Page 51 of Kicking Up Dust

Our daughter stays awake, tumbling and kicking, for about thirty minutes. I tell her about every animal on this ranch—including Austin’s cow, Betsy—and about all of her aunts and uncles. I tell her about bull riding and Quitter’s Saloon and even the motel she was conceived in, though Blair shoves at my shoulder for that one.

After a while, Blair breaks my heart.

“I think she’s asleep again, cowboy,” she tells me when the baby hasn’t moved in several minutes.

“How often does she wake up?”

Blair considers the question for a moment.

“I’m still learning her schedule, but some days, it’s every hour or two, and others, I go a bit without feeling her. I think it depends on where she’s hanging out at the time.”

I swallow, insanely jealous that Blair gets to feel her move in there all of the time, but also so simultaneously humbled and overwhelmed with adoration for the woman in front of me.

She’s not ready to hear how I feel about her yet. I think it’d make her fall back into the habit of trying to give me an out, which she only just stopped doing, but one day soon, she’s going to hear it, whether she’s ready or not.

“Thank you, Blair,” I say, and it’s not enough, but it’s all I can give at the moment. I just hope she knows what all it encompasses.

TWENTY-SEVEN

BLAIR

27 Weeks

Baby is the length of Mama’s wooden spoon

Colt wouldn’t let me touch anything. Not a single box, bag, hanger, or suitcase, and definitely not any of the furniture. I sit on the top stair of our new home, leaned back on my hands, eyes closed and enjoying the summer breeze while I listen to him curse as he tries to figure out where to place his hands so he can carry the dryer all by himself.

“Do you want help?” I ask for the tenth time, not even bothering to open my eyes this time.

“Nope. Just keep sitting there and looking pretty.”

I hum. “Bit hard when I feel like a beached whale, but I’ll give it my best shot. Can you believe I’ve got three more months of this?”

“Nope,” he says again, voice strained. I crack an eye open to see him climbing the wide stairs up to the porch. I duck to the side even though I know he’s not going to hit me with the thing, and resist the urge to offer help again.

He’s gone for about ten minutes, but I can hear him distantly cursing as he hooks up the dryer.

“Blair, baby, why don’t you go inside and sit in the air conditioning?” he gently insists when he comes back out.

“It feels good out here,” I argue. “I could fall asleep right now if I had a bed.”

Colt snorts and I open my eyes just in time to see him wiping his face with the bottom of his shirt again, abs and tattoos on display. If I hadn’t already changed the sheets on the bed this morning to clean ones, I’d ask him if he wanted a romp in them, but he needs to shower first.

“Don’t look at me like that unless you want me to do something about it, pretty girl.”

I consider it for a second. We hadn’t done anything since the night I’d let him eat me out for, apparently, the whole house to hear. But now, we had an entire guest-cabin-turned-home for us to utilize.

“Blair,” he says, and I realize I’ve zoned out. He grins at me, dimples popping and hands on his hips. “We fucking or what?”

My nose crinkles. “You’re so crude sometimes.”

“My apologies, your majesty. Art thoust interested in fornicating with thee?”

“Would you believe that’s worse?”

“Would you believe I can see right through your attempts to dodge the question?” he jokes back with a grin, turning around to the trailer full of our stuff again. I bite my bottom lip, trying really hard not to feel like I owe him sex. I know he’s not thinking that, and likely wouldn’t appreciate that I’m worried about either, but old habits and all that.

“Maybe tonight? After you’ve showered?”