At Cowpoke Creamery, Emma and I are treated to three of their staple cheeses and a seasonal specialty that brings the heat, but is absolutely fucking delicious.
“Am I crazy,” she asks. “Or would this kick ass with Bobby’s oyster sauce and some toasted garlic bread?”
I groan in approval of her brilliance as I chew. “Yes. That. We’re doing that. Next week. I’ll make the twins take the cooler and go pick up oysters and sauce for dinner. They love Bobby.”
“He seems so sweet,” Emma says. “He has the kindest eyes.”
I nod, watching bliss spread across her features as she savors her last bite of the Devil’s Smokestack. “He’s one of the nicest people I’ve ever met. Kind to the core. You’ve got good instincts, Haverford.”
She looks up, expression softening. “Thanks.”
I lean closer, brushing her hair over her shoulder, not because it needs to be moved, but because I need an excuse to touch her. “Maybe there’s something to the oyster thing, after all?”
She grins. “Could be. But I don’t see any abandoned lighthouses around here.”
“Nope.” I sigh. “Then I guess we should try to cool it down. Ready for dessert?”
Emma glances at her watch. “As long as it’s not too big. If I eat much more, I won’t be able to inflict the damage I want to inflict on your picnic basket.”
“Come on.” I tug out my wallet to pay for the cheese we’ve decided to take with us. “I’ve seen you eat. For a tiny thing, you can take it down. I believe that you can handle waffle cones at the Salty Goat and still put a hurting on our picnic.”
“You should have said it was ice cream,” she says, looping her arm through mine as we start toward the door. “There’s always room for ice cream.”
We step out into the sunny afternoon, where the cool bite of the ocean breeze serves as a reminder of how close we are to autumn fading into winter. In two more months, every leaf will be on the ground, seasonal rains will be soggifying Sonoma County, and if Emma and I haven’t made a baby by the end of December, this will be over.
Or she’ll be gone.
I turn to her outside the Salty Goat, pulling her into my arms on instinct, because that’s what you do when you don’t want to deal with reality. She’s like the last few weeks of summer as a kid, when you can feel the nip in the air, but go swimming every day anyway, as if plunging into increasingly freezing water will somehow keep summer around forever.
“What’s up?” she asks, hands flush against my chest.
I shake my head. “Nothing. Just hate to see the day going by so fast.”
“Me, too.” She leans into me with a sigh. “I like adventuring with you.”
“I like doing most things with you,” I find myself confessing, though I know it’s stupid. Emma wants a baby from me, nothing more. She’s been pretty clear about that from the beginning. And if she’d changed her mind, I would know that, too.
She’s a good communicator, which she proves with her next words. “Me, too. I guess that’s why it’s been so easy to become friends.”
“Yeah,” I agree, though the word leaves a sour taste in my mouth not even honey lavender hand-churned goat’s milk ice cream can banish.
She is my friend, but there are times lately when this doesn’t feel friendly.
It feels real. And scary. And…incredible.
Like falling in love, that’s what it fucking feels like.
I’ve only been here once before, when I wasn’t much more than a kid, but I remember the electricity and the connection and the way something deep inside starts to ache when your person isn’t around. In some ways, this is nothing like what I had with Gretchen—Emma and I are adults and there is none of the awkwardness in the bedroom or the emotional upheaval of having big feelings for the first time—but in other ways, it’s exactly the same. I hate leaving her and count the hours until I can be with her again. I think about her all the time and dream about fucking her and can remember in vivid detail every single time I’ve made her come.
Mental scrapbooking of orgasms is a classic warning sign that love is right around the corner.
I should be keeping my distance from Emma, limiting exposure for the sake of keeping my heart from getting blown to pieces when this ends in one disappointing way or the other. Instead, I bundle her back into my truck and take her for a picnic at my favorite spot in the mountains above Armstrong Woods, the one with the view of the ancient redwoods covering the valley below and golden hills stretching all the way to the horizon.
It’s romantic as hell.
Glutton for punishment. I am one.
“You can see San Francisco today,” I say when we’re finished eating and are snuggled under a sleeping bag in the bed of my truck, staying warm as the sun goes down. I point to the sharp edges barely visible in the distance. “There, where the sky is still pale blue.”
“I see it,” she says softly. “The city feels like another world out here, though, doesn’t it? Or another planet.”
“Which planet do you like better, city girl?” I ask, tucking my arm tighter around her shoulders.
“This one,” she says without hesitation. “I’m not a city girl anymore.”
I shake my head. “No, you’re not.”
Emma fits in here like she was born and raised on a farm. She belongs in this country, on her land, cruising up and down the trail on her bike with her scarf flying out behind her.
I don’t want her to go. But if she’s already pregnant, I can’t ask her to stay. It would kill me to see her moving on with her life with our baby and know I’m just the friendly neighborhood sperm donor.
Don’t think about it. Don’t ruin the day.
But my thoughts aren’t as cooperative as I would like them to be, and by the time we get back to Emma’s place—sliding out of my truck under a sky full of stars—I’m crashing hard. So hard I almost make my excuses and head for home to sleep in my own bed for once, but then Emma takes my hand in the dark. “Bath before bed? With candles and one more glass of wine? And the lavender bubble bath I’m not allowed to tell any of your brothers you like?”
I smile. “You can tell them if you want. My manliness isn’t that fragile.”
“No, it isn’t. Not even a little bit.” She draws me up the porch steps and into the house, where we come together like words and music, beautiful and true and better together than they are apart. And for now, it’s enough, though I can’t help but wish she heard the band playing, too.
Chapter 15
From the texts of Dylan Hunter and Rafe Hunter
Five days later…
Rafe: Where are you? The boys woke me up, all freaked the hell out. They started on the eggs and realized none of the other chores were done.
They think you’re dead. Are you dead?
Dylan: Shit. No. Not dead.
Overslept. Be right there.
Rafe: You? Dylan, I-wake-before-the-sun, Hunter overslept?
I’m assuming this is in some way connected to the fact that you’ve slept in your own bed exactly zero times in the past three weeks? You may have been fooling some of the people around here, but I’ve seen you on your way up the hill at five in the morning.
Dylan: Just tell the boys to leave the eggs and do the rest of the chores. I’ll be there in time to get the orders ready before the vendors come by, but the animals aren’t going to appreciate the change in the feeding routine. And the damned cow is going to be a bitch if she isn’t milked soon.
Rafe: Don’t worry about it. I already fed the animals and milked the cow, who was as sweet as she could be. I think you’re making up those biting stories. Moo-donna wouldn’t snap at a fly biting her ass.
Dylan: I’ll remind you of that when she bites your ass. She’s lulling you into a false sense of security. That’s her pattern. Lull, wait until your guard is down, then bite the shit out of you.
Rafe: Lies. I don’t believe a word of it. The cow and I are tight, and the boys handled the e
ggs, so you’re free to linger in bed.
Dylan: Oh… Okay.
Well, thanks, I will. Appreciate it, man.
Rafe: No problem. Though, I will remind you that this is a bad idea. So if you haven’t knocked her up yet, I highly encourage you to slap a condom on. Preferably, right now. Do not pass go, do not slide bare into that sweet neighbor pussy.
Dylan: I’m not discussing this with you.
And don’t talk about her. Any part of her, but especially that part.
Rafe: Touchy, touchy. So it’s that good, huh?
Dylan: I’m not talking about this. I’m serious.
Rafe: So, on a scale from damn good time to a magical sex fairy jumped over the moon and slipped anal beads up your ass while giving you a blowjob, she’s full fairy?
Dylan: Gotta go.
Rafe: Condom. Put one on.
Seriously, you’re thinking with your dick, and that never ends well. For anyone. That includes her. There’s no way she isn’t getting the wrong idea with all the sleeping over and sleeping in and disappearing to her place after dinner every night.
Dylan: Thank you for taking care of things at home. I’ll be there soon.
Rafe: All right. I can take a hint.
But don’t say I didn’t warn you…
Chapter 16
Dylan
Rafe’s right.
At least, sort of right. I’m thinking with my heart, not my dick, but of the two, the heart is definitely the more dangerous organ.
If I’m smart, I’ll roll out of Emma’s bed while she’s in the shower, leave a note that I’ll touch base with her soon, and head back home, where I will stay until I’ve gotten my shit together and stopped wanting to carve “Dylan hearts Emma” into every tree trunk between my property and hers.
It was never supposed to go down like this. I wasn’t supposed to get addicted to her body or the feel of taking her bare in every possible position. I wasn’t supposed to sleep over at her place every night and wake up smiling because she’s still wrapped up in my arms the next morning. I wasn’t supposed to spend every spare minute making her meals, making her laugh, making a fool of myself because I can’t stay away from her.
I wasn’t supposed to fall.
But her pussy is magical, damn it. And she’s so much fun to be with. She made it easy to let down my guard and get way too fucking comfortable.
It’s only now, after the wake-up call from Rafe, that I realize I haven’t slept over this many nights in a row with a woman in…
“Ever,” I confess to the ceiling fan whirring gently overhead because Emma and I both like it cold while we sleep.
The realization is enough to take the edge off the boner I’ve been sporting since I was so rudely awakened from dreams of eating Emma’s pussy like my mission on earth was to pleasure her with my mouth.
That’s it. No more burying my head in the sand or between Emma’s legs or anywhere else. Time to get some distance and think without Emma close enough to kiss, to touch, to surprise in the shower the way I did yesterday.
Though a few more minutes in her company probably won’t hurt…
I’ve got to shower sooner or later anyway…
Tossing off the covers, I tug on boxer-briefs and head for the bathroom, but I pause at the closed door. It’s quiet. No sound of the fan or the shower running or Emma humming to herself as she shaves her legs.
I glance back at the clock on the bedside table.
Fuck, it’s almost seven-thirty. She must have already showered and headed out to get shit done. She doesn’t have animals that require the five-a.m. wake-up call mine do, but her garden is massive, and tending to it usually takes up most of her morning.
Seeing her straw hat is missing from the hook on the wall, my hopes—and the last of my erection—fall flat. I push into the bathroom with a sigh, intending to grab the world’s fastest shower before heading for home, only to freeze, curse, and lift a hand to shield my eyes when I discover Emma.
On the toilet.
“Shit, I’m sorry,” I say, laughing uncomfortably as I reverse my steps. “I thought you were already gone.”
“It’s okay, I was just peeing,” she says, her words thick-sounding in a way that makes me concerned. I peek through my fingers, and sure enough, her face is blotchy and her cheeks damp.
I let my hand fall to my side. “What’s up? Why the sad face, baby?”
She shakes her head. “Nothing. I’m fine.”
I frown, concerned. “You don’t look fine. What’s wrong? Are you sick? Need me to head into town to get you something? Meds or soup or—”
“Tampons.” The word ends in a laugh-sob as she scrubs a hand across her eyes.
Oh fuck.
Her period.
Which means…
“I’m sorry.” She sniffs and blinks faster. “I’m being ridiculous, and I have tampons. I just really thought…” The edges of her mouth turn down hard. “I was two days late and so hopeful, but then I came in to pee and…” Her face scrunches again, and I can’t help myself. I have to go to her, even if she is sitting on the damned toilet.
“Hey, hey, don’t cry.” I crouch beside her, giving her a hug as I smooth a hand over her fuzzy, sleep-mussed hair. “We’re only one month in. We’ve still got time. It’s going to happen.”
“You really think so?” Her arms go around my shoulders as she tucks her face against my neck. “Honestly?”
“Honestly,” I affirm. “Next month, no doubt. You’ll take your temperature, like you said, figure out the best day, and we’ll bang like our lives depend on it.”
She sniffs again. “I feel like we do that already.”
I smooth my palm over her back through her flannel pajama top. “Are you kidding me? I’ve got levels of intensity you haven’t even glimpsed yet, Blondie. Don’t doubt it. It’s all going to be okay.”
She pulls away, looking up at me with grateful eyes and a soft smile. “Okay. Thanks for the cheering up.”
“Anytime,” I say, even as a part of me wonders what the hell I’m saying. What I’m thinking.
Yes, I’ve been gladly going condom-free for the past few weeks, but I’ve secretly been hoping we would dodge the baby bullet, not land two tickets on the knocked-up train. I don’t want Emma pregnant and leaving town. I want her here, with me.
My mouth goes dry as the words rise in my throat. But do I dare? Do I honestly have the balls to ask her to choose me instead of the baby she wants so desperately? To change lanes this late in the Big Dream game?
Before I can decide what to say, to do, Emma gently pats my cheek. “But now you have to go,” she says. “Because this is embarrassing.”
“Are you sure?” I ask, grateful for the excuse to keep things light. “I’ve never hugged a woman on a toilet. We could make out if you want. Add to the list of firsts.”
Her nose wrinkles. “Ew. No. Stop.”
“You’re sure?” I tease as I back toward the door. “I’m down with fulfilling your toilet fantasies, baby. I’m a gentleman on the street, but I’ll be your freak on the can.”
Eyes glittering with laughter instead of tears, Emma jabs a finger toward the door. “I have no toilet fantasies, weirdo. Now get out of here!”
I make a break for it, closing the door behind me with a laugh.
But as soon as I’m out of Emma’s sight, my smile slips away.
I’ve always prided myself on telling it like it is—to my brothers, my friends, even my dad—but with Emma… I don’t know how to cross this bridge with her, or if she even wants to cross it.
I could call off Operation Baby Bump now—while I know I’m in the clear—and beg her to consider a new arrangement, one where we date for real and just…see where things go.
But even as the thought zips through my head, I know better. I know her better than I did before. She’s as stubborn as she is sexy, and she will absolutely find another man to fuck a baby into her if I won’t.
And I do not like the ide
a of another man in this bed with Emma, his dick trespassing in my territory.
No…she’s not mine. Not even close.
That’s dangerous thinking, any way you slice it.
I dress quickly, trying to think of some more potty jokes to lob at Emma on my way out, determined to get home and start seeking clarity regarding the mess I’ve gotten myself into. But when Emma emerges wearing jeans and the weathered blue sweatshirt she prefers for cool mornings, I don’t have any jokes. Or clarity.
All I’ve got is an idea I hope might cheer her up.
“Want to come to the harvest parade with me tonight?” I ask as I shrug on my jacket. “See if the 4H club brings home another winning float this year?”
“I don’t know.” She leans against the bureau beside the bathroom door. “I thought we were keeping a low profile. You know, so people won’t get nosy.”
“We’ll keep our hands to ourselves while we’re in public and go as friends. You’re my neighbor. No reason you shouldn’t catch a ride into town. Parking’s always a pain in the ass, so lots of people carpool.”
“Or we could ride bikes,” she says, eyes lighting up.
I curl my lip, playing up my disdain. “You and the bicycling everywhere…”
“It’s fun,” she says, crossing her arms. “And good exercise.”
“I get plenty of exercise.”
“Yes, you do.” Her gaze flicks up and down, making my cock thicken because he is that easy around this woman. Just a look, that’s all it takes. “But are you getting plenty of fun, Mr. Hunter?”
I sure have been lately. Aloud, I say, “All right, bike it is. I’ll text you when I’m on my way over, okay? We should leave around five to get a good spot.”
“Okay. Sounds good.” She props one foot on top of the other, her toes squirming into the thick carpet.
The Baby Maker Page 11
