Page 142 of Range
I’d quickly learned that motherhood didn’t start once a child was born. It began the moment of confirmation. The mental and emotional shifts were far more prominent than the physical changes I was witnessing. I admired them most. My mind and heart were stretching beyond my imagination. And, my protective nature increased substantially.
I lowered my shirt and cleaned my hands. On the way out of the main suite, I grabbed my cell. Messages and calls had been silenced.
I couldn’t remember a day I’d taken the time to rest without worry, stress, or guilt. Today was rewarding. Today was necessary.
I entered the kitchen as I unlocked my cell. Notifications were plentiful. One in particular caught my attention.
Clean up.
I shut off the screen and made my way back upstairs. This time, I wasn’t headed for the master suite. I was headed toward my beauty room. The cell I was in pursuit of appeared in the second drawer of the antique vanity.
I retrieved it, flipping it open. There were four missed calls and a single message. I pressed the green button, dialing the number, attempting to make contact. The phone rang.
Once.
Twice.
“I’m listening.”
“Details are being shared,” Psalms spoke into the phone.
“I’m waiting.”
I closed the phone, ending the call. Suddenly, it wasn’t exhaustion that was fueling me. It was adrenaline. I removed a black top and matching pants from the hangers. I pursed my lips, hardly leaving an opening. The tune of a favorable song came to mind.
My lover’s got humor.
She’s the giggle at a funeral.
Knows everybody’s disapproval.
I should’ve worshipped her sooner.
I whistled the lyrics as I slid into one piece at a time. Resting was great. But work had never disappointed.
SEVENTEEN
There she goes.
Range stepped inside, commanding the entire room. Not only did she have my undivided attention, but the walls sweated upon her entrance. The space shrunk a few inches. The lights flickered, acknowledging her presence.
“Good evening, Mr. Blackwood,” she started, placing her briefcase on the table.
Something was different.
Maybe everything was different.
This woman was carrying my child.My children. And, as if she wasn’t fine enough already, she’d managed to get finer.
She was stunning in black. But it failed to conceal her growing belly. Though small, it was noticeable.
Completely smitten, I stared at her through lustful eyes. We were far past formals. Professionalism didn’t exist between us. It couldn’t. We’d crossed lines we couldn’t return from.
“You’re stunning,” I shared, pressing my back against the wall.
With my arms folded, I observed closely.
“There haven’t been any true developments in your case. The prosecution team is scrambling to locate evidence. We might have a good shot at your freedom the upco–”
