Page 88 of Kicking Up Dust

Despite the way Austin snarks at a man as she slides him a bottle of beer, I think the town’s happy to have their bartender back, too.

“Fucking Cartwright,” Colt seethes under his breath, making Bailey’s brows furrow as she follows her twin’s line of sight to the man jumping down from the mechanical bull with a wide grin on his face. He looks over at our table and winks at Bailey and then points to Colt to make it clear whom he’s talking to before he flicks a bird.

“I don’t know what you ever saw in that man, Bailey.”

“He has a big cock,” Bailey says with a shrug, downing the last of her cocktail before heading to the bar. Colt grimaces and hides his face in my hair again.

Chase watches her until she gives him an up yours gesture, his grin growing as he turns to head toward the restrooms.

I enjoy people-watching. I always have. You can learn a lot about someone just by watching them when no one’s looking. I used to sit in stairwells in my foster homes and watch them all interact with one another, time how long it took for them to notice I wasn’t engaging. Perhaps that’s why everyone always thought I was shy.

I wasn’t, not really. I’m just perceptive and slow to trust. I like gathering data about someone to make an informed decision before I call them a friend. Hence stalking Colt’s socials all those months ago until I finally decided to reach out to him. I have to admit, that may have been the only time my research failed me. I should’ve reached out much, much sooner than I had, but given the fact I only had his social media to base my decision on, and his social media was run by his manager, it didn’t really give me a good idea of who Colt truly was.

Bailey turns to look at our table, where Colt is talking to Jameson now, and I’m the only one paying her any attention. She downs the two shots Austin has placed in front of her, presses her finger to her lips, and slips off the barstool. I catch where she’s going pretty quickly and watch Colt to make sure he doesn’t notice his sister sneaking into the men’s restroom.

FORTY-EIGHT

BLAIR

40 Weeks + 1 Day

Baby is the size of a newborn goat

I’m pretty sure I’m going certifiably insane. There’s no way women are supposed to be pregnant for the full forty weeks, and the ones who are pregnant until forty-one weeks must be some of the bravest souls in the world.

Maddox’s phone rings far too many times for my liking. Just when I think the answering machine is going to pick up and I’m going to have to be an even bigger annoyance by calling a second time, he answers, out of breath.

“Blair?”

“Can you send Colt home, please? He’s not answering his phone.” I’d rip him a new one for that later, after I got what I needed from him.

“Is everything okay?”

“No. I need this baby out of me immediately.”

“You’re in labor? Colt!” he yells without remembering to pull the phone from his mouth and I wince at his volume.

I sigh in irritation.

“I’m not in labor,” I tell him through gritted teeth. Perhaps it’s not his fault but the fact I am still pregnant is a very touchy subject for me right now and he’s delaying something I just researched may help. “I need Colt here to help me get this baby out of me the same way he got it in me, so send him home before I come and get him myself.”

I hang up before he can argue again. If Maddox Whittaker knows what’s good for him, my boyfriend will be coming through the door in the next five minutes.

Colt indeed comes home with a smirk on his face a few minutes later, wrapping his arms around my waist like there’s not a massive boulder between us.

“I can’t believe you called my boss and got me out of work so we can fuck.”

“I can think of a really good way to thank me for that.”

40 weeks + 3 Days

“This is actually a bit of a workout,” Tate says from the end of the line. She, Austin, Kenny, and I had gone into town to curb-walk up and down Main Street.

Well, I’m the only one that has to curb-walk. The rest of them just seem to be doing it for moral support. The people who pass us on the sidewalk look like they’re either very confused about a line of four women doing some odd exercise, or very sympathetic at my discomfort and touched by my sisters-in-law’s support.

I’m just done.

Beyond done, really.