Page 57 of Kicking Up Dust

“If I could just have everyone paying attention and minimizing side conversations so that there aren’t any distractions, that would be amazing,” the woman says, politely but pointedly.

My cheeks redden as I turn back to face forward, trying to ignore everyone’s eyes on us.

“Sorry, Mrs. Collins,” Colt says. “That was my fault. Proceed.”

She huffs, which is fair. It’s not like she needed permission from a student of her birthing class to proceed, but she gives him a snippy “Thank you, Mr. Whittaker” anyway and does indeed proceed. If I had to guess, she’d known him his whole life and was used to his antics. Everyone we’d run into seemed to be.

For most of the people in the room, this was the first time they were finding out Colt had gotten a woman pregnant, so they’d been gawking a lot even before we’d gotten yelled at. I’d gone to Billings a couple of times with his sisters and his mama, but I didn’t go into town much. I was mostly just a homebody, and Colt seemed content enough to stay in with me.

There were so few pregnant people in Cedar Creek at one time that they didn’t bother with weekly classes—just an eight-hour crash course one Saturday a month in an empty meeting room at the hospital.

Colt really locks in just about the time that I zone out—breathing techniques. He was back to being anxious, while I was more bored than anything else. And hungry.

“Is there a Chili’s in Cedar Creek?” I whisper to him while he’s attentively listening to Mrs. Collins.

“What?” Colt asks, looking down at me with furrowed brows. “No. There’s only Cattleman’s.” His attention quickly returns to the breathing lesson.

“Does Cattleman’s have Kraft macaroni and cheese?”

“I don’t think so. Callie would know.”

Well, Callie didn’t really talk to me much—though she was transfixed with my stomach—so I didn’t think she’d be a wealth of knowledge, but perhaps Kenny could ask her. I pull out my phone to text her.

“What are you doing? You’re going to get us in trouble again,” Colt hisses at me, swiping my phone.

I give him a frustrated growl. “I’m hungry.”

“We just had lunch.”

“And?” I dare him to act like I don’t have the right to be hungry again, preparing to give him the silent treatment for the rest of the day and make him sleep on the couch tonight.

He sighs. “And nothing, I suppose. I’ll see what I can do about the macaroni after we’re done here.”

“That’s in four hours.”

“Blair, baby, I’m trying to pay attention”

“Mr. Whittaker!”

Both of us jump as Mrs. Collins barks his name. I whip back around to face the front and she sighs.

“Please stop chit-chatting. There are others around you that are trying to learn.”

I have a feeling Colt heard that several times, in several different classrooms throughout his life, but I was always the unproblematic child who rarely got reprimanded, so it’s enough to set me straight.

We’re quiet for the rest of the class, but Colt apologizes to her on our way out, his hand in mine.

“That’s okay, boy,” she says, patting his cheek. I can tell he hates it by how he squeezes my hand a bit tighter. “You always did need someone to be just a little bit firmer with you than your siblings did. We’re all just so glad you’re home and back in your right mind. I knew that nonsense of yours was just a phase, but no one at the church believed me. Well, joke’s on them, isn’t it, because look at you now! Pretty girl, little blessing on the way,” she says, and my brows furrow.

Phase? Was she talking about bull riding? Why would the church be involved? Colt didn’t seem particularly religious.

Colt doesn’t answer her, just giving her an awkward goodbye and pulling me along behind him. As we pass Cattleman’s and turn onto the road leading to his ranch, my stomach falls. I’d been really, really looking forward to that macaroni, and he must’ve forgotten.

I didn’t want to burden him by telling him to turn around, but every tiny emotion always felt much larger than it had any business feeling lately.

“Why are you crying?” Colt asks a few minutes later.

I wasn’t crying.