Preach to me Baby

by Hazel Parker

  Sawyer sat in the waiting room patiently while Camille settled the details of her next appointment. When they handed her the printout of the ultrasound, she looked at it intently for a moment, wondering who the little person inside her would become—and then she tucked the photo in her purse.

  “Ready?” Sawyer asked.

  “I think so,” Camille said, and they walked out to the parking lot. Sawyer’s truck was silver, had great air conditioning, and definitely put Camille’s to shame. She settled in the leather passenger seat and Sawyer backed out and headed for the ranch—about a thirty-five minute drive. They hadn’t spoken on the way there, listening to Sawyer’s Willie Nelson CD instead.

  “The guy knew how to party,” Sawyer remarked, as if he needed to justify his choice, but Camille wouldn’t have minded, anyway. She was too busy looking out of the window at the land, which was the most rugged and beautiful she had ever seen. She had too much on her mind to pay attention when she had been driving up here, but now that Sawyer was behind the wheel, she could truly appreciate the rocky pastures and hills crisscrossed by creeks and shaded by craggy trees: land good only for cattle and horses, Sawyer had told her. She wasn’t sure what that meant, but she loved it.

  Turns out there are some things you can’t get in the city.

  This time they rode in silence. Camille wondered if she would feel uncomfortable, since other than in the between-the-sheets sense, she didn’t know Sawyer at all. Instead, it felt as comfortable as if they had been old friends.

  The drive went quickly, Camille resting her hands on her firm belly until they arrived at the ranch. Sawyer helped her down from the cab of the truck and led her inside the largest house where he lived with Wanda and September. He had told her that the other three houses belonged to his brothers, and his dark tone had made it clear that he didn’t want to talk about the details of the arrangement. Camille, as an only child who had always dreamed of siblings, wondered how bad the blood between them had to be for him to not even want to talk about it.

  Once they entered the house, Sawyer playfully placed a hand over Camille’s eyes as he guided her toward the bedroom. “No peeking,” he said. “I think Mom and September made some improvements while we were gone.”

  Camille could feel her face get hot. “Oh, Sawyer, you really didn’t have to. I feel bad. I hope they didn’t go to too much trouble.”

  “It wasn’t any trouble at all,” he said.

  “Sawyer Adkins, don’t you spoil the surprise!” Wanda’s voice yelled, muffled from behind the door of the guest bedroom.

  Camille heard the creak of the sturdy oak door swinging wide, and Sawyer’s hand slid off her eyes.

  “Surprise!” September shouted gleefully.

  Camille sucked in a breath, speechless. The room, which had been tidy but plain when she left, was now decked out with color and country charm. An upside-down horseshoe hung above the door—“For good luck,” Sawyer explained—and beautifully patterned quilts were stacked high on the bed. A painting of what Camille guessed was an autumn view of the Adkins West Ranch hung on the wall, and when she squinted to see the artist, she saw the initials S.A. scrawled in the corner.

  So he does have talents besides rodeo, Camille marveled. She turned to face Wanda and September. She meant to tell them that they shouldn’t have gone to the trouble, but when Sawyer squeezed her shoulder gently, she said a simple, “Thank you so much,” instead.

  Suddenly remembering the printout she had received at the doctor’s office, she pulled it carefully out of her purse and handed it to Wanda. “I thought you might want to see your grandchild,” she said. “Or the beginnings, anyway.”

  Wanda’s face lit up, and September peeked over her shoulder as well.

  “You started like that, the both of you,” Wanda said to Sawyer and September. “And you too, Camille, I imagine.” Wanda laughed.

  “I think pregnancy works the same way in Atlanta,” Camille said with a smile. Sawyer smiled, too, running a hand along the stubble of his strong jaw.

  “Well, I was just working on lunch—chicken salad sandwiches. I hope that’s alright,” Wanda said.

  “It sounds wonderful,” Camille said, and she meant it—Wanda was a great cook, right up there with Camille’s own mother.

  “Come on, September,” Wanda said, tugging her daughter along. “You can set the table.”

  Camille sat on the edge of the bed, marveling at how this strange man’s family had taken her in when they didn’t know a thing about her. Lost in thought, she was surprised to see Sawyer watching her intently when she looked up. Memories of tumbling in the trailer bed with him washed over her without warning: his hands squeezing her ample ass and her tongue tasting his collarbone. She looked away. He’d made it clear that was a one-time deal. But that was before he’d known she was pregnant…

  “Ready for lunch?” Sawyer asked. His eyes hid whatever his true feelings were.

  “Sounds good to me,” Camille sighed, and headed for the kitchen.

  Chapter 6

  About a month later, Sawyer was flipping pancakes in the kitchen as his mother set a pot of stew on the stove to slow-cook for dinner. Cooking had always been something that he and Wanda had shared, and most of his best memories growing up had been in this kitchen. His brothers had been too busy learning how to balance a checkbook to care, but Sawyer had a respect for the kitchen, for family recipes, and for simple recipes lovingly prepared.

  Now, it seemed, history was repeating itself. His brothers couldn’t stop making snide comments when they ran into him in the barns, or when they copied him on emails to the lawyer about the inheritance. Their bitterness about the prospect of a niece or nephew only seemed to be growing—not because of the baby, but because of the inheritance that Sawyer wasn’t even sure he wanted anymore. He’d told them as much, but where Sawyer was competitive in rodeo, his brothers were even more so in business. They saw Sawyer getting someone knocked up as a dirty play, and they were clearly getting ready to get just as dirty back—unable to believe that there was something in life beyond numbers in a ledger.

  Well, he was sick of it. He’d have to stop by the lawyer’s office himself to figure out if there was any way he could be removed from the will. He made enough in rodeo purse money, anyway—and he liked living with Wanda and September.

  And with Camille.

  As if she’d been summoned by his thoughts, Camille walked into the kitchen and sat on a stool by the kitchen island, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. Sawyer’s eyes rested for a moment on her belly beneath her nightgown, which was showing more and more each day. Her follow-up appointment earlier that week had gone well—Camille and the baby looked healthier than ever. Sawyer couldn’t help but feel proud. The prospect of fatherhood had never appealed to him—he knew he’d never measure up to his own father, anyway—but this woman was making him change his mind.

  “Pancakes?” he asked, stacking three silver dollar cakes on a plate.

  “Yes, thank you,” Camille said, taking a fork from the cutlery drawer.

  It was amazing how well she’d adjusted to everything—it was as if she’d lived here all her life. He watched her, feeling a warmth rise in his chest that he was starting to wonder…could this be love? The more time I spend with her, the more I know I don’t want to say goodbye.

  “Sawyer, you’re going to burn those damn pancakes,” Wanda warned. “Sit and eat with Camille if you’re going to make eyes like that.”

  Camille laughed her lovely laugh, and Sawyer turned away so she wouldn’t see the flush creep up his neck. He flipped the last few pancakes onto his plate and grabbed the real maple syrup, joining Camille at the island.

  “I tell you, Camille,” Wanda said after adding another clove of garlic to the broth. “I never knew my boy could be this responsible before you came around. You’ve really made a man out of him, and for that, I’m grateful.”

  Sawyer coughed, embarrassed. Camille rested her hand against the small of his
back to reassure him.

  “He’s been very good to me,” she said warmly. “You all have.”

  Wanda smiled. “By the way, Sawyer, Zeke Vern and his family are having a cookout tonight. When I ran into him at the post office, he wanted me to invite you. And your brothers, of course, although I’ll be damned if they ever do anything fun.”

  “What’s a cookout like up here? In Atlanta we’d just do it in the backyard,” Camille said. “But you have so much more space here.”

  Wanda waved and left the kitchen, pulling on her boots to go out to the barns and check on the horses.

  “Well, there is a lot more space,” Sawyer said. “Sometimes we go four-wheeling or something, and everyone usually brings some chairs and sits around a big bonfire.”

  “It’s awfully hot for a bonfire,” Camille said.

  “The smoke helps keep the bugs and the critters away,” Sawyer explained.

  “Well, I’d like to go sometime.”

  “I’ll make sure and take you,” Sawyer said, distracted when he saw the paperwork Wanda had left for him on the island—registration for one of the last rodeos of the season. “I’m not sure I’ll go tonight, though. I’ve got some things to take care of.”

  “When else am I gonna get the chance?” Camille said, jaw set firm. Her brown eyes were bright as topaz. “It’s almost winter, and I’ve been told it gets pretty cold…and then I’m going back to Atlanta. Isn’t now the time?”

  That was the spark that Sawyer had seen in her at the rodeo at the beginning of the summer. Usually Camille was so polite that it didn’t show—but he loved when she had a bit more fire in her.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t realize it was so important to you. You are a city girl, after all. We can go—just be sure to pack some bug spray.”

  “We have mosquitos in Atlanta, you know,” Camille said, eyes sparkling with victory.

  “Make sure you get some rest. These things can go pretty late. Let’s say we’ll leave around five?” Sawyer said. He grabbed his cowboy hat from the hook. “I’ve got to make a quick trip into town, but I’ll be back soon. I—” Sawyer choked on his words. He’d been about to say I love you…but there was no way he could say that to her, not now, not when she was already making plans to go back to Atlanta.

  Camille blinked expectantly, but when Sawyer didn’t say anything more, she brought her plate to the sink and rinsed it. “Have a good day,” she said.

  “You too,” Sawyer said, feeling confused. All he’d wanted was to have a good time with this woman, but now he was feeling so much more.

  He had to talk to the lawyer. Maybe there was a way this could be less complicated—maybe he could be a father and not an heir, after all.

  ******

  At five on the dot, Camille was ready with a light jacket for the September chill, and the can of bug spray that Sawyer had requested. She smiled when she saw him, those taut, lean muscles visible beneath his T-shirt. His tan had deepened since she had been here, and it made him look even more like he was out of the movies—too handsome, and good, to be true.

  “I see you’re raring to go,” Sawyer smirked.

  “I do get bored when you’re out all day, you know,” Camille said. “Wanda doesn’t let me do any real work because she’s afraid it’ll hurt the baby. I’ve worked on her damn cross-stitch kits so much that my thumb might as well be a pincushion.”

  “Well, we’ll have some fun tonight,” Sawyer said with a chuckle. “Let’s hop in the truck—it’s not far, just a little ways up the highway.”

  Camille rolled the window down as they reached the straight, flat stretch of highway where Sawyer always loved to floor it for a few seconds, just for thrills.

  “Yeeeee-haw!” Camille yelled as the scenery sped by. “I’ve gone real country now!”

  Sawyer laughed, easing up on the gas pedal and reaching across the dashboard to hold her hand.

  A man who Camille guessed might be Zeke Vern walked up to the truck as Sawyer pulled in. He was short and stocky, with a big dark beard and a flannel shirt like a lumberjack.

  “How ya doin’, Sawyer?” the man said cheerily.

  “Just fine, Zeke,” Sawyer said, extending an arm toward Camille. “I’d like you to meet my…”

  Camille held her breath. How would he introduce her?

  “…friend,” Sawyer said with some hesitation. “Camille.”

  Camille hid her disappointment with a smile as Zeke grabbed her in a big bear hug. “We don’t see too many women of your shade up here,” he said. “A nice change. You’re looking lovely—and pregnant, I see. Sawyer here get ya into trouble?”

  Camille paused, unsure how to answer.

  “I did, actually,” Sawyer said. “She’ll be staying at the ranch for the next few months until the baby arrives, and then she’s heading home to Atlanta.”

  “Well, good for you, Sawyer. That’s great news,” Zeke said. “About time one of the Adkins had an heir, you know.”

  Camille stared at her sandals.

  “I suppose so, Zeke,” Sawyer said. “But I think that’s a conversation for another time. Camille wants a taste of country living before she goes back to the big city, I think.”

  “Is that so?” Zeke said, raising a bushy eyebrow. “Why don’t I get ya a brat. I’m sure every man here’s just dyin’ to tell you stories of the wild Minnesota north.”

  “Braw-t?” Camille asked, confused.

  “It’s like a hot dog,” Sawyer explained as Zeke laughed. “And actually, I was hoping there’d be a bit of dancing.”

  “Food sounds good,” Camille said. “And I’d definitely like to dance. Thank you for having me.”

  “Of course, sweetheart,” Zeke said. “We’re very friendly up here—have to be. There aren’t enough people to be making enemies. That’s why they call it Minnesota Nice, ya know.” With another laugh, he walked toward the grill.

  Taking her hand, Sawyer led Camille to the lawn chairs by a bonfire—just like he’d promised—but to her surprise, he didn’t let go of her hand as they took seats next to each other a little ways back from the flames.

  Is he jealous? Camille wondered.

  Zeke hadn’t been wrong—there were a lot of men, some around Sawyer’s age and some older, who paid her a lot of attention. It was fun at first, but as dusk began to fall, she realized how much she missed the ranch. All she really wanted was a quiet evening at home with her new family.

  She was relieved when someone cranked up the country music on the speakers so that she had an excuse to get to her feet and walk over to the patio that had been set up as an impromptu dance floor.

  “You coming?” she asked Sawyer, suddenly shy.

  He nodded, and they began to dance and sway to the music—unfamiliar to her, but clearly familiar to Sawyer. He guided her through the twangy beat that was so different from the dance music she was used to in Atlanta. She quickly got the hang of it, and soon a circle formed around them, cheering them on as they danced. Camille felt sweat drip down her forehead, and it was making Sawyer’s skin gleam, too, just like it had on the night they met.

  It was late when the dancing ended, but it felt like the night had just begun to Camille. Sawyer made sure to say his goodbyes, and Camille nodded along, but all she could think of was the feeling of Sawyer’s hands on her hips as they danced. She wanted to know what he felt—but, more importantly, she wanted him. All of him, like she had on their first night together.

  She knew Sawyer was thinking of the same thing when he drove right past the turnoff for Adkins West Ranch and headed for the fairgrounds where the rodeo was held.

  “Your trailer?” Camille asked, voice hoarse.

  “Yes,” Sawyer said, his voice low and hot.

  He had barely put the truck in park when they reached the deserted grounds before Camille began to kiss him, working her way up his arm and reaching his chiseled shoulder. He groaned as she untucked his T-shirt from his jeans and ran her palm up his taut stomach
.

  “The trailer,” he said. “This should be happening in a bed.”

  “It should,” Camille breathed.

  Sawyer carried her into the trailer, laying her down on the bed and unbuttoning her jeans.

  “We probably shouldn’t do what we did…last time,” Camille said, groaning as Sawyer ran a warm finger around the areola of her nipple. “We might hurt the baby.”

  “There are other things we can do,” Sawyer said. He moved his mouth down her rounded belly, pulling her jeans even lower and kissing her pubic mound.

  “Oh,” Camille moaned.

  “You’re beautiful, Camille,” Sawyer whispered. “All of you.” He gripped her hips as he went down on her, and she felt herself grinding into him, losing herself in pleasure. He didn’t stop till the orgasm rippled through every inch of her and she cried out. He held her tight and laid beside her as she shook.

  “I didn’t think you wanted me anymore,” Camille said, breathless.

  “I do want you. I want you very much.” Sawyer guided her hand down to the crotch of his jeans where she felt a hard bulge.

  Feeling herself grow hot again, she undid his belt and kissed the insides of his thighs before returning the favor, feeling him shake as she took him in her mouth. Time seemed to stop as they moved together, and his climax startled her, as if she had been dreaming. She shivered and crawled into his arms, feeling the blossom of shared pleasure move through her.

  Maybe I can make a life here, Camille thought as she drifted to sleep, Sawyer’s chest rising and falling in contented breaths beneath her.

  Chapter 7

  Camille finished applying her mascara with a sigh, setting the silver tube on the antique vanity. It was Wanda’s birthday, and all her children had agreed to get together—even Sawyer and his brothers. She had offered to spend the evening in her room reading, not wanting to get tangled in family politics, but Sawyer had insisted that Wanda wouldn’t have it any other way than to have Camille there. He’d dropped Camille and September off to pick out dresses at the closest mall—more than an hour away, Camille remembered ruefully—and now she was so nervous she could hardly breathe.