top of page




“I swear to God, Beckett, if this little boy doesn’t come out of my body within the next twenty-four hours, you’re never touching me again.” 

My husband’s strong hands begin kneading my shoulders. “Aw, darlin’, you know you don’t mean that. Besides, he’s only a week late.” 

I pull away and give him the biggest death glare I can manage. “Only a week late? Only?! You try being a million months pregnant in the middle of a Southern heat wave!” 

We're not even halfway through May, and it's been over ninety degrees for the last ten days. That, combined with the humidity and the extra fifty pounds I’m carrying, makes me feel a little crazed. Our three girls were all winter babies, so the temperature wasn't an issue with them this late into my pregnancy. 

I lean against the counter, brushing a damp piece of hair away from my forehead. “Look at me! Even in the air conditioning, I’m a hot, sweaty mess! Let’s not get started on what a dumpster fire I am when I actually step outside.” 

Beck gives me his infuriatingly sexy crooked smile as his eyes travel the length of my body. "Presley, if you're a dumpster fire, then I'm truly disturbed because I still think you're the sexiest woman I've ever seen." 

I point a stern finger at him. “Oh, no, you don't. Don’t you dare try charming your way out of this. It’s your fault I’m like this in the first place!” 

Beckett Armstrong is the swooniest bastard I’ve ever met. He was like this when we were high school sweethearts, and it's gotten even worse since he came back into my life as an adult. If I don't hold my ground, I will be on the losing end of this argument real fast. 

His lips twitch. “Really, now? That's funny because, as I recall, you were the one who jumped me the morning he was conceived.” I ignore the shiver that courses through my body when his large hands bracket my hips. “Matter of fact... I remember some colorful threats on your end when I tried slowing things down and taking my time lovin’ on you. I believe your exact words were, ‘Beckett, the girls are going to wake up anytime now, and we’re going to lose our chance. If you don’t get inside of me right the hell now, I swear to all that is holy, I will castrate you with my bare hands.’”

I gasp when he trails kisses down the slope of my neck. “I would never say something so unladylike.” 

I feel his lips curving into a grin against my skin. “Sure, you wouldn’t, Pres. Whatever you need to tell yourself.” 

Now it’s my turn to grin. We both know I have no problems speakin’ my mind these days, Southern manners be damned. In my defense, when you have three kids, ranging in age from two to seven, finding time for sexy times can be challenging. You have to jump on that shit whenever you get the chance. Or, in my case, jump on my husband. 

When Beck's hand slides to my center, rubbing me through the thin cotton of my sleep shorts, I moan. "You know, I've been doing some reading, and there is one thing we can try that may trigger labor."

“What’s that?” My voice is embarrassingly breathy. 

His finger slips beneath the leg of my shorts, tracing the seam of my panties. “They say that orgas—”

“Happy Mother’s Day, Mommy!” 

Beckett and I break away so fast, it's comical. I smirk when he turns away, adjusting the rather large problem in his pants as our oldest daughter, Addie, walks into the kitchen. He’s muttering something under his breath that sounds suspiciously, like, “Adorable little cockblocker.” 

“Good morning, sweetheart.” I pull Addie into me, hugging her to my side. 

“Mornin’, Mommy and Daddy.” She places her tiny palm on my belly. “Good morning, baby David.” 

Beck and I share a smile when she places a soft kiss over my tummy. Even at only seven years old, Addie’s maternal instincts are strong. She’s taken it upon herself to be the mini mommy of the house where her sisters are concerned. It's a good thing she's such an angel because the younger two, Bailey and Savannah, are little terrors, always lookin’ for mischief. I blame their uncle Clayton for that particular trait. Lord help me if this little boy follows suit. His stubbornness in leaving my womb probably isn’t the best sign. 

Addie turns her chin up to Beck. “Daddy, are we still gonna go to Dottie’s and get Mommy’s special Mother’s Day donuts?” 

My stomach growls, thinking of biting into a delicious banana chocolate fritter from the bakery on Main Street. I try not to indulge in sugary treats too often, but Dottie’s fritters are my weakness. 

He musses Addie’s already sleep-rumpled hair, making her dark blonde locks resemble a bird's nest. "We sure are, baby. How 'bout we go wake your sisters up, and the four of us will head out?" 

“Okay!” Addie bounces on her toes. 

Addie takes off up the stairs, with Beckett right behind her. Right as they disappear from my line of sight, a rush of wetness suddenly soaks through my sleep shorts.   

I groan. “Aw, c’mon, kid. You’ve already made it a week past your due date. You couldn’t have waited a little longer until after I got my fritter?” 

Yep, this little boy is definitely going to be a terror. Rather ironic since we’re naming him after his grandfather, who was always calm and collected, even in the most stressful situations. I grab a couple of dishtowels, throwing them on the floor to soak up the mess I made when my water broke. 

“Uh, Beckett?” I call out. “Change of plans.” 

His heavy footfall comes down the stairs. “What’d you say, Pres?” Beckett’s brown eyes fall to the floor and widen when they spot the towels at my feet. “Is that what I think it is?”

“Yep.” I hold my soaked shorts away from my skin. “You mind grabbing me some dry clothes and the hospital bag while I call my mama to let her know we’re bringing the girls over?”

Thankfully, my parents' house is on the same property. Granted, it's a two thousand-acre ranch, but it won't take more than a few minutes to get there by car. 

My husband’s grin couldn’t possibly be any wider as he crosses the room in a few long strides. “We’re gonna have a baby.” 

I lift a brow. “You’re just now figuring that out?”

“Wiseass.” I yelp when he pinches my butt.

My eyes roll. “Yeah, yeah. Now, go get my stuff.” 

Beckett smacks a hard kiss against my mouth. “I love you, Pres.” 

“I love you, too, Beck. Always.” 

It took us a long time to get to this place, but I couldn’t imagine my life being any happier. We’ve had our fair share of arguments over the years, but not once have I doubted his love and devotion for me or the little family we’ve made. There isn’t anything Beckett wouldn’t do for us. As I watch my husband leap into action, I can’t help but smile.

Damn swoony bastard.   

bottom of page