“Not at all. But, my life doesn’t usually have this much drama.”
“Only when I pop in.”
“Precisely.” Kade baps me on the tip of my nose with his finger. “But I like it when you pop in.”
“If I didn’t know any better, Kade, I’d say you’re flirtin’ with me.” Wiggling my eyebrows, I crack a silly grin.
Snickering, as a charming smile turns up at the corners of his full lips, he faintly shakes his head. “You’re quite the woman.”
My stomach dips at the praise, and I turn my face into the soft pillow to hide the evidence of my blush. “I’m just me,” I mumble into cotton, hoping he can hear.
The bed shakes, and I hear a tiny click sound before the room descends into darkness. “Goodnight, Kat. And Happy Thanksgiving. I’ll see ya in the morning.”
“Night, Kade.” I flip onto my other side. Snuggling under the blankets, I tug them up to my shoulders. “Thank you for all your help.”
“Anytime, pretty lady. Anytime.”
Five
PAST
The mouthwatering scent of bacon and pancakes drift through every room of the house, drawing my pregnant self out of the bedroom and into the kitchen.
“Mornin’,” Brent sing-songs with a bouncy, blonde baby on his hip as he expertly flips another pancake onto a nearby plate.
Him cooking shouldn’t look as sexy as it does, but those abs and that hip, V-thingy are extra delectable this morning thanks to those low-slung sweatpants. There’s no way he’s wearing any boxers either, because every time he moves, his dick swings, punching the fabric. I should have him cook like this for me more often. It’s the best way to wake up. Especially after the shitty night I had. Eye candy and food—score.
Waddling over to the stool, I groan from exhaustion when my ass plops down at our small kitchen peninsula. Everything freaking aches—from my ham hock ankles to my sausage fingers, all the way up to my hair follicles. Giving birth to this baby can’t come soon enough. I’m done. Ready to evict him or her out of this womb. You’d think with all of the uncomfortable sex we’ve had to coax the little terror out, that he’d get with the program. Guess not.
With a resounding clank, a stack of fluffy, golden pancakes, adorned with a bacon heart on top is set directly in front of me. Next to it, a smaller plate of additional bacon rests. Brent slides a bottle of syrup across the counter while Roxie babbles.
“Say good mornin’ to your beautiful, tired mama, Rox,” Brent says, hip resting against the cupboards, grinning at me like a lovesick puppy—even if he won’t utter those words aloud.
Roxie makes some cute noises, and I reach across the counter to tickle her tiny baby toes that I wanna nibble all up. They’re too damn cute. Don’t you just love baby feet?
“Morning, Princess, and my sexy lover.”
I force a bright smile. It’s not so easy when all I want to do is sleep another twelve hours in hopes that this belly monster will crawl its way out of my tummy. I don’t care what people tell you, being pregnant is only magical for the middle half of your pregnancy. In the beginning, you’re miserable with morning sickness. Unless you’re one of those lucky unicorn bitches and don’t get it. Then about three months in, you’re hunky dory until the eight-month mark. Then it all goes to hell.
Yawning as I slather the pancakes in thick syrup, Brent asks, “Another bad night, huh?”
That’s the understatement of the year.
Taking a bite of crispy bacon, I nod, chewing. “The worst,” I mutter with my mouth still half full. Very ladylike, I know. “We’ve got ourselves a gold medalist swimming in here. Kept me up almost the entire night. I didn’t even hear Rox this mornin’. Sorry about that.” He shrugs one shoulder as if it wasn’t a big deal, and I pat my beach ball sized bump. “Our swimmer finally decided to wear him or herself out at five. That’s when I put my book down.”
Wordlessly, Brent leans his upper body across the counter, and I know just what he’s after, so I do my best to meet him halfway with a simple toe-curling, turn-me-on kiss. Okay. It’s not simple at all. There’s tongue, lots of it, and he tastes like bacon, which makes my stomach growl for more than food. Cupping the side of his face, his scruff abrading my palm in the hottest of ways, I lose myself in him, in us, in the most amazing man God could have ever created just for me.
A thud reverberates, dragging us from our haze. Blinking twice, my brain whirls as I watch our daughter slap her entire palm in a puddle of spilled syrup on the countertop. Brent and my eyes collide for the briefest of seconds before we lose it—cackling like two silly hyenas. Roxie giggles right along with us as Daddy sets her on the counter to play in her sugary mess, and tosses the half-empty bottle in the sink.
Stickiness coating her kick-happy legs, feet, and fingers, Roxie lifts a dripping fist to her mouth to taste. A squeal of delight booms in our quaint kitchen as she suckles the mapley goodness. Her infectious happiness hits me square in the chest, forcing me to laugh right alongside her, smiling until my cheeks hurt.
Leaning over the peninsula again, Brent pecks my lips, beaming. “You look quite yummy,” he murmurs to my mouth, and Rox slaps his cheek with a hand coated in syrup and baby drool. Chuckling, he quickly turns his head and sucks our daughter’s fingers into his mouth. Roxie tries to pry them away, giggling hysterically, but he won’t let go.
“Ummm … I think I should eat Roxie’s hand all up. It tastes sooooo gooood. Nom, nom, nom,” he teases, making loud munching sounds as he pretends to devour her wiggling fingers. She loves every second of it. Excited tears stream down her cheeks, her face beet red from laughing so hard that she can barely catch her breath. I find myself with my own happy tears forming as Daddy steals her other hand to gobble it clean like the cookie monster.
Trapped in the moment, I nearly miss the tightness that envelopes my belly at the exact second a gush of water expels from my lady parts, soaking my pajama pants and legs before pooling on the hardwood floor beneath the stool.
Eyes shooting wide, gasping in shock, I cup my hardening stomach. “Oh, crap! I think it’s time to have our baby!”
PRESENT
“What’ll ya have, sweetie?” a middle-aged waitress with red bouffant hair, and Walmart blue eye shadow asks while snapping her bubble gum. I swore these kinds of women only existed in movies. Yet, here I am, seated in a red vinyl booth, inside a greasy spoon diner, looking up at this lady, who’s waiting for me to pick something to eat off their oversized plastic menu.
“Pancakes and bacon.” I nod once, confirming my order to myself, before handing back the menu, which she tucks under her arm before turning to Kade for his order.
“Same. And some coffee, too, please. Black,” he replies before she gets a chance to ask.
“Sure, sweetie. Comin’ right up.” The woman slides Kade’s unused menu off the table and strides away.
“Pancakes, huh?” he inquires with both arms stretched coolly over the back of the booth, making him look like some 1950’s badass biker. Sorta like the Fonz, but not. “Thought you’d be more like an oatmeal with dried fruit kinda chick.”
Mock offended, I clutch at my chest. “Oh. You wound me, sir. If you must know, I used to love pancakes, but I haven’t had any in … about eight years.” That’s the most I’m going to divulge on the subject, so I hope he doesn’t press for more. Usually, I’m more of a bagel and cream cheese person, or the occasional bowl of cereal—the kind that has too much sugar but tastes too darn good to pass up. Scarlett and Roxie are cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs every time we hit the grocery.
Honestly, I haven’t eaten pancakes since that morning all of those years ago when Scarlett came barreling out of my vagina less than thirty minutes after my water broke in our kitchen. Brent vanished a few months later. I think maybe he took my taste for mapley breakfast with him. Except this morning, of all days. Perhaps it’s because I’ve gotten a slight bit of closure. I don’t know, and don’t really care. That fluffy, syrupy yumminess is sounding awfully ap
pealing right about now, so I’m going to gorge myself until I pop. Today seems as good of a day as ever, since I’m leaving in a matter of hours to drive to the airport.
This morning, Kade woke me up at the butt crack of dawn. Okay. It was more like eight, but it felt too damn early. Then he’d goaded me out of bed with the promise of a fun excursion before my flight. It worked. I took a quick shower, dressed in these jeggings, and a flouncy, white, maternity shirt. My feet and ankles have finally stopped swelling, so I was able to fit into my flats again. We then snuck out of the house, and into his oversized Dodge pickup before anyone knew we’d escaped. It felt a little like breaking out of jail, and I cherished every heart-pounding second of it.
Driving into the nearby town, he’d given me the unofficial tour. Which, I have to admit, wasn’t much. This is the closest town of any importance within a forty-mile radius, and it’s quite tiny. We’d driven past the hospital that looked more like a small veterinarian’s office. There are no chain restaurants or stores anywhere; not even a McDonalds or Subway. One could swear that they’re around every darn corner. Just not in Red Fort, Texas. They do have four small restaurants, one of which is Red’s Diner, where we’re seated right now. The other three are mom and pop places—a pizza joint, dairy bar-deli combo, and a steakhouse of some sort. It looked like the most promising of the establishments with its grand windows, frilly awnings, and brick walls. They don’t serve breakfast, so that’s why we’re here.
Our waitress delivers my water with a lemon wedge dropped inside, and Kade’s coffee in an ever cliché white mug. I take a tentative sip from my straw and cross my ankles under the table. “So, why’d ya bring me here?” We haven’t spoken much, aside from his basic guidemanship that consisted of pointing to a building or landmark and explaining what it was. Hell, I’m pretty sure that’s not a word, but he was my guide for all intents and purposes, so guidemanship it is.
Kade timidly shrugs both shoulders. “Figured you could use the distraction. And I thought you’d like to see how your dad has lived since he…” leaning forward until his stomach touches the edge of the table, Kade cups his hand on the side of his mouth like he’s about to tell me a secret, “died,” he whispers, bouncing his eyebrows.
Ah….
I smirk.
“Um … okay then. What else is left to show me? There’s not much here.”
Which is true. They do have a post office, and a trailer-sized sheriff’s department, that Kade said houses two inmates at a time. There is no courthouse or fancy clothing stores. They have an Outpost, which has the essential apparel, ammunition, and stuff. Or that’s what the front window said when we drove past. I did see a grocery store. One that was larger than I expected, compared to the size of the town. It even had carts outside. That was impressive in itself. We’d passed a single pump gas station/bait shop. It had a large tin sign on its weather-worn siding that read ‘worms here’. And I’d gotten a good look at the hotel I’d booked, yet never stayed at. It wasn’t much more than a house with a sign out front. More like a rundown bed and breakfast. All in all, it’s a charming little village. Not much to look at, but it does have its appeal, nonetheless. A simple way of living, I suppose. It even has a single school that doesn’t look much bigger than our high school back at home. Although, it did appear more modern than I expected, with its nice playground equipment and all. Not sure why I noticed that, but I did. That’ll be perfect for when Ryker and Vanessa’s child starts school there. Time flies faster than ya know it. All they have to do is blink, and their kid will be born, out of diapers, and going to school for the first time. It seems like only yesterday Scarlett was welcomed into this world. Now she’s in third grade.
“Nope, it’s a pretty boring place. Only got one bar, and it doesn’t even have women takin’ their tops off.” He sips his coffee, and I shake my head, fighting a smile and losing miserably.
“Is that all you think about is naked women?”
“I’m a man. I may respect chicks, but I think about tits fifty percent of the day.”
“And what do you think about the other fifty?”
Kade grins, taking an extra-long drink from his mug, eyes mischievously dancing over the rim. “The other fifty I’m thinkin’ about their mouths on my dick, or my dick in their pussies. Sometimes both at the same time.”
On impulse, my hand shoots across the space between us and I slap his bicep. “You’re a pig.” I bark a laugh, and our waitress interrupts at the perfect time, setting our mountainous stacks of pancakes and plates of bacon in front of us. Without pause, I pour syrup over the golden discs and dive right on in. The first bite is like an orgasm exploding on my tongue. I moan, chewing, and Kade gruffly clears his throat.
I forgot how good these tasted.
“Can you not do that?” he mumbles, tearing into a piece of bacon.
I swallow and gulp some water before replying. “Do what?”
“Stop making noises when you eat.”
Forking another piece of flapjack, it’s halfway to my lips when I frown at him, brows furrowing. “What do you mean? I like my food. It’s good.” I shovel it into my mouth, groaning erotically to spite him.
“You’re moaning, and it’s distracting the customers,” he whisper screams as if people are staring. They’re not. Okay, maybe that guy in the corner who just put down his newspaper glanced over. Everyone else is too preoccupied to notice my food pleasure, and if I had to guess, somebody is sexually frustrated.
I cut another piece with the edge of my fork. “Are you horny, Kade? ‘Cause it looked like you got plenty of action last night. So you should be fine.”
Rubbing his forehead with three fingers, and expelling a sigh, he shakes his head twice. “Woman, you can’t be talkin’ like that.”
“Talkin’ like what? Your dick gettin’ sucked? Pretty sure I got a free, softcore porn show of it last night. If it hadn’t been for your woman’s deep throatin’ talents, I’d have gotten the full view of your johnson,” I comment, like we’re talking about the weather. Part of me knows I should be mortified by this conversation, while the part I’m actually taking comfort in, knows I’m damn justified.
The man in the booth behind me chokes on something. Apparently, he’s been eavesdropping on our conversation. I look over my shoulder to address him. “Sir, is my food moaning a distraction? Or is it the porn discussion?”
He chokes again before clearing his throat. And I pay no attention to Kade’s obvious growl of irritation.
Peering over his shoulder, the man grins shyly, his cheeks fire engine red. “Ma’am, I’m sorry. I see plenty of the club members in here, but I don’t think I’ve seen them bring many women. And certainly not one as candid as you.”
“Just ignore her, Frank. I am,” Kade grumbles.
Turning sideways in my seat, I rest my knee on the booth, and my elbow on the back to get more comfortable. “Frank, is it? I’m Katrina. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” I offer the handsome fifty-something man my hand, and we shake. It’s awkward from this position.
“Likewise, Katrina. You new to Red Fort, or just passin’ through?”
“Just came for Thanksgiving. Headed home today,” I answer out of courtesy.
“Hope you have safe travels then.” He politely dips his chin toward me then swings his gaze to Kade. “See ya around, bud. Don’t be givin’ this one any more porn shows than necessary.” There’s a twinkle in his brown eyes as he smiles at us, throws some cash on his table, and exits the booth.
Turning around, I tuck back into my glorious meal, trying my best not to moan anymore, even if these pancakes are fantastic. A comfortable silence hangs in the air between us as we devour our food with little decorum. It’s nice that I don’t have to worry about what he’ll think if I gorge myself. I’m pregnant, so I get a pass. Something tells me Kade wouldn’t care what I ate, even if I wasn’t as big as a van. I like that about him. After dating a health freak who gave me the stink eye every time I chose beef over chicke
n, I decided no more judgy eaters in my life. It’s not worth the added stress.
Kade finishes first, and the waitress swiftly carts away the dirty dishes after topping off his coffee. He pulls his phone from his pocket and checks something on the screen. “You’ve got an hour before we gotta leave for the airport.”
“We?” I ask around a bite of bacon.
“Pops and I are gonna follow you in my truck.”
“Why aren’t you riding your motorcycles? Don’t bikers usually ride, ya know, bikes?”
He puts his phone away. “Yeah, but if we don’t wanna stick out like sore thumbs, we gotta use the truck. Discretion is key.”
“’Cause you don’t want bad guys coming after me if they find out I’ve been down here, and that my dad is still breathin’.”
“Who the fuck told you that?” Kade barks. Sitting up straighter, eyes on high alert, he scans the place as if we’re seated in the middle of a war zone. Someone needs to take a chill pill.
Silently observing his jerky movements, I sip my water, not the least bit concerned. “Your brother,” I reply.
“What else did he tell you?”
Great, now he’s mad. I probably should’ve kept my trap shut about anything Ryker said. They’re most likely some MC secrets that he’s gonna get in trouble for telling me. Sheesh, now I’m feeling guilty as hell. What if he does get in trouble because of my big mouth?
“Nothing,” I fib, polishing off the last morsel of maple saturated pancake. Cleaning my sticky lips with the sweep of my tongue, I stare at my plate. Would it be bad if I licked it spotless? Or is that going too far? I wonder if Kade would even notice.
HOPE TRILOGY: Sacred Sinners- Texas Chapter Page 14
