“And the the cow goes bow-wow!” Noah’s rumbling bark sends the girls into fits of giggles.
“Daddy! That’s wrong!” Maria says with her tinkling laughter. She’s four-years-old, and like her siblings, she loves nothing more than gathering in our big bed for cuddles and books at the end of the day.
“Well, does the cow go meow then?” my handsome cowboy husband asks. He’s an amazing father to our four babies. We’ve only been married for five years, and we’ve already made a beautiful family together.
Misty, Maria’s twin, shakes her head. “No! Darcy goes meow. The cow goes moo, right, mommy?”
“That’s right,” I ruffle her hair and relax deeper into my pillows. This is my favorite routine with our family. No matter what happens, at the end of everyday, I know the six—soon to be seven—of us can gather together for story time.
Mr. Darcy even leaves his cat tree to join us at night. He never hisses at the kids, no matter how many times they tug on his tail or accidentally drop him. He takes everything in stride, loving and accepting our kids with his unwavering devotion.
Noah flips the page of the book. “What about this one? Which farm animal is this?”
“Horsey,” Bryan, our three-year-old, says. We became foster parents not long after we had the girls. We weren’t expecting to foster, but I met a homeless teenage mom. She was passing through Courage County, and the two of us stayed in touch. She called me the day before she gave birth, telling me that she wanted me and Noah to raise her son.
Mrs. Maple used her connections to help us and within the week, our family had grown again. We filed the adoption paperwork, and then we were five.
“Good job!” Noah encourages Bryan. “That’s a horse.”
“Choo, choo,” Blake, our youngest, hugs his plush toy train. He’s eighteen months old and a little sweetheart. He’s always following me around the bookstore as I work. Sometimes, it amazes me just how quickly he’s growing up.
When Noah and I went to the hospital to adopt Blake, he was such a tiny bundle. He could fit in one of Noah’s hands, but our boy is a fighter. He made it through, and so did his biological mom.
She’s now in college living in a comfortable apartment a few hours away. She’s working on her degree in nursing, and she visits her sons regularly. She loves both boys fiercely and wants the best for them.
Noah and I love her for giving us the two sweetest treasures we’ve ever held. She’s a staple at all of our family gatherings and holiday events here in town. She’s found her home in Courage, just like her boys.
After Noah finishes the book celebrating the differences of all the animals on the farm and how each one is special in its own way, we spend time talking about how people we know are different but still special.
“Like me, with no hair,” I explain to the kids. “I’m bald and different from a lot of people.”
“But still very special,” Noah says in his soft rumble. The affection and joy in his gaze take my breath away. Sometimes, I catch him looking at our little family with such awe and wonder, like he can’t quite believe he has us. The feeling is mutual. Sometimes, I find myself looking at this gruff cowboy, amazed that he chose me.
Misty bursts into another round of giggles. “Daddy is special becubs he’s bald like a baby’s butt.”
“Misty!” I frown at her. “Who taught you that?”
Maria joins the giggling. “Uncle Bear said it. He said butt.”
Uncle Bear is Barrett, Noah’s brother. I love that the kids are growing up around their uncles on this beautiful farm. But sometimes, I wish the guys would be more mindful of their language.
I’m always having to tell them they can’t repeat the words their uncles say. Especially after what happened with Misty at church. When Miss Pearl quietly let Misty know she was trailing wet toilet paper on her shoe, Misty smacked her forehead and dramatically proclaimed, “Fuck a duck!”
I wanted to crawl under the pews and die of humiliation. But Miss Pearl, ever the saint, just smiled at her. “Let’s go to the bathroom and get this fixed, OK?”
I glance at Noah. Laughter dances in his expression as he’s no doubt remembering the same thing. He picks up Blake and settles him with his toy train. “Come on, my little ranch hands. Time for bed. We have a busy day tomorrow.”
“Wait, help me first,” I tell him.
He gets the kids out of our bed then reaches for me. It’s getting harder to move in this final trimester. The girls were big babies, and our next one is right on track to be a lineman.
My back twinges, and I grimace.
“Want me to give you a back massage when the kids are in bed?” Noah offers, trying to look innocent.
I mock glare at him. “Oh no, you don’t. That is exactly how this started. Now I’m carrying your big baby all because I wanted a back massage.”
The girls think that’s how babies come into the world. Apparently, Noah didn’t know what to say when they asked about the baby in my belly, so he babbled something about back massages. Now they think if a woman gets a massage, she gets pregnant. I haven’t figured out how to handle that one yet. Maybe I’ll see if Mom is up to tackling that conversation.
Mom is what I call Mrs. Maple now. She fusses over me, the same way she does Noah and all of her grown children. I used to worry she’d be lonely when her boys settled down, but she and Walter eventually tied the knot. The two of them live happily together on the farm.
Noah doesn’t look even the least bit sorry. He loves watching my body grow round with his babies, almost as much as I love it. “Would it help if I told you that you look really beautiful when you’re pregnant?”
“And what else?” I press.
He glances toward the TV in our room. “And that we should watch Pride and Prejudice again while I feed you bites of chocolate ice cream.”
I know it’s not his favorite movie, but he never complains about watching it. He always tells me that I’m his best friend, and he loves spending time with me. He makes me feel like the luckiest woman in the world. “I’ll get the ice cream.”
***
It’s not stalking if she’s my future wife and make no mistake, the curvy baker belongs to me. I just have to convince her to wear my ring.
It’s a lucky thing I’m good with my tongue because I’m going to lick all of Sadie’s frosting until I convince this good girl to be mine. Only mine.
If you love a filthy talking cowboy who falls instantly in love with the curvy woman of his dreams, you’ll love meeting Barrett in Big Filthy Cowboy. Pre-order Big Filthy Cowboy now for a story so hot you’ll need an ice cube!
