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He gave them all bear hugs and headed out, wondering what surrogate meant to Trap’s woman. To Hurricane it meant a woman brought in to have a child. Was Claire unable to have more than one? The idea her husband would do such a thing to her made him fucking sick.
He decided to stop at the twenty-four hour hop in the bayou and pick up everything he needed to cook breakfast for them. By the time he made it back, it was nearing four in the morning. First thing he needed to do was create a closer fuckin’ access to the water. That half mile walk business was bullshit.
He quietly climbed the porch and peeked through the crack in the curtains, spotting Claire asleep on the couch, spooning a pillow. Her pink furry robe was fucking sweet and stirred his blood. And cock. The memory of her stroking his dick, the look of lust on her pretty face, and fear. So much he wanted to ask her. And would.
He tapped on the glass, and she sat up, looking around. She spotted him at the door and flew up, hurrying to unlock it. The second she opened it, the urge to kiss her had him fucking tense as she stood there.
“You got my note?”
“I did,” she whispered, shutting the door behind him. “What you got?”
“Breakfast. I’m cooking. And you’re sitting while I do.”
“What? But I—”
“Momma,” he warned, eyeing her after setting the bag on the table. “I insist.”
Her worried face slowly softened as he opened a chair and patted it. She made her way over and sat with light fussing.
He chuckled and allowed himself a kiss on the top of her head before getting busy. “How’s Troy Abner?” he asked over his shoulder.
She tore her gaze from his backside and aimed it at the table. “Slept like a baby.”
Fuck, he liked when she did that.
“Yeah? ‘Cause he’s got such a good momma.”
“How’d your meeting go? Everything okay?”
“Oh yeah,” he said. “We’re uh…talking about renovating things in the swamp. Making it safer for the families.”
“Safer? From what?”
He grinned over his shoulder. “Isworryyour middle name?”
She gave the barest smile. “Guess it is.”
“You want coffee?”
“I can make it,” she hurried.
“No, you can sit and be served. When’s the last time a man served you?”
She suddenly looked confused. “N…never.”
“So, coffee or not?”
“Yes. Please.”
“Get used to being served,mywife. I happen to love serving very much.”
“You seem good at it. Lots of practice?” she wondered, her curiosity soft as he tossed a stick of butter in the skillet.
“Not a bit. You and Troy are the very first people I get to serve and I damn well love it.” He filled the skillet with ham slices. “Think this is my calling.” He grinned at hearing her little laugh. “What? You think that’s dumb?”
She flustered a bit then said, “I do. You’re…our leader. Being a leader is surely your calling.”
“Well, fate knew better, I think. I’m where I’ve always wanted to be and never knew I did till I got here.”
