s eat. Baby’s hungry.”
He’d do anything she wanted. Because like his momma said, there was a lot of perfection in his Anna Grace.
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Acknowledgments
Special thanks to my amazing critique partners, Maria Geraci and Kelsey Browning, for being fabulous at everything they do. Thanks, too, to Pam Trader and Lisa Stone Hardt for brainstorming and sanity checks.
Thanks to my family, especially my husband for understanding my gone-to-LaLaLand stares, for taking me to interesting places, and for understanding my need to ramble sometimes. Especially when I’m telling strangers that our marriage is fine.
And thanks to all my extended family and friends for believing in me. Your faith and support has gotten me where I am today.
About The Author
Jamie Farrell writes humorous contemporary romance. She believes love and laughter are two of the most powerful forces in the universe.
A native Midwesterner, Jamie has lived in the South the majority of her adult life. When she’s not writing, she and her military hero husband are busy raising three hilariously unpredictable children.
For more information on Jamie’s books, visit her online at JamieFarrellBooks.com, Facebook.com/JamieFarrellBooks, or Twitter.com/TheJamieFarrell.
Copyright © 2013 by Jamie Farrell
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Cover design by Novel Graphic Designs
Editing by Penny’s Copy Sense
Author photograph by BriShan Photography
ISBN 978-1-940517-01-8
http://www.JamieFarrellBooks.com
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