Nine Month Contract, page 35
I point my table knife at the hot mountain man currently bothering me. “What you don’t understand, boyfriend, is that this bread is merely a vehicle of transport for the peanut butter.”
“I just skip the bread and use a spoon straight out of the jar,” Johanna chimes into my ear. “One perk of living alone, I suppose.”
The corners of my mouth lift into a small smile at Wyatt’s mother’s casual reply that didn’t contain an ounce of emotion. We’ve grown close over the past several months, and she’s added me to her weekly lunch delivery rotations in Denver. It’s been good for both of us, I think. She sits and watches me eat, and I pick her brain about motherhood because Lord knows I never had a good example of it growing up. I need all the help I can get, and she likes feeling needed. We’re healing each other in completely unexpected ways. And I’m the only one she lets call her Jo, so she obviously loves me.
And damn, does it feel good to be loved by these Fletchers.
Wyatt bends over and boldly takes a bite of my toast. “Is this as serious as that time you cried at the restaurant because I ate your favorite-looking french fry?”
I cut a sharp look at the man treading on very thin ice. “Jo, I’m going to need to call you back. Your son clearly woke up today and chose violence.”
“Let me know if I need to come up there,” she says in her utterly perfect mom voice.
We hang up, and I set my knife down to pinch the bridge of my nose. “I know you had no way of knowing I was saving that particular french fry, but it felt personal at the time, okay?”
The way he fights back his smile is so goddamn hot it makes my stomach hurt, and I forget why I’m mad at him. Or maybe those damn Braxton Hicks contractions are at it again. Those motherfuckers are wearing on my last nerve. Along with these leggings that are trying to kill me.
I set my toast down to drag the maternity panel down to the base of my belly. “God, I miss my jeans,” I groan as I brace myself on the counter and exhale heavily.
Wyatt angles his head and stares at my backside as he moves in closer. “These leggings are putting in a good shift for you, though,” he husks as he presses in behind me, kissing the area below my ear and groping my belly like it belongs to him.
Which these days, I suppose it does.
I moved in with the man, and I’m hardly recognizable anymore. I’m besties with his mom, and I’m hanging out with Cozy like she’s my sister-in-law already. I’m calling him boyfriend like a pompous asshole and demanding breakfast in bed because my ankles are just the tiniest bit swollen. I even ask him to fill my gas tank now. No hesitation. I’ve let having a man and a family who enjoy taking care of me go straight to my head, and I am now completely insufferable.
And happier than I’ve ever been.
I turn on my heel to face my acts-of-service lover so I can drink in his scent. My hands slide up his arms and grip the edges of his insulated vest. “Listen, you have to take off this Carhartt vest.”
He frowns and pulls back, adjusting his vest. “What’s wrong with it?”
“Nothing. You just look so ridiculously hot in it that I want you to get me pregnant again, and that ain’t possible, and I really should be mad at you for tormenting me about my peanut butter obsession.”
Wyatt’s brows lift as he leans in and presses a tender kiss to my lips. He moves down my jaw and neck, his trim beard causing shivers to erupt over every inch of my body. His voice is deep and sensual on my flesh when he replies, “I don’t mind practicing for the next one, though.”
“Okay, Mr. Next One,” I snap and push him away, already feeling the effects of our canoodling squarely between my legs. “You know the plan. Baby first, a healthy maternity leave, then the rescue center...then we can discuss the possibility of more children. Get your breeding kink under control, man.”
He laughs and grabs my neck to pull me in for a deep, drugging kiss that consistently makes me wonder if I need to do this rescue center at all or if I’m better off just letting this man breed me until the end of days.
Oh hell...now I’m getting a breeding kink. It’s the damn Carhartt vest! Gray sweatpants never did it for me. It’s just too sloppy of a look. Not masculine enough. But Wyatt right now, with a little extra winter facial hair and this oak-brown-vest situation over his blue flannel that brings out his eyes? Stick a fork in me, I’m done. Seriously, the man could hit me with his truck in this vest, and I would jump up and tell him I’m sorry.
But then he removes the vest, and I regain control of my thoughts and remember that I have ambitions outside of my loins. I cashed that donation from Max as soon as my nonprofit was approved, and that money has already been put to good use feeding the extra critters I have populating Wyatt’s barn. If only he had a bigger barn, I wouldn’t have to continue searching for my own property, which is proving to be much more expensive than I originally expected.
This is why Wyatt and I are still arguing over what to do with the surrogacy fund. He wanted to donate the full amount to the rescue center, but I refused because there are still some gifts I cannot accept. And he’s already given me so much more than I ever dreamed of for my life. He’s given me a chance at a real family.
I break our kiss, which is quickly headed into the bedroom, because I have too much to do today. “We need to finish this nursery before you plan for more babies, Papa Bear.”
He laughs and licks his lips. “Well, I’ve made progress on your to-do list, Momma Bear, so come upstairs and see for yourself.”
My heart picks up speed as I follow him up the stairs that he’s already installed baby gates at the top and bottom of even though I told him we had months before we needed to worry about that, but he’s a “five minutes from now” man, and I’ve learned to just let him do what he needs to do to feel content.
When we round the corner into the baby room, my heart sighs happily. He’s put the white oak custom crib and rocker that Calder made for us directly under the large window that overlooks the backside of the mountain. He’s hung the mossy-green curtains I bought on clearance at my favorite JCPenney. And he mounted the quilt his mother made of all of his father’s old shirts on the open wall opposite the changing table and dresser. It’s not the girliest of rooms, but something tells me this kid of ours will care more about playing in the mud than playing with dolls.
I move over to rub my fingers along the quilted stitching. “This looks so perfect here.”
Wyatt shoves his hands into his pockets and nods as he looks at it. “My mom is going to lose it when she sees this.”
“What about you?” I ask, watching him closely.
His lips thin. “Feels right in here. Like my dad will be front row center for her whole life.”
My eyes well with tears. Damn hormones. I join him in the doorway to admire his hard work. “I never had my own room growing up.”
Wyatt wraps his arms around me and holds me from behind. I’ve been doing this a lot lately. Confessing my past traumas. I’m not sure what it means, but it feels good to get them out. Growing up a kid in a struggling household is a very early experience of shame, and acknowledging some of the things I endured instead of bottling it all up seems to be healing in more ways than one.
And Wyatt is an incredible listener. One of the instances when the whole strong, silent type works well for us.
I pat his hands on my belly. “This kid is so lucky.”
“Yeah, she is,” Wyatt says, rubbing my belly affectionately. “Because she’ll have you for a mom.”
Mom.
I love when he says that.
I swipe at my errant tears and shake off the emotions weighing down on me. “So I’ve been thinking about names.”
“Not this again.” Wyatt groans and releases me to lean on the wall and hit me with another one of his infamous glowers. “I am running out of vetoes and am terrified we’re going to end up naming our daughter some insane barn animal name like Trumpet or Manwich.”
“Don’t come for Trumpet and Manwich!” I snap defensively. “Those two alpacas came from very troubled homes and can’t help what they’re named.”
“Okay, but you keep suggesting these fancy names, and our daughter will need something strong if she’s going to be a mountain kid, you know? Did you know that your name means noise?”
“Mine?”
“Yes, the name Trista literally means noisy.”
“You’re lying. I need to google that. Go downstairs and grab my phone.”
“Fact-check me for the rest of our lives, baby.” He kisses me on the lips and smirks. “Because when I read that, I figured that’s why we’re so perfect together. I’ve been quiet my whole life because the only voice I wanted to hear was yours.”
I roll my eyes at his cheesiness. “Well, now I can’t fact-check you because you managed to turn an insult into a compliment.”
He beams proudly, and I cross my arms and glance back over at the quilt when a thought strikes me. “What if we name her after your dad?”
“Steven is kind of an odd name for a girl, isn’t it?”
“Not if we call her Stevie.”
Wyatt’s head pulls back as he considers this, his eyes turning to stare at the quilt with me. “Stevie?”
I bite my lip and nod. “Stevie Everly Fletcher sounds pretty perfect, don’t you think?”
Wyatt turns to look at me, concern etched in his brows. “These are all my family names.”
“No, they’re not.” I poke him in the ribs, my heart warming in my chest as I say the next part out loud. “It’s my family too.”
His eyes soften as he moves in and wraps me in a big bear hug, my giant belly making it a bit awkward but no less life-changing.
Chapter 46
Animals on the Mountain: 14
Babies Coming to the Mountain: 1
Wyatt
Everly breaks down bawling the minute she steps into our postpartum hospital suite, causing everyone to erupt with laughter. Max moves to stand beside her, helping her remain on her feet as she continues to lose it the closer and closer she gets to our baby girl.
Baby girl.
I’m a dad.
“Hey, kid,” Trista says with a knowing smirk from her hospital bed as she holds our daughter, looking more beautiful than I’ve ever seen her. The woman was a beast during the entire delivery. She didn’t want any drugs and didn’t even scream once. Just made this weird, satanic humming noise that might haunt me for a few months, but I’ll get over it because... I’m a dad.
“Want to hold your cousin?” Trista asks as Everly stands beside her.
Everly nods, and I watch nervously as she passes our baby over. My protective instinct over this kid might be an issue for me. If I’m this bad when she’s a tiny, helpless baby, how bad will I be when she’s running around the mountain exploring? Or worse yet, turning into a teenager like Everly and making decisions on her own? This will be hard for me. Luckily, I have Trista to help me through it all.
“You ruined my baby pool guess at the Mercantile, you know,” Calder says with a huff. “I didn’t even know you could be pregnant for longer than your due date or whatever.”
“How much money was in the pool?” Trista asks.
“Seven hundred and fifty bucks,” Luke replies with a laugh. “I think the whole damn town is in on it. But I don’t even know who won it?”
“It was me,” Everly says, not taking her eyes off the baby. “I knew this little one would hold out for me to come home for the holidays.” She smiles and drags her finger gently over our daughter’s little button nose. “So what did you name her? I’m dying to know. You know I can’t stand secrets.”
I reach for Trista’s hand and smile at my whole family. We were waiting to tell them all once Everly arrived, so here goes nothing. “We decided to name her Stevie Everly Fletcher.”
“After two very important people in her life,” Trista adds with a smile as she looks over at my mom nervously.
The waterworks on Everly begin again, and I rush over, holding my hands out to take the baby because she is scaring the shit out of me with her hysterics.
My mom sniffles softly from her chair, grabbing a handkerchief out of her purse as she nods solemnly. “That’s a really good name.”
I smile at Trista, whose eyes are also filled with tears as she watches my mom. Their bond was clear as day when my mom walked in the door today to meet her new grandchild, only to bypass the baby and check in on Trista first. She pushed my girlfriend’s hair out of her face and asked her how she felt, wanting every little detail before she even gave herself a moment to meet Stevie.
They cried tears of joy in each other’s arms, and I thanked my lucky stars that my family gets it. Trista doesn’t have anyone showing up to check on her today. No mom or dad was calling to get the latest ultrasound pictures or ask what kind of casseroles she wanted in the freezer for her maternity leave. Her sister didn’t put money in the Jamestown bar baby pool, where they guessed the height, weight, and delivery date.
My mom understood what today would be like for Trista better than I could have ever imagined. Cozy has easily become the sister Trista deserved because of their genuine connection. And if my dad was still here...he’d be right beside her, checking on both my girls.
This is Trista’s found family. And I’m a lucky man. I’ll be even luckier if she marries me someday.
But that’s tomorrow’s problem. Today... I’m just going to live in the moment and enjoy being a family with my girls.
* * *
I wake early our first morning back at the mountain as a family of three to find Trista standing in my living room. The fire crackles as she stares out the floor-to-ceiling windows, watching fresh snow fall on the mountain as the sun sheds tiny rays of light on the red barn down below. My eyes drink in her tall wool socks and big, baggy T-shirt. It will be a long six weeks, that’s for sure, but with views like this, I have no problem waiting.
She’s swaying back and forth with our daughter in her arms, humming a Taylor Swift song I’ll never admit to knowing. I make my way over to them and wrap my arms around the two of them to join in their movement.
“I didn’t even hear her wake up,” I whisper, staring down at our little one, who’s now fast asleep. Stevie has a light dusting of brown hair on her head and the sweetest little lips, with the top one just slightly bigger than the bottom. Just like her momma.
“She didn’t cry,” Trista says with a happy sigh. “I just didn’t want her to miss her first mountain sunrise.”
My heart tightens at that comment. The way Trista loves it up here feels so good. Like she was always meant to be here with me.
The sun peaks over the mountain crest, shining a ray of light on the three of us. “It is a pretty good view,” I offer.
“You’re not even looking at it,” Trista says, gesturing to the window.
“The mountain pales in comparison to you two,” I say, and without hesitating, I reach around Trista and set a small velvet box on top of our daughter’s swaddled belly.
“What is that?” Trista asks, stopping her swaying instantly.
“I wanted to get Reggie or Millie to help me with this, but I was too afraid they’d eat the ring.”
“So you’re using our baby instead?” she deadpans, her lips parted in shock.
“Hell yes, I am.” Releasing her, I kneel beside her, taking her hand in mine as she uses her other one to hold Stevie. “You made me promise not to talk to you about marriage until after Stevie came. Well, it’s after.”
“Literally two days after,” she says with a garbled laugh.
“I’m feeling lucky.” I wink up at her and try to remember the speech I’ve been building up in my head for the past several weeks. “Trista, I read in one of my parenting books—”
“There is no way this was in one of your parenting books!”
I tilt my head and eye her sternly. “Are you going to let me finish?”
“Yes, sorry.” The teasing glint in her eyes warms me from the inside out.
“I read that one of the most important things a father can do for his child is to love its mother.”
My voice cracks at the end, and her smile falls instantly. Her chin trembles with the same emotion swelling inside my chest. I fight the urge to stand and kiss the fresh tears falling down her cheeks, but I have an important question to get out.
“I love you, Lucky. More than I even thought possible. This mountain was once my escape from the world, my quiet sanctuary to get away from my thoughts. But I love the noise you bring into my life. You turned my house into a home, and I want to continue our life up here forever...whether that be with more babies or more animals or more of both, I’m all in. I love you, past, present, and future, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Will you marry me?”
She beams through her tears as she clutches our daughter close to her cheek. “What do you think, Mountain Man?”
Epilogue
Animals on the Mountain: 16
Family Members Going to Mexico: 10
Plus-Ones Going to Mexico: ???
Trista
“Wyatt, look at me!” I call out while trudging up the snow-worn path toward the wood-chopping station behind his house.
Our house. It’s our house.
My soon-to-be husband sets his ax down and turns on his heel, looking delectable with the snowy mountaintop background. Even hotter than usual with that baby monitor strapped around his chest. Stevie is currently down for a nap, and this overbearing, overprotective dad demands to take that big-screen monitor with him everywhere he goes—even though the app sends notifications to our phones.
What can I say? He’s an obsessed father.
I’ve caught him mindlessly petting Millie while watching the monitor in the barn more times than I can count, and our baby is barely two months old. I can’t imagine what he’ll be like when she’s a teenager.
