Page 76 of Nine Month Contract
“You’re laughing at me,” I exclaim vehemently. I turn on my heel so he can see the full effect he’s had on me, not hiding my tears. “I get that this is just sex, but the idea of you falling for me isn’t that funny.”
His face falls in horror. “That wasn’t what I was laughing at.”
“Then what was it?”
“I was laughing because you referred to yourself as an inseminated cow.”
My head juts back as I consider his answer and try to decide whether he’s full of shit or not. “I thought it was because you thought I was disgusting or something.”
“Jesus, Lucky. You got fucking issues.” He reaches out and cups my face, forcing me to look up at him as he eyes me seriously. “I’vesaid this before, but I’ll say it again. You’re stunning. And if this baby is a girl and looks anything like you, I’m going to have to buy another shotgun to scare the guys away.”
Pain that I did not expect sears through my chest at that comment.If the baby is a girl and looks like me…
I’m a cow. I’m a cow. I’m a cow. I’m a cow.
I pull back and force a laugh. “Just wait until I get a big ole pregnancy belly with stretch marks. Then we’ll see if you still want to be in this sexuationship.”
“I can’t fucking wait for that,” he says seriously, crossing his arms and propping himself on the doorframe. His eyes drift affectionately down my body as I gape at him.
Is he for real? Do men like this actually exist? Was my dad like this with my mom at the beginning, and then things just went to shit at the end?
He notices my confused expression and adds, “But if you need to hear it…you’re beautiful pregnant, not pregnant, stretch marks, no stretch marks. If I passed you in a bar somewhere in Denver, I would definitely moo.”
My smile is wobbly as my stomach flutters at that ridiculous compliment. A mooing mountain man—why is that so cute? Swallowing thickly, I turn and focus back on finding some clothes. I was sitting here worried about him falling for me…but if he keeps talking like that, it could very well be the other way around.
WeeksPregnant:16
AnimalsontheMountain:Well…
“Ihave to ask you something, Trista. And I want you to be honest.” I turn on my heel inside Handsome’s pen, and a rush of heat hits me as Wyatt’s giant frame steps through the barn door.
My mouth goes dry as I drink him in. He’s dressed in his standard faded jeans, Timberland boots, and T-shirt. He’s traded in his flannels due to the hot July sun. His skin is bronzed more than it was when we first met, showing signs of how much he’s been working in the sun lately. It makes his blue eyes stand out even more.
I glance outside and see that we’re at least thirty minutes away from sundown, so he’s early, but I’m not complaining.
I pull Handsome’s halter off and pat his rear as I make my way out of his stall, excited by the prospect of giving the animals another show.
“What is it?” I ask, cursing myself for wearing my stupid overalls. They’re going to be a bitch to get off quickly, especially because they’re getting tight on me, but I’ve ripped too many pairs of my jeans out here, so I’m trying to stick with more sturdy fabric.
Wyatt’s blue eyes are lasers, and I can’t help but notice them drop to my stomach before he asks a question I did not expect. “Where…are…the fucking chickens?”
My lips part as goose bumps erupt all over my skin. “Chickens?” My voice sounds weak and guilty.
His nostrils flare as he tips his chin to the side to crack his neck. I haven’t seen grumpy Wyatt in a while, and I’m only now just realizing I kind of missed him. He points back toward his house. “I just heard a rooster crow as I was walking down here, and Calder said he heard one the other morning, so I know they’re here somewhere.”
I hook my trembling thumbs into my coverall straps and stare down at my feet. “There’s no…I didn’t…maybe a neighboring property…”
As I ramble, he eliminates the space between us, reaches out, and presses my lips together with his calloused fingers, pinching them into a flat line. I close my eyes, relishing in his touch and his scent like a drug addict.
His voice is dark and threatening when he says, “Fess up, Lucky.”
I like that nickname a lot better when we’re naked.
“Oh, fine.” I yank my face away from him and stomp my foot with a growl. “I put a chicken coop on the backside of the barn. It’s a small one, though, and the previous owners swore there was no rooster in the flock,” I flat-out lie. That damn bird is going to ruin this whole thing.
“There’s a whole flock?” he exclaims, his voice higher-pitched than I’ve ever heard it. “How many are there?”
I cringe and drop my head. “Only seven.”
