Page 129 of Not Mine to Rescue

But Wombat put his finger on my lips. “Never apologize. You saved my life.”

“I got you shot.” I should have aimed for the gun in her hands, not her head. That was going to bury me.

“She’d been threatening to do that for almost ten minutes. It was bound to happen. I’m just glad you weren’t in the line of fire. It would have killed me if something happened to you.”

I hid my shame-heated cheeks. It was his turn to push my hair away and search my eyes for clues. I sucked in a breath because I saw nothing but warmth in his. It was beautiful. So much so, I blurted out, “I love you.”

He smiled. “I love you, too. I’m going to love you as long as I’m able.”

Considering he was thirteen years younger than me, that was probably going to be a long time. I let that thought settle while I crawled on top of him and found home.

Chapter Thirty-One

Wombat

Thirty-seven weeks and four days. Lemon decorated the farm with corn stalks. There were autumn leaves tied into wreaths, Sonnet’s brightly painted pumpkins scattered everywhere, and a myriad of fall-toned strips of fabric fluttering in the breeze. I helped Honor out of her car and took the pie she’d baked from her hands so she wouldn’t trip on her feet.

Not that she could see them. And that was all my fault.

I handed the pie back. “Are you sure you’re up to this?” We’d traveled to her parents’ earlier this week, and the trip wore her out.

She’d woken up this morning complaining her back hurt.

“I’m fine.” That was her go-to response every time I worried about her.

Okay. I whistled into the air. Hoot fluttered down from a branch and landed on my shoulder. He pecked at my hair tie, trying to eat it. I slipped a plastic bag out of my pocket. Like Honor, I’d arrived bearing food. I warned Honor as I opened it up. “Don’t look, and stand upwind.”

“I’m not throwing up anymore.”

Maybe not, but I wasn’t taking chances. I slipped one of the freeze-dried grubs out and let Hoot snatch it from my fingers. He chittered a bit and flapped his wings as I shifted him to study the new flight feathers growing in and feed him more grubs so he’d stay calm enough for me to examine him. “I think this will be the final graft. He’s mostly healed.”

Honor smiled and scratched his head.

Hoot’s eyes rolled closed and he let out a little purr of pleasure.

I noted her technique. “You’re getting good at that.”

She lifted an eyebrow. “Well, I had a good teacher.”

“Speaking of teaching, how about we try for five tonight?”

Her eyes flashed. “We’ll see.”

I’d take that as a maybe. I pushed Hoot into the sky. He flew over the farm twice, then disappeared into the trees. I scanned the property. Sonnet’s sedan sat next to Lemon’s SUV. Fly’s truck was next in the row. Behind that was a rental car. “Dad and Hal made it.”

It was our first Thanksgiving together since... I pushed away a bad memory. Pop-pop would be happy to see most of the family here. I think he would have been tickled pink to meet Honor and her family. I was. Honor’s dad was pretty cool and her mom? Well, she was everything I’d wished my mom could have been. And as soon as Honor’s case was settled with an acquittal, we wasted no time in getting to know every bit we could about our extended families and mend the rifts that kept everyone apart. That included several visits to the club’s barn. Walt finally warmed up to Honor and asked her to call him by his name, not his road name.

Sierra proved to be a godsend. She’d been with Honor through all the scares and the swollen feet, gotten her morning sickness tamed to a manageable inconvenience, and kept up with Honor’s strange cravings with almost uncanny precognition. Her grandmother was a midwife back in West Virginia, and Sierra benefitted from her training. Which in turn, benefitted both of us.

The club still teased Honor, but had finally settled on a nickname. They called her “Babe” to her face, and “The Great Bambino” behind her back. I’d warned them not to say that one to her face for fear she’d freak out.

We were still counting days... weeks... dare I say it? Months.

Honor slipped her hand through my arm. “Are you upset your mom didn’t come?”

No. “She’s relapsed, again.”

Honor’s fingers squeezed to let me know she was with me. I patted them, and tried to reach for the pie.