Page 74 of Claimed By the Bikers
She studies my face for a long moment, and I wonder what she sees there. “You’re not going to make me drink that tea, are you?”
“Wouldn’t dream of it. But it might help.”
“With what? I’m not sick.”
“With the stress,” I say diplomatically.
She sighs, but she reaches for the cup anyway. “You’re impossible.”
“So I’ve been told.”
I watch her sip the tea, noting how she cradles the warm mug in both hands. Sarah used to do the same thing, claiming the heat helped with the nausea even when the tea itself made her queasy.
“This is good,” Ember says, sounding surprised.
“Family recipe. My grandmother used to make it for anyone who wasn’t feeling well.”
“She must’ve taken care of a lot of people.”
“Aye, she did. Raised eight children and never lost her temper once, according to my mother.”
“Eight children?” Ember’s eyes widen. “How did she manage that?”
“Same way any mother manages, I suppose. One day at a time, with a lot of patience and a sense of humor.”
“Did you want a big family? Before…”
“We talked about it,” I admit. “Sarah wanted at least three kids.”
“What did you want?”
I think about that for a moment, remembering conversations we had in bed on lazy Sunday mornings, planning a future that would never happen. “I wanted whatever made Sarah happy. But yeah, I liked the idea of a house full of kids. Chaos and laughter and tiny shoes everywhere.”
“That sounds nice.”
“Does it?”
She nods, still cradling the tea mug. “Peaceful. Normal.”
“Not words usually associated with our lifestyle.”
“No, but…” She trails off, looking thoughtful. “I don’t know. There’s something appealing about the idea of normal domestic chaos instead of the shoot-out-with-cartels kind of chaos.”
I watch her take another sip of tea, and for a moment I can almost see it—her belly round with pregnancy, moving carefully around the house, complaining about swollen feet and back painwhile I hover and drive her crazy with overprotectiveness. The image is so clear, so perfect.
“Garrett?” Her voice pulls me back to the present. “You okay? You looked…far away for a minute.”
“Just thinking.”
“About what?”
About the possibility that you might be carrying our child.
“Nothing,” I say instead. “Don’t worry about me.”
She finishes the tea and hands me the empty mug. “Thank you. For taking care of me.”
“You’re welcome.”
