“I can’t believe I’m still nursing.” She huffs a dull laugh. “I mean, I love it. God, I’d have twenty babies right now if I could. It leashes me down a bit—the nursing. But it doesn’t hurt as much now. Thank God I’m not cracked and bleedinganymore.”
“Bleeding?” As horrified and concerned as I am for her, a part of me demands to run to another subject. But I don’t. This is Skyla. My ex-wife. Hell, mywife. And if she wants to discuss bleeding nipples, then so be it. “I’m sorry you went throughthat.”
“It’s fine now. My mother and her maternal superpowers really did come in handy. But I’m thinking about quitting.” She blinks back tears as she looks to Nathan’s anxious suckling. “I feel terrible, Logan.” Her voice cracks. “I’m a failure. But I’m desperate to get my body back. It’s selfish. I want to nurse, but I miss things. It sounds stupid, Iknow.”
“Not stupid at all. Like what kinds of things?” I’m sure her freedom is one. It has to be tough feeding the boys for a majority of theday.
“Like...beer.”
“Beer?” I hike a brow at the idea. “You don’t drink beer,Skyla.”
“I know”—her voice pitches to a wail, and the waterworks start full force—“and now I can’t even start if I wantedto.”
A quiet laugh rumbles from me. Barron stirs to life and grabs ahold of my ear with all his little might. “Come here, Skyla.” I pull her in with Nathan carefully sandwiched between us as Barron turns and reaches for his mother. I lean in and steal a sweet kiss off her cheek, catching a tear with mylips.
“Damn hormones.” She wipes her face clean just as Gage and Ellis headover.
I take a step back and hand Barron to hisfather.
“Everything okay?” Gage offers a mournful smile to Skyla, but all she offers is a quietnod.
Ellis and Giselle come up, and we all take a step out under the awning as Paragon’s wintery breath puffs by. “So, what are you going to do with the rest of it?” Ellis wraps his arm around Giselle as they take in the forest haunting the landscape. Fog billows off the top of the evergreens likesmoke.
“Rest of what?” I’m only mildly curious about anything Ellis has to say. Most of the time I’m mildlyalarmed.
“The land.” He nods out toward the forest. “I went to the city, and you own these woods,dude.”
I glance to Gage. “I’m pretty sure my land ends where my feetstand.”
Ellis shakes his head at the idea. “That might have been true once upon a time, but about ten years ago the city granted you the next thirtyacres.”
“Thirtyacres?” Skyla, Gage, and I say in unison, and the sound of our collective voices sound sweet, downrightlovely.
“That’s right.” Ellis sniffs the air. “The city map says that it butts up right against the gates. All these woods are yours to do as youwish.”
“To do as I wish?” My mind swirls with the possibilities. My father, my mother. They would have loved this. Land. Soil. Something they could get their hands dirty with. “What do you mean the city granted me the acreage? I’m pretty sure the people at the planning department aren’t allowed to gift land as they seefit.”
“Dude”—he gives me a light sock to the arm—“I found out they were rectifying an error. When your dad bought this place, he got more than he bargained for. He just didn’t know it. Some damn clerical error that they cleared up foryou.”
Clerical error? I glance to the sky, and a quiver of lightning illuminates through the fog. Yes, I suspect Candace Messenger is at the bottom of this thirty-acre clericalerror.
“So, what’s it going to be?” Ellis slaps his arm over my shoulder. “Apartment buildings? Condos? A high-rise? Dude, you can parcel off the units formillions.”
I can’t stop staring at those evergreens, at that forest of possibilities. “No apartments, condos, or high-rises.” I shake my head, still dazed at the thought that all this might actually be mine. “I’m thinking afarm.”
“A farm?” Skyla, Gage, and Ellis don’t miss abeat.
“A pumpkin patch.” I fold my arms over my chest. “Maybe some fresh vegetables and fruit trees. We’ll have an entire section dedicated to Christmas trees, too. Paragon needsthis.”
“A pumpkin patch!” Giselle shrieks with glee so loud that a dozen birds fly from the branchesoverhead.
“An effingpumpkinpatch?” Ellis is less than dazzled by my line ofthinking.
“That’s right.” I glance down at Nathan and Barron. “I want to be their favorite uncle—so a pumpkin patch itis.”
Gage and Skyla share a quiet smile, and that alone was worth theeffort.
“Ellis”—Gage nods to him—“Logan’s parents, my grandparents, ran a pumpkin farm back in Oregon. It’s in hisblood.”
