Gabe's Bride

by Penny Alley

  “Let’s go home,” he coaxed as she turned, eyes closed to caress his cheek with her own.

  Does it matter? No. Not in the slightest. Because she was his.

  She was Gabe’s Bride.

  EPILOGUE

  “It’s vacation day!” Scotty yelled as he leapt off the front porch, racing past Gabe. “Let’s go, go, go!”

  “Hold your horses,” Gabe said, chuckling as he loaded the last suitcase into the back of his car. Unfortunately, Scotty was too excited for patience to be found anywhere in his newly-turned six-year-old vocabulary. He bounded up into the backseat, a carefully wrapped breakfast Pocket in one hand and in his other, the Hot Pocket plush doll that one very surprised Solon factory manager had shipped, along with a care packet confirming the details of their impending tour, t-shirts for all, and an entire pallet loaded down with all forty-nine assorted flavors that Hot and Lean Pockets offered. Any day now, Scotty was going to shed his skin in favor of a crispy, flaky pastry exterior. When that happened, it would be all the excuse Gabe needed to practice some seriously questionable parenting and abscond with the last two boxes of Chili pockets. Those things were neither ‘heart healthy’ nor good for his waist line. They were, however, damned delicious and they had been calling his name every night, their siren’s allure the strongest in the wee small hours of the morning after all other witnesses had gone to bed.

  “We’ve never gone on vacation before!” Scotty squealed, bouncing on his knees and jostling the cooler full of sodas, water and ice that took up the other half of the backseat.

  “Seatbelt,” Gabe replied, shutting the trunk. Six varieties of Hot Pocket stickers spread across the bumper. In white washable paint, ‘Solon, OH or bust!’ was scrawled across the rear window. His poor Mustang might never recover its former dignity.

  “Mom!” Scotty yelled, dropping from his knees to his butt and buckling himself in.

  “I’m coming, I’m coming.” When Neoma stepped out of the house, the flow of her white and blue daisy dress amplifying the rounding of her child-heavy belly, Gabe forgot about the dignity—lost or otherwise—of his car. She locked the door and, doing her best not to waddle, crossed the pine-needle littered lawn to hand him one of the two Hot Pocket caps she was carrying. Giving each other commiserating looks, they put them on. “Next year,” she whispered, “I call dibs on the Twinkie factory.”

  “I don’t like Twinkies,” Scotty called, buckling Plushie Pocket into the space beside him and adjusting the belt over its lap.

  “He doesn’t like Twinkies,” Gabe echoed, winking as he escorted her around to the front passenger seat. He held her door while she lowered herself in.

  “I hear the Hershey chocolate factory has rides,” she tried again, her smile almost pained. “It even has singing cows.”

  “The singing cows are fake,” Scotty told her sagely. “And Hot Pockets has slides. I like slides.”

  “I’m not so sure about the slides, buddy,” Gabe said, helping Neoma with her belt. “Nestle might not allow unnecessary equipment on the factory floor.”

  “It’s a slide, Dad,” Scotty said, frowning at him around a bite of his breakfast pocket. “It’s not unnecessary.”

  “You’re right,” Gabe deadpanned. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

  Content with Gabe’s acceptance of his correction, Scotty went back to his breakfast.

  With everyone in but him, Gabe shut the door and started for the driver’s side, but Neoma stopped him, catching his wrist and pulling him back to her. Hands braced on the door, he bent, warmth unfurling in the pit of his belly. She was so beautiful, the rounding of her belly doing absolutely nothing to dampen his ardor these days. It was getting harder and harder to remember how repelled he had been back in the beginning. In the months between then and now, she’d become his addiction. It didn’t matter how often he touched her, kissed her—he couldn’t get enough.

  “Yes?” he drawled, lowering his tone in that way that made her pupils dilate and that beguiling flush of pink rise into her cheeks. They were such pretty cheeks too, plump and healthy. No more sunken eyes and bony limbs. Her breasts had grown too. And although that was due more to the pregnancy than her improved diet, it was still every man’s dream bonus. One that he enjoyed reacquainting himself with late at night, once Scotty was tucked into bed and the house grown quiet. He couldn’t resist dipping two fingers into the open ‘v’ of her dress, stroking reminder thrusts in the valley between her breasts. Too bad it was morning, Scotty was wide awake and they had a long day of driving ahead of them.

  “We have got to get him interested in something other than Hot Pockets,” she begged. “Please? Dinosaurs…Camping…Disneyland…”

  In the backseat, Scotty perked his ears. “The Pirates of the Caribbean live in Disneyland.”

  “What do you think, buddy?” Gabe called into the backseat, ignoring Neoma’s hopeful look. “Want to go see the pirates instead?”

  “No.” Scotty chewed, his eyes narrowing in thought. “But I’ll bet Captain Jack Sparrow will help me take over Solon if I let him ride the slides.”

  Neoma dropped her head against the back of her seat. “Monster trucks,” she groaned. “Dump trucks…NASCAR…Anything.”

  Unable to help himself, Gabe stole a quick kiss. “I’ll work on it,” he promised, pulling out of the window. As he passed it, he gave Scotty’s a stern knock. “Remember our talk.”

  “I know,” Scotty grumbled, adjusting his hat. “No taking over anybody until I’m twenty-one and graduated from college.”

  “That’s my little alpha-in-training.” Grinning, Gabe walked around the car to the driver’s side. Seven months ago, when he’d been standing on the Ridge amongst all the other hopeful males, had someone told him this was how that Hunt would end, he’d have called them a liar and probably hobbled them straight out of the gate.

  Reaching over the stick shift to caress Neoma’s belly, Gabe took her hand and laced their fingers before kissing the back. Thank God no one had told him.

  He couldn’t imagine his life any other way.