Chapter 24
Seven months later …
The first sign the day wasn’t going to go well came when she woke up late.
The second hit when she found her clothes still damp in the dryer and third, the truck keys nowhere to be found.
But when she glanced at the clock again, she realized she’d read it wrong.
She wasn’t late at all. In fact, she’d been up hours earlier than she needed to be.
With a sigh, Sunday tossed the clothes back into the dryer and then went back to the bedroom and slipped under the covers again, curling up next to Texas, who was still sprawled out and snoring softly across the bed.
When her alarm finally buzzed at its usual time, Sunday rolled over and switched it off without opening her eyes. All she could think about was coffee—strong, hot coffee. That sounded perfect right now.
Stretching, Sunday smiled as she rubbed her extended belly, wondering what time Texas had gotten up. Tossing off the covers, she screamed as two strong hands suddenly pulled her into a warm, broad chest.
“Morning,” a gruff voice murmured in her ear. Damn it, not the ears, she thought, flinching. A quick kiss on her forehead was all she got before he untangled himself, leaving Sunday with an unexpected pang of loneliness. Damn, she thought. They could at least snuggle a little.
As Texas headed to the bathroom, she couldn’t help but appreciate him. He really was the total package. But when the shower started running, she moved toward the kitchen, opening the bag of coffee. Almost immediately, her face dropped over the sink.
Barely finishing rinsing her mouth and the sink, Texas appeared, the scent of his bath soap trailing behind him.
“Are you okay, Doll?” he asked gently.
Before she could even turn to face him, she was throwing up again. The closer he got, the worse the nausea became—the smell of his body wash was setting off her gag reflex.
“Your bath soap,” she managed weakly, before he backed away.
“I’ll take another shower and try to get the smell off,” he said, retreating to the bathroom.
“What else is triggering you?” he asked from the doorway.
Sunday only pointed at the coffee pot.
Texas wanted to tell her it’d be just a few more weeks and then the worst would pass. Instead, he went back to the shower.
An hour later, Sunday lay on the bed, feeling defeated by her own body. The pregnancy had brought relentless bouts of morning sickness and dizzy spells that left her drained and vulnerable.
She’d changed everything from her toothpaste to processed foods.
Just the thought of getting near a bag of Doritos made her start dry heaving.
And pizza? That had become her arch nemesis.
What she wouldn’t give for a slice of deep-dish meat lovers with extra sauce and garlic butter.
But even the thought of greasy pizza twisted her stomach into knots.
Three more weeks until she’d have the baby. She prayed the sickness wouldn’t plague her much longer.
Easing off the bed, she tested herself by standing up. A sigh escaped her lips, maybe the morning sickness and dizziness were finally easing. Checking the clock, she realized she had enough time to get dressed and still make it to the gift shop to help out.
Things hadn’t gotten any better once she arrived at the gift shop. It had been a shit day from the start—the stock boy didn’t show up, and then the computer system went down. What was supposed to be a three-hour shift stretched into an all-day grind.
Sunday had resigned herself to the fact that this was life on the farm. “Everyone helps. No exceptions,” Kathryn had told her on the very first day she’d met the family.
Sunday hoped they’d make an exception for her once the baby arrived. But knowing Kathryn, the answer would probably be no. She’d be lucky if she managed to have that baby in a hospital—and not out in the orchard, picking apples.
More than once, she’d mumbled to herself not to entice the locals. The thought of being labeled impolite by one of those thirsty, jealous bitches—because she landed Texas—bothered her. Good lord, it was getting old. If he wanted one of them, he’d have made a move already.
All she wanted now was to go home and make Texas a good dinner. He’d gone out to deliver cider orders to the local stores and caught a flat on the way back in the truck.
The chilly wind bit into her like a hungry animal that refused to let go.
She struggled to keep her jacket closed.
The season was almost over for the apples.
According to Texas, they had about a month left before the harvest wrapped and the leaves began to fall.
They were already changing color; some branches were bare.
The twisted limbs gave the orchard an eerie, haunted feel.
Running a hand over her stomach, Sunday smiled at her own silly thoughts. She chalked her mood up to being nine months pregnant. October couldn’t come soon enough.
Deciding to make a fresh-baked apple pie, she wandered through the rows of apple trees, picking fruit from the low branches.
She probably should have just grabbed a pie from the restaurant instead.
Looking down at the small basket filling slowly in her hands, she wondered why she was doing this after a long day’s work.
The pies at the restaurant and the gift shop were some of the best she’d ever tasted.
She blew a stray lock of hair from her face as the cool evening breeze nipped at her skin. The orchard felt chillier now, and as she walked beneath the twisted branches, a fleeting question crossed her mind. Why had she chosen to come pick apples again?
Making a mental note never to make rash decisions after work again, Sunday was about to set the basket down when movement caught her eye through the trees. Clutching the basket tighter, she cut through the orchard, a growing unease settling over her. She hated being alone out here.
Glancing back, she caught only the lower half of the figure—thick jeans and worn hiking boots. That was enough. Whoever it was, it was a man. She knew it wasn’t one of Texas’s brothers; they were out with him making deliveries.
Stepping through another row of trees, Sunday heard the unmistakable snap of twigs breaking under something heavy. She picked up her pace, moving quickly across the open row before weaving through the next line of trees. Behind her, the sound of footsteps followed—steady, deliberate.
Instead of cutting through the next row, she veered down the open aisle toward the restaurant, knowing Kathryn, Pierre, and the employees would be there. But she hadn’t taken more than a few steps when the figure stalking her stepped into view from the shadows of the trees.
Roach stood just fifteen feet ahead, maybe twenty. Sunday’s eyes locked on the knife gleaming in his hand. In her mind, she quickly ran the numbers. Could she outrun him?
Sliding her foot back, she was about to turn and bolt when he called her name. She froze. When she looked up, he was already closing the distance.
“I told Dalton I saw you in this shitty little town months ago,” Roach said, tapping the knife casually against his leg. “He didn’t believe me. But when he told me to leave it alone, I knew you had something to do with him getting attacked.”
A twisted smile crossed his face as he thought back to the “fun” he’d had with Sunday before.
There was something about a woman out of her mind being fucked that Roach loved. And Sunday had definitely been out of her mind on X the last time he’d taken her.
Dalton decided she was used up and dumped her in that muddy ravine, leaving her exposed to the elements, thinking she’d die.
“I’ve thought about your ass a lot,” Roach sneered, rubbing his crotch with his free hand.
“I’ve never fucked a pregnant bitch before. This should be fun.” He gave Sunday a sinister smile. “For me. Not for you.”
Frozen, all Sunday could think was over her dead body would she let him touch her—or her unborn child. Shaking her head, she took a step back as Roach closed the distance.
Then she remembered the basket of apples in her hand. Without hesitation, she hurled it at him, the fruit crashing into his chest.
When Roach tried to dodge the basket, Sunday sprinted through the row of trees into the next aisle. She kept weaving between the trunks, doing her best to keep the trees between herself and him.
Finally, she burst out into the open, visible and exposed. Holding her stomach with one hand, she started to run.
Then—pain. A hand yanked her hair hard, jerking her backward.
In the distance, she spotted one of the property’s UTVs speeding toward her.
She struggled fiercely, desperate to break free and reach the vehicle, but then a sharp, stabbing pain exploded in her side.
She looked down and saw blood seeping through her pants leg. Panic surged, but her thoughts zeroed in on only one thing—her baby. Shoving her jacket aside, she screamed when she saw the wound.
Suddenly, she was shoved hard to the side, stumbling and falling to the ground. Landing on her side, she curled into herself, cradling her stomach as tears streamed down her face. All she wanted was for Texas to be there—to help her.