Epilogue
Of all his assignments, Jackson hadn’t thought of any of them as home. They’d merely been assignments, temporary places to do what he’d always thought he did best, Radish at his side. But Gellings?
Gellings felt like home.
He was willing to lay odds it wasn’t the house or the base, though.
It was his domestic Anna Grace frying up some chicken in the kitchen while Radish watched from under the table.
Or maybe it was his brilliant Anna Grace putting the world in order, one house at a time, building up a reputation for herself.
Probably, too, his beautiful Anna Grace growing his baby while she went on about her business making sure his world stayed put to rights.
He was one lucky son of a gun to come home to this every night.
He slid up behind his wife at the stove, put one hand to her belly that had started to swell, and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “’Bout to burn those biscuits again, Anna Grace.”
“Oh!” She swatted him away, snagged a hot pad, and rescued the biscuits from the oven.
They both stared at the smoking cast iron skillet on the counter.
Jackson smothered a grin. “Probably the oven’s off again.”
She gave him a look that could’ve come only from two and a half years of asking her favorite and not-so-favorite Southern women for their biscuit recipes. “Do you know anyone willing to tell me the real recipe for these stupid things?”
“Probably not, darlin’.”
“Then you can tell ’em all I’m fixin’ to feed you canned biscuits the rest of your life.” She looked at the stove and gave a girly shriek. The fried chicken was smoking now too.
He snagged a plate and spread a couple of paper towels on it, then eased up next to her. “How about you let me finish up for you?”
He swallowed a chuckle at her I do it myself face, but then her doe eyes went all soft and a smile sweet as summer rain crossed her lips. “I’m in trouble if this is a boy, aren’t I?”
“You bet your pie, Anna Grace.”
She laughed while she heaped fried chicken onto the plate.
He waited until she’d turned the stove off and stepped over to the fridge.
He knew his wife loved him more than he ever would’ve thought possible, but he also knew better than to spring potentially unhappy surprises on any woman while she was standing next to hot oil.
“Think I might could get you a real biscuit recipe,” he said.
She plopped a Tupperware bowl full of potato salad onto the counter. “How’s that?”
“’Bout the same way I got you my momma’s sweet potato pie recipe.”
Her face went ghost white before she’d finished her surprised gasp.
“Not deploying,” he said quickly. He gave her belly a soft rub, then pulled her close.
She’d handled his last deployment as only Anna Grace could, and he knew she’d pull through another one strong and steady as ever if she had to.
But he’d move heaven and earth before he’d leave her to deliver their baby alone.
“Cross my heart, Anna Grace, ain’t no way I’m letting you meet our little one by yourself. ”
Her fingers flicked at the top button on his uniform blouse. “PCS orders?”
“To the Pentagon,” he said into her hair. “Got word about an hour ago.”
And he’d be lying if he said he didn’t feel a little itchy in his ABUs, worrying how she’d take the news. She’d done real good for herself setting up her business. Starting to get more work than she could handle on her own, baby or no baby.
She straightened, eyes darting about the kitchen.
Then toward the bedroom.
Up to the ceiling, then to the living room.
Plotting the packing, if he knew his Anna Grace.
Amazing woman.
“Okay, Anna Grace?” They both knew what he was asking her to give up.
She flashed a brilliant smile. “Jackson Davis, you don’t think I haven’t planned for this, do you? I thought you knew me better than that.”
Huh.
Maybe he wasn’t always as smart as he thought.
She laughed, and he found himself chuckling too. “I love you, you know that?” he said.
“That’s also part of the plan. Let’s eat. Baby’s hungry.”
He’d do anything she wanted. Because like his momma said, there was a lot of perfection in his Anna Grace.