Page 7 of A Crawford Family Christmas

“They’re lucky I haven’t gone full hormonal rage monster.”

“You’re adorable when you’re feral,” he murmurs, brushing my hair back.

I narrow my eyes. “Don’t test me.”

He kisses my forehead, laughing. Then one of his hands drops to my belly. “I think it hurts his feelings when you call him a giant.”

“Maybe it hurts her feelings,” I say.

“Y’all could end this discussion⁠—”

I start at the sound of Quinn’s voice behind us.

“Once and for all, if you just ask your doctor what the sex is.”

“We don’t want to know,” Harrison says.

“Whatever,” Quinn says.

“I’m going to hang bells around her brothers’ necks. They’re all too stealthy for my liking.” I turn and face Harrison’s oldest brother. “Sneaking up on a pregnant woman is not a good idea.” I wag my finger at him to let him know I mean business.

True to form, Quinn just laughs at me and walks away.

We’re quiet for a moment, watching the crowd gather outside. The local school choir’s warming up, the scent of kettle corn drifts in, and I can feel our baby moving—a little flutter right against my ribs.

Harrison notices immediately. “Is the baby kicking?”

“Hard enough to demand their own stocking,” I say, pressing his hand to the spot.

He smiles—this big, proud, goofy grin that makes me want to kiss him senseless. “I still can’t believe it. You. Me. The baby. This whole thing.”

I tilt my head. “The farm or the family?”

“Both.”

Before I can answer, a loud voice booms from outside. “We need all of the Crawfords to the center of the tree farm for the official lighting ceremony.”

“Go on,” I tell him. “I need to get my next volunteer set up to run this table.”

“I’m only leaving if you promise not to climb anything else.”

“I will definitely be climbing you later,” I say low enough for only him to hear.

“That, I will allow,” he says.

I quickly set up Emma Whitmore and her step-granddaughter, Taylor, to run the craft table in my place.

By the time I make it over to the center of the tree grove where we have the biggest of the trees ready to be lit, I’m already winded. I see Roe and Callie hugging beside the giant candy-cane arch, Quinn and Amber holding hands and laughing about something, Johnny’s got his wife, Harper, by the hand, trying to drag her beneath the mistletoe. Hayes is running up to meet his wife, Rory, and he has a small goat under one arm.

“I couldn’t leave him. He was crying too much,” he explains.

Madison, Harrison’s sister and the only original female Crawford, is giggling at something her husband, Sheriff Burton, is whispering in her ear.

Harrison takes my hand and kisses my knuckles, pulling me into an embrace. “Have I told you lately how beautiful you are, my wife?”

“I don’t think so, but maybe not now, considering I’m a complete and utter mess.”

He shakes his head. “You’ve never been more beautiful to me than you are in this moment. I think I’m going to have to send Mike a gift again just to thank him for putting us together.”

I laugh. “We need to send him a wife.”

“Now, there’s an idea,” Harrison says.

Quinn does a short speech thanking everyone for coming out and welcoming them. Then there’s a brief countdown, and Roe plugs in the tree. White twinkle lights illuminate the tall tree, and it’s so beautiful.

The cheer that follows is pure Saddle Creek—loud, heartfelt, and a little bit wild. And as Harrison pulls me close, his hand resting protectively over our baby, I think maybe this is what happily-ever-after really looks like: sawdust in my hair, sticky sprinkles and oats on my face, and the man I love grinning like he’s the luckiest cowboy in Texas.