Page 19 of A Hutch for Hoover

Chapter Sixteen

Grant

I could barely remember a time before my mate came into my life and before I carried our baby under my heart. It just seemed as if we had always been together, a family, but also, I was rapidly losing my waistline and my ankles were swelling.

Once I got past the first trimester, the ever-present nausea faded into the background, and my second trimester was smooth and pleasant. But tipping into the third, things had definitely changed, and the discomforts I’d heard other omegas complain about were there in force. I wasn’t vomiting anymore, but heartburn left its mark. My legs throbbed, back ached, and all the rest of me was ready to finish growing this baby before I wore completely out.

“I’m not sure why I thought a baby who was half bunny would be smaller or easier to carry than one who was all wolf,” I grumbled for at least the hundredth time. Never to my mate, just to myself when I was alone. Or thought I was.

“What was that?” Hoover wandered into the kitchen where I was staring into the refrigerator as if it held the secrets of the universe. Or butterscotch pudding. Which I had eaten the last of for breakfast.

My cheeks bloomed with heat. I needed to watch my stream of consciousness, chatting aloud with myself. “Nothing. Just looking for a snack.”

“And have you found one?” He came up behind me and rested his chin on my shoulder. “Or are you still worried about the size of the baby?”

I turned to face him, his arms coming around my waist. “You heard?”

“I always hear. It doesn’t hurt my feelings that you thought a bunny baby would weigh less. Generally they do, but you know the midwife said these mixed matings are unpredictable in so many factors. I would rather you had a smaller baby for easier delivery as long as they were healthy too.”

“I’m scared.” I rubbed my cheek on his soft cotton shirt with the faded band name. He loved that thing around the house, and it was starting to wear through in spots. Mental note—pregnancy brain permitting—to look on eBay and other sites to try to replace it soon. “Truthfully, I don’t know how big a 100-percent-wolf pup would be anyway. This is, as you know, my first pregnancy. I just don’t want my body to do anything but the best for our babe. And right now, my body feels like poop.”

He squeezed my ass cheek and winked at me. “Doesn’t feel like poop to me. Try not to worry. The midwife said you’re doing great and they don’t expect any difficulties.”

“How can they be sure?” When did I take up whining?

“They can’t, but they are experienced enough to make an educated guess, and I can’t see where thinking negatively will help. So, let’s look on the sunny side of things.”

“Mm-hmm. But there’s no butterscotch pudding left.”

Hoover pressed his lips to my forehead and then guided me to sit at the counter. “Well, that I can help with. You relax and let your alpha fix this huge problem.”

I studied his expression for any sarcasm, but found only love. “What did I ever do to deserve you?”

“Fate, the Goddess, and all that’s good put you in my life.” He opened the cupboard and pulled out a box of pudding. And not instant, which always tasted powdery and weird to me. “But it’s my job to help you through this pregnancy. You’re doing all the heavy lifting here.” He opened the box, pulled out the little paper envelope, and tore off the top. “The least I can do is make you pudding.”

“The cooked kind.” I sighed. “I thought we were out of it.”

“No way.” He poured the mix into a saucepan, added milk, and turned the gas on. “Let me get you a glass of water.”

Everything about this alpha was perfect, or as close to it as anyone could be. He not only made me butterscotch pudding and whipped heavy cream with just a little sugar and a slug of vanilla extract to top it with, he realized I probably hadn’t been drinking enough. And without nagging or scolding, he took care of that too.

When the pudding reached a boil, those big satisfying bubbles working their way up through the thickened golden glop, he took the pan off the heat and came to take my hand. “I want to show you something.”

“Yeah?” I was still eyeing the pan, wondering how long I had to wait before it would burn the roof of my mouth.

“Give it a half hour, mate, while we do something fun.”

“Fun?” I let him pull me toward the living room. “What are we doing?”

He settled me on the couch and grabbed his tablet. “Designing the nursery.”

“Oh my Gods, we haven’t begun to set up the nursery. Doesn’t that take a long time?” I panicked. “They’re not going to let us take the baby home if we haven’t even bought them a bed.”

“First, remember your birth plan?”

My hormonal brain flipped around until it located that somewhere in my memory. “Right. Having the baby at home. But the nursery is full of the stuff I brought from my apartment that I’m supposed to have put away. I need to do that now.”

I moved to stand, but Hoover, lips twitching in something suspiciously close to a smile, sat and settled me on his lap.

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