Epilogue
Emily
“Morning, Mama.”
I feel a sleepy rumble vibrate against my shoulder. A warm, calloused palm slides across the stretched skin of my bulging stomach, his thumb swiping slowly over the spot where a tiny knee is currently protruding.
“Mmm, morning, baby,” I answer, cracking my eyes open to the golden light filtering through the curtains.
Wyatt lets out a laugh, his chest vibrating against my back. “This little one has been kicking me in the kidney all night. I think she’s practicing.”
“Please,” I tease, struggling to shift my weight so I can actually draw a full breath. “She’s literally crushing my internal organs into a pulp. You can tolerate a couple of thumps to the back.”
I grunt as I heave myself around to face him. Wyatt immediately moves his hand to support the weight of my belly, his brown eyes softening as he leans in to press a smoldering kiss to my forehead.
“I still can’t believe she’ll be here in two weeks.” His voice is full of a wonder that’s barely wavered in nine months.
“If you’re lucky,” I remind him, brushing a stray lock of hair from his brow. “I think she’s pretty comfortable in there. She’s got twenty-four-hour room service and a heated pool.”
He smiles. “You look so beautiful pregnant, Em.”
I snort, glancing down at the sheer scale of my midsection. I look like a whale. “Well, savor it, Miller, because it ain’t happening again for a long while. I have officially reached maximum load.”
He grins, but the sound of a truck horn outside captures his attention. Jax is in the yard, shouting to get a move on. Today is immunization day, and it’s an all-hands-on-deck job at the north chutes.
“Go,” I say, giving him a gentle shove. “I’ll drop Alex at school and get some work done on the new contract. I promise to stay off my feet.”
“Pretty sure I’d rather stay in bed with both my ladies, taking care of you.” He smiles softly, his gaze dropping to my stomach with that look of pure unadulterated adoration.
“I know, baby.” I place a palm against his stubble, feeling the familiar prickle. “But when you come back this afternoon, I’ll let you rub my back and bring me ice cream.”
“Deal.” He winks, pressing one last kiss to the center of my stomach before heading to the bathroom to get dressed.
I lie there for a while, hand resting on the mountain that is my stomach. She hasn’t stopped moving since four in the morning. A strange, bittersweet ache settles in my chest. I know I’m going to miss the feeling of her rolling around in there. It’s like a secret language we’ve shared for months.
I almost don’t want to share her, but I can’t wait until she’s in my arms. Or even better, in Wyatt’s. Finding out I was pregnant had been a shock, but that man has developed an obsession beyond control for my pregnant body.
I watch him get ready, admiring the ripples of his biceps as he pulls on his work shirt and the strength of his legs as he tugs on his denim.
I can’t help but wonder if our daughter will look like him, if she’ll have those same big, brown eyes.
He catches me grinning, and a slow, wicked smirk spreads across his face.
“You keep lookin’ at me like that, and I’ll have to remind you how you got into that condition in the first place.”
I giggle like a schoolgirl. “Don’t tempt me.”
“I’ll be back at two,” he says, leaning over the bed to press a firm kiss to my lips. “I love you.”
I watch him leave, listening to the familiar sound of his boots hitting the porch steps outside. I toy with the idea of staying in bed a while longer, but Little Miss is currently holding my bladder hostage, and I need to get Alex to school.
* * *
I’m itching to dive back into the commission Kassie and I took on last month.
The whole family put their heart into my recovery after the fire, but Kassie was the one who truly never left my side.
Once I felt stronger and the bandages were off my hands, and my lungs didn't burn with every breath, I told her to forge ahead with the business proposal for Miller & Callahan Consulting.
Now, six months later, we have our first official client.
The timing is obviously insane, but I made a silent promise to myself that being a stay-at-home ranch wife, however much I love this family, was never going to be my only identity. We’re going to start slow, stay small, and let the business grow right alongside the baby.
I head to the kitchen to fix a mug of chamomile tea, reveling in the rare silence of a house that’s usually full of noise. For the next few hours, I have the world to myself. The men are out playing vet at the north chutes, my son is safely in his classroom, and I can finally take my sweet time.
I take my mug and steer myself toward the dining room.
I usually work from the office Owen barely uses, but my bump doesn’t exactly fit between the chair and the wall anymore.
The wide dining table is the only place left where I can actually spread out my blueprints without feeling like I’m being squished by my own furniture.
I set the tea down and flip open my laptop.
"Just you and me for a while, Little Miss," I whisper, patting the top of my stomach. "Let's get some work done before you decide it’s time for your mid-morning gymnastics."
I pull up the first set of files, and everything is exactly as it should be. Peaceful and perfect.
“Fuck,” I yelp as an unexpected twinge rolls through my lower stomach.
What the hell was that?
I squeeze my eyes shut and breathe in sharply through my nose, my fingers clutching the edge of the heavy oak table.
The pain feels like a slow pull tightening around my midsection.
I hold my breath for what feels like ten seconds until the tension finally ebbs away, leaving only a dull, pulsing ache.
I let out a long, unsteady exhale and settle back into my chair, but I can feel my heart beating too fast.
“Baby girl,” I whisper, smoothing my palm over the top of the bump where she’d been kicking only moments ago. “You have two weeks left. You have another thing coming if you think you’re making an appearance today. Your room isn't even finished.”
I stare at the blueprints on my screen, but they blur for a second. Surely, it’s Braxton Hicks. The woman at the birthing center said they could start any day now. 'False labor,' she’d called it. Just the body’s way of practicing for the main event.
I take a cautious sip of my tea, the chamomile doing nothing to settle the sudden whirling of my stomach.
"Practicing,” I mutter, clicking around on the computer screen. "That's all it is. Practice."
I click the trackpad again, determined to ignore the way my lower back is suddenly tight. I have a deadline. I have a quiet house. And I have fourteen days until I actually have to worry about car seats and hospital bags.
As I reach for my pen, a second wave builds a little more intensely than the last.
"Shit,” I breathe, my eyes darting to the clock. "That was only eight minutes."
Oh hell. Maybe I should call Wyatt.
I reach for my phone, sitting neatly beside my laptop, and hit his name.
Straight to voicemail.
I let out a frustrated huff. I should have known. They’re too far out on the north pasture. There’s zero cell reception out there. I try Owen next, then Jackson.
Same result.
"Okay, it’s okay. Don’t panic,” I mutter to the empty room.
There’s a dull ache radiating in my lower back now.
I try to remember what the birthing lady said—a hot bath.
She’d mentioned that a soak could help manage the discomfort in the early stages and help distinguish between the fake stuff and the real deal.
Besides, this is going to take a while. Everything I’ve read online says first-time labor lasts like twelve hours, right? I have time.
I push back the heavy oak chair and slowly waddle toward the stairs, my center of gravity so far off I have to grip the banister with every step.
Once I’m in the master bathroom, I turn on the faucet and let the steam rise. I let my dress pool on the floor and catch a sudden glimpse of myself in the full-length mirror. My stomach is a perfect, massive sphere, my skin stretched tight and glowing under the vanity lights.
I grab my phone, angling myself modestly to hide the bits I don't want to see and snap a quick picture.
"This could be the last photo, baby girl,” I whisper as a content smile tugs at my lips.
The smile falters instantly as a fresh contraction rolls through me, sharper than the last.
"Fuuuuck,” I hiss, doubling over and clutching the porcelain side of the tub until my knuckles ache.
I check the screen. Ten minutes. Okay, they aren't getting any closer yet. That’s good. That means we’ve got time.
I catch my breath, forcing my muscles to relax and slowly lower myself into the water. The instant relief of the warmth hitting my back is heaven. I lean my head against the rim of the tub and close my eyes, letting the water take the weight of the baby off my spine.
"See?" I tell the quiet room, my breathing finally evening out. "We’ve got hours."
But as the water ripples around me, a strange, low pressure builds in my pelvis. It’s a heavy, dropping sensation that feels a lot less like twelve hours and a lot more like right now. The water had been a miracle cure, but the miracle is officially over.
I grit my teeth through another two contractions, both holding steady at ten minutes apart. I’m doing the breathing and all the things the lavender-scented lady promised would work. That is, until the next motherfucker tears through me after only five minutes.
The shift is violent. This one steals my breath completely, forcing me to bolt upright in the tub, gasping as the muscles in my abdomen turn solid.
"Okay,” I wheeze, the panic finally clawing at my throat. "I need to find someone."
I heave my body out of the tub, the gravity of the baby feeling twice as heavy now that I’m out of the water. I dry myself as fast as I can, because who knows when the next one will hit. I tug my dress back on over my damp skin and hit call again.