42. Josephine
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Josephine
The twins are kicking each other.
At least, that's the only explanation I can come up with.
I pause in the middle of updating patient notes and press a hand against my stomach.
Immediately, one of them responds with a solid thump.
"Rude," I mutter.
Across the room, Dr. Harris glances up from his desk. "Talking to patients again?"
"They started it."
He nods as though that's perfectly reasonable. Which, considering the last six months, it probably is
A smile tugs at my mouth as I return to my paperwork.
These days, I catch myself smiling at text messages and arguing with unborn children before lunch.
It isn't easier. I'm still pregnant with twins, still working full time, and still preparing for two babies who already seem determined to cause trouble.
The fear doesn't ride shotgun anymore.
I don't think it ever will go completely. But it's quieter now. Because every morning I wake up next to Clay. Every evening he shows up. And every day in between, he somehow finds a dozen ways to remind me that I'm not doing this alone anymore.
Dr. Harris points his pen in my direction. "That smile again."
"What smile?"
"The Clay smile."
I groan. "I don't have a Clay smile."
The grin he aims at me should probably violate workplace policy.
"You absolutely do."
I shake my head and finish my notes while he chuckles quietly to himself.
The clinic stays busy for the rest of the afternoon, but by the time I finally lock up and head outside, exhaustion is beginning to settle into my bones.
Then I see Clay's truck. And suddenly I'm smiling again.
He climbs out before I reach him. The sight still catches me off guard. Sun-bronzed, broad-shouldered, and carrying that grin that usually means trouble.
His grin widens when he sees me. "Hey, Doc."
"Hey yourself."
He leans down and kisses me softly.
The simple affection still feels surprisingly precious.
When he pulls back, something in his expression immediately makes me suspicious. He’s full of surprises lately.
"What?"
His grin grows.
Definitely suspicious. "Nothing."
"Clay."
He opens the passenger door. "Get in."
I narrow my eyes. "You've been spending too much time with Nash."
The drive takes us past the feed store, past the bakery, and beyond the roads I know by heart.
Eventually I realize we're heading toward the McCoy property.
Only we don't turn onto the ranch road.
We keep going.
"Clay."
He reaches over and squeezes my knee.
A few minutes later, he turns down a gravel driveway I don't recognize.
My confusion grows. A small white house appears between a cluster of trees. It's modest, and a wraparound porch stretches across the front. The yard is wide enough for children to run through. A tire swing hangs from an old oak tree.
My thoughts screech to a halt as the truck stops.
Neither of us speaks.
I stare.
And stare.
And stare some more.
"Clay..."
His voice softens. "Come see."
My heart is suddenly beating far too fast.
I climb out of the truck.
The house sits only a few minutes from the ranch. Close enough for family, for support. Close enough to still feel connected.
But it’ll be ours.
I walk slowly toward the porch.
The front door opens.
Inside, sunlight pours through large windows. The living room is empty except for a few boxes. Fresh paint and wood floors. There’s room for a family here.
I move from room to room in stunned silence.
A kitchen, a dining room, and three bedrooms.
Three.
By the time I reach the last one, tears are already burning behind my eyes.
I turn around.
Clay is standing in the doorway watching me. Looking far more nervous than a man who'd just bought a house ought to.
The realization nearly undoes me. He bought a house. And he's worried I won't like it.
"You hate it."
I laugh through my tears. "What?"
"You hate it."
"Clay."
His shoulders slump. "Okay, maybe hate is strong."
I walk straight toward him.
His eyes widen.
Then I throw my arms around his neck.
The impact nearly knocks the breath from him.
"Oh."
"Exactly."
His arms tighten around me immediately.
I bury my face against his shoulder. "Are you serious right now?"
A laugh rumbles through his chest. "I'll take that as a good sign."
I pull back enough to look at him. "You bought us a house."
The words still feel unreal.
His expression softens. "I wanted us to have something that belonged to us."
The emotion hits all over again.
For so long I'd been fighting to build stability on my own.
Now this man keeps showing up and building it beside me. One piece at a time. "I used the inheritance." His thumb brushes beneath my eye. "Mom and Dad wanted it used to build a future." My throat tightens. "And this feels like the future I want."
The tears spill over completely, which would be embarrassing if pregnancy hadn't turned crying into a full-time hobby.
"Hey." His hands cup my face. "What's wrong?"
I laugh through another tear. "Nothing bad."
"That seems unlikely."
"I just..." My voice wobbles. "I'm happy."
"Good." His forehead rests against mine. “Because I'm pretty sure I've never been this happy either."
"I have one more surprise."
I blink. "There's more?"
His grin returns. "I got offered a job."
My stomach drops.
Because the word offered combined with Clay's history usually means rodeos, highways, and distant states.
His smile softens immediately. "Not that kind."
Relief floods through me. "Then what kind?"
"The rodeo grounds."
I stare at him. "What?"
His grin grows wider.
"Earl's looking to step back from some of the event management stuff. They're expanding programming. More youth events. More clinics. More competitions.” The excitement in his voice is impossible to miss. "I can help run events there."
I blink again. “And still work the ranch?”
He nods. "I don't have to choose anymore."
Understanding clicks into place.
For so long, Clay believed his life had to be one thing or another. For years he'd treated every choice as an either-or proposition.
Now he's finally allowing himself both.
His eyes meet mine. "I get to keep the parts I love."
Emotion swells inside my chest. He isn't giving anything up. It's him building something new. “I'm proud of you."
His hand slides around my waist.
Mine settles against his chest.
The air between us shifts.
"Josie."
The way he says my name sends a pleasant shiver through me.
"Yeah?"
His gaze drops briefly to my mouth.
Then back to my eyes.
"I love you."
My heart melts completely. "I love you too.”
He laughs, deep and surprised, and lifts me by the waist until my heels clear the floor and my belly fits perfectly between us.
His mouth finds mine with the enthusiasm of a man who's been waiting all day to get me alone. He kisses me until the ache in my body is almost indistinguishable from want, then kisses me more.
He pulls back, enough for his lips to slide against the corner of my mouth, then my jaw, my throat, all the while walking me backwards into the closest room.
I don’t have time to check which one; it could be a closet, and I wouldn’t care, because suddenly there’s only the drag of his callused hands down the backs of my thighs and the scrape of his teeth on my collarbone.
Somewhere in this I lose my shoes. He laughs as I try to keep up, his hands reacquainting themselves with every new curve pregnancy has given me, his own laughter vibrating into the soft skin behind my ear as he hoists me up.
My ass lands on a sturdy windowsill, the sun still squatting low enough that it lights the dust motes as they swirl around us.
He looks at me with that expression, wearing that hopelessly smitten look that still catches me off guard, and then he’s got my face in his hands and his tongue in my mouth and I’m clawing for his shirt like I want to drag it straight through his skin.
I’m only half aware of the buttons popping, my hands burrowing beneath flannel and cotton, palms greedy against the ridges of muscle, the scatter of old scars.
His belt makes a sound, a metallic snick that sends anticipation racing through me, and then his hands are under my dress, pulling tight enough that my thighs bunch up around his hips. My underwear lands somewhere in the dust at my feet.
He presses the length of his body against mine. Heat rockets through me, a ridiculous, forbidden teenage indulgence, heightened, not diminished, by the fact that now it’s trusted and wanted and safe.
The sound that comes out of me is more than a moan; it's a gasp laced with laughter and disbelief. I get to keep him. I get to have this over and over, with no expiration date.
He says my name again, low and trembling, and his hands move down to cradle my hips, making room around my belly, never once faltering in their purpose.
He fucks me against the broad wood of the sill, the rhythm full of want and wonder. Late sunlight streaks across his shoulders. The world narrows to his wild blue eyes and the ache I'd carried for years finally replaced by him.
His thumb finds the spot that undoes me every time, circling my clit in slow, deliberate patterns. My hips buck without coordination.
He knows exactly how to touch me like this, and he’s not shy about watching what it does to me, face open and awestruck. I can feel his breath break on my neck, his pulse unspooling in double time. Desperate, maybe, if I wasn’t so completely unraveled myself.
I want him to tear me apart, but I want him to piece me back together slower, with the patience of a man stitching together his own days.
He holds back just enough to make me squirm.
Since getting pregnant, I haven't wanted anything this fiercely. I’m greedy, wanting more, wanting now, all the while knowing I fucking can’t get enough.
My name falls apart on his tongue. And when I come, it’s violent and immediate, the kind of climax that claims my whole body and leaves me clinging, boneless, to the man holding me up like I’m the only thing in the world not nailed down.
I shudder through it, mouth open, no apologies.
He follows, not long after, teeth on his lip, eyes squeezed shut, a growl so guttural it vibrates through both our bodies. He holds me close, like he’s afraid I might slip away now that the world’s gone soft and electric with aftershock.
We stay tangled on the sill, the window behind us is completely fogged over. He peels his forehead from my shoulder and meets my eyes. A slow, silly smile spreads across his face, like he can’t believe he’s still allowed to look at me this way.
“That’s one,” he says.
“One what?”
“Room conquered.”
I bark out a laugh, more animal than human. “You’re an idiot.”
He scoops me closer, so the curve of my belly presses up beneath his heart. “Only for you, Doc.”
We’re both sweating, limbs sticking, too spent to fix our clothes, and suddenly I can’t stop giggling. It's absurd, joyous, and ordinary in the best possible way.