Trace shook his head and headed into the street to join the other racers.
“About damn time,” Jeb said, sporting a blue #TeamTrindleColt shirt and wristband. “You all stretched out?”
Trace’s stretching had come in horizontal form earlier that morning with his beautiful girlfriend. “I’m good.”
“Not good enough to win, because that’s going to be me this year,” Beckett said.
Shane scoffed. “If you can see through the smoke I leave behind.” He was the only one of the Jericho brothers wearing a pink #TeamTrindleFilly shirt.
“You think I’m having a girl?” Trace asked.
“You’re not manly enough to produce a son,” Shane said. Then he high-fived some dude wearing pink behind him.
“Jackass,” Trace uttered. “It takes a bigger man to raise a daughter than a son.”
“One-minute warning,” the mayor announced, and the runners got into position.
“Does that mean he’s having a girl?” Chet asked, starting a debate among the others.
When the horn sounded, Trace took off fast, determined to win. Chet and Reed kept pace with him and peppered him with questions, which made him want to push himself to run faster, just to escape their inquisition.
“So? It’s a girl?” Reed asked.
“He’s just throwing us off,” Chet said. “Right?”
Reed said, “Dirty trick, dude.”
Shane and JJ caught up to them, and within seconds, Beckett and Jeb started asking questions like, “Has Brindle bought baby clothes? Are they pink or blue?” and “What names are you thinking of?”
“You need to have a kid every year,” Chet said as they neared the end of the first mile marker. Spectators lined the streets, cheering them on. “The turnout hasn’t ever been this good.”
There were only a handful of guys ahead of them when they turned at the halfway mark and headed down a parallel street.
“Think you and Brindle can stop by my shop this week to look at designs for your crib?” Jeb asked.
“Yeah. Sounds good. Thanks for doing that.”
“No sweat, bro. Want to tell me what color to paint it?” Jeb asked with a sly grin.
“White.” Trace sprinted off, leaving Jeb’s disgruntled sounds in his wake. As he ran, he thought about how his brothers and friends had always been there for him, and he hoped his daughter would find the same long-lasting friendships. He thought about who else had kids or was pregnant, and though Sophie and Brett came to mind, one child in their circle of friends wasn’t nearly enough.
At the second mile marker, he blew past the guys who were ahead of him, and one by one, Shane, Reed, and Beckett caught up, giving him shit about holding his secret, but Trace kept his eyes trained on the road, determined to win.
“Reed, you and Grace planning on having kids?” Trace asked when the finish line came into view.
“At some point.”
“Care to wager?” Trace taunted.
“On the gender of your child?”
“On yours. If I beat you, you guys have a baby right away.”
Reed laughed. “And when I win? You’ll let me in on the secret?”
“Sure.” He wasn’t going to lose to Reed.
“You’re on,” Reed said, and sprinted toward the finish line.
There was a collective murmur of curses as Trace took off after him. He was neck and neck with Reed when Brindle’s cheers carried into his ears. She was shaking pink and blue pom-poms, yelling, “Come on, cowboy!”
Seeing her cheering for him should have made his legs move faster, but only his heart took off in the right direction as he ran to the sidelines, vaguely aware of people taking pictures and videos, hollering at him to finish the race as he said, “Come on, darlin’. Time for us to shine.”
He took her hand, walking fast toward the finish line, kissing and laughing.
“I love you, Mustang,” he said as they crossed the finish line surrounded by other runners. Then, with his starry-eyed girl beside him, he whipped his shirt over his head, revealing the bright pink paint on his chest and abs that read IT’S A GIRL! and #TEAMTRINDLEFILLY on his back. Cheers and congratulations rang out in front of them, while laughter sounded behind them.
“What are they laughing at?” He looked over his shoulder.
“I might have also painted ‘Property of Brindle Montgomery’ on your back.” She unexpectedly whipped off her shirt, revealing a pink tank top with #TEAMTRINDLEFILLY written across her belly in black marker. More cheers rang out as she turned around, showing Trace where she’d written PROPERTY OF TRACE JERICHO on the back.
He kissed her as the crowd converged on them in a mass of cheers and embraces.
A long while later, after it seemed like the whole town had congratulated them, Trace’s brothers and friends gave him shit for their losses in the baby-gender wagers.
“I’m out seventy-five bucks, man. Not cool,” Sin said.
“You owe me a hundred bucks,” JJ said.
Trace shook his head. “It’s not my fault you were dumb enough to bet.”
“Dude, I can’t believe you didn’t win the race,” Reed said. “You were right there with me, and then you were gone.”
A few feet away, Brindle was eating pink cookies with their mothers and showing off their sonogram picture, while stealing glances at Trace. She turned her back to him, flashing the writing on her shirt, and she looked over her shoulder with a seductive glimmer in her eyes. She’d claimed him in front of the whole town. It might have seemed like a small, unnecessary gesture to some, but Trace knew how important independence was to Brindle. He might not have won the race, but he was definitely the biggest winner of all.
THEY FACETIMED AXSEL, Morgyn, and Pepper from the race so they could see the balloons and T-shirts and feel the excitement of their big day. Sable had already clued them in on the bets. Morgyn and Axsel had bet they were having a girl, but Pepper had wagered for a boy. Pepper had purely scientific reasons behind her choice, something that had to do with male sperm swimming faster than female and Brindle’s overeager eggs. Regardless of the bets, everyone seemed genuinely excited for them. Although Brindle’s mother had taken a little too much pleasure in the idea of Brindle trying to raise a daughter who could turn out as rebellious and stubborn as she was. Of course, with Brindle’s luck she’d have a girly-girl who was all about frills and lace, and she’d have no idea how to relate to her.
Perhaps in addition to meetings of the married minds, she needed to start penciling in some time with Amber to learn how the other half lives.
Now they were back at home, getting ready to have Thanksgiving dinner with Trace’s family and dessert with her family. Brindle had offered to make the pies. Not that she had any baking experience beyond slicing premade cookie dough, half of which ended up in her stomach and not the oven, but she wanted to contribute. And now she had something to prove since most of her sisters had suggested their mother make pies just in case something went wrong. As if she couldn’t handle baking pies? She’d show them!
“Hey, darlin’, you got the pies in the oven yet?” Trace called down the second-story bridge that ran between the guest room and the master bedroom, overlooking the kitchen and living room.
“Yes,” she called up to him. Her mother had shared her great-grandmother’s famous bourbon pumpkin pie with pecan streusel recipe. Brindle made two pies, and they’d looked amazing when she’d put them in the oven.
She wiped her hands and looked up at Trace leaning over the bridge, watching her.
“Can you come up here for a sec? I want to show you something.”
“Sure.”
She remembered when he’d bought the cabin. He’d gotten it for a steal because it had been empty for quite a few years and had needed a lot of work. Brindle would never forget the pride in his eyes when he’d shown her the house. She’d seen the same look in his eyes when she’d agreed to move in with him. They’d already moved in most of her belongings, though
they were still figuring out what to do with some of her furniture. Her lease wasn’t up for a few months, so they had time to figure that out.
Trace met her at the top of the stairs wearing only a pair of jeans. He smelled fresh from his shower and looked handsome with his wet hair brushed away from his face.
“What’s up?” Her eyes trailed down his body.
He pulled her against him and said, “Eyes up here, darlin’, unless you want to end up naked.”
She bit her lower lip, her insides already thrumming with desire. Nana hadn’t been kidding about pregnancy hormones. She was hornier than a dog in heat.
He kissed her lower lip free and said, “I might have to keep you pregnant all the time.”
She playfully swatted him, and he chuckled.
“Come with me.” He reached for her hand, leading her into the guest room. The heavy wooden dresser and headboard gave the room a masculine feel.
Each of the bedrooms was built at one end of the A-frame and had four triangular windows that connected with wooden frames, forming one big triangle. The top triangle, and the two bottom triangles twisted open, while the middle, upside-down triangular window was stationary. The master bedroom overlooked the creek in the backyard, while the guest room had a beautiful view of the front yard.
The bedrooms were large, with slanted walls. “I’m thinking about putting in a knee wall with storage behind it. That way the crib can sit against a straight wall.”
“A nursery,” she said softly. They’d been so busy, she hadn’t even begun thinking about the nursery. She loved that he had.
“Our little girl needs one. I thought we could put a rocking chair by the window, and maybe a dresser and changing table over there.” He pointed across the room. “What do you think?”
“I think that sounds perfect, and I’m sorry I didn’t think of it first.”
He drew her into his arms and said, “You’ve been busy with drama club auditions, grading papers, our gender reveal, meeting with your mom and sisters, planning surprises for me…”
“Still. I should have thought of it.” The auditions had gone well but had taken two full afternoons.
“We’re a team. You brought me dinner at the ranch last night when I worked late. That’s what it’s all about, teamwork.” He kissed her. “Jeb asked what color we wanted the crib. I told him white, but that was just because we hadn’t revealed our little cowpoke as a girl yet. If you want it pink, we can do that.”
“Pink?” She wasn’t a big fan of pink furniture, but this was Trace’s baby, too, and she didn’t want to rip him off if he had visions of pink in his head. “What do you want?”
He waggled his brows and kissed her again. “What I want.” Kiss, kiss. “Has nothing to do with paint colors.”
“But you brought it up,” she said as she leaned her head to the side, giving him better access for those enticing kisses.
“It seemed like a good idea at the time.” He kissed her softly and said, “But now you’re in my arms, and my mind went someplace even more intriguing.”
Oh, how she loved that!
“White?” He slicked his tongue around the shell of her ear. “Yellow?” He kissed her cheek. “Green?” He gazed deeply into her eyes and said, “You. Naked.”
“I like that idea best of all.”
“Me too.”
He lowered his lips to hers, kissing her hungrily. As they always had, they quickly lost themselves in each other, tearing at their clothes, as if it had been weeks rather than hours since they’d last made love.
“I’ll never get enough of you,” he said, kissing and groping her nakedness.
Every touch of his lips sent sparks searing beneath her skin. She pushed at his briefs, and he stripped them off. A wolfish grin spread across his handsome face as he hooked his fingers in the side of her panties, pulling them off as he kissed a path straight down her belly.
He rubbed his hands over her baby bump and then he kissed it and said, “It’s that time again, sweetness. Buckle up for a wild ride while Daddy satisfies Mama’s every whim.”
“I love whim time,” Brindle said as they stumbled to the bed.
They lay on their sides, kissing and groping, teasing each other into panting, pleading frenzies. He rolled onto his back and locked his hands around her waist, lifting and guiding her so she was straddling his face. He covered her sex with his mouth, and electricity shot through her. She grabbed the headboard with one hand and his hair with the other as he masterfully drove her out of her mind. She tugged on his hair, earning a lustful growl. He clutched her ass so tight his nails dug into her flesh, and the roughness sent her spiraling into oblivion. Her hips bucked, her sex pulsed, and his name flew from her lungs loud and uninhibited. Just when she began coming down from the clouds, he did it again, hard and purposeful, and she shattered against his mouth. He stayed with her through the last aftershock. Then he kissed her inner thighs soft as a feather as he teased her oversensitive nerves with his fingers, keeping her at the brink of madness.
It took her a second to catch up as he slithered out from between her legs, grabbing her hips from behind.
“Let go of the headboard, darlin’,” he commanded with a touch of Southern charm that did her in.
Her limbs trembled as she pushed back, needing more, but Trace took his time, rubbing his shaft against her sex until the length was slick with her arousal. One hand moved up her body, cupping her breast as he kissed her spine. His chest and leg hair tickled her skin, and the pressure of his arousal sliding between her legs made her swell with desire.
“Trace, please. I need more.”
She moved his hand from her breast to between her legs, nearly shooting off the bed when he zeroed in on the spot he knew so well. Lights exploded behind her closed lids, and she arched back. She felt the broad head of his erection pressing against her entrance, and she thrust her hips back, forcing him into her in one fast motion.
“Aw, fuck, darlin’.” He fisted his hand in her hair, pulling just hard enough to send shocks of lightning to her core.
“Yes! Take me hard, Trace. Don’t hold back.”
He pounded into her, groping and tugging on her hair as she coaxed, challenged, and praised his every effort. He was a sexual god, an orgasm king, and he was all hers.
THEY LAY TOGETHER afterward, floating in a lust-filled haze.
“Sarah Louise,” Trace said as he ran his fingers over her belly.
“Brindle, asshole,” she teased.
He kissed her lips and said, “The baby, Brin. My grandmother’s name was Louise. I never really knew her, but I’ve heard stories about how amazing she was. I was thinking that it might be nice to honor her by using her name.”
“Aw, that’s really sweet, but Sarah is a little plain, don’t you think?”
“It’s feminine and strong.”
She looked at him, and he kissed the tip of her nose. “I can get on board with your grandma’s name as a middle name, but I’m not sold on Sarah. What if we just jumble those letters a little? Sahara?”
“Nope. Guys will make jokes about her being dry as a desert.”
“Only if they want to deal with my fist hitting their mouths.”
“That’s my girl.” He kissed her again. “Rachel?”
“That’s pretty. Emily? We could call her Emma.”
“I like that. Emma Lou.”
She gave him a deadpan stare. “No. You’re not calling our daughter Emma Lou. That makes her sound too country.”
“Do you know where we live? We’re about as country as it gets.”
He placed his hand on her belly, and she felt a flutter beneath it. Her eyes flew wide open. “Did you feel that?”
“Feel what?”
“The baby! I think it moved.” She pressed her hands to her belly. “Maybe it’ll move again.” They stared at her belly, and a few minutes later she felt the fluttering again. “There! Did you feel that?”
“No. Are you sure it’s not just
all those cookies you ate?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never been pregnant before, but all the books talk about a fluttering, and this is definitely a flutter.”
He pressed a kiss to her baby bump and said, “Emma Lou, can you move for Daddy?”
She smiled at his tenderness. “She’s not moving. She doesn’t like it.”
“Or maybe she’s just stubborn like her mama and she doesn’t want to admit to liking it.” He kissed her belly, and then he kissed her lips and placed his hand over her belly. “Let’s see if we can get her to move. How about Jessica?”
“That’s pretty, too. But kind of overused. What about Shiloh? Vivica? Monica?” she suggested, catching wind of a faint beeping noise, but she was more interested in the names Trace was tossing out.
“Kelly? Clara? Maribelle? Lucy?”
“Shh. Do you hear that?” She sat up, listening more intently. “What is that noise?”
He pulled her down to the mattress. “The sound of my body begging for more.”
“Trace, I’m serious.” She pushed up again, and the long, faint beeping noise finally registered. “Oh my gosh. The pies!”
She pulled on her tank top and underwear and Trace reached for his briefs. “I hope I didn’t ruin them!” She rushed out of the bedroom and saw smoke coming from the oven. “Shit!”
She ran down the stairs and grabbed the oven mitts. Trace was right behind her.
He snagged the mitts from her and opened the oven. Smoke poured out. “Get the window before the smoke alarm goes off.”
She opened the windows as he pulled the burned pies from the oven. “I had one job for Thanksgiving. One! All I wanted was to do this right, and what do I do? I—”
“You loved your boyfriend,” Trace said, pulling her in close.
“That’s not an excuse, Trace. What am I going to do, say Sorry, everyone. I was horny, but I had fun, so…?” Her pulse raced as the importance of the pies magnified in her mind.
Trace chuckled, and she glowered at him.
“Sorry, but they’re just pies, darlin’. We’ll go buy some at the store.”
She stared at the smoke swirling in the breeze and said, “The bakery is closed. It’s a holiday, remember?”
Wild, Crazy Hearts Page 19
