Epilogue
Four Months Later
Natalie
My phone buzzes with a text message, waking me from a nap. I rub my eyes and scramble for my phone, only to knock it off the couch and on the floor. Shoot. That’s what I get for falling asleep in the living room. I haul myself off the sofa and pad across the newly laid tile, yawning as I scoop it up.
I immediately feel queasy as I bend over, and retreat back to the couch. Ugh. Morning sickness could go away any day now. I lie back down and close my eyes, sweating and swallowing hard, waiting for the sensation to pass. Eventually it does, and I squeeze one eye open to peer at my phone.
IVY: The mailman delivered to the wrong house again. I just got a big box with skulls on it that’s addressed to Lexi.
IVY: I’d get in the car and bring it over but Seth finally just went down for his nap.
I text her back, not quite ready to get up off my sofa myself.
NAT: I’m still flattened by the barfs, so let’s text Lexi and let her know it went to your house, k?
IVY: Thx. I’ll leave it on the front porch if she’s coming by soon. Tell her not to ring the doorbell bc baby sleeping. :)
NAT: Will do.
IVY: I’m sorry your stomach’s so bad. Ginger tea did wonders for me!
NAT: I’ll send Clay out to get some later! TY!
I sigh at my phone and rub my still-flat stomach. I’ve been pregnant for all of two months so far, I think, and I’m already pretty done with it. Ivy was a glowing beauty all through her pregnancy, I’ve been told by multiple sources. Me, I’ve already got swollen ankles, bad skin, and I’ve thrown up enough to lose five pounds . . . which makes no sense, because I’ve gained ten. I can tell I’m going to be one of those people that suffers all through pregnancy.
Fun times.
I text Clay first, because, well, I always text Clay first. I’m just as ridiculously silly in love with the man now as I am the day he walked back into my life. We’re joined at the hip, morning, noon, and night. I wake up in his arms and we snuggle for a few minutes before Clay gets up and heads out for work. Usually we have lunch together, and I’ve accompanied him out to the rig sites when he has to make a visit. I’ve watched him and Boone dowse for wells, though he says he doesn’t have the magic touch that Boone does. And when he comes home, we normally end up on the couch, either watching TV, playing video games (I’m trying desperately to get good at the football games he loves), or making love. You’d think we’d get sick of being around each other all the time, but if anything, it’s the opposite. I crave him even more with every passing day. I’ve never been so damn happy.
Or so damn lonely when he’s gone.
Right now, he’s overseeing the production of the first round of IntelligentCamo prototypes. He’s made plans with a local base to discuss the possibility of it helping the troops and he’s talked about donating all of them instead of charging for them. Seth’s death changed more than a few things in the Price brothers. I know that before, Clay was interested in selling the IntelligentCamo to the families of troops, but now he’s talking about setting up a foundation and donating thousands of suits of it. He says if it can save a few lives, he’s willing to shell out the money.
I think that’s sweet—my man has an altruistic side. I love that.
He should be home at a regular time tonight, though, so I send him a little love note.
NAT: <3 <3 Hey baby, can you pick up some ginger tea on the way home tonight?
CLAY: Hey love
CLAY: Your stomach bothering you?
NAT: Yeah—Ivy says ginger tea is good for the sickness.
CLAY: I’m on it. Love you.
NAT: Love ya too, babe.
I smile as I switch to Lexi’s number and send her a text.
NAT: You awake?
There’s no response from Lexi’s phone. Figures. It’s still fairly early in the morning . . . though Lexi is normally an early riser. She likes to joke that she’s been up all night summoning hordes of evil minions, but it’s all a front. Lexi is one of those people that likes to wake up early and face the day.
I’ll just have to go over and see what the deal is.
It takes me a few minutes to get the courage to roll off the couch. I eventually get to my feet and test things, but my stomach seems to have settled for the moment. Good. I pad across the floor of our new house, kicking aside plastic sheeting as I walk.
Clay wanted to build a new house for me, and said he wanted me to make it my dream house. We got quotes on houses, though, and to build what we wanted was going to take at least a year and a hell of a lot of money. And while the money isn’t the problem, I got pregnant, and came to the realization that I didn’t want my baby to be born in Clay’s trailer or while I was living at a hotel. Living at the Weston Ranch was completely out of the question, too.
So we bought a house. Specifically, we bought a house down the street from Ivy and Boone. Well, it’s not exactly “down” the street because they have a massive ranch, and now we have a slightly less massive ranch, but we’re on the same block. Our house is old and outdated, with popcorn ceilings and wood paneling everywhere, so while I’m “between” jobs and pregnant, I’ve decided to renovate.
And by renovate, I mean I tear rooms up and then call people in to fix up my messes. I’m not much of a painter, alas, but a real one’s coming tomorrow. I head to the master bedroom, slide on my shoes, and then grab the keys and head out of the house, down the walkway, and toward Lexi’s bungalow. The property we picked came with a cottage joined to the sprawling main house by a little pathway in the backyard, so I offered for Lexi to move in. Her yoga business has been failing and failing hard back in Luka. The town’s too small—and Lexi’s too weird—for it to work. She’s now doing home visits and trying to set up a web presence, but she’s been rather distracted lately to get much done.
I know that feeling. It seems like life seems to hit all at once sometimes. It’s been the same for me.
Dad had another fall not long after Clay and I got married, and at the suggestions of his nurses, we moved Dad to a home in San Antonio. It’s one of the most expensive ones available, and he’s got a massive suite all to himself. There’s care-staff that can look after him night and day. More importantly, there are no stairs for him to fall down. I thought he’d hate it, but to my surprise, he actually loves the home. It seems that there are a lot of fans of his movies, and he’s treated like the celebrity he is every time he leaves his room. They even have Chap Weston movie nights on a regular basis, and my dad’s the center of attention when they do. He loves that. I visited yesterday and it was like my dad was constantly holding court, signing autographs, flirting with the ladies, and charming the nurses. I haven’t seen him so happy in years. It took a lot of the stress off of me to realize that he needed real company, not just a nursemaid.
Dad’s not thrilled I’m with Clay. Not at all. But most days he doesn’t even remember who Clay is, so I try not to let it bother me. I’m not going to let Dad’s misery control my life. Not any longer. At the end of the day, he’s just a sad, elderly old man who spent more time unhappy than anyone should, and I’m not going to let that happen to me. Sometimes he’ll call and gripe at me for making poor life choices, but most times Dad lives in his own little world.
I don’t bring Clay up, and Clay has no interest in seeing Dad. Works for me.
Since I married Clay and we now live closer to San Antonio, the Chap Weston Museum is now run by a few employees, and Clay and I head out there every now and then to check on things. It doesn’t make a ton of money, but it’s important to my dad—and to me, oddly enough—that it not fail, so on it goes. As long as it’s in the black, I don’t feel guilty about it. Clay wouldn’t care if it was a money pit; he just wants me to be happy.
I get to the door of Lexi’s little cottage and I can hear her weird yoga music playing in one of the back rooms. I knock, but there’s no answer, so I try peeking into one of the windows. They’re all closed, though. Hmm. I debate texting her again, when my gut decides to revolt and another wave of nausea hits. Uh-oh. I glance back up at the main house, but it’s a good walk back up the steps, and I suspect I won’t make it in time.
So I try Lexi’s doorknob. It’s unlocked, thank goodness, so I let myself in, racing toward the bathroom down the hall. I make it to the toilet just in time to puke my guts out. There’s not much left in my stomach, so I end up just dry heaving against the porcelain bowl for a while, and then grab the nearest towel to wipe my face, whimpering.
“Uh, dude? You okay?”
I turn around to see Lexi in a towel—and nothing else—standing in the doorway behind me. Her dark hair is disheveled and she looks sweaty.
“Sorry,” I say weakly. “I wasn’t trying to let myself in but my stomach kinda had ideas of its own.”
“Should I call 9-1-1?” Her voice is deadpan, but she moves to the edge of the tub and offers me a fresh towel.
“Very funny,” I say, shaking my head. “I’ll be okay. I just need a moment. Did I catch you before you were about to get in the shower?”
“That would be kind of difficult, seeing as I’m sitting on the edge of the shower,” Lexi says, amused. “You did catch me at a bad time, though.”
“You have a package—” I begin, and then stop, because when I lift my head, I can see right into Lexi’s bedroom. There’s a naked ass in her bed. A very white, naked ass, and the owner of it is facedown in the covers. For a moment, my heart stops. But then the man sits up, and I see that it’s Knox.
Ew. I just saw my brother-in-law’s naked ass.
In my best friend’s bed.
I shoot Lexi a look of horror. “What—”
“It’s not what it looks like,” she begins, and then tilts her head. “Actually, no, it’s exactly what it looks like.”
* * *
I’m back home a very short time later, still a little unnerved at finding out that Lexi and Knox are sleeping together. I collapse on the sofa in the living room—or what will eventually be the living room—and close my eyes, trying not to get another visual of my weird friend and my weird brother-in-law having sex.
No sooner do I lie down than the front door opens. “Babe?” Clay bellows.
“In the living room,” I call out, struggling to sit up.
He appears a moment later, a gorgeous view for any woman. I drink up the sight of him—his now-thick beard, his slightly too-long dark hair, his laughing green eyes, his broad shoulders and amazing, taut body. I sigh. In addition to a raging case of sour stomach, I also have an incredible libido, which is a terrible pairing. I get turned on at the drop of a hat, and then my gut shuts that idea down promptly. It’s kinda hellish.
“Don’t get up, baby,” Clay says, coming to kneel by the couch. He brushes a lock of hair off my forehead tenderly. “You okay?”
“Same as usual,” I tell him. “Thrown up twice so far today, but the good news is that there isn’t much left in my stomach.” I grimace. “And you’ll never guess what I saw today.”
“Save it,” he says, and rubs his knuckles lightly over my cheek. “You lie down and I’m gonna make you some tea.”
“Why are you home so early?” I ask.
He shrugs those big, delicious shoulders and just that simple movement gets me hot and bothered. “My baby needed ginger tea. So I came.”
“Yes, but I could have waited—”
He shakes his head at me. “My baby needed ginger tea,” he states firmly. “Now close your eyes.”
“You big overbearing dweeb,” I tell him affectionately, but I do as he says. I always do as Clay says. It’s impossible to argue with him, because he never believes he’s wrong. It’s cute.
I wake up a short time later to find Clay sitting on the far end of the couch, and he’s got my feet in his lap. He’s texting someone quietly on his phone with one hand and rubbing my ankles with the other. I yawn. “Did I sleep long?”
“‘Bout an hour,” he tells me, and his thumb strokes my foot. “How you feeling?”
“I’m okay.”
“I’m gonna get you that tea now. You stay put.”
I sit up as Clay leaves the room, watching his tight butt flex in his even tighter jeans. Lord have mercy, but I hope my stomach holds up for a few hours, because I’m feeling really turned on at the moment. My husband returns a moment later, a steaming cup of tea in his hands. He gives it to me and watches me closely as I sip it. He’s attentive and possessive normally, but now that I’m pregnant? That’s ratcheted up to eleven and Clay’s worse than a mama bear . . . and I have to admit, I eat it up. Every single moment of it.
“Better?” Clay asks.
The tea tastes terrible, but I don’t want him to worry. He already worries about me too much, and we’re only in month two. I smile and tell a tiny fib. “Much.”
He sits back down at the far end of the couch and puts my feet back in his lap. I resist the urge to rub his cock with my feet. My goodness, I’m feeling frisky. It’s got to be my big, delicious husband doting on me that’s got me so revved up. “I can’t believe you’re home so early.”
He shrugs, a smile on his lips. “Missed you and my baby.”
And that does it. This man is going to get laid. Right here, right now. I carefully set my mug of tea down on the table next to the couch, and then fling myself into Clay’s embrace.
His eyes widen when my arms go around his neck. “Babe?”
“I’m feeling a little . . .” I trail a finger down the front of his shirt. “Amorous.”
His eyes go smoky at the thought. “And your stomach?”
“Don’t care about my stomach,” I tell him in my best, most sultry voice. “At least, not right now. Other parts of me are aching.”
“Allow me to help, then, Mrs. Price.” He pulls me into his lap, dragging my skirt up.
I run my fingers through his gorgeous, full beard and shift my hips, rubbing against his cock. I love days like today. Actually, I love every day now that I’m with Clay. Everything seems bright and full of promise now that we’re together. And as he grabs the crotch of my panties and pulls them aside in a move that makes me breathless, it makes me think there’s no way I could be happier. Clay’s my life, and I was just going through the motions without him. I lean in and brush my mouth against his, lost in his touch.
There’ll be plenty of time later to tell him about his brother and Lexi. For now, I’ve got other thoughts on my mind.
Things like . . . seducing my husband.