Mariska

How one man can be the most infuriating person in the world and at the same time the most irresistible is beyond me. As we ride back to the house, I try not to let my impatience grow as he again takes a slower pace, holding poor Freckles from the gallop she so desperately craves. I want to scream, “I’m not made of glass!” But I don’t.

I look up at the sky and take a deep inhale. It smells like rain. An enormous formation of dark grey clouds rolls slowly from the south, building into what looks like an upside down volcano, and the grasses sway in ripples like water, showing their light green undersides before returning to darker green on top.

I want to sit on the porch and sketch it all out. It will be my first painting here—Coming Storm.

Stuart pulls up beside me. “When we get to the house, head on in. Cheyenne gets jittery in bad weather, and Freckles is already a handful.”

I press my lips together to keep from saying what I want to say, and instead I only nod. We’re off again, but as we get closer to the house, I forget all about being impatient with him. A new car is in the driveway, and by the time we’re at the barn, Stuart’s mother is on the porch followed closely by his sister Amy.

We pull up, and I quickly hop off Cheyenne, heading toward the two women at the ranch house.

“There she is!” Sylvia calls, and Amy’s face breaks into a huge smile.

“Come here and give me a hug!” She skips down the porch steps, fashionable as always in a fringed beige tunic over dark skinny jeans and brown western ankle boots. “You really are a wonder!”

She gives me a tight squeeze, then loops her arm through mine, leading me back to the house, her pale blonde hair swirling in the breeze around us.

“What have I done this time?” I ask with a laugh.

“First you get him to settle down, now you turn him into a father!”

“The wonder is how she puts up with him,” Sylvia grouses, following us inside.

I can’t help it, I burst out laughing. Amy drops my arm and looks at me, a wide smile on her face, eyes dancing. “Oh, no. What happened?”

“Nothing!” I’m laughing so hard, tears are spilling onto my cheeks.

“Now you have to tell us,” she insists.

Shaking my head, I try to swallow my mirth. “It’s just what your mom said. I was thinking the same thing as we were riding back.”

Sylvia comes up behind me, putting her arm over my shoulder. “Try to be patient with him. Like I said, he’s a lot like his father.”

Amy’s lips press together in a small frown. “But not entirely,” she says quietly.

I can tell there’s a story there, but I don’t have time to say any more. My future sister-in-law has my arm again and is dragging me to the kitchen. “Come on. I’m here for the weekend, and we’re going to do all the corny things you’re supposed to do when you’re pregnant.

“Like what?” I look from her to Sylvia, who only shakes her head.

“Amy’s always been very headstrong,” she says.

“First!” Amy reaches in her brown suede bag and pulls out an old-school camera. “Turn to the side, and let’s get a picture of that bump!”

“Oh,” I poke out my lips as I pull up my loose black top. “We have wait on that one. No bump.”

“Hmm,” Amy frowns, pressing her hand against my flat stomach. “I thought you might be hiding something under there.”

“I’m only twelve weeks.” I turn to the side, looking down. “And it’s my first time, so apparently that means it takes longer.”

She’s quiet for a split second before waving her hands. “No matter! We’ll take one anyway. You have to have a reference point, after all. Come over here.”

I follow her to a bare wall in the living room, and she positions me in profile.

“Now hold up your shirt.” Then she pushes down the front of my skirt. I almost grab her hand, since now I’m going commando. My wet panties are in Stuart’s saddlebag.

“That’s good!” I say with a laugh, and she gives me a sly look. “We were swimming!”

Her eyes flick to the window where we can see rain falling steadily outside.

“It hadn’t started raining yet!” I cry.

“Hey, whatever floats your canoe.”

Shaking my head, I smile as she snaps the photo. The camera spits out a white print with a black center.

“Where did you find a Polaroid camera?” I skip forward to look at the print she’s shaking back and forth.

“I’ve had it for years. Finding film is the tricky part.”

Sylvia joins us to wait for the image to appear. As soon as it does, she takes it over to the fridge. “It’s a wonderful shot. Look how your eyes are dancing!”

“Because I busted you not wearing panties,” Amy murmurs in my ear, and I elbow her.

“Shh!”

We both laugh, and she skips back to the bar. “Next up! Measuring your circumference.”

“You make me sound like a planet.”

“Hold up your shirt again. No need to push down your skirt. We’re not officially sisters yet.”

Narrowing my eyes, I do as she asks, and she stretches a piece of pink yarn around my waist, clipping it at the center before holding it up. “This is where you’re starting. Sort of.”

The yarn goes in an envelope labeled Week 12, and she puts it to the side.

“Now we all have to fill out a wish card.” She takes out a small stack of decorated index cards and puts them on the bar. “You can do it at any time, but everybody does one. Then you give it to her… whenever!”

“I really like that one,” I say, running my fingers along the stack. “We only get one? I have lots of wishes for her.”

“Only one.”

“Then I’ll have to think about it,” I say, going to the hall leading to our bedroom. “In the meantime, I need to shower and wash my hair.”

“I’ll say,” she calls after me. I only roll my eyes, but she adds. “When you get back, I want you to sketch my portrait! And read my coffee grounds.”

I shake my head, laughing as I continue down the hall. Amy’s presence will hopefully curb her brother’s overprotectiveness. At the very least, she’ll help me laugh it off.

---

Stuart

The last thing I need is a crowd of women teaming up, trying to tell me what to do. I’m one comment away from going to the cabin until Amy leaves, but after Mariska’s no-eating stunt, I’m forced to stay and endure. My escape would be tainted with worry otherwise.

At least for now, they’ve backed off telling me how much I don’t know about babies and women and being pregnant. Amy sits on the hearth in front of the empty fireplace, and Mariska is on the couch, her large sketchpad balanced on her thighs.

I walk behind her and smooth a thick strand of chestnut waves away from her cheek so I can see her progress.

“Any good?” She reaches up to catch my hand and press a kiss to my wrist.

“You don’t need me to tell you that.” In a series of expert lines and shading, she’s captured Amy’s features and personality on the page. “It looks like it could talk.”

She blinks up to me, and her eyes are shining with pride. “Thank you.”

“I want to see!” Amy hops up from where she’s sitting and dives onto the couch. Mariska passes her the sketchpad, and she gushes.

“It’s gorgeous! I can’t wait to show Marcus!”

“It’s funny.” Mariska’s voice is full of warmth. “As I drew, I could see the features you and Stuart share.”

“Really?” My little sister sparkles with curiosity. “Like what?”

Mariska’s face is adorably serious. “You have the same straight nose, and that little cleft in your chin.”

Amy turns to the mirror and laughs. “I guess you’re right.”

“But you have Sylvia’s round, green eyes.”

“You should know,” I can’t help teasing. “You’ve sketched me enough.”

Pink floods Mariska’s cheeks. “Stuart!”

Thinking of the times she’s sketched me stirs a response below my belt. I decide I’d better hit the small wet bar in the corner. The more time passes, the more confident Bill is about allowing liquor in the house. Still, we try to keep cocktail hour discreet.

“Where’s Marcus?” I say, pouring a tumbler of scotch. “I could use the backup.”

Marcus Merritt is Alexander-Knight’s go-to attorney. He’s quick and clever, and he’s done something I never thought possible—convinced my little sister to try being in a relationship for longer than a month. They’re going on a year, actually.

“He’s working on some case and couldn’t leave on such short notice.” Amy joins me at the bar. “Pour me a vodka.”

I pull out another tumbler and reach for the Ketel One.

“I do miss being able to have a fruity cocktail once in a while.” Mariska watches us from the couch.

“Oh! I have a solution!” Amy skips to the kitchen where her Mary Poppins bag waits. “Mocktails for pregnant women!”

She flops beside Mariska on the couch, holding her small tablet and scrolling with her thumb. “How about this one, Watermelon Mocktini. It’s watermelon, white grape juice, tonic water and an orange wedge.”

“Do they have anything with lemonade? I’ve been craving it so much these days.”

“Hm… Probably the Vitamin C. Hang on.” My sister continues scrolling, and I drift back to the couch holding two tumblers, my scotch and Amy’s vodka. “How about a Frost Bite? It’s lemonade, tonic, blueberries, and fresh mint!”

“I don’t think we have all of that…” Mariska glances up at me, and I lean down to kiss her forehead.

“I’ll take care of it.”

Going to the fridge, I grab the pitcher of fresh lemonade Winona has kept on hand every summer as long as I’ve been here and a few strawberries. Going back to the bar, I put the lemonade, crushed ice, and seltzer in the shaker, shake it up and pour it into a tumbler over the strawberries.

“How’s this?” I say, returning to the couch.

She takes it, and I actually hesitate. I’ve never been into fruity drinks, so this was completely off the cuff.

“Mmm!” Her eyes widen, and I laugh. “It’s really delicious! What did you do?”

I look back at the bar and frown. “I’m not exactly sure.”

“That’s my brilliant brother,” Amy gripes.

“Hey—”

She starts to laugh. “I’m only teasing. It was incredibly sweet. Uncharacteristically sweet.” Turning back to Mariska, she puts her arm around her shoulders. “Like I said, you’re a wonder.”

Thunder rumbles low outside as we climb into the bed. I called it a night after I caught my fiancée falling asleep on the couch.

“You’ve had a busy day,” I say, stroking her face.

Her cheek rests on the pillow, but she smiles. “I’m glad Amy’s here. I guess after this morning, I’m just exhausted.”

“Get some rest.” I lean down to kiss her, and she holds my face a moment.

“I wish you would talk to me.” Her eyes blink slowly, and I know she’s on the edge of consciousness.

Warmth moves across my chest. “What do you want to talk about, baby?”

“What you really want.” Her eyes stay closed longer this time. “Don’t hold me out.”

“Sleep now,” I say, kissing her soft lips. “We can talk later.”

A little nod, and she’s out. I stay awake several moments, moving her hair back with my fingertips. My bewitching little gypsy. I stopped fighting it long ago.

“The only thing I want is you,” I say.