by T. L. Haddix
She ran her foot along his arm. “I thought you wanted to see the falls.”
“I don’t think they’re going anywhere,” he told her with a wink. “Besides, we have a few hundred acres of our own here. If you feel up to it, there are still a few places I’ve not shown you. We could have a nice hike, then come back here and strip naked and chase each other around the house.”
Laughing, she moved so that she was lying across him. “How’s that different from any time we spend away from the kids?”
Owen grinned. “It isn’t, but it’s always fun. I’ll never turn that opportunity down.” He traced her cheek. “It’s been a while since we spent any time in the studio, you know.”
Since they’d moved into the farmhouse, Owen’s studio had largely been used for his work space. On special occasions, or when they needed more privacy than their bedroom in the farmhouse afforded them, they liked to spend time out there together.
Eyes soft, she brushed her hands across his chest. “It has, hasn’t it? Hmmm, you know… the more I think about it, the more staying home sounds better and better. We’ve been neglecting that bed. Shame on us.”
“We might have to spend all day between the sheets out there to pay the proper penance,” he said as she settled over him in a more provocative position. When she touched him intimately, her smile wicked, he sucked in a breath. “I take it you’re feeling better.”
“I’m getting there.”
He arched his back and let her take him over. “So am I.”
By late morning, Owen could hardly believe Sarah had been sick. She’d bounced back so well he’d hesitated only briefly when she suggested they hike to an isolated meadow on a distant part of the property. As they walked, he kept letting her get a bit ahead of him so he could admire the way her cut-off shorts fit. He was also taking her measure physically—her curves were different in subtle yet familiar ways, and Owen was starting to put two and two together.
After they’d had Rachel, they’d decided to call it quits on baby-making. Given that it was easier for Owen to get snipped than it was for Sarah, that was the route they’d taken. Aside from some apprehension early on following the procedure, he’d not given pregnancy a second thought in three years or thereabouts.
If his suspicions were correct though, pregnancy was very much going to be the hot topic of conversation in the next few days and weeks.
He knew men in his situation—husbands who’d gotten vasectomies only to find their wives pregnant—might instantly leap to certain conclusions. While he’d admit his first reaction had been doubt, it was more of himself than of Sarah. A “you’ve got to be losing your mind to think this” kind of doubt.
But the more he watched her, the more he was certain. There was a particular way her walk changed when she was pregnant, even early on, and she had it. Then there was the fullness in her hips and breasts that had caused her a bit of embarrassment earlier when she’d not been able to fit into the clothes she’d wanted to wear. The early morning nausea had simply clinched it for him.
The thing was he didn’t know if Sarah even realized she was pregnant. He’d often heard that people didn’t see or know things they weren’t expecting, but pregnancy? Then again, she’d had her period a couple of weeks ago. He could have been wrong… but he didn’t think so. Now all he had to do was figure out how in the world to break the news to his wife.
The Bet
Eight little words written on a scrap of paper torn from his sketching journal. Eight little words that would shift his marriage and his family’s life again. Words that Owen had chuckled as he’d written, as he was both amused and enchanted by the thought of adding a fifth child to the already-chaotic mix that was the Campbell household. Dollars to donuts, this one would be another girl.
“What are you smiling about over there?” Sarah asked.
She was lying on her back at his feet, lazing about on the blanket they’d spread out under a tree. With her hair spread out around her, her bare arms and legs gilded by the sun, she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Even on her worst day, he thought so, but today she was especially dear to him.
“You and peanut butter.” He added some shading to the sketch he was drawing of her.
Sarah laughed, twirling a blade of grass as she looked at him. “I guess now that I’m an old lady, I like it again.” She’d developed an aversion to the stuff while pregnant with John, and she’d not eaten it since.
“Old lady?”
She rolled onto her side, the move doing interesting things to the way her blouse fit her bust. When she saw him looking, she stuck the grass in her cleavage.
He flipped the page and started a new sketch. “Don’t think I won’t put it there.”
“I’m sure you’d like to put it there,” she said.
Owen stared at her, shocked, his cheeks growing hot. “Sarah Jane!”
She dissolved into laughter. “Am I wrong?”
Shaking his head, he refused to answer. “Going back to you being an old lady—I’m older than you. What does that make me?”
“Sexy as all get out and fun to tease.” She knee-walked up to him, then sprawled across his lap. “Show me?”
He turned the sketchbook around so she could see. The new image was mostly circles and lines, the idea of a picture more than anything. “I’ll finish it later,” he said as he set the book and his pencil aside. He slipped the scrap of paper out of the back so that the edge would be easy to grasp when he needed it.
“I’m sorry about the falls,” she said as she tickled his belly button through his T-shirt.
“I’m not. I love spending time with you like this, just the two of us.” He ran his hand up her arm, moving to trace her lips, her chin, her nose. “I have a question for you.”
Sarah caught his hand and kissed it. “Ask away, sir.”
Instead, he pulled the paper from the book and handed it to her. He didn’t dare take his eyes off her face as she read.
Brow wrinkled, she tilted her head. “What do I think… about the number five? Um, it’s okay, I guess. I’ve never spent much time contemplating it, really. Should I?”
Owen smiled softly. “I think you should.”
Lips pursed, her own smile questioning, she gazed up at him. “Why?”
Gently, he laid his hand on her abdomen, between her hips. “Sarah, I think you’re pregnant.”
For several seconds she stared at him, then she burst out laughing. She couldn’t speak from laughing so hard.
Owen simply watched her, waiting for her amusement to fade. It took a couple of minutes.
“I’m serious,” he told her as she sat up. “You have every single symptom.”
She wiped her eyes. “Except I had my period, and you’ve been snipped.”
With a sigh, he rested against the tree. “I don’t know what to say about the first, but as to the second, you know vasectomies can fail. It’s rare, but it happens, and that’s in normal men. It has to be that much more likely considering what I am. I suspect things have been reconnected. With all the shifting back and forth between human and wolf or deer, I think the surgery got undone.”
“You’re really serious.” Amazed, perplexed, she slowly shook her head. “Owen… pregnant?”
He shrugged. “Number five.”
“Six,” she corrected softly.
“I know.” He closed his eyes briefly, the thought of the child they’d lost before Rachel stinging his heart. “I think you’d best plan to go in to see the doctor Monday.”
“What if I am? What if you’re right?”
He smiled. “Then I start praying it’s a boy?” When she shot him an incredulous look, he laughed. “It’s a baby. We’re good with kids. I think we’ll figure it out.”
“You wanted to stop at four.”
“Yeah, well, I’m adaptable.” He brush
ed a loose strand of hair off her cheek. “How do you feel about having five rug rats underfoot?”
“I don’t know. I… five hellions running around seems monumentally overwhelming compared to the four we have, but… we do produce lovely children, don’t we?”
“Yes, we do—and not just in looks either. I wouldn’t trade our family for all the peace and quiet in the world. I say bring it on.” He kissed her softly. “What do you think the chances are that this one’s a boy?”
Her grin was impish. “Given how desperately overrun you are with two princesses? Slim to none, I hope. Pregnant. I still think you’re imagining things, you know.”
Owen was absolutely certain he wasn’t. “Want to bet me?”
“Oooh, that sounds interesting,” she said, settling into his lap as she rested against his chest, her fingers playing with his hair. “What kind of terms?”
He kissed her more deeply. “I’m sure we can come up with something amenable.” He’d also be certain to set the wager up in his favor because this was one bet he was guaranteed to win.
August 26, 1970
Fifteen minutes, one quarter of an hour, ten miles. Enough time to drive from the farmhouse on top of the mountain down to the schoolhouse in the valley. Hopefully enough time for Owen Campbell to get a handle on his temper.
With a frustrated sigh that sounded more like a growl, he rubbed his face and shook his head, glad he was alone in Sarah’s car. “Probably not enough time. Damn it, Emma… two fights in less than a month. What in the world are we going to do with you?”
He’d been working in his studio, in the middle of planning out a complicated sketch that would be the centerpiece of his next book, when the phone rang. When it stopped, he assumed Sarah had picked it up in the house. Sure enough, a few minutes later, she came out of the house and started through the garden, frowning. He’d happened to catch sight of her, and a shiver that told him there was trouble crossed his shoulders when he saw her frown. Setting his pencils aside, he’d headed downstairs.
“What’s wrong?” he asked when she came into the studio.
Propping her hands on her hips, she shook her head. “Your daughter has gotten in another scuffle. This time, she busted a boy’s nose on the playground.”
Owen wished he could say he was surprised. “Is she okay? Is he?”
School had only been in session for a couple of weeks, and already seven-year-old Emma—a first-grader this year—was getting a reputation as a brawler.
“Apparently. One of us has to go down there.”
His curse was a bit more virulent than Sarah was used to hearing from him, and she raised her eyebrows.
“I’m sorry,” he said, stepping over to her. He rested his hands on her shoulders, then touched her belly, where their fifth child was nestled safely. “It’s frustrating, that’s all. You aren’t feeling well, and I just got this scene laid out. She’d better have a good reason for this, or I’ll ground her for a month. She’s going to have to learn that actions have consequences.”
Sarah caught his hand. “I can go.”
Owen was already shaking his head. “I’ll handle it. You need to be resting.”
During her other pregnancies, she’d not had a lot of discomfort or trouble. This one had been more difficult. She’d not had a lot of nausea, but neither did she have an appetite, and the amount of fatigue she was having was worrisome to Owen. She was only about four months along, and her symptoms were keeping her home. She’d given up her part-time job at the library, not up to the task at the moment. For Sarah, that was startling, and even her doctor was keeping a closer eye on her than usual.
“Don’t lose your temper, okay?” she said before kissing him briefly.
He scowled down at her, then stole another kiss. “I’d never. Want anything while I’m out?”
“Surprise me.”
“Yes, ma’am. I shouldn’t be long.”
Now, as he parked in the visitor’s spot next to the building, he sighed again. “How’s the prayer go? Serenity, courage, and wisdom? Yeah. Whoever wrote that didn’t have children.”
But as he walked to the door, he reminded himself that as frustrating as his kids could be on occasion, he’d not trade or change a single one of them—with the exception of possibly cooling down Emma’s temper just a smidge. Aside from gentle swats to their behinds if they did something dangerous, Owen had never laid a hand on them in anger. That wasn’t about to change.
It took him all of five seconds to spot his little dark-haired troublemaker. She was sitting on a bench outside the office, her brother John beside her. From the looks on their faces, they both knew Emma was in trouble. Concerned, exasperated, and even a bit proud—John was guarding Em as though protecting her from the world—Owen slowly walked over to the bench.
Emma froze, and her throat worked as she swallowed. In that moment, seeing her trepidation, he wanted to assure her she wasn’t in trouble. There was a reason Sarah usually handled these things. She was better at being a disciplinarian than him.
She had laughed at that idea when he’d told her. “Are you kidding me? I have to work hard to keep our little hellions in line. They obey you with a look.”
He scoffed. “They respect you too.”
“I know, but they adore you. They don’t want to disappoint you.”
That revelation had had him fighting back tears—that kind of relationship with his kids was one Owen had only dreamed of having before they were born. He’d been afraid he’d turn out to be too much like his own father, who’d ruled the house with a firm hand more than love. Owen didn’t take his parental responsibility lightly either, which was one reason he was struggling so hard now to find the right words as he looked at Emma’s downcast head.
“Emma Jean Campbell, look at me.”
Biting her lip, she met his gaze bravely, with some defiance but no belligerence.
“Young lady, what in the world am I going to do with you? Are you okay?”
“Yes, sir.”
Hunkering down, he shoved his hands through his hair. “Tell me what happened.”
“There’s a new girl, Zanny. She’s old Mrs. Franks’s granddaughter, you know?” Emma scowled when he nodded. “Burke Lockhart was being mean to her. He pushed her, and she fell down. The teacher wasn’t doing anything, and she knows Burke picks on the little girls. She’s sweet on his daddy, so she lets him do whatever he wants. He works for the power company, and she thinks he’s a big shot.”
Anger ran through Owen. Maybe Emma was wrong and this Lockhart kid was just really bad at playing with others. Regardless, the teacher needed to get her head out of the clouds and do her job.
“You two sit tight. I’m going to go speak to the principal and your teacher.” He stood before kissing Emma’s forehead and ruffling John’s hair. Crossing the hall, he stepped inside and greeted the secretary. “Edna.”
“Mr. Campbell. This time she did what she should have,” the older woman said in a low voice that wouldn’t carry. “He’s not a bad egg, but the boy needed knocking back a step or two. You didn’t hear that from me. I’ll let Principal Montgomery know you’re here.” She picked up the phone.
“Thanks.”
In two seconds, the door to the inner office opened, and the principal was gesturing Owen inside. “Here we are again.”
Owen sent him a warning look and one to Miss Hammonds—Emma’s teacher—as well, then he focused on the sullen boy sitting in a chair along the wall. With his arms crossed, his nose was red, and his lip was fat, and dried blood stained the front of his shirt.
“What happened?” Owen asked, wanting to hear the other side of things before passing judgment.
“Oh, it was silly,” Miss Hammonds said, fluttering her hands. “Burke was playing with the girls, and he got a little too enthusiastic. That’s all. Emma flew off the handle at him. He didn�
��t mean for Suzanna to fall.”
The gaze Owen leveled on her was none too happy. “Burke, is that true?” When Miss Hammonds started to speak, he held up his hand. “I’d like to hear it from him.” Crouching in front of the boy, he softened his voice. “Answer me, son.”
Burke studied him, wary. “I didn’t mean to hurt her, but I pushed her on purpose.”
“Emma tells me that you’ve been doing that to the smaller girls quite a bit and that no one has called you on that behavior.” Owen ignored the teacher’s outraged gasp. “Is that the case?”
Cheeks ruddy, Burke ducked his head and gave a single nod. “Yes, sir.”
Owen briefly closed his eyes, hoping he wasn’t about to lose that temper he’d fought so hard to rein in. “You do understand that’s wrong, don’t you? Men aren’t supposed to hurt girls. We’re supposed to protect them. Pushing them, pulling their hair, calling them names… that’s beneath us, Burke Lockhart. You’re better than that.”
Strictly speaking, he didn’t know that to be true, but he hoped it was.
Straightening, he looked at the adults. “Burke, why don’t you wait outside? And remember what I said, all right?”
The boy nodded, his head still down, and quietly left the room.
Owen closed the door behind him, then leaned against it, crossing his arms as he stared at Miss Hammonds. “He doesn’t seem to have a smart attitude or a smart mouth. He seems ashamed of what he did. What I want to know is why in the name of what’s holy haven’t you done your job and stopped him?”
Her face had turned about as bright red as Owen had ever seen on a person.
Before she could answer, Mr. Montgomery gave a frustrated huff and snapped his fingers. “Well, Janice, I’d like to hear the explanation myself.”
“I beg your pardon, but I do my job well, thank you very much.”
“Not if you’re letting him pick on kids, you don’t—especially the littlest girls. From what I hear, you’re involved with the boy’s father. Maybe you’re playing favorites because of that. Maybe he needs to be moved to a different room. It’s early in the year, so it shouldn’t affect him. He doesn’t deserve to be allowed to become a full-blown bully.” Owen didn’t enjoy using the favoritism card, but he wasn’t about to let the woman squirm out of her responsibilities. Not when his children were affected.