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Again, not that he could blame him.
The poor bastard had just spent the last two and a half-weeks playing jailor to them while Connor exhausted himself trying to come up with new and interesting ways of pissing him off right along with the rest of her brothers while enjoying the fact that he’d finally made Little Rory James his.
Epilogue
Four Months Later…
“I hate you,” Bryce said, sighing heavily, sounding just as bored with their morning routine as he was.
“I know,” he said, handing his brother-in-law a cup of coffee as he accepted the folder from Jacob, the little bastard that hated him the most.
“I hate you, too,” Jacob decided to add just in case he’d forgotten.
“Don’t fucking care,” he muttered, looking through the work plans for the day.
“I didn’t think you did,” Jacob said with a haughty sniff as he reached over and pointed towards the order form that required his signature.
“And yet, you still bring it up,” he pointed out, accepting a pen from the little prick who enjoyed pissing him off and signed the purchase order.
“I don’t want you to forget,” Jacob said, accepting the clipboard back as he shot Connor one last dirty look and returned to his desk, leaving Connor standing by the door with Bryce, finishing their morning coffee while they waited for the dumpsters to be placed next to the old house they’d been hired to renovate.
Renovate, he mused with a sigh and a shake of his head that his brother-in-law seconded with a sad shake of his own, because what they were really doing was tearing this house down to its frame, saving what they could and rebuilding the old farm house to its former glory. In his opinion this old house wasn’t worth saving. There was too much damage to the frame and not enough of the original woodwork to make it worth it, but his wife saw it as a challenge, so they were here, rebuilding a house for people with more money than common sense.
He’d explained to them that they could actually rebuild the same house exactly the way that it once was, but with all the modern conveniences for about a hundred grand less. Their client wouldn’t hear of it, because he wanted to save as much of the original house for the “authentic” feel. It didn’t hurt that their client was a thirty-two year old tech genius with more money than common sense. If the guy wanted to pay them an insane amount of money to save an old frame with termite damage, who was he to argue?
“They’re in place,” Bryce said with a nod towards the old house.
Sighing heavily because they really should be bulldozing this old house down, he placed his coffee cup on Jacob’s desk, simply because he knew how much that would piss him off, grabbed his tool belt and headed for the door with Bryce following after him.
“Where’s my sister?” Bryce asked, gesturing to some of the men to get the ladders.
“She had to run into town to pick something up from the office,” he said, gesturing for a few more men to join them.
“What’s for dinner tonight?” Bryce asked in that bored way the James boys did when they were trying to decide whether or not they were going to crash at their house for a home cooked meal or go home, order take out and kill the rest of the night by watching whatever game was on.
“Meatloaf,” he said, grabbing a crowbar and headed up the fir
st ladder to get this job started.
“Mashed or scalloped potatoes?” Bryce asked as if that really made a difference.
“I think mashed,” Connor said absently with a frown, because sitting at the top of his ladder crying, was his wife.
“Rory?” he asked, tossing the crowbar down away from his men and started to head up the ladder faster, terrified that she was hurt or-
“I’m pregnant!” she announced with a wobbly smile right around the time that he lost his footing.
With a loud “Ooomph,” he landed on the ground right next to Bryce as the bastard released a pained groan that matched his, while he laid there trying to catch his breath, he couldn’t help but smile at the beautiful woman that he was going to spank for climbing up a ladder while she was pregnant.
Closing his eyes, he resigned himself to a very long, stressful nine months, because something told him that the she was going to drive him out of his fucking mind and he was going to love every fucking second of it.
The R.L. Mathewson Chronicles
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