Tombstones (Beekman Hills Book 4)

by K. C. Enders

  Jack sits on the edge of my bed, pulling me toward him. “Katelyn, I assure you, I was not being gracious. Not in the least. A little scared? Yep, absolutely, but that was not a pity fuck or whatever.” He slides his hands under my camisole, exposing my burgeoning belly. “Take this off. Let me see you. Feel you. Worship you. How can you think you’re not attractive?”

  Before my cami hits the floor, Jack’s face is in my tits, licking at where they overflow the cups of my bra. Swiping his tongue between them where they’re smashed together. With the flick of his fingers, the clasps are unhooked, and my breasts spill free.

  “Everything about you is ripe and gorgeous. And there is nothing sexier than seeing you filled up with our babies. Makes me want to keep you like this forever,” he murmurs, sucking a sensitive nipple into his mouth.

  I arch into him, digging my fingers into his shoulders until he pulls away, letting my nipple fall from his mouth with a gentle bite.

  Jack pops the buttons on his dress shirt until it’s free enough to pull over his head. Triceps flexing as he tosses it to the floor. He shimmies back into the middle of the bed, toeing off his shoes, shedding his thin blue pants and boxer briefs. “Come here. If you’re in control, I won’t feel like I’m gonna hurt you. Or them. But, sweet cheeks, I promise you, there is nothing I want more than to feel you sink down onto my dick and run my hands over every single one of your curves.”

  He holds his hand out for me, helping me to climb onto the bed and straddle his hips.

  Never before in my life have I felt this exposed, this self-conscious. I wrap one arm across my chest, the other slanting down, futilely trying to cover up as much of my mass as I can.

  “Don’t you hide from me.” He takes my hands, gently placing them on my thighs. “We did this amazing, unintentional thing. Neither of us saw this coming, but, Jesus, I can’t stop thinking about the fact that we did this.” His big hands spread across my belly, sliding up over the top, turning to cup my full breasts before roaming back down again. “How can you think you are anything other than sexy as fuck?”

  Slowly rocking his hips, Jack lifts me, guiding me until he slides into me, and then he lets me take control of how much, how deep. And those sexy, confident feelings all come flooding back to me. His teeth sinking into his lip. His eyes caressing me, hands everywhere at once. Curses and prayers mumbled along with words of beauty.

  The only thing missing is love.

  Chapter 31

  Jack

  I’M NOT A FOOL. I don’t honestly think I have a magic dick that makes everything shiny in the world, but the change in Kate after we … well, the word fucked isn’t right. Made love feels closer to the truth, but goddamn, just thinking it makes me feel like I need to turn in my man card. I’ve done enough self-reflection, enough psych evaluations, to know that—for me at least—actions speak louder than words.

  But the change in Kate pulled hard at my heart. That shit about not being attractive? Fuck no. She is stunning. I meant what I said to her about keeping her pregnant. All it took was Chloe’s verbal slap upside the head and the reality of loss to bring me clarity, to confirm that I can do this. That I want this. The idea of being suckered did not sit well with me. Not at all. But ironing out those details in my mind, skimming through the journal she’s been keeping, and seeing them—our boys had a bigger impact on me than I ever thought possible. How the fuck can seeing grainy black-and-white pictures of tiny humans twist something so drastically inside me?

  Kate fell asleep almost immediately after she came. Well, after cleaning up our mess and pissing yet again. She crawled right into bed, nestling into me, her ass tucked in tight. How she sleeps with these two heathens pushing and kicking is beyond me. I rub my thumb across a bump—an elbow, maybe a knee—and chuckle at the push back from within. I get why her students were all about giving the babies high fives.

  “They won’t stop,” Kate mumbles into the pillow. “They’ve got to be the most active kids ever.”

  “Probably how they were made, all rambunctious and with gusto.”

  “Gusto? What the hell with that word? Who talks like that?” She rubs her belly and laughs softly. “You know when they didn’t move?”

  “When I was bopping them on the head. So, now, we know how to get them to sleep once they’re evicted.” The kisses I trail across her shoulders are brought up short when she tenses. “What?”

  “You’re talking like you’re going to be here, in our lives.” She shakes her head and hides her face in her hands. “Don’t do that if this isn’t what you really want. You were super clear on not wanting to be stuck, Jack.”

  “The last thing I feel is stuck. I thought about you constantly. Talked to Tripp a lot, picked his brain. Team Sergeant has four kids, and they’re good ones. Manners, smart. Not at all entitled, belligerent hellions.”

  It takes a lot of effort, but Kate rolls toward me, our babies tucked between us. “If that were all it took, Jake would’ve been proof enough that Army brats weren’t necessarily brats. What about the other stuff? Your family, the girl who tried to keep you in Montana?” Her eyes are wide, her expression completely open, and all the Southern drawl this girl possesses is out for the world to hear.

  “I saw Jess when I was home for Christmas, met her daughter, too. She’s still manipulative. Asked me to spend time with her while I was there. Pretty sure her husband wouldn’t have appreciated that too much. And my family …” What the hell do I say about them? “My dad worked me hard, fixing fences and tending to the ranch. Told the town and the entire family that I was done playing soldier and was coming home to take over the ranch—do real work.”

  “Seriously? What would make him do that?”

  “Purely selfish. He thinks I should be there, so that’s all he can see. What he didn’t expect were my twin sisters and their husbands taking exception to that.”

  “You have twin sisters? Really? You couldn’t have mentioned that?”

  “Yeah. Didn’t exactly plan on all this.” I trail my fingers down her side, tickling her as I get low on her bump.

  “So, did they set your dad straight or what?”

  “We all did. My brothers-in-law were ready to walk away. Ironically, they’re brothers, not twins, but close enough—”

  “Irish twins? That’s what Francie used to call them, when he was still alive. Just nine months or so apart.”

  “That’s about right. Who’s Francie?” I ask.

  “He owned the pub before.” Kate sighs, looking like tears’ll come any minute. “Before he passed away on St. Patrick’s Day. He was an amazing man, a father when you needed one, a businessman who knew when to break the rules and how to take risks. He was the kindest, fiercest friend with a ready smile, a bad joke, and bit of wisdom. His only drawback was that he was a whiskey drinker and not a fan of tequila at all. But he did order a bottle of Patrón for the bar just for me.”

  I swipe at the tears gathering in her eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

  “He didn’t want to bother any of us—Lis and Gracyn mostly and Finn—with the fact that he had cancer. So, he kept it hidden, put things in place so that the pub and the family he’d collected would all be taken care of. He was a good man. He’s buried not far from Tripp.” She takes a deep, cleansing breath, expelling sadness, painting a watery smile on her face. “Sorry. Tell me more about your brothers-in-law.”

  “Jesus, Kate, I’m so sorry. I would’ve liked to have met him and maybe … I don’t know … shared a whiskey with him.” I tuck a lock of hair behind her ear, the strand like silk between my fingers. Hating even more that she was hurting and I missed it, all of it. I huff out my frustration and continue, “Anyway, their grandfather died, left them some money and some land. Told my pops that, after all they’d done for him, for the ranch, that he’d best not push them aside for someone who didn’t even want to be there. The guys at least talk with me once in a while and know full well that I don’t want that life. There is nothing but respect in bo
th directions, but relations are strained, to say the least. Despite all of that, I was headed there post-deployment to help with calving, but Tripp made a better argument for coming back here instead, and thank God for that.” I brush my lips across her forehead.

  ***

  “WHEN DID THEY GO from Baby A and Baby B to M and D?” I shuffle through the pictures of the babies again as Kate brings a basket of baby clothes to the kitchen island. “And what’s with Oops and Uh-oh in your journal?”

  A deep, sexy laugh bubbles up out of Kate, shaking her tits, distracting me. “Oops—well, I think that’s self-explanatory. And, once the doctor told me there were two, Uh-oh seemed the perfect fit until I could decide on names.”

  “We’re coming back to the name thing in a minute, but why did you wait so long to go to the doctor?” I ask. Little by little, piece by piece, we’ve spent the past couple of weeks reliving the six months we were apart. Kate sharing the details of what she went through alone, and me trying to make up for not being here for her.

  “I was scared to face reality. Wanted to hide from it for as long as I could. It was stupid, not a good choice, but I’m human. And I was alone.”

  I can’t argue with her, not with the way I ran when she told me the boys were mine. “Fair enough. And the names? What did you decide?”

  “Mason and Dixon Beard. Thus the switch on the sonogram pics.” She quirks her mouth and looks at me out of the corner of her eye. “Unless you have a really strong objection,” she adds.

  And do I fucking ever.

  “Mason and Dixon are fine. I like the North-South thing you’ve got going on, but—”

  “It’s less to do with that than you think. My great-granddaddy was a mason—a bricklayer really. And I thought you’d told me you grew up near Dixon. Is that right? I thought I’d honor both of our families in some way.” She smiles and rolls her eyes before adding, “And these two are probably the only reason my mama crossed the Mason-Dixon Line at all, so—”

  Mesmerized, I watch as Kate folds tiny little T-shirts with the snap things at the bottom, each one ending up in a precise rectangle. She’d make any drill sergeant proud.

  “I like it. Mind if I make a suggestion though?”

  She tosses me a shirt to fold and leans over the counter, ass out, back flat, braced on her forearms. She’s told me it feels good, relieving pressure, but I’ll be damned if I have any kind of capacity to think when she does that. She sways her ass from side to side and eyes me like she’s waiting on me to speak.

  “Right.” I clear my throat. “Mason Triplett Jackson and Dixon—”

  “Dixon Wyatt Jackson?” she asks.

  I hate that I share a name with my asshole father, but maybe between the two of us, Dixon and I—and Jake—can do the name proud.

  Adding my rectangle of baby undershirt to the pile, I smirk. “I like that. Just one more thing we need to change.”

  I reach for the box I’d tucked away in the back of the liquor cabinet last week, just waiting for the right moment. I knew the night of Tripp’s funeral, when she let me in, that this day was on the horizon, I just needed to get things in place for it.

  “Are you going to show off, drinking the good tequila in front of me again? Makes you more of an ass than the sweet man you know you should be around a ridiculously pregnant woman,” she says snarkily. “Think you’d know better by now. Is there even going to be any of that left by the time I can drink it? I swear to God, you’re doing this just to get under my skin.” With her forehead resting on her folded arms, Kate’s voice echoes hollowly against the countertop. She’s officially hit the miserable stage from what her doctor said at last week’s appointment.

  The black box makes a quiet shoosh as I slide it across the granite counter until it rests right in front of her arms. “What’s this?” she asks, plucking at the gray and gold bow. Finally, the ribbon falls free, and Kate lifts the tight-fitting lid to reveal two pint-sized black hoodies with the USMA cadet crest emblazoned on the fronts—one in gray, the other in gold.

  “Oh, Jack, they’re adorable,” Kate exclaims, pulling the sweatshirts out one at a time and holding them up for inspection. “Shit, I think they left the sensor on this one.” She reaches her fingers into the pocket on the front of the hoodie, practically turning it inside out to get to what is most definitely not a store-theft sensor.

  “Oh my God.” Kate slowly lifts her head, her gaze meeting mine.

  I take the diamond ring from her trembling fingers, clasping her left hand in mine. “Kate, somehow, someway, you’ve done what no one has ever been able to do. From your disastrous history of dating pencil-dicked douche bags to the scariest busted condom removal ever. From one month of a good time to six months of stress and worry. From tombstones to bassinets, you’ve shown me that we can not just survive in the face of strife, but also thrive. I love you from the desert to the mountains, from the city to the country, across thousands of miles, and just across the room. I want the chance to prove that to you every single day. I love you more than anything in the world. Marry me? Please?” I drop to my knee in front of her and wait.

  And wait.

  “Yes,” she whispers, tears rolling down her face.

  “Yes?” I ask because she did not sound really sure about that answer.

  “Yes, yes. Absolutely yes.”

  As delicately as I can, I slide the ring onto her finger. Her hands are kind of swollen, and the fit is tight, but that seems to be our thing.

  Epilogue

  Jack

  Christmas in Mississippi

  “I’LL GO.” I PUSH up off the floor, pressing Mason’s bare feet to my lips.

  He doesn’t just giggle, but he full-on belly-laughs at the raspberry I blow on them. Dix stares at me, judgment in his big brown eyes. Daring me to do the same to him, but I know better.

  My boys are as identical as twins can be, but that doesn’t mean they don’t have different personalities. Where Mason is a foot man, Dixon is a belly boy.

  I walk my fingers up the red-and-white stripes covering his chubby thighs, and little gasps start puffing out of him. Anticipation. The second my face makes contact with his belly, he howls. Laughing and snorting. Gasping, arms flailing. Fat, little fists pulling at what strands of hair they can grasp.

  “Uncle Jack, do me. Gickle me,” Harper pleads, flopping on the floor next to the boys.

  While Kate’s niece and the rest of her family have made me feel more than a part of the family, I’m still working on her old man. For a Southern gentleman with a clean-hands banking job, the man is scary as fuck when it comes to his daughter. Granted, I know I did things ass backward and need to earn his respect, but I’m at a loss here. Bourbon, cigars, hunting. I’ve tried everything, and there’s still a chasm that screams to be bridged.

  But Harper? Yep, I’ve got that girl on my side.

  Before I can even get my fingers near her neck, she’s squealing and laughing, sliding herself across the floor to escape.

  “Christ, I hope that never changes,” Sam mutters as his older daughter finds her feet and runs to the kitchen.

  I pop to standing, the sudden movement startling Mason and Dix, their arms flinging out to the sides, eyes wide.

  Sam pulls the bottle from his baby girl’s mouth, slack with sleep. “You teach her to run away from boys, and Daddy’ll have no choice but to come around and welcome you into the fold.”

  Glancing over my shoulder toward the study—because, of course, Mr. Beard has a study—I huff out a laugh. “Won’t hold my breath on that. Need me to grab anything for you from the store? You wanna go with?” I offer, knowing full well the answer is a resounding—

  “Hell no. You have fun with hitting that madhouse on Christmas.” Shaking his head, Sam adds, “But I wouldn’t say no to some beef jerky since you’re going out anyway.”

  “Right. Didn’t Jules say she didn’t put any of that shit in your stocking for a reason? And what the hell makes you think you need jerky? Th
ey’re in there, getting dessert ready.” I slide my feet into flip-flops because Mississippi is a hell of a lot warmer than New York this time of year.

  “You offered.”

  “That I did. Keep an eye on them, will you?” I nod at where my boys are lying on their blanket, eyes drifting closed.

  Who knew I was missing a piece of my heart before they arrived? I shake the memory of that shitshow away as I lean into the kitchen. Kate, her mom, Jules, and Harper are all bustling around, getting dishes put away and desserts pulled out. Well, Harper’s eating a cookie, but that’s probably a strategic move to keep her occupied for a minute.

  “Anything else I can grab? Diapers, for sure, but—”

  Maggie pats my arm, guiding me to the door. “You just hurry on up and get those. And an extra can of whipped cream.” She hands me her car keys and goes back to rearrange the platter of cookies Kate just finished making.

  My wife looks exhausted, circles under the big brown eyes she shares with our boys. Lids heavy. Her smile pinched. But she couldn’t be more beautiful.

  I take three strides to her, unable to leave without kissing her first. “You okay?” I whisper, loving the way she sags against me, melting into my embrace.

  “I’m fine”—she rubs her face and pushes her smile higher—“just tired. Hurry back, ’kay?”

  I drop a kiss to her upturned lips and haul ass.

  The drugstore is far busier than I thought it’d be, and grumbling, I stalk to the back of the store, praying that the refrigerator cases aren’t wiped out. I grab the last can of whipped cream and scan the beer selections. Nothing worth my time, so I weave my way through the aisles to all the baby crap. I scan the shelves, zeroing in on the purple packages until I find the size to house my boys’ asses. My phone buzzes with a text from Kate, asking me to get the green diapers in the same size for her littlest niece as well as a couple of bibs.