“Not true.” I shake my head and tighten my arm around my girl. “She was intimidated by—”
“Your giant stature, huge muscles, and insanely good looks,” she laughs. “Trust me. If that was working in the Army, it’s not for the reasons you think it was.”
I bump her shoulder playfully and shake my head. “I think my baby needs some sleep. Why don’t we drop these things off with your parents? We’ll grab some food on our way home.”
“To the farmhouse?” she says, voice soft as she leans her head against my shoulder.
“You got it.” I kiss her forehead as we empty out onto the other side of the tunnel, the fluorescent lights shining so brightly it takes my eyes a second to adjust.
I guess one could say these lights are as bright as our future, and good God, am I ready for it.
Epilogue
Pepper
Two Years Later
Charlie snores on his custom-made sheep’s wool bed in the corner of the room. I swear that dog could sleep through a tornado. Heck, I think he did last spring. Granted, we don’t get very big tornadoes here.
I rub my hand down over my stomach as I roll onto my back and stare up at the whirring ceiling fan. It’s still dark outside, but I know the alarm will be going off any second.
Living on a farm has taught me a lot of things I didn’t know. For one, you get up early every single day. I didn’t realize that would be such a religious occurrence. Sure, I knew we’d get up early every once in a while,but every day?Even before the sun starts coming up?
Another thing I wasn’t expecting is how easily chickens outwit you. These girls strut around like they own the place, and every morning without fail, at least two of them slip out of the coop without me noticing. They love to sneak down to the wildflower patch and treat themselves.
I’ve also never been so inclined to pay such close attention to the weather. Out here, we’re living by it, and so far, we’ve had the dryest summer in well over a hundred years.
That’s why we’ve been getting up even earlier, hours before the sun, to beat the heat during chores. Every morning,without fail, Rhett insists I stay inside to rest, but I love the early mornings with him too much to sleep in.
There’s something about the soft song of crickets, the trickle of the creek, and the shadows that cast over the land as the sun rises. The whole scene sets me up for a happier day. Not to mention the view of the giant, inked-up monster of a man who’s tossing hay. That kind of show only plays a couple of times a day, and I don’t miss any of them. Haven’t since the day we moved in together. Nearly two years ago on the dot.
After my mom got out of the hospital with her broken femur, Rhett went to work remodeling a storage shed on the other side of the property. We were all a little wary of his idea at first, but when he was finished, that shed looked like a high-end one-bedroom apartment with butcher block counters, stainless steel appliances, and a natural stone fireplace. He even installed a walk-in shower with non-slip tiling and handrails so my mom can get in and out with ease. And while I was painting the place, he built an accessible greenhouse for her out back so she can be outside living her life again.
I don’t think there are enough biscuits in the world to thank this man for everything he’s done for my family, for me, for us. Heck, that was the first thing I said in my wedding vows, that I would spend the rest of my life doing whatever I could to thank him for this beautiful, peaceful life he’s given me, and I mean it.
Our wedding was small, simple, and perfect for us. The sun was out, the butterfly weed and the lupine were blooming, Reed played his guitar, and we said our vows. The entire event, including the white dress I found at the vintage shop on Main Street and the barbeque we had afterward, cost us less than five hundred dollars. My engagement ring, though, that’s priceless. The band is golden, slender, and worn, with delicate flourishes on the edge, perfectly framing the rose-cut garnet stone. Itbelonged to Rhett’s grandmother. Her marriage lasted nearly seventy years, and I’m beyond honored to be carrying on the tradition, though Rhett did have two small diamonds set on either side of the garnet to make it our own.
The alarm goes off and my giant groans and rolls toward me, the bed creaking. “You’re awake already? Why? We agreed that you should sleep in and let me get up and do this early morning shit.”
I land my hand on his strong back, drawing lines down the center and up again with the tips of my fingers. “The baby’s been kicking all night. I think he’s ready to come out.”
Rhett kisses my belly. “Does he know once he’s out of there, I’m putting him to work?”
I shake my head and grin. “Don’t let him hear you saying that. I just sent the eviction notice. He needs to evacuate the premises ASAP. My body needs a break!”
“I don’t know,” he rumbles, his rough hands wandering over my curves. “I kind of like it like this.”
“How so?”
“We have theideaof a baby coming soon, but none of the responsibility,” he tugs at my nightgown to expose my hard, milk-filled breasts, “and I get all these curves, and all this milk to myself. It doesn’t get much better.”
“For you, maybe.” I shove his shoulder playfully as he suckles at my tit. “I’m swollen, my feet hurt, I can’t bend over or see my toes, and if I walk too long, I feel like my back is going to snap in half.”
“So don’t stand up then.” He suckles my nipples between his words, milk dripping from his chin. “Stay right here in bed. I’ll take care of everything on the farm. You… can be my little sex toy, and I’ll come up between chores to pleasure you.”
My clit throbs as he suckles milk from my breast and rubs my bare pussy.
The internet says that women usually get their milk after the baby is born, but I started leaking a couple of weeks ago. Rhett didn’t hesitate. He wanted every drop of me. To be safe, though, we called the doctor. She said I’m fine, and that early lactation is better than late lactation. So now, every day, Daddy has a drink from his baby girl. Sometimes, he drinks in the morning before chores. Other days, he drinks after we’ve settled down for the evening.
