Big Sky Babies

by Cheri Chaise

  Big Sky Babies

  Big Sky Boys Book Two

  An In-Between Novella

  Cheri Chaise

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, Characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to events, businesses, institutions or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2019 by Cheri Chaise. All rights reserved.

  Woman on the Chaise Publications

  No part of this publication may be used, stored, reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission from the publisher except for brief quotations for review purposes as permitted by copyright law. This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Manufactured in the United States

  Table of Contents

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Epilogue

  Other Works by Cheri

  Want More?

  About the Author

  Chapter One

  Estella

  Love.

  I’d always thought I understood what it meant. Deep and abiding care for those within your closest circle. Concern for their well-being. A physical and emotional connection that brought forth children from the love expressed between two people.

  How short-sighted my definition was.

  I don’t mean to imply that love isn’t those things – but it’s so much more. There are not enough words to describe the four tiny letters it encompasses. Love isn’t finite. It can’t be contained. It is moving, breathing, acting, and growing all around us. Each and every moment of every day. In a myriad ways that can pass us by if we allow ourselves to remain unaware.

  As my life on this earth progressed, I never realized until much later the subtleties of love. Nor did I understand then my heart’s ability to expand and embrace everything love had to offer.

  In all its forms.

  And all its members.

  ~~~~

  Life in the Montana Territory had changed me in countless ways since I’d made that long and arduous journey. The hot and stinking train ride to St. Louis that lasted the better part of a week. More than a month on a steamboat as we traveled up the swollen Missouri River. I still remembered the heady feeling of setting foot on stable ground again after so many weeks of churning and chuffing along to arrive safely at Fort Union.

  However, I preferred to keep the final leg of the journey across the prairie firmly ensconced in the back of my mind, the hot sun beating down on my fevered skin and the crust of sweat and dust that built during those long days perched atop the wagon.

  Two short years had passed since then – and I loved to marvel at the changes that time had wrought.

  I’d gone from a refined lady of East Coast society to a pioneer woman on the western frontier.

  From a lonely maid tossed aside by scandal to a happily married wife and mother.

  Possessing no husband to having four strong and virile men at my beck and call, all ready to share my bed with no more than a moment’s notice.

  Or at least most of them.

  Whereas my wardrobe was once comprised of silk, lace, and constrictive corsets, I now wore comfortable cotton and wool clothing that offered freedom to move about – and made it easier for my husbands to undress me.

  Most importantly, my new attire allowed me to breathe unrestricted.

  Well, except when a Carston baby occupied my womb.

  I waddled about the kitchen of the comfortable, two-story log home at the center of the Carston Ranch homestead. These days my belly arrived at my destination long before the rest of my body did.

  Flour from the pie crust, I’d meticulously rolled out and filled, coated the expanse of my ever-increasing waistline. Instead of bending over to place the delicate pastry into the oven like I was accustomed to, I had to widen my stance and bend at the knees in order to slide it in safely without sending it tin-over-tea-kettle onto the floor.

  I stretched to ease the kink in my spine as I straightened, even knowing by now that the little one’s foot or elbow wasn’t going to give me relief anytime soon. The responding round of kicks I received brought a smile to my lips even through the jolt of discomfort.

  I rubbed my enormous belly – then searched once again for my lost feet. I could no longer see the floor right in front of me. Or even two feet in front of me.

  Which is what caused the ensuing household chaos.

  Unable to see her, my feet became entangled with the little one playing nearby, sending me tumbling toward the rapidly approaching plank floor.

  “Whoa!” Cole’s arms reached me just in time to prevent mishap or injury. My strong and handsome husband smiled, his green eyes sparkling with untold devotion. But when he saw little Meghan at my feet, his face darkened. “Drew!”

  His sharp retort sent up frightened wails from my fifteen-month-old daughter. Meghan’s dusky little face quickly streaked with tears as they tumbled from her smoky-gray eyes.

  They were such a lovely combination of mine and her father’s – and broke my heart to see them filled with fear.

  I wanted nothing more than to pick her up, swaddle her with my arms, and drown her in kisses. But in my current condition, I had to content myself with allowing Cole’s youngest brother to do it for me.

  “Shhh,” Drew soothed. “There, there, little one. Is Papa Cole barking again like a rabid dog?”

  Cole stiffened as Drew leaned her my way for a shower of kisses. I patted her delicate cheek as I pulled away and swiped the smears of flour from her sweet face. “Take her out on the porch to play for a minute, would you Drew?”

  His lips slid over mine in an affectionate display before offering Cole a furrowed brow and leaving us in peace. The screen door had barely clattered closed before I stepped from my husband’s embrace with a shove to his firm chest.

  “What is wrong with you, Cole Carston?”

  There were many things I loved about my legal husband. He was hardworking – no one did more around the sprawling ranch than he did. Cole was fierce in his love and devotion, as evidenced by the child I carried. His sense of duty to family knew no bounds.

  As did his deeply-seeded need to protect said family – which made his temper far too quick and sharp at times.

  Cole growled, his green eyes darkening. “You shouldn’t keep letting Meg run around at your feet all the time.”

  “She’s still a baby.” I’d learned early on in our marriage the need to stand up to that temper when need be. “Babies like to stay close to their mothers.”

  “It’s not safe for her to be with you in here, Stella.” He leaned over to pick up the toy blocks scattered across the kitchen floor and held one up. “What do you think would’ve happened if I hadn’t come into the kitchen when I did?”

  “I would’ve caught myself on the counter.”

  “Or burned yourself on the stove.”

  I huffed and waddled over to the stove to stir the hash before it all stuck to the skillet and burned, much like my early attempts at cooking. My continued efforts these last few years had improved my skills drastically.
>
  I also had the Davies family cook to thank for the myriad recipes she’d kindly sent with me when I’d made the difficult journey from our nation’s capital. Teaching me in the weeks before I’d left Washington, DC had been an exercise in futility for Mrs. Barker. But her letters constantly encouraged me that, with practice, I’d be an even better cook than her someday.

  Now if only she had a recipe for dealing with gruff and grumpy husbands.

  “I wasn’t close enough to the stove to burn myself, Cole. Besides, you arrived just in time to prevent any mishap.”

  “A mishap that wouldn’t have happened if you kept Meg and her toys out of the kitchen.”

  I slung the spatula his way like a weapon. “If I have my way, someday this kitchen will be swarming with babies scattered at my feet.”

  “Give me that.” Cole snatched the spatula out of my hands and tossed it into the pan.

  And I dissolved into a blubbering mass of tears.

  They came out of nowhere these days. The smallest things sent my emotions topsy-turvy. One moment I was content. The next moment I was sobbing for unknown reasons. One moment angry and giving my husband equal measure. The next, tears streaming down my cheeks just like my little girl.

  Which frustrated me. Made me angry. Sad. Then the cycle simply continued to perpetuate itself as pregnancy made my emotions as unstable as my balance on my feet.

  My husband sighed and gathered me in his arms as best he could, leaving me to soil his freshly laundered shirt with my tears. “I’m sorry, Stella. I didn’t mean to yell at you…or Meg.”

  I cried harder. The baby kicked at the tightened pressure of Cole’s body against my belly. Damn this miserably uncomfortable pregnancy.

  There were few things I didn’t absolutely love about being pregnant – but I was quickly running out of patience for this one to end so things would get back to normal in the Carston household. In every deliciously wonderful way.

  Cole kissed the top of my head. “Didn’t sleep well again?”

  “How can I when I’m as big as this house?” I mumbled with my face buried in the soft, cambric fabric that smelled of crisp Montana breezes. “There’s not a single position I can lay in that is comfortable anymore.”

  He had the audacity to chuckle, then trailed his hands down my sides, sliding alongside my breasts before cradling my enormous belly between his palms.

  “He’s gonna be a big one.”

  I smiled up at him. “Or she.”

  “Nope. It’s a boy this time, I can feel it. My seed is stronger and more rugged than Bret’s.”

  Which reminded me of the sweet, little girl his brother and I had created together. “I need to finish up in here and check on Meghan.”

  Cole held me at arm’s length then kissed the tip of my nose. “I’ll finish in here with dishing up breakfast. You go see to Meg.”

  My husband was so thoughtful, his bark always worse than his bite. “Just don’t open the oven. I’ve got a pie in there.”

  Green eyes sparkled. “Apple or peach?”

  I looked at him over my shoulder with a seductive wink. “You’ll have to wait until tonight to taste the delectable fruit of my labors.”

  “Oh, I plan to enjoy your fruit tonight, wife.” His lecherous grin sent a wave of liquid heat between my thighs. “Every…delicious…bite.”

  After more than two years of marriage, I didn’t have to guess to know exactly what he meant with those titillating words.

  And it had nothing to do with eating pie.

  Chapter Two

  Cole

  I patted my tight stomach and leaned away from the dinner table with a contented sigh. “That was the best peach pie you’ve ever made, Stella. Really hit the spot after a great meal.”

  “Here, here,” came a chorus from my three brothers, as Evan, Bret, and Drew continued wolfing down the delicious pastry.

  My wife beamed, her piece on the plate only half-eaten as it sat perched dangerously on her rounded belly. Movement in her womb nearly sent it crashing to the floor, but Evan’s quick reflexes caught it before the pie was spoiled.

  He held the pie out to her awkwardly, since there was no other safe place to rest the plate where she could reach. The edges of his mustache and beard tipped in good humor. “Uh…do you want me to feed the rest of it to you, Ee?”

  Stella sagged in her chair and stroked a hand over the offending protrusion that occupied the growing space between her reach and the table. “No thank you, Evan. It seems this one has already had his…or her fill,” she stated pointedly my way.

  “Unlike his father.” Bret jiggled Meg up and down on his knee, her squeals of delight this evening in contrast to the tears from this morning.

  “‘Gin, Papa. ‘Gin! Gin!”

  “Again? You are as insatiable as your Mama.” Bret growled and lifted his little one above his head, her diaper sagging dangerously from beneath the dress Stella had recently made for the growing girl. “But I think now it’s time for belly bubbles.”

  He blew and burbled Meghan’s soft stomach and sent her laughter careening into the rafters. It felt so good to have the delightful sounds of babies between the walls of our log home again – whether they were crying or laughing. Someday soon my son would join in the chorus.

  Stella grabbed the table’s edge and started to heave herself out of the chair. I settled a hand on her shoulder as I quickly stood. “Rest, Stella. We’ll clean up, won’t we boys?”

  Drew continued to shovel in the last of his third piece of pie as he stood. That boy was nothing but sinew and lean muscle. With as much as he ate at every meal, I’d long suspected he had a hole in his stomach. Or a hollowed-out leg.

  “Don’t worry ‘bout a thing, Ella. We’ve got it covered.”

  “Speaking of,” she called after Drew, “remember to cover the leftover pie and put it out in the icehouse.”

  Bret smirked. “There won’t be any left after Drew’s method of cleanup is done.”

  He lifted Meg from his knee and handed her over to her mother with a lingering kiss that contained plenty of tongue and left me about as breathless as our wife. Watching my brother taste and suckle our wife sent a firming ache racing through my cock.

  Not to be outdone, I helped Stella up and escorted mother and daughter over to the living room rocking chair before taking her lips for my own and feasting hungrily.

  Until Meg put a dainty little hand between us. “Mama mine.”

  I laughed and patted the top of the little one’s head. “That she is.” I contented myself with another kiss to Stella’s forehead this time. “And a beautiful mama she is too.”

  Stella’s blue eyes sparkled with more life than that ready to burst from her belly. She practically glowed with it. Even though she was visibly worn down by this pregnancy, nothing could tamp out the joy we shared over my babe she carried in her fruitful womb.

  My son. Soon I’d have one to replace the son I’d lost to tragedy all those years ago.

  I busied myself with collecting plates and dirty dishes before taking them into the kitchen. Drew already had a mountain built of pans in the sink, so I left them on the counter before going back for more.

  How Stella managed to dirty so many dishes with each meal preparation was a mystery. But my stomach was kept content and happy, so she’d never hear complaints out of me.

  And once our little man came into this world, my cock would have nothing to complain about either. I missed burying myself in Stella’s heat and sharing her body with my brothers. But we’d all agreed we wouldn’t fuck up this marriage the way we had with our first wife.

  We’d been young and selfish then, taking her whenever and wherever we wanted – and Sky had always been willing to satisfy our hunger. But miscarriage after miscarriage had stolen our first wife’s heart away from us long before the wolves did her body and spirit.

  Even though Bret said it was highly unlikely, I’d always suspected our desire to fuck Sky’s eager pussy over and over had
resulted in at least a few of the miscarriages. My suspicions were confirmed – in my mind at least – when she finally carried a baby to birth after we’d let her be for nine months.

  So however much I wanted to pump my cock in and out of Stella’s slick pussy or tight ass now, I resisted. At least this time our self-imposed abstinence would only last a few months instead of years.

  When I rounded the kitchen corner to clear off the rest of the table, I stopped to suck in a breath at the beautiful and loving picture on display on the other side of the room. Gone was the grimace of pain that had been permanently etched on her face all these months. The exhaustion had fled. I felt as if I’d interrupted a most intimate encounter between a mother and her child just with my mere presence in the same house.

  With her growing womb in the way, Stella improvised nursing Meg by wrapping stubby legs over one shoulder and draping the little girl across the top of her protrusion to nuzzle at the opposite breast. Slowly Stella rocked back and forth near the fireplace, cooing softly and stroking fine dark strands like her pa’s from cherubic cheeks.

  I still felt bad for barking at my brother’s daughter this morning. For the last two years, Stella had berated me off and on for my overprotectiveness. But these days I just couldn’t bear the thought of something happening to her and our little one she carried. Not now.

  Not again.

  Fear of losing either of them had been a heavy weight around my neck the moment the joy of Stella’s announcement wore off. Then the past heartache had come roaring back like a bitter winter wind across the Montana prairie. How the birth of my first son had brought a sparkle back to Sky’s eyes. How my heart soared to hold his tiny body in the crook of my big, bulky arms.

  That is, until the wolf attack snatched them both from us too soon.

  But that horror had ushered Estella Davies into our lives – the new Mrs. Carston who gradually filled the empty places in our hearts as we filled her womb with our fertile seed.

  Her first pregnancy had thankfully offered no complications. She’d given Bret a delicate, dusky flower that revealed hints of the heritage from my brother’s Sioux father.