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Him and me both, on the daddy part. “We’re a bunch of lucky bastards. All of us. Not only twins.. but she’s going to be our bride.”
Trey turns to look at Jessa, his eyes full. “No question…we are the luckiest men on earth.”
And no matter what the future holds, we will meet it head-on—as a family.
EXCERPT FROM ONE BRIDE FOR FIVE BROTHERS
Charlie
Not like I was waiting for it, but I soon as I hear the sound of her footsteps on the porch, I want to run for the door. Stan rolls his eyes at me and I hold up my hands, telling him to wait.
“Be nice to her!”
“I'm always nice,” Stan grumbles. “Just don't get your hopes up, Charlie.”
“My hopes aren't up,” I object. “But doesn't it all seem kind of perfect? I mean she practically landed in our laps.”
“No, Stan is right,” Hank interrupts. “She's too young. She's too sweet. She's too… nice.”
“Nice is what we wanted!” I remind them. “Nice is perfect. We are nice, too, remember?”
I look around, measuring up my four older brothers, these hulking farm boys in their blue jeans and flannel, stubble and dusty hair, calloused hands and suspicious looks.
If that's Goldilocks at the front door, can't say I blame her for being little nervous.
“Okay, okay. But just try, okay? Can’t hurt to try, right?”
Without listening for the response, I dash to the door, flinging it open. Vanessa stands there, swaying back slightly in surprise. Then she rocks forward, managing a nervous but resolute smile.
“Come on in!” I invite her, stepping aside with my hand out.
She glides in with small steps, that pretty cream-colored dress fluttering up behind her. She's perfect, I know it. Thick around the middle, curvy and yet contained. Restrained. She's got a quiet strength that flows through the middle of her.
She walks into the dining room, and I see my brothers mellow a little bit in her presence. They’re slightly less intimidating. Maybe even a little more inviting.
“I hope you’re hungry,” Tim challenges her.
She takes a breath before responding and narrows her eyes slightly. “Starved,” she answers, drawing out the word so long it practically sounds like a dare.
Stan catches this interchange and knocks the back of Tim’s head playfully, then tells him to fetch her a drink so he can’t embarrass himself again.
“This looks like Thanksgiving,” she breathes, humming happily to herself. “What did you guys make?”
I pull out her chair for her and she slides into it, those round thighs spilling slightly over the sides.
“Oh, the usual…” I answer. “A couple of chickens, stuffing, mashed potatoes… roasted carrots, green beans, cornbread…”
“The usual?” she repeats, her blue eyes wide. I grab a plate for her and start loading it up with a little bit of everything.
“Oh! You don’t have to serve me!” she objects sweetly.
“Let him,” Stan interrupts. He places his giant paw of a hand over hers protectively. Suddenly he doesn't seem so convinced that she's not the girl for him. By his normal standards, he's practically blushing and stammering like a sixth-grader.
“Let’s have a toast,” I suggest when everybody’s seated. I pour out some wine for everyone and make sure the glasses are all passed out.
“To our fairytale princess,” Stan announces, clearing his throat. “May all her dreams come true.”
She blushes and giggles, but accepts the toast graciously. Throughout dinner, she is sometimes shy and sometimes forceful. She plays my brothers like a fiddle until they’re hanging on her every word. When she laughs, she tosses that thick blonde mane back over her shoulder and I can’t help but watch it, every time.
