Page 113 of My Brother's Best Friends

He flashes a goofy, oversized grin before ducking into the shower. I sink into Alex’s chest and watch in sweet serenity as Oscar takes a seat on the coffee table. He draws my feet into his lap and starts a slow, delicious massage.

This is the life. I’m wrapped in the safety and love of not one, not two, but three wonderful men. If, for a moment after learning about my pregnancy, I worried about how I might fare, the Anderson brothers kiss every doubt away.

We’re good.

We’re golden.

36

OSCAR

“Should you be out in this heat?” I ask, keeping a close eye on Makayla as she works the soil, tugging weeds from around the young vines.

I find her out here after tinkering in the barn for over an hour, trying to sort through the mountain of farm equipment stashed in the rafters. My darling Makayla and her friend Janet had no idea what sort of treasure trove they were sitting on until my brothers and I moved in.

“I’m okay,” she says, wiping sweat from her brow with the back of her hand. It’s June, and she’s seven months pregnant. “Feeling heavier every day, but I can manage. This isn’t exactly backbreaking work.”

“You may be getting heavier, but you’re still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met.”

“Keep talking like that, mister, and I’m going to jump you.”

I laugh. “You’re not done with that patch yet, ma’am. You swore you’d finish it by sundown.”

“Look at you, keeping me honest.” Makayla giggles, then rises to straighten her back and stretch her arms.

This farm life is something else. And it’s doing us nothing but good, both physically and emotionally. Among the three of us, we juggle the city business with Bryan while keeping the vineyard running. We go to bed tired but happy every night. With all the lovemaking and the hard labor, nobody misses the gym. Granted, we’re always making sure that Makayla doesn’t overwork herself. The mother of our child is our priority. Always.

“Kellan should be back soon,” I tell her.

“Everything okay in the city?”

“Let’s just say he doesn’t regret keeping our apartment. It’s practically a waystation for whichever unlucky bastard has to go back and face the music once a week,” I reply.

She nods slowly. “It’s a good thing you’re doing this in rotation. That way, there’s always at least one Anderson on-site.”

“And no one gets the short end of the stick,” I chuckle.

It’s Friday afternoon, but that doesn’t mean what it used to. There’s work to do every day, not just Monday-Friday. Saturday and Sunday are just as busy—Mother Nature never clocks out.

“Hand me that water, please, babe?” Makayla reaches out.

I pick up the bottle from the ground and pass it to her. “Bryan and Callie are coming over this weekend,” I tell her. “Alex is handling the shopping for both lunch and dinner, and Kellan says he’ll drive them back to the city afterward.”

“It was about time,” she says, half-smiling. “After he proposed to Callie on her birthday—frickin’ finally—we never got around to actually celebrating that milestone.”

“Things are getting better between us,” I add. “I mean, with Bryan—after the whole?—”

She laughs. “Swedish debacle.” It’s what we’re calling it these days.

She squints toward the farmhouse, tucked between ancient oaks and shaded from the worst of the afternoon sun on its north and west sides. I pause to admire the gentle swell of her belly pressing against her denim overalls, her hair braided into a single glossy rope that trails down her back.

Her cheeks glow a soft peach, her brows sun-bleached a shade lighter, delicate freckles dusting the bridge of her nose. She meets my gaze and smiles again. “What?”

“Just admiring you,” I admit with a casual shrug.

“I’m glad I’m worth admiring…”

“You’re kidding, right?”

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