“Jesus. You’re… something else.” He bites his lip, sending a rush up my spine. I love making him flustered, possibly even more than I love when he’s telling me exactly what to do in his commanding, sexy tone.
His forearm rests on the leather centre console as we pull onto the main road, so I drag my nails lightly across his tattooed skin. “Thank you for not hitting him.”
“A gentleman doesn’t throw punches when a lady’s right there.” He turns the heat dial in response to my incessant, though barely noticeable, shivering.
“You’re going to call yourself a gentleman immediately after making that comment about your cock down my throat?Really?”
“Yeah, I am. A gentleman knows what his lady wants, and I know for a fact you want me to treat you like a pretty little slut. Don’t you, sweetheart?”
He’s got me there.
18
Red
29 weeks (baby is the size of a gallon of ice cream)
Growing up, Christmas was an excuse for Dad to day drink without judgment from people. Everyone adds liquor to their coffee on Christmas morning. You’re not an alcoholic for doing it—you’refestive. Which meant we waited to open presents until he passed out on the couch mid-afternoon. He’d always wake up in time for dinner and more drinks. If his after-dinner drink was spiced rum, we’d watch Christmas movies and drink hot chocolate like a normal family. If it was whiskey, my brothers and I would retreat to our bedrooms for the night.
When I step into the big house, I’m hit with the sound of laughter and the scent of sugar cookies. It’s warm and decorated like something out of a Christmas movie, with garland and lights and even fucking mistletoe hung above the living room entryway. A massive live tree—which Jackson, Kate, and the kids went on horseback to cut down—takes up most of the cozy, firelit room.
I stroll down the hallway toward the busy kitchen. Some of the ranch hands live in town with their families, others go to wherever they came from for the holidays. Those of us with nowhere else to be come here. Because I offered to handle feeding the horses this evening, I’m the lastone to arrive, which is fine by me. It means less time fielding questions about my relationship with Cass.
Small arms wrap around my hips, and I crouch down to preschooler level. Odessa’s wearing a puffy red dress that, unsurprisingly, already has questionable food stains on it. “Hey, chicky. Did Santa spoil you rotten this year or what?”
I’m not a Christmas guy, but I can put on a good show for Odessa and Rhett.
Her palms squish against my cheeks, holding me in place so she can excitedly yell directly into my face. “Santa got me a Barbie with a horse!”
“You sure you deserve all that?” I raise an eyebrow and smile at her. “I could use a new horse. Maybe I’ll borrow yours sometime.”
“Uncle Red!” Odessa shrieks with laughter, scrunching her nose. “You’re too big to ride him. He’s forBarbie.”
“Well, shoot. Guess we’ll send Barbie out to check cows, hey?” I slowly straighten my knees to stand. “I’m starvin’. Let’s go see what your mama cooked up.”
“Did you bring your girlfriend?” Her question stops me in my tracks. “I want to see the baby.”
“Well, the baby’s still in her tummy,” I say. “You can meet her as soon as she’s born, though.”
“She’s pretty,” Odessa states.
“My…girlfriend?” I clarify. Odessa’s eyes light up at the word—she’s Kate fuckin’ junior. “You’re right—most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. Aside from you, of course.” I tousle her hair and send her on her way, finally taking a moment to look at all the other people here.
Ranch hands, the Wells family, Kate’s parents, and another older couple who I assume are Cecily’s parents. There’s not a single empty space on the counter or twelve-foot kitchen table; the girls must’ve been cooking and baking for days to create this spread. The women of Wells Ranch sure have a way of showing their love with food. The smell of smoked sausage makes my stomach rumble, and I slip in next to Jackson at the large island.
“Hey,” he mumbles through a mouthful of food. Before he’s done swallowing, he’s already reaching for more. “How’d it go out there?”
“All good. Everybody’s fed, except me. Looks delicious.” I grab a plate and begin piling the food on, taking one of everything within arm’s reach. I can’t wait to fall into a food coma in a couple hours.
Jackson slides a beer across the counter to me, and I set my plate down to crack it open. Then I guzzle. Not because I’m trying to be the drunk asshole on Christmas. The initial drink always needs to go down fast, like ripping a bandage off, because that’s the drink that scares me. I’m aware it’s stupid, but the first one feels like it has the potential to be a switch—somehow triggering whether I become an alcoholic like my dad or not. Whether I’m suddenly filled with rage like him or not. That first beer down the hatch takes the worry along with it. Then I’m okay…okay-ish.So I like to get it over with as fast as possible.
“Take it Cass couldn’t come?” Jackson asks, bringing his beer bottle to his lips.
“She’s with Dave… so, no.” In a different world—where I was a different guy—I’m sure Cass and Dave would’ve just come here. She said they normally eat store-bought appetizers and watch movies, and I saw a tinge of sadness in her pretty blues when I mentioned how the Wells family likes to celebrate. I know she would love every second of being here.
“Next year.”
“Next year, what?” Denny suddenly appears on the opposite side of the island. No plate for him—he’s struggling to balance a small mound of sausage and cheese in his open palm. His eyes dart between us as he pops a chunk of cheddar into his mouth.
