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Suddenly, another crack echoes in the air, just like the sounds I thought were in my dreams, and I reach over to shake Rhett’s shoulder aggressively.
“What in the hell was that?”
He takes his hands away from his eyes and looks at me more closely, smirking just slightly when he gets a good look at my obvious mania.
“That’s just the youth hunt, darlin’. Happens every third Saturday in August. Normally, I’d be out there too, but with the way you’ve been feelin’, I begged off this one.”
With the way I’ve been feeling, I’m starting to wonder if the whole ranch has been relocated to the bow of a rocky ship without my noticing. Nauseated, dizzy, utterly fatigued—I don’t know what in the world is going on with me.
Now, add in random gunfire from the “youth hunt”—whatever that is—and I think Rhett, Joey, and I may have joined a group of marauders to rob people on the high seas. I mean, that’s the kind of thing you usually ask your spouse about before getting involved in it, but men have been known to make mistakes before.
“Are we aboard the Black Pearl?” I ask, having new faith that Rhett will understand my reference after being forced to watch the entire Pirates of the Caribbean DVD collection a couple weeks ago. “Are you going to start going by Captain Rhett Hawk or something?”
He chuckles, pushes himself up to sitting with his back against the headboard, and crosses his ankles out in front of him. “I told you, darlin’, the shots you’re hearin’ are just the youth hunt. Not a pirate takeover. You musta missed it last year, havin’ run off on me without tellin’ me how you really felt about me and all.”
I roll my eyes at his obvious teasing and redirect. “Tell me…how is it that I’ve been here an entire year, we’re married, and I’m still getting surprised by stuff on the daily?”
“Ranch life knows how to keep the mystery alive?” he offers cheekily, and I must admit, looking at his perfect, sleepy smile aimed at me in bed makes it quite hard to maintain any sort of hostility at all. Even when my PMS has apparently decided to wreak havoc on my entire body this time around.
“We’re an old married couple now,” I insist. “I have the photos and video and memories of you and me and Joey and Tex and Jenny and the minister all there at the lodge while we promised to love each other through thick and thin, sickness and health, and bull sperm collection to prove it. There’s not supposed to be any mystery left.”
Rhett guffaws before turning to put his face in my neck, nuzzling me there. “I still can’t believe you used the word ‘sperm’ in your wedding vows. I think about it just about every day.”
I roll my eyes. “Yeah, yeah, get your laughs in, but you’re the one who still agreed to seal the deal after I said it.”
“Are you kidding? That’s the moment I knew I’d never regret the decision a day in my life, Leah. I don’t want some cookie-cutter, stuck-up wife. I want you—the woman who I know is gonna make me laugh all day long, every day, for the rest of my life. The woman who’s gonna love Joey and me so hard she’d put herself through anything just to be with us. The woman who woke up to gunshots this mornin’, sweatin’ and scared at an unknown situation, feelin’ sicker than shit, and still, is lyin’ here next to me, makin’ me smile. I love you, and I promise you this, I’ll keep on doin’ it until the day that I die.”
“Rhett,” I breathe through the unexpected emotion clogging my throat. How does he always manage to be so freaking sweet out of nowhere?
“I love you, darlin’. Would do anything for ya. You know that, right?”
I nod fervently. I know. Man, do I know. He shows me every single day how much I mean to him. From bringing me a hot cup of coffee in bed before he leaves for work in the morning, to making time for me anytime I call him on the radio—no matter how busy he is—to watching every ridiculous movie I want, to making love to me like I’m the most special, beautiful, perfect woman in the world nearly every night, Rhett Jameson is the kind of man women who grow up like me never know to dream of. And our marriage is the kind that lasts.
There’s a sharp bang on the door of our bedroom, followed by the swift motion of it flying open and swinging into the wall behind it as Joey comes running into our room and jumps up onto the bed like a rocket.
Rhett and I shift slightly as she wiggles her way in between us in the bed and climbs down under the covers. At seven years old, she’s starting to turn into a little lady, but she’s no less wild than the day I met her, and I doubt she ever will be. I think, with her DNA, it’s probably next to impossible not to have some pep.
