by Renee George
Fudge knuckles!
Erma Jean turned sharply to the door, her nose shortened, her teeth retracted, and she returned to her human form.
Jeremiah pulled a gun from beneath the counter and pointed it at Erma Jean. The old woman shivered, no longer a terrifying beast, only a pale and exhausted senior. Her crepe skin had taken on an almost translucent appearance. “I’ve found the rings.”
Jeremiah waved the gun. “Get inside, Sunny. Or I’ll put a bullet in her.”
I wondered how well someone Erma Jean’s age would heal from such a wound. If it was to the head, probably not at all. Hard to recover from death.
Another cramp doubled me over. “Oof.”
“I’m not falling for any of your tricks. Get inside now and close the door behind you.”
I nodded, wishing upon wish that the cramps had been a ruse. But they weren’t. “You don’t want to do his, Jeremiah.” I wanted him to feel connected. I wanted him to care whether he hurt me. “Please.” I gestured to my dress. “We can work this out. Tomorrow’s my wedding day. I’m willing to forgive and forget. Just put the gun down.”
Another spasm hit, and I clutched my stomach.
“Sunny,” Aunt Erma Jean said. “You need to sit down.”
“Something’s wrong.” I staggered forward.
“Hello,” Jeremiah said, waving the weapon around. “I have a gun!”
“And I’m having pain,” I snapped.
“You’re having a baby,” the old woman corrected.
Irritation flared my nostrils. “Don’t you think I know that? I’m five months pregnant for heaven’s sake.”
“I mean now.” She pointed at my feet.
On the smooth concrete floor beneath me a puddle had formed, it was only then I noticed that my thighs were damp, and my shoes were soaked. “Oh, jeezus.”
Jeremiah cussed a blue streak then said, “I don’t care if you’re giving birth to the Messiah himself, get your butt over here.”
When I stepped forward, the slick soles of the wedding shoes slipped on the amniotic fluid, and I fell backward. I reached out for a nearby shelf to stop my fall. Bowers still hadn’t anchored the damn thing, and it gave without warning. The pins in the hem of my dress caught on the uprights, and I went down like a hooker on five-dollar night. A large bottle of red dye number four shattered on the concrete. Its crimson liquid splashed my dress.
Erma Jean used my bumbling to her advantage and smacked the gun out his hand. It sailed toward me, skittering across the slick floor. I wanted to pick it up, but another contraction—because I realized these were contractions—curled me into a ball.
An angry shout, a roar, another roar, a piercing scream, and then deafening silence. Erma Jean scrambled to my side, once again, really spry for someone so ancient.
“Get Babel. He’s at the courthouse,” I said. “I need Babe.”
She tried to help me sit up, but it only made the pain worse. “Okay, Sunny,” she finally said. “Don’t move.”
A couple of minutes later, the door opened.
“Babe!” I screamed as another gut twisting contraction hit.
“Ms. Haddock?”
It wasn’t Babe. Cripes!
A tall, blond teenager knelt on the floor next me. Kyle Avery. I didn’t care if he hated me. He was the only one around, and I didn’t want to be alone.
“What can I do?” He stared at me, wide-eyed. “I should get help.”
Another sharp pain jabbed me. “No!” I grabbed his arm. “Stay with me. Please.” I slid my hand into his palm and made skin-to-skin contact. The vision struck fast.
I put the small round of bills in a coffee tin and slide it under my bed. I earned that money. No way in hell I’m letting the old man have it.
“Kyle!”
It’s Mom. I pull down the blanket to hide my stash and run down stairs. Mom’s in the kitchen with Pete, our blue tick hound. He’s a good dog, Pete. “What’s wrong?”
“I think he got into some antifreeze.”
Goddamn Jeremiah Bowers. He’d been living rent-free off my mom for over a year. Like she could afford to take care of a teenager and a grown man. It’s why I’d agreed to a few odd jobs. The stupid son-of-a-bitch must’ve left the antifreeze out when he was filling up Mom’s car. I rush to medicine cabinet. I hate Bowers. Did he do it on purpose? It wouldn’t be the first time Pete consumed something he shouldn’t have because of the man. I open the cabinet and spot what I need. If Pete dies, I swear I’ll kill him.
The world came back into sharp focus. Kyle was still holding my hand, panic written all over his face.
“You scared me. I thought you were having a seizure.” He gulped. “Did you have a seizure?”
And this is how I came to find myself sitting on the pawnshop floor in a torn wedding dress stained with red fabric dye, and now I knew exactly who sabotaged my rehearsal dinner. I just wasn’t sure why.
Chapter Eight
Kyle timed the contractions for me. There were coming less than a minute apart now. Thankfully, keeping track calmed both our nerves. “I’m sorry, Ms. Haddock. Really sorry,” he kept saying, but he didn’t elaborate and I had more important problems to worry about… like keeping a baby in my belly.
Finally, the door swished open again, and alarmed shouts let me know Babe had brought several people with him, including Billy Bob. Babe dropped to his knees and Kyle scrabbled backward. Babe took my hand. “It’s okay. I’m here,” he said. “I’m here.”
Billy Bob opened his house call bag, gloved up, and reached under my dress to pull my panties down. I didn’t even flinch
“What are you doing?” Babe growled.
“I’m checking her, you idiot.”
I barely felt Billy Bob’s fingers as another pain wrenched a scream from me. “She’s dilated to a seven.”
“What’s that mean, Doc?”
“She’s in full transition.” He patted my knee. “Hang in there, Sunny.”
“How is this possible? She’s weeks away from her due date.”
“Well, the baby isn’t going to wait.” The doctor gestured to me. “Talk to her, Babel. Keep her calm.”
“It’s okay, sweetheart,” Babe said. “You’re doing great. Just great. Breathe now.”
Another contraction nailed me, and this one was long and strong. “I can’t do this,” I panted.
“Breathe, baby. Breathe.”
“You breathe!” I shouted as another contraction wanged me. “Ohhh!”
Billy Bob checked me again. “Still a seven. This could take a few minutes or a few hours. I’ve seen women dilate from a six to a ten in a matter of seconds.”
I reached up and sank my clammy, hot fingers into Babel’s cool, dry hair and yanked. “I want to be married.”
“Me too, sweetheart. And we will be.”
“No,” I said. “Now. Before the baby arrives.”
“That might be difficult,” he said.
I turned to Kyle, who hadn’t moved. “Get Ruth.”
The blond kid rubbed his long fingers over his face. “Okay,” he said, nearly as breathless as I was. “I’ll be right back.”
Ten minutes and eight crippling contractions later, Billy Bob said, “The baby is starting to crown, Sunny. Your child isn’t going to wait long.”
I chanted a revised Fat Bastard line from Austin Powers and willed that kid to stay in my belly. “I want to push. I want to push so bad.”
“Not yet,” soothed Billy Bob. “I’ll tell you when.”
“Oh, Babe,” I cried. “I wanted to be your wife when our girl took her first breath.”
“Girl,” he said, his mouth slack with awe. “We’re having a girl?”
“I know you said you didn’t want to know…”
He grinned broadly and squeezed my hand painfully tight. “A little princess.”
I remembered them throwing the football around and smiled. “Yep.”
“She’s fully engaged now, Sunny.” Billy Bob had one hand bet
ween my legs and the other resting on my stomach. “Time to push.”
“I’m here,” Ruth shouted, Chavvah hot on her trail. Kyle didn’t come back with them. “Are we too late?”
“Ahhhhh!” I moaned as the pain ribboned across my belly.
“Push, Sunny,” demanded Billy Bob.
I bared down hard, screaming through the contraction, willing that child to get out of me, marriage or no marriage. When the pain eased, Billy Bob patted me. “Okay. Stop pushing. Wait for the next contraction.”
“Now,” I said to Ruth. “Marry us now.”
“Better make it quick,” Billy Bob added. “This child is eager to join the world.”
Erma Jean stooped down and pressed something cool into the palm of my free hand. “Your rings,” she said. “You can’t get married without the rings.”
Ruth knelt beside us. “Put the ring on her finger, Babe, and repeat after me.”
“Skip the repeats, Ruth. No time,” Chavvah said.
She sighed. “Okay. Damn it, I had a beautiful ceremony planned.”
“Get on with it!” I yelled as the next contraction began to build.
“Do you Babel Michael Trimmel promise to love this woman from sunrise to sunrise, under every full moon, taking her as your life partner, your mate, and do you choose her path as your own from now until eternity, and forsaking all others even unto death?”
“I do,” said Babe.
I yelled as the contraction hit full-swing.
“Push,” Billy Bob ordered.
Once again, I bared down hard, squeezing Babe’s hand until my fingers were numb.
“She’s crowning,” Billy Bob said. “One more push and she’ll be here.”
“Ruth,” I said, panting hard. “Hurry.”
“Do you Ambrosia Sunshine Haddock promise to love this man from sunset to sunset, under every sun, taking him as your life partner, your mate and choosing his path as your own from now until eternity, and forsaking all others even unto death?”
“I doooooo!”
“She’s coming,” Billy Bob said excitedly. “Her head is out. Keep pushing.”
“I now pronounce you man and wife,” Ruth said. “You may now have the groom’s baby.” She laughed, wiping tears from her large brown eyes.
I leaned forward, grabbing my knees for leverage, and pushed down with everything I had.
Babe craned his head so he could see what the Doc was doing. “So much hair,” he said.
“Here’s her shoulder. Give me one more good one.”
I bellowed, expending all the energy left I my body, and in seconds, I felt my child enter the world.
“Whoa,” Babe said, his expression suddenly surprised. The baby cried out, strong and loud.
“Good lungs,” Billy Bob noted.
“Does she have all her fingers and toes?” I wanted to see her. Hold her.
Billy Bob flipped her up on my stomach as he handled the cord that still tethered us together. “She,” he said with a smile, “is a he.”
“What?” I examined the baby’s dark pink, shriveled skin covered in a white cheesy substance. Sure enough, between his legs were boy parts.
When I held him to my chest, he suckled my finger. “He’s a hungry one.” In a flash, I saw him running and laughing, and right behind him, his little sister chased him around. I smiled, an overwhelming sense of love washing over me.
Babe kissed me soundly, his eyes bright with happiness. “We have a son, Mrs. Trimmel.”
“We sure do,” I told him. “We sure do.”
Chapter Nine
Valentine’s Day…
Half the town had been traipsing in and out of our cabin for most of the day. I was exhausted. The cabin was full of baby gifts, including diapers, wipes, onesies, and other essentials. I was grateful. I’d been so focused on the wedding, I hadn’t prepared for the baby. I held him in my arms. We’d decided on a name, but we wanted to wait until Babe’s parents arrived. They’d taken Erma Jean to make her statement at the sheriff’s department.
She’d killed Jeremiah Bowers. It had been self-defense. As the witness, I corroborated her story. However, I didn’t mention that she’d been threatening him before I’d walked in. She’d sniffed out the rings. It turned out, Aunt Erma Jean, had been keeping her distance because she didn’t want me to find out that her mother, Babe and Chavvah’s great, great grandmother, had been a full-blooded lycanthrope. Which meant, she and her sister Doris had been born half lycan, half coyote, during a time when half-breeds were considered mongrels and reviled. Integrating with humans had been a way to protect her family’s secrets. The prejudice, which had started as a way to fool other coyotes, had become real over the years. And Doris and her husband had been killed by a rogue lycan.
I felt bad for Babe’s family. In the light of this revelation, Babe and Chavvah, along with their parents, decided to reassess what they thought they knew about werewolves. I glanced at Chavvah and smiled. I’d had a vision when Billy Bob came to check on the baby and me. She’d definitely be doing a lot of reassessing in the near future.
The rehearsal dinner incident hadn’t been food poisoning, much to Blondina’s relief. It had been hydrogen peroxide poisoning. The vision I’d had of Kyle with his dog, Pete, had helped me figure out that mystery. He’d given Pete hydrogen peroxide to get him to throw up the antifreeze. A quick call to Delbert Johnson confirmed that Kyle had purchased the last three bottles on his shelf.
Kyle was an angry teenager. He’d been stealing for Jeremiah Bowers and had been responsible for several of the area heists. He wasn’t completely a bad kid, though. After seeing me on the floor of the pawnshop, he’d thought his prank, and it had been meant as a prank, with the hydrogen peroxide in the punch had sent me into early labor. After he’d run for Ruth, he went straight to the police station and turned himself in to the sheriff. I didn’t tell him that I hadn’t had the punch. His epiphany was a turning point for Kyle, and I didn’t want to give him an excuse to act out again. He had potential if he could keep his head on straight. Mommy guilt powers activate!
At four in the afternoon, the Trimmels finally arrived. Babe and I sat on the love seat with our little boy cradled close and swaddled in Judah’s pale green receiving blanket. He was such a good baby. Sleeping, eating, pooping, and very little crying.
Babe wrapped his arms around my shoulder. “We wanted to tell you all together that we’ve decided on a name for our son.”
I stood up, and walked across the room, still a little sore, but so happy. I handed Celia the baby, and she took him, happily cooing and tickling his chin.
“Celia. Daniel,” I said. “Meet your grandson. Judah Michael Trimmel.”
Celia’s hand went to her mouth. Her lips trembled as she held her breath, barely able to speak. “Oh, Sunny.” Her voice quivered. “Thank you.”
“Happy Valentine’s Day,” I said.
Want to find out HOW Sunny and Babe got together?
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Also by Renee George
More Peculiar Mysteries
You’ve Got Tail (Peculiar Mysteries Book One)
Thank You For Not Shifting (Peculiar Mysteries Book Two)
www.peculiarmysteries.com
Barkside of the Moon Mysteries (Coming Soon!)
www.barksideofthemoonmysteries.com
Midnight Shifters Series (Urban Fantasy)
www.midnightshifters.com
The Cull Series (Paranormal Romance)
www.ozarkshifters.com
The Lion King Series (Paranormal Romance)
www.lionkingshifters.com
About the Author
Renee George is a USA Today Bestselling author of urban fantasy, paranormal romance, erotic romance, contemporary romance, and romantic comedies that highlight varying themes. She lives in the Midwest with her husband, man-child son, two sweet dogs, and a senile cat.
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