Page 97 of Kicking Up Dust

He’s quiet for a second, but then, “Oh, thank god.”

What? I look over at him, confused. I’d expected anger or at least irritation that he wouldn’t get a son. Maybe a gentle dismissal, but nope. Colt’s elbows are on the bed as he holds his face in his hands. When he finally removes them, I see genuine relief in his eyes.

“I’m so glad you said that. I mean, we can maybe discuss it in a few years and see if we changed our mind—and I’ll get a vasectomy in the meantime since I have magic sperm or something—but I don’t think I can watch you go through that again.”

My heart breaks a little, in a good way. My gentle, kind-hearted man who can’t bear to see me hurting, who’s always been my safe place to land, and never once met my anxiety with anything but kindness and care. I reach out for him with the arm not holding the baby and rub my thumb on his cheekbone.

“I was thinking, if this will likely be our only one, that your idea to name her Clair was pretty spectacular.”

He lights up like I’ve just told him the mechanical bull at Quitter’s was deemed faulty and his riding skills aren’t being questioned anymore after all. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Clair Hope Whittaker,” I tell him, my mood only dampening a tiny bit when I remember. “Once the DNA test is done, anyway.”

Colt’s eyes darken a bit too and I feel guilty for bringing it up.

“They’re not doing a DNA test on our daughter. I genuinely don’t give a damn how they feel about it. If they bring it up, I’ll let them know I was the one that put my foot down.”

“I think it’s going to cause unnecessary drama, Colt. We both know she’s yours.”

“Exactly. And that’ll have to be good enough for them too.” He reaches out to brush her cheek again. “Clair Hope Whittaker. I hope she ends up having your eyes.”

The first Sunday night dinner we bring Clair to is wild. Even though it’s been a week since she was born and the anxiety from those few minutes where she wasn’t breathing is long since over, I’m still incredibly clingy with Clair. Luckily, everyone seems to understand.

I’m exhausted most of the time, but Colt’s been the biggest help, especially in the middle of the night. Even Maddie has cut Colt’s work days short so that he can be home early and I can nap when needed. The girls have come over with meals and helped me with chores while Jameson and Maddox have been sure to keep on top of making sure we had enough firewood.

Clair makes an incredible first impression with most of the family. She’s sleeping in her daddy’s arms, dressed in a light brown gingham onesie, dark brown tights, and a matching headband with a bow while she suckles on her pacifier. I don’t think it’s possible to look at her and not think she’s the cutest thing in the entire world.

But I suppose I’m incredibly biased.

Clair doesn’t put up with Colt holding her for very long. She eventually starts wailing for dinner of her own, making Callie slap her hands over her ears and glare. I situate the baby on my breast and smile at the little girl’s ire.

“She can be noisy, huh, Callie?” I ask, understanding her frustration. Clair seemed like an incredible concept to Callie… until Callie realized Clair wouldn’t exactly come out of the womb ready to play. Furthermore, Callie likely felt a bit upstaged. She was shy, yes, but she still liked being cooed at and fawned over, just like any other kid, and now there was someone new that was stealing most of the Whittakers’ attention.

Callie doesn’t answer me, of course, instead tugging on Theo’s jeans until he leans down so she can whisper in his ear. Theo laughs a second later, lifting Callie up until she’s sitting on his arm and resting her head against his chest so she can glare more easily at Clair.

I don’t take offense. Just like I don’t take offense to Bailey smiling at her new niece and then deciding to dip out. I’ll text her later tonight to make sure she’s okay, but I have a feeling she’ll be a bit busy with someone who will keep her mind occupied.

Colt’s phone blares through the bedroom at way-too-early-o’clock. He jack-knifes up in bed like former President Barack Obama may be calling him and I groan, covering my head with a pillow to try and block out the noise.

I feel like I only just got back to sleep after Clair’s middle-of-the-night feeding.

“’Lo?” he grumbles into the phone, followed shortly by, “What the fuck? Yeah, I accept.”

Peeking out from under the pillow curiously, I whisper, “Who is it?”

“Bails, why are you calling me from jail in fucking Clark County?”

I smack Colt until he finally puts the phone on speaker. “—hitting on my husband, so I shoved her and then she hit me, so of course I hit her back, and then the cops were there so I got arrested for drunk and disorderly and fucking battery because she’s a pussy, but⁠—”

“Back up. Husband?”

Bailey sighs like she was hoping Colt would simply gloss over that.

“So that’s sort of why I’m in Clark County… I got married… in Vegas.”

“Yeah, I gathered that. To whom?”

“Chase.”