Chapter 22
For the past three months, Cree and Kennedy had been coming out on the weekends to spend time with them. The girls had become fast friends, which didn’t surprise either Cree or Texas.
Sunday sat curled up next to Texas on the sofa, laughing as Cree animatedly told them about the first time he met Kennedy.
Some parts of the story sounded almost unbelievable to Sunday.
The image of Kennedy leaping off the motorcycle while Cree fought to keep it from crashing made her eyes widen.
She didn’t think she could react that quickly, even if her life depended on it.
“I swear she’s part monkey,” Cree said with a chuckle, just as Kennedy playfully slapped his arm.
Sunday sat up abruptly, a wave of nausea washing over her. She swallowed hard, her attention snapping to the tightening in her stomach. Scrambling away from Texas, she tried to stand, but a sharp bout of dizziness hit her, and she collapsed onto the rug-covered wooden floor.
For a moment, she thought about how clumsy she was being, until a fierce cramp clenched her stomach. If her legs wouldn’t hold her, she’d crawl to the bathroom.
As she struggled to get back up, Texas was already there, lifting her effortlessly into his arms. “Hang on,” he murmured firmly.
Before she could pitch forward, he had her safely by the toilet.
Sunday lunged for the toilet, grabbing onto the sides as she emptied the contents of her stomach. She felt Texas gently pull her hair back, keeping it out of the way. She wanted to thank him, but her stomach was far from finished.
“Can I help?” Kennedy asked softly from the doorway.
Texas didn’t hesitate. “In the cupboard right next to you are some washcloths. Can you grab one and dampen it?”
Kennedy turned toward the cupboard, reaching in and pulling out a washcloth. She wet it under the sink, wrung it out, then held it out to Texas. With his attention fully on Sunday, she called softly, “Here, put it on the back of her neck.”
“Thank you,” Sunday managed between dry heaves, resting her head against the cool porcelain rim of the toilet. But her stomach clenched again, and she had to lean back over the bowl. “Kennedy, can you call my mom? Her numbers on the fridge.”
“Yeah, I can do that.”
“No, don’t bother her. I probably have food poisoning,” Sunday said, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.
“Call my mom,” Texas said firmly, his voice leaving no room for argument.
He didn’t know why he wanted his mother to come check on Sunday—he just did.
He hadn’t taken care of a woman in three years.
He didn’t get sick. Ever. He had no clue what could be wrong with her.
The one thing Texas was sure of was that Sunday didn’t have food poisoning.
After all, they’d all eaten the same thing.
Thirty minutes later, Pierre and Kathryn came barreling into the driveway.
Texas’s dad barely managed to stop the truck before his mom leapt out, her urgency making it clear she hadn’t expected to be called.
Even in her hurried state, Kathryn was impeccably put together—always composed, even when she was out picking apples.
She stormed into the room and scanned the faces. “Where’s Sunday?”
“They’re in the bedroom,” Kennedy told Kathryn, then followed her down the hall.
“Sunday thinks she ate something that’s making her sick.”
“Did she eat the same thing as everyone else?” Kathryn asked sharply.
Kennedy hesitated for a split second before answering, “Yes, we all ate the same thing.”
“Then it’s not that,” Kathryn said firmly as she reached the end of the hall.
Kathryn lightly knocked on the door and waited until her son said, “Come in,” before stepping inside. Hot on her heels was Kennedy, who glanced at Kathryn, only to see her shaking her head.
Kennedy held up her hands in surrender and quietly stepped out of the room. But one day, she thought, it wouldn’t be her retreating and surrendering to Texas’s mom’s disapproval. It would be Kathryn who found herself shaking her head at her.
Closing the door behind her, Kennedy returned to the living room, where Cree and Pierre were deep in casual conversation—neither man showing any concern for Sunday.
Back in the bedroom, Texas sat on the bed, his back against the headboard, Sunday’s head resting gently in his lap. His mother stood nearby, her eyes filled with quiet sympathy. The unspoken words between them hung heavy in the air.
Texas’s mind raced with worry. What if Sunday was pregnant? He knew his mother would adore having a baby to dote on, but she also understood his hesitation.
“Ange, would you go in the kitchen and make me a cup of tea?” he asked softly.
Texas didn’t want to leave Sunday. She had barely stopped throwing up, but he trusted his mom to handle her gently.
“Doll, Mom’s gonna sit with you,” he said softly. Sunday nodded, shifting slightly so he could stand.
“I’ll be right back.”
As he passed his mom, Kathryn touched his shoulder and gave him an encouraging smile. When Texas closed the door behind him, Kathryn smiled warmly at Sunday and settled onto the bed beside her, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face.
“How long have you been feeling sick?” she asked quietly.
Sunday thought for a moment, recalling the only recent time she’d felt off. “I threw up a few days ago,” she said slowly, “but it was after I had a cup of caffeinated coffee.” She shrugged faintly, as if trying to explain it away.Kathryn looked at Sunday curiously. “No other time?”
“No,” Sunday said emphatically.
“Have you felt okay otherwise, besides being physically sick?” Kathryn asked, ticking off the boxes in her mind. She hoped Texas and Sunday would come to the same conclusion on their own.
Sunday didn’t have to think long. “I got dizzy earlier when the nausea hit me. That’s been happening a lot.”
“The dizziness?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Sunday.”
“Hmmm?”
“When was your last cycle?”
Sunday heard the question but felt confused by what Texas’s mom was asking. She didn’t cycle. “What?” she whispered.
“Your period. When was your last one?” the older woman repeated gently.
Sunday lay there, miserable, trying to remember. As she searched her memory, her stomach twisted again. When she tried to sit up, Kathryn was faster, pushing the small bedside trashcan toward her. Sunday clutched it tightly as she began to throw up once more.
“About eight weeks ago,” she managed to say between dry heaves.
Texas walked back into the bedroom to find his mom holding Sunday’s hair back as she hugged the small trashcan. Setting down Kathryn’s tea gently, he went straight to the bed.
“Mom, should we take her to the hospital?” he asked, worry tightening his voice.
His mother shook her head slowly. “No. But I think you should run into town and get a pregnancy test.”
“No,” Sunday said, laying her head back on the pillow. “My cycle runs weird.”
Jerking upright, she barely got the trashcan under her mouth before throwing up again.
“It’s unpredictable,” she added, wiping her mouth with the damp cloth.
Kathryn shook her head, memories of Helen’s morning sickness flashing through her mind. “If you don’t want Texas to go get the pregnancy test, then we’ll take you to the ER.”
“If I don’t feel better in an hour, we can go to the ER,” Sunday groaned, her face still pressed over the trashcan.
Texas stepped into the hall, trying to keep himself together. He couldn’t lose it in front of his mom and Sunday—not now. He hadn’t even thought about the possibility of her becoming pregnant. They hadn’t talked about babies. Hell, he felt way too old to be a dad.
Sliding down the wall, he sat hard on the floor, head bowed.
The bedroom door creaked open behind him, and his mom stepped quietly into the hall.
“She doesn’t have food poisoning,” he told his mom.
“No, baby, she doesn’t. I think you should go pick up a pregnancy test—maybe multiples.”
“Mom.”
Kathryn saw the worry etched on her son’s face. She took a seat next to him, her gaze drifting toward the room across the hall. “If Sunday is pregnant, you can’t let what happened in the past cloud what’s happening right now.”
“I’m too old to be a dad.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, you’re thirty-five years old, Ange.”
“Mom, language.”
Ignoring her son’s comment, Kathryn patted his knee. “Before you freak out, let’s make sure she’s pregnant.” She looked at Texas and nodded.
When he stood and held out his hands to help her up, she waved them away.
“I can get up on my own. Now, go. And send Kennedy back here to sit with us.”
“Thanks, Mom.” Texas kissed her cheek before heading toward the living room. He’d make his dad and Cree take the ride with him. The last thing he needed was to be alone with his thoughts.
“Kennedy, Mom asked if you could come back there with her and Sunday.”
Kennedy looked at Texas, reading the strain on his face. “Sure, I can go hang out back there.”
Pierre caught sight of the ghost-white pallor on his son’s face and grew concerned. “Is everything okay with Sunday, son?”
Texas stared at his dad, unsure what to say. Then he snapped out of it. “You two are coming with me to buy a pregnancy test.”
Cree choked on his beer. “I’m not buying it. That’s like saying Kennedy’s next, and I’m not old enough to be a dad yet.”
“Asshole, you’re as old as me, and I’m too old to be a father this late in the game.”
Pierre laughed, standing up. “I’ll buy the damn thing. It’ll give the locals something to talk about.”
“I can’t wait until some of the local ladies come into the restaurant and start asking Kathryn how she’s feeling.” Barking out a bigger laugh, Pierre scooped up his keys from the coffee table.
“Let’s go, boys, I’ve got rumors to stir up.”
“Is he serious?” Cree asked, standing up.
“I’m afraid so,” Texas said, watching his dad almost skip out of the house. “If we’re not careful, he’ll be buying baby bottles, pickles, and ice cream.”
Cree scrunched up his face at the thought. “Do women really eat pickles and ice cream together?”
“They crave all sorts of stuff. Some of it’s just plain nasty.” Texas mimicked the disgusted look on Cree’s face.
“Get a move on, you two, I’ve got pickles and ice cream to buy!” Pierre shouted from the doorway.
“Told ya.” The upside was, Texas wouldn’t have to worry about his swirling thoughts with his dad causing a stir in town tonight.
Texas and Cree barely climbed into the truck before Pierre shifted into drive and pulled out of the driveway. The whole trip into town, the older man kept the jokes coming, making about four stops before they’d even gone a mile down the road.
For Texas, he’d rather the rumor mill swirl around his mom than him. Once people found out he was the one expecting a baby, the whispers would turn to his past. Small town life came with its fair share of trials.
Kathryn and Kennedy stepped back into the room to find Sunday wide-eyed, still clutching the trashcan.
“I am not pregnant,” she said firmly, addressing them both.
“It’s okay, dear. We’ll just wait for the boys to get back with the pregnancy test,” Kathryn said, settling onto the bed. She patted Sunday’s knee and gave her a reassuring smile. “But you’re pregnant. And if you’re not, I’ll shave my head.”
“You’d look good bald,” Sunday replied with a half-smile.