Ready, Willing and Abel (Passion in Paradise: The Men of the McKinnon Sisters Book 3)

by Sarah O'Rourke

  Abel blanched, swallowing hard as that mental image burned itself into his brain. “That was just cruel, Faith,” he complained. “Motherhood makes her mean!” he said to Cain.

  “That’s the exhaustion,” Cain replied with a tired grunt. “You ready to leave?” he asked his wife.

  Faith held up the white paper sacks. “Honor had our two lunch specials ready to go,” she returned with a yawn.

  Cain nodded. “We’ll see y’all later,” he said with a nod to the table as he wrapped one arm around his wife and held his daughter with the other. “Abel, stay alert, man. The best is yet to come.”

  Watching his brother herd his family out the door, he asked, “Did anybody else think that sounded like more of a warning than a statement of fact?”

  Jake and Diego chuckled as the waitress stopped at the table to take Abel’s order. Ignoring the menu, Abel settled on a cheeseburger, fries and a coke, knowing it was the quickest meal he could select. Leaning back in his seat as the server hurried toward the kitchen, he sighed and tried to relax as he listened to Jake and Diego make small talk.

  He must have drifted off for a few minutes because when he opened his eyes, the waitress was sliding his burger in front of him.

  Picking up the sandwich, he was just taking the first bite when he heard an angry voice growl, “You! What the hell are you doin’ down here, Turner? Shouldn’t you be upstairs spooning the correct ice cream into your woman’s mouth?”

  Glaring over his shoulder at Zeke, Abel scowled. ”You can shut it, Sheriff! I don’t remember asking for your opinion today.”

  “It’s not my opinion that counts, Buck-O,” Zeke growled, glaring down at the other man as he yanked his Stetson off his head. “My dispatcher just got an irate phone call from one Patience McKinnon demanding that I hunt your ass down and, in her exact words, ‘slather you in slop and hogtie you in the town square to serve to a starving Razorback’ if you don’t get your ass back upstairs ASAP and help her find her spoon again. Neither dispatch nor I know what exactly she wants a spoon for, but she was pretty clear that World War III would be forthcoming if you didn’t help her find where she dropped it ASAP! Now, I love this woman like a sister, Abel, but not even I’m brave enough to go up there and try to reason with her after some of the swear words that came out of her mouth. And poor Myrtle is havin’ to take the rest of the afternoon off because she’s too shaken up to finish her shift. Evidently, your woman felt the need to describe in excruciating detail what the female body is capable of doing based on that Lamaze video y’all apparently watched last week. My dispatcher is now basically a body drooling in the corner of the Emergency Operating Center. Myrtle Dunleavy was an innocent sixty-two lady that had never been nor wanted to be kissed, man, and our Patience got real vivid with the particulars that she chose to share regardin’ the miracles of childbirth and what it does to a woman’s body.”

  “See!” Abel exclaimed almost jubilantly while jamming a French fry in his mouth and chomping frantically. “Now the woman has even started terrorizing the 911 system operators. That right there is a clear violation of the law, Zeke. Go arrest her. ‘Cause there ain’t no way in hell I’m going back up those stairs without a military escort. No sir,” he denied with a note of finality no man sitting at the table could miss.

  “Oh, you’re goin’, Abel,” Zeke returned sharply, a determined glint flashing in his eyes as his face turned to stone. “Don’t make me pull my gun because I will shoot you. I’d miss you and all, but not enough to brave whatever chaos Hurricane Patience is plannin’,” he warned as his hand hovered above the sidearm.

  Opening his mouth to respond, Abel jerked slightly, then yanked his buzzing cell phone from his pocket. “Sweet Jesus. She’s just sent me a new shopping list. How the hell am I supposed to find deep-fried eggplant with salsa topping? And what in the name of all creation is mango chutney?” he asked with a near whimper as he cracked his head against the table.

  Jake reached over and pulled Abel’s cell phone from his hand. “If I were you, man, and let me just once again say how glad I am NOT, I’d invest in a personal shopper and head for high ground. That woman’s obviously got a bullet with your name on it, and I hear tell she’s a damn good aim.”

  Peering over Abel’s shoulder at the screen of the phone, even Zeke shook his head. “What you need to do is call the cable company and cancel her damn subscription to the Food Network.”

  “This is my life now, guys, receiving imperious texts demanding impossible items from a woman whose mission seems to be to torment me to death. Jesus, I think the Taliban have less painful torture techniques,” Abel groaned, not bothering to lift his head. “I just wanna sleep, fellas. Just for a little while,” he begged, no longer caring that he sounded like a pussywhipped wimp. The woman he loved no longer lived upstairs. It was obvious that her beautiful body had been taken over by something purely evil and malicious. “Don’t make me go back up there,” he pleaded, lifting his head enough to catch Diego’s eyes across the table. “Send the foreigner. She thinks he’s exotic. He’ll have a fighting chance to survive.”

  Any other time, Abel would have laughed his ass off at the half horrified, half appalled look Paradise’s newest resident presented. Today, however, he just didn’t have the energy. “Don’t look at me like that, Diego. You’ve survived in the Fuentes drug cartel.”

  “Si, and lately I’d say that the cartel was far kinder than your Patience on her best day,” Diego returned with a negative shake of his head.

  Turning hopeful eyes to Jake, he asked, “What about you, badass former DEA agent? Why don’t you go spend some quality time with your sister-in-law?”

  “I didn’t survive bullets and bloodshed to be taken down by a pregnant Patience McKinnon, Abel. You’re on your own with this one,” Jake offered apologetically.

  “Don’t even try,” Zeke said before Abel could open his mouth again. “My suggestion is that you get your balls out of Patience’s purse, sac up, and tell the woman she’s being an unreasonable, irrational pain in the ass,” he firmly recommended.

  Abel’s eyes widened. “You’re tryin’ to get me killed,” he accused the Sheriff harshly, pointing a shaking finger at the lawman. “What? Did you guys take up a collection and buy a life insurance policy with my name on it? You’re all lookin’ for a big payday now?”

  Staring at the disheveled attorney with barely contained amusement, Jake shook his head. “I’m thinkin’ that maybe it isn’t Patience that’s the irrational one, Zeke. I’m pretty sure Abel’s cracked.”

  Abel slowly got to his feet as he looked around at the men that were supposed to be his friends. Well, at least two of them were… he still wasn’t so sure about Diego. “You know what? I’ll go. But when you’re all standing at my coffin, looking down at me, just remember, that this was the moment you could have made a difference. And you did nothing,” he stated dramatically.

  “Somehow I think we’ll all sleep just fine tonight,” Zeke returned evenly, not batting an eyelash.

  “Fine!” Abel snapped. “May you all endure a dozen pregnancies with your very own hormonal headaches!”

  “And the Oscar goes to….” Jake muttered under his breath.

  “Fuck off,” Abel directed, spinning on his heel toward the door. He couldn’t wait for these assholes he called family to know what it was like having to survive from day to day, never knowing which of their women’s personalities would be in charge that night?

  But, he knew. Oh, yeah, he did.

  He understood because he asked himself that question every time he cautiously crossed his Patience’s threshold. Would it be the sweet, yet sassy woman with which he’d fallen in love? Or, conversely, would it be that dangerous, violent she-beast that had taken to inhabiting her body during this, the last trimester, of his children’s development?

  It was, indeed, a crapshoot.

  And last he checked, the odds weren’t in his favor.

  Inhaling deeply, he let the crisp fall
air soothe him. In just a few more weeks, he would be a happy, happy man with two happy, happy children and a happy, happy Patience. She would return to her normal, pre-pregnancy self and all would be right in their wonderful, peaceful world of Paradise.

  And pigs were going to start flying down Main Street any time now.

  He rubbed a stiff hand over his jaw, the light stubble on his cheek abrading his palm. That’s what happened when a guy gets in too big a hurry to escape the woman he loves. He forgets to shave. He had to get a better grip on things between him and Patience. He was beginning to feel (and LOOK!) like Uncle Jethro when the old man had gotten ahold of the soured moonshine that had been hidden under the smokehouse for one year too many after Orla had volunteered him to play Santa at the church social one time too many.

  Abel knew if he didn’t get a better hold of his life, he was going to end up spending the best years of his life inside the loony bin down in Knoxville. Maybe he and Jethro could be roommates; everybody knew that Orla was gonna finally drive the man over the edge. It was just a matter of time for both of them. Because Orla and Patience had a hell of a lot more in common than most kinfolk. Both of them were gonna be responsible for turning their men into patients at the nearest mental hospital.

  Marching toward his car, he forced himself to remember that there were lots of reasons why he loved Patience McKinnon. Sure, he was hard-pressed to remember exactly what those reasons were right now, but that didn’t mean that they didn’t exist. It was just gonna take him a hot minute to remember what they all were.

  As he stood there, staring up at the trees, contemplating life as he was now living it, his phone vibrated yet again in his pocket, dragging his mind back to face the present. Scowling as he glanced at the unidentified number, he shook his head as tapped a few keys and made the call disappear. Hells bells, he had enough to deal with without the unknown, thank you very much. Besides, he knew who it was.

  He knew Patience McKinnon’s tricks.

  She was blocking her number, trying to lure him into answering her call since he’d spent the better part of an hour ignoring all the calls that had been coming in from her cell phone. He knew she was fine. She was right above the café, safe, and probably at this very moment planning his downfall. Maggie had been with her when he’d left earlier, and since his trusty assistant’s Tahoe was still parked beside Honor’s Impala, he knew his woman hadn’t been left unsupervised. No, she was more than likely just calling to give him more marching orders. And damn it, he wanted to step to his own damned beat…just for a little while. Honestly… he needed a break, damn it!

  Because, as it turns out that there IS, indeed, such a thing as too much togetherness and he was experiencing it firsthand with her!

  No sooner than he had tucked his phone away than he heard a voice yelling from not-so-far away. “Abel Turner, I saw you – clear as a spring day in May! What do you mean ignoring my call, you jackass? I’m carryin’ your babies, you Neanderthal! You think your job ended when conception occurred?”

  He turned slowly and stared incredulously at the blonde hanging halfway out the open window on the side of the building. Good God Almighty. She was a sight to behold. She was furious. And if he wasn’t mistaken, she was armed with a .45...pointed right in his direction – the .45 he could have sworn he had hidden from her over three months ago. “Didn’t I already take that gun away from you once, Hellion?” he yelled up at the second story window, his jaw clenching as she leaned further out the open window.

  Patience scoffed. “You did, but you’re predictable Abel. The top of the linen closet? Really? You didn’t think I’d figure that out?” she asked, leaning even further out the window.

  “The loft is the size of a postage stamp, woman! My choices up there were limited. Trust me, when we get moved into our new house, you’ll find that my predictability will be a thing of the past. Now, will you please get your ass and my future children back inside before you take a header from forty feet in the air. I don’t care what those damned commercials say. Weevils might wobble, but sometimes they do, in fact, fall down!”

  “And quit waving that gun around,” Zeke’s voice added authoritatively, joining the fray as he stepped out of the diner and glanced up at the window. “I’d hate to come up there and arrest you. I don’t think my cells would be too comfortable for a heavily expectant young mother,” he warned, propping one hand on his hip as his Sherriff’s star glinted when the sun hit it.

  “I’ll have you know that my bestie has a constitutional right to bear her arms! This is America, land of the brave, home of the free,” Maggie shouted drunkenly as she stood just behind Patience’s shoulder holding a bottle of tequila.

  “Not quite, but close enough,” Patience declared with a supportive nod toward her friend. “Take another hit, sister!” she added, gesturing at the bottle.

  “Are you getting her drunk, Patience?” Abel asked, growing more irritated by the second. “Maggie, you’ve got to file the Devonshire’s adoption papers this afternoon,” he reminded his office manager sternly. “I’m sure the clerk would appreciate you bein’ sober when you walked in her office!”

  “Already done, Slavedriver!” Maggie retorted. “And I’m drinkin’ for your girlfriend so you can just stick it up your butt! I’m sacrificin’ my sobriety for the sake of your kids, Abel Turner! Most men would say ‘Thank you!’!”

  Exchanging a confused look with Zeke, both men replied with a stunned, “What?”

  “Are y’all deaf?” Patience snapped at the two dumbstruck men blinking up at her. “It’s Tuesday! Specifically, it’s Tequila Tuesday, damn it. And it’s the 34th week that I’ve missed my date with Jose Cuervo. Because Maggie is a true friend, she’s agreed to drink for both of us and lettin’ me live vicariously through her.”

  “I’m pretty sure you and my kids, both are gonna get high off the fumes if what I’m smellin’ from down here is any indication,” Abel growled, his shoulders tensing as Patience leaned further out the window to hear him. “Damn it, woman! Get your ass back inside the apartment before your center of gravity meets the damned pavement out here.”

  “Then come upstairs and quit ignoring me! I’ve got news, Abel!” Patience ordered stubbornly.

  “What kind of news?” Abel questioned warily.

  “The kind that I want to tell you face to face,” Patience returned with a devious grin before slamming the window closed.

  “You okay?”

  Abel heard Zeke’s concerned question and knew the man was waiting for an answer. Standing there with his shoulders drooping and his head hung low, he knew that he must look like hell. “What do you think, man? My hellion’s about as predictable as a pissed-off cobra these days. She strikes out at anything that moves these days, and more often than not, that anything is me.”

  “How long y’all got left before delivery?” Zeke asked with a low chuckle.

  “Six weeks if she goes to forty,” Abel replied tiredly, lifting a hand to massage the tight muscles in his neck as he did the quick mental math.

  “So, not far now,” Zeke surmised as he settled his Stetson back on his head.

  “No, not far now, but still not close enough to taste yet,” Abel confirmed with a grateful sigh. “I guess I better get in there,” he said with absolutely no excitement. “If I don’t, there’s no tellin’ what Patience will have convinced Maggie to do.”

  “Stay sane, my friend. Hopefully I’ll see you tonight for poker,” Zeke said in parting.

  Abel nodded. “If I can find a sitter for Patience.” And God, how he hoped that he could. He knew that beneath the sarcasm and snarky remarks was the woman he desperately loved, but right now, he really just wanted to escape her pregnancy riddled clutches and have a leisurely beer and shoot the shit with the boys like a normal man.

  Lifting his arm in parting, he turned back to the door to address whatever new nightmare awaited him.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  “You know that poor bastard thinks
I’m really wasted up here, don’t you?” Maggie laughed as she looked out the clear glass of the window Patience had just closed before dropping the tequila soaked paper towel she was holding in the trash. “I really went into the wrong field. I should have been an actress. I coulda had an Oscar by now.”

  Patience looked at her friend and shrugged. “It’s good to know that he thinks so little of both of us,” she muttered as she finished cleaning up the spilled bottle of Jose Cuervo she’d accidently dropped while making Mags a margarita for lunch. They’d had Mexican and nothing complimented the spicy food better than that well-made cocktail. And Patience wasn’t ashamed to admit that she made ‘em better than any other bartender in a tri-county radius.

  Unfortunately, pregnancy had made her clumsy and she’d knocked over the tequila bottle with her belly while reaching for the salt. Just another of its special gifts that kept on giving. Barely glancing toward him when he came through the door, Patience instead kept cleaning, rinsing the plates she and Maggie had used in the sink.

  “Hellion, what the hell are you doing?” Patience heard him ask, his deep voice almost pained. “You know you’re supposed to be off your feet and on your back in bed.”

  “Geez, Abel, you make her sound like a Saturday night special down at the whorehouse,” Maggie scolded him with a baleful glare. “Women do have feelings, you know. Especially the ones busy breeding tiny humans in their womb,” she added with a pointed stare.

  She actually heard him gulp and saw his eyes quickly lift to hers to see how she’d taken his hasty words. She almost laughed when she noted the look of pure relief when he saw that she hadn’t burst into tears or automatically reached for a knife. What could she say? She was happy for a change.

  Because she’d been issued a physician’s pardon from her sentencing to bed rest.

  By the obstetrician himself.

  And not even Abel Turner could argue with that, she thought as a faint smile pulled at her lips while she finished rinsing the last dish. She swore she’d turn a cartwheel across the town square if she could. One look downward at her gargantuan belly confirmed, however, that she wouldn’t be doin’ acrobatics of any kind in the near future.