Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 68594 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68594 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
He pressed a kiss to my head. “Best gift ever. But I’m coming to all the other appointments.”
“Okay.”
“Pumpkin is going to go wild.” He chuckled. “So is Laura.”
“I have to figure things out with the restaurant, here with Helen…” I trailed off.
“We will figure it all out,” he assured me. “But right now, we’re going to celebrate. Nothing else matters. You, me, Pumpkin, and baby.” He was quiet for a moment. “Our family is growing, Quinn. Exactly the way I hoped.”
I sighed, enjoying being in his arms.
“How about we go for a drive, pick up our girl, and take her for ice cream before we go out for dinner? We can tell her she is gonna be a big sister.”
“Let’s just stay home.”
He chuckled, the sound reverberating through his chest. “Somehow I knew you’d say that. You always prefer to be home.”
“I love home.” I tilted up my head. “I love you.”
He bent down, his mouth on mine. “I love you, darlin’. Happy anniversary.”
A YEAR LATER -JOHN
A noise jolted me awake, and I slipped from the bed before Quinn could. “I’ve got him,” I assured her. “Go back to sleep.”
I headed to the nursery, picking up our son, who instantly settled as I cradled him against my chest. After changing him, I went down the hall toward the kitchen, putting a bottle on to heat, then checked on Abby. She was fast asleep, her ceiling glowing with the stars we had put on it and her newly purple walls glittering softly. Pink was still good, but purple ruled. Add in glitter?
Abby was a happy girl.
I tugged her blanket up and bent to kiss her head. Then I carried my son back to the kitchen, checked the milk temperature, and sat in the large cuddle chair we had bought when Quinn was pregnant. She loved being held, and it was exactly what we needed on nights when she couldn’t sleep and couldn’t get comfortable in our bed.
I settled down and pressed the nipple to his mouth, smiling as he latched on fast. He made his growly noises as he sucked, and I watched him eat in wonder. At three months of age, he was still fascinating to me.
James Owen Elliott had come into the world two weeks late, screaming his displeasure and letting us know he had arrived and wanted our attention. Abby had promptly nicknamed him Jimjam, and it had stuck. Quinn had wanted to name him after me, but I thought another John was too much. James had been my gramps’s name, and since it was my middle name, we both were happy.
Abby adored him, and no one could get him to quiet down when fussy the way his big sister could. He loved his momma fiercely, but he and I had a special bond. I loved the chance to sit in the dark and feed him. Talk to him about silly things. I told him stories of his grandparents, great-grandparents, and the farm. His aunt. His big sister. His amazing momma and how incredible she was. He listened, absorbing, I was certain, every single word. He was my boy.
I could hardly wait to get him on the tractor with me. Teach him about the fields and crops. Encourage him to discover the world. I wanted him to be free to choose the life he wanted, be it the land or an office. Or neither.
Abby was determined she was going to be a farmer like me. She loved every aspect of the land, and I loved teaching her. Whether her brother would remained to be seen.
If there would be more siblings was a mystery to be solved in the future.
Quinn appeared, smiling as she stood beside us, trailing a finger down his chubby cheek. “He’s eating so well.”
I grinned. “Like his daddy.”
“He is certainly built like him.”
Jimjam had been a large baby. Far bigger than Abby, which was the reason he might be the last of the line. Quinn was worried the next one might be even bigger.
“You know,” I teased, “the next one could be a girl. A tiny one.”
“Or a linebacker,” Quinn responded.
“Three is a nice number.”
She pursed her lips.
“Or four.”
Her gaze snapped to mine, and I winked. “Simply saying. Any number up to five is good in my books.”
Her eyes grew round with horror. “John James Elliott. You take that back.”
I looked down at our son. “Momma isn’t happy, little man. I need to go apologize.”
She sniffed. “I know what your apology consists of. That’s what got us into trouble in the first place. I’m not falling for that again.”
I lifted him to my shoulder, rubbing his back. “I have no idea what you are referring to, Mrs. Elliott.”
That made her smile. She loved it when I called her Mrs. Elliott. I loved calling her that. “My wife” was a close second.