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“Not like this,” Kaitlyn said. She and Ry exchanged a glance. Damn, they were already communicating in that wordless way really together couples had, like Keller and Sydney, Chance and Ariel.
“We think they’re pregnant,” Kaitlyn said, in practically a whisper.
“Whoa.” He blinked, scanned the room until he saw them, Shane tall, strong, and impressive, and indeed still glued to his wife’s side. And even he, usually oblivious to such subtleties, had to admit there was something different there.
“Now we’re trying to figure who’ll be next,” Ry was saying. “Slater and Joey, maybe.”
“Now that’d be a brilliant kid,” Cody said, turning back.
“Or,” Kaitlyn said, a little too breezily, “maybe Keller and Sydney.” Cody and Ry both gaped at her. “Oh, please don’t tell me you haven’t even thought about that possibility?”
“I…have,” Ry said slowly. “But I figured they’d want to give Lucas a bit more time to get used to all the changes.”
“How about giving us all time for that?” Cody said protestingly, not wanting to admit how much the idea, further proof that time was marching on, rattled him. A sudden vision of new nieces and nephews popping out all over had him wishing once again this was anything except Mom’s birthday.
Because his lair had never seemed more appealing, more the place he’d rather be, than right now.
Chapter Ten
Cody woke up in a rush, just as the dream hit peak hotness. He swore into the darkness and sat up.
It had taken him a long time to get to sleep last night. He’d hoped the alcohol he’d consumed would do it, since he didn’t drink that much very often, but he’d still found himself pacing the floor well after midnight. A couple of rounds of the current video game in progress had only hyped him up more, and he’d ended up putting the controller down in disgust after an hour.
And he knew he wasn’t going back to sleep now. Not after that too-vivid, too-haunting, and too damned arousing dream. Starring that gorgeous, compelling temptress in the blue dress.
The word that burst from him then was a bit cruder. Aimed at himself, for actually thinking the word temptress in conjunction with Britt Roth.
“You have freaking lost your mind, Rafferty,” he muttered as he rolled out of bed. A glance at his phone on the nightstand told him it was a little after five a.m. It wouldn’t even start to get light for nearly an hour and a half.
Shower and shave could kill half an hour, if he took his time. Then he could get to work on…something. Anything. Anything to get his recalcitrant brain out of this unexpected and unwanted canyon he’d taken a nosedive into.
But trying to lose himself in that game, or anything on a screen didn’t feel like it would be enough. He needed something physical, to work off this edge he’d suddenly developed. He was caught up on his ranch chores, but he knew Keller could come up with something that needed doing if he asked. But if he asked, his too-wise brother was going to guess something was up, and he didn’t want to have to deal with that. No, this was his problem, and he’d deal. Even if it was before the crack of dawn.
And where the heck had that phrase come from, anyway? It wasn’t like the sun made a noise as it cleared the horizon. Normally he’d track that down, answer his question by diving into the internet, but he’d already decided that wasn’t going to do it today. Even if he did want to know who had come up with the idea of dawn cracking.
Dawn.
That was it. In fact, he was stupid not to have thought of it before. Or tired. Or distracted. But it was perfect, because he could claim this was his plan all along, to do a test flight for the bluebonnet run. Not that it made sense to plan a dawn excursion the morning after Mom’s birthday party, but hey, they couldn’t prove he hadn’t. And since it was for Mom in the first place, they couldn’t argue with him needing to do it.
His mind was racing ahead as he jumped into his plan. He already knew the route and knew he wouldn’t run into any airspace problems since a large part of the flight would be over Rafferty land, and the rest was either open space or somewhere he could check the app he’d helped write, which would get him permission in the two necessary spots. The closest airport was Devil’s Rock over in Whiskey River, and he’d stay clear of any traffic from there, both distance and altitude wise.
And he’d stop thinking about that damned dream.
*
Britt yawned. Again. As she had been doing all morning. And moving slow. Too slow, because before she got out and going, her mother knocked on the door.
Britt sighed. She’d renovated and moved into the one-time bunkhouse because she needed to stay on the ranch, but she’d wanted her own quarters. And she paid rent for it, after some research on what the same-sized place in town would cost her. Her parents had protested, saying it wasn’t necessary, this was her home, but she’d been determined, especially once she’d started making some decent prize money on the circuit. She’d wanted to up the amount when she’d broken three-quarters of a million last year—although a big chunk of it had been eaten up with expenses, which included the large portion earmarked for her future plans—but they’d adamantly refused.
But if she’d been after total privacy she hadn’t gotten it. Telling herself it was their ranch, they could do what they wanted—and besides, she spent more time under their roof than they did under hers—she ran her fingers through her hair trying to untangle it a bit, knowing it spoke of her sleepless night. Then she went to the door and took back all her thoughts about her mother’s intrusion. Because she was holding out a steaming mug of her specialty honey latte, hopefully with a big shot of espresso, made with the machine Dad had bought last year.
“Bless you,” she said, taking it gratefully.
“It was a late night,” her mother said. “Your father had three cups of that black sludge he drinks before he even left the house.”
She wanted to both gulp the warm brew and go slowly and savor it, so compromised with long but slow sips, letting the flavor flow over her tongue.
“It was a lovely party,” her mother went on.
