When we’re finished, I cast a side eye to our wet clothes, the murky water, and the dog who seems to smile as he quietly pants. “You were such a filthy boy, weren’t you?”
The dog alternates between quick little licks to our hands and soft grumbles as he’s toweled dry, but at least he’s clean now. Or as clean as can be with whatever condition he has that causes his fur to only show up in brown and white patches. I squeak as the dog vigorously shakes himself, spraying water onto the Christmas tree branches and everywhere else. Warren and I look at each other, dumbfounded, before bursting into laughter.
“Thought ofa name yet?”
“Patches.” It immediately slips out of me, but it fits him for now.
“Might be different after his fur grows back in, but he sure looks like one.” Warren tests it by calling the dog over to him. “Look at that tail go. You like that name, don’t you, boy?”
Patches, it is.
It’s different having a dog in the house. Warren guesses Patches to be a year or two old, but he’s almost a baby himself. He still limps the rest of the morning, but nothing’s broken. He was just hungry and abused. Now he’s constantly underfoot, needing to be close to either me or Warren. Preferably sprawled out in either of our laps, but snuggling between us on the sofa is a close second for him.
Even dogs need the safety of a family. To be fed and cared for. And Patches is getting all that and more as he sprawls across my lap to watch Warren play with Emmaline. I think he knows this is his home now, too, because his tail gives happy little thumps when I pet his patchy little head.
“You know, I think she might be cutting a tooth,” Warren surmises after a particularly violent attack of Emmaline’s gums.
My hand stills on Patches’ head. “But she’s not even three months yet!”
“She will be in a few days. And some babies grow ‘em in early. Look at this white spot on the bottom.” She fusses as he carefully pulls her lower lip down, but he’s right. There’s a small but noticeable speck of white on the gum.
“I thought I was feeling something when I fed her, but I didn’t think it could be teeth already.” I slump back against the sofa and watch her attack his chin again, this time with a squeal of annoyance. “I don’t want her to grow up this quickly. Before we know it, she’ll be six or seven years oldand losing this same tooth!” A picture of an older Emmaline flashes in my mind, and I smile wistfully. “She’ll be awfully cute with a gap in her smile.”
“The cutest little girl in town,” Warren says in a silly voice to Emmaline as she gives up attacking him and rests her head on his shoulder.
“I wish she could stay little forever.”
“I have a solution to that.”
“And just what is this solution of yours?” I ask. I know my wish is futile, but I wonder what nonsense he’ll come up with.
“I’ll give you another baby before Emmaline gets old enough to lose teeth.”
What. My head whips around. “Another one?”
“Only if you’re ready,” he says calmly. “But I’ll have you know that it would be mygreatestpleasure. And then another and another until you have all the babies you want and Emmaline has a bunch of brothers and sisters. We’ll just add on to the house so it’ll be big enough for us all.”
I make a distracted sound. He finished inside of me last night, but he can’t do that anymore. “The idea of being with child again is scary after what I went through with Emmaline, but to have a baby conceived in love…well, I may not be much opposed to it. Not now, though. Not with her still being small and Patches joining our family. One day, maybe.”
It’s not easy saying “maybe” to the strong and protective man holding my baby while he offers to give me another one. A ridiculous part of me wants to give him what he wants simply because he looks so damn good being a papa. He stretches a hand out, and the moment our palms meet, a calm washes over me.
Home.
Warren’s my home regardless of how many children we may have. “Not now,” he agrees. “But one day. We’ll let her be the only baby and get all the love all to herself until then. Now let’s seal it with a kiss.”
Stoked anticipation simmers in the warm brown eyes I’ve grown to love, and I lean over. His lips brush mine. Once, twice, three times in the softest of caresses.
“Love kissing you so much, woman.” His head angles for mine again, clear and hungry intent sharpening his cheekbones as he hitches Emmaline higher up on his shoulder. Just before our mouths meet, I remember the story Jedidiah told me. I’m not the only thing he once loved kissing. When he pulls back for a breath, only one word can complete the moment.
“Ribbit.”
Warren’s eyes fly open as his ears turn red. “What?” he growls. “Fucking Jedidiah told you, didn’t he? Damnit!”
I can’t answer through the giggles.
I do, however, manage to croak out another ribbit.
Another storm blows in,dropping fat snowflakes that settle into a blanket of white for a gorgeous, wintry Christmas day. Warren makes breakfast as he usually does, but he seems a bit off as we eat. Not angry, but the knee that hasn’t stopped bouncing under the table makes me think he’s nervous or out of sorts. I have no idea why, though. Even Patches cocks his head curiously from his place at my feet.
