A part of me realizes it’s all in my head, that my parents would welcome me with open arms, but going home feels like defeat. Because I’ve crashed and burned hard, and I just don’t know how to get back up again.
Closing my eyes, I curl up under the covers on my twin bed. My legs ache from standing all day. I’d kill to be able to afford a massage right now. Living in Austin spoiled me. Working on the senator’s campaign spoiled me. Company cars and smartphones. Travel accounts and hotels. Thousand-thread count sheets and down pillows at the best hotels. Yes, people actually live like that. I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it firsthand.
I never would’ve gotten that job without Eric. The thought burns me a little. He bought me the clothes and showed me how to act around the muckety-mucks.
But I left all of that behind. I’m back to my t-shirts from Target, and I’m okay with that. Because this feels honest. Everything here is real—Isabella, the farm, the animals. They don’t play games, and they won’t hurt me.
After a few minutes, sleep overpowers me, and I drift off.
In the middle of the night, I get up for a drink of water and peek into Bella’s room to check on her only to find the crib empty. Shivering as I head to the office, I’m relieved when I find her fast asleep on her uncle’s chest where she’s sprawled out with one hand gripping a fistful of his black hair and another one smack dab in the middle of his face. And they’re both snoring.
Big, brooding tattooed biker snuggling his baby niece…
Well, that did the trick. I’m warm. All over.
It’s no contest. If Isabella was his, he’d be the hottest dad ever.
Once I finish cleaning the barn, I take a deep breath and head for the house.
My cheeks warm at the thought of facing Brady this morning. If I’m lucky, he and Bella are still sleeping.
A loud squeal from the kitchen squashes that thought. As I pass the box of kittens on the enclosed back porch, I peek in and find them snuggled against Bandit. A sleepy furry face peers up at me.
“I’ll grab your breakfast,” I whisper and pat his little head.
After washing my hands in the bathroom, I walk hesitantly into the kitchen. Isabella is seated in her high chair and is busy smashing slices of banana all over herself. I chuckle… until I look up and find Brady standing shirtless at the sink.
He’s only wearing some black track pants. Some thin track pants. I may have already seen him in his boxers, but seriously, this never gets old.
The ability to speak leaves me as my eyes travel up. A dark treasure trail. That v-cut leading to a six pack. More muscles. Tattoos. A knowing grin.
Shit.
“See something you like?” He smirks.
I force a bland expression despite the flush in my cheeks. “I usually wait until after breakfast to throw money at strippers, but if you can’t help but rip your clothes off around me, I can go look for some singles.”
He laughs so loudly, Isabella jumps in her seat.
Shaking his head, he turns back to the sink where I realize he’s washing off his shirt, likely another casualty from trying to feed the baby.
Calling over his shoulder, he says, “I didn’t know what you fed her in the morning, but I thought bananas and a handful of that baby mush stuff were a safe place to start.” He lifts a bottle from a container of water and turns toward me. “I assume she also gets one of these like she did at bedtime?” He shakes it, drips a few drops on his wrist and then licks it off. He definitely listened to my directions last night, except…
It’s my turn to laugh. “How’d that taste?”
“Not bad. I don’t know why I had the impression that formula tasted rank.”
“That’s not formula, Brady. That’s breast milk.”
He stiffens, his eyes wide with horror, before he leans over the sink and spits. After swishing some water in his mouth and spitting it out, he turns to me. “What the hell? Why didn’t you tell me?”
I snort. “I didn’t think you were gonna taste it.”
He runs his hands through his thick hair, which points in a million different directions. “Jesus Christ, Kat. You should warn a guy.”
“Sorry.” I grab my stomach, which hurts at this point because I’m still laughing.
“So it’s not…” He points at my chest. “This doesn’t belong to…” He starts waving the milk at me.
“No, weirdo. I’m not lactating.” I laugh harder.
Swear to God, his face turns red. “No, of course not. I just… I just… I don’t know what I’m thinking.”
I pat his hard bicep.
Focus, Katherine.
Peering up at him, I smile. “C’mon, muscles. Go put on some clothes so a girl can concentrate.”
Nudging him over, I pour two cups of coffee. His footsteps fall away as he heads back to the office. When he returns a minute later, he’s wearing a black t-shirt that molds to his body and makes those tattoos stand out even more.