Page 44 of Huck Frasier
“Marley, sweetheart—”
“No. Don’t ‘sweetheart’ me, Huck Frasier. We are getting married in one month. One. And if we wait any longer, the baby is going to be here before we sayI do. Do you want our baby to be the ring bearer at her parents’ wedding instead?”
His brows shot up. I could see the argument building behind his eyes. The whole‘I’ve done this a thousand times, I’ll be back before dinner’routine. I wasn’t having it.
“I promise—”
I cut him off with a sharp poke to his chest. “Don’t. Promise. You promised last time and you came home with stitches and a black eye.”
He caught my hand, laced our fingers together, and tugged me closer until I was pressed to the counter with nowhere to escape. His voice dropped, low and sinful. “You’re cute when you boss me around.”
“Don’t distract me. This is serious.”
He kissed my forehead, my nose, the corner of my mouth. “I’ll be back before you even miss me.”
“I already miss you.”
His smile faltered, just enough to make my throat tighten. He slipped his other hand to my belly, cupping my tummy like he was holding our baby, like it grounded him. “I need to do this, Marley. But I’ll be home in plenty of time. For the wedding. For you. For the baby.”
“You’d better be. Or I’m naming her after my father.”
He barked a laugh, the deep kind that made his chest rumble against mine. “Deal.”
“Fraiser—”
He silenced me the way he always did — with a kiss that made me forget how to breathe, let alone argue. By the time he pulled back, I was half tempted to hand him his tactical bag myself, just so I could drag him to bed first.
I have all of the vegetables cut up, so you won’t need to use the sharp knives,” he bent his head and kissed me. “I’m the luckiest man in the world for having you. don’t lift heavy objects while I’m gone. “I love you and our baby so much.”
I let him go even though every stubborn bone in my body screamed not to.
This time, though… if he didn’t come back when he said he would?
I’d hunt him down myself.
31
Marley
Eleven days, seventeen hours, and thirty-two minutes.
That’s how long it had been since I last heard my fiancé’s voice. Not that I was counting. Except I was. I’d also called every member of his team. Zero updates. They all told me the same thing:He’s fine, Marley. He’s Fraiser.
Well, Fraiser or not, I was about three seconds from marching straight into the Ozarks and dragging him home by the ear.
I paced the living room in my old college hoodie and Fraiser’s sweatpants — which barely fit over my belly anymore. Lark sat cross-legged on the couch, trying and failing to keep her face neutral as she watched me stress-eat my fourth pickle.
“Mar, you can’t just—”
“Don’t say it,” I snapped. “If you say I can’t just drive to the Ozarks and find my Navy SEAL fiancé, I will fling this pickle at your head.”
Lark held up her hands in surrender. “Okay. I wasn’t going to say that. How many of those can you eat?”
I narrowed my eyes. “Yes, you were, and as many as I want.”
She bit back a smile. “Fine. I was. Because it’s aterribleidea.”
I grabbed my phone, my car keys, and the only bag I could reach without bending over. It was our old diaper bag that I used for my underclothes. I took it when I graduated from High school. I suppose it was mine and Lark's when we were babies, but desperate times, and so on and so on.
