Dust by Eva Everson (epub e reader .TXT) 📕

I lifted my face to his, fearful from the sound of his voice that he was about to slip off to sleep. That he would miss my announcement. “Westley,” I whispered. “I’m pregnant.”

Half-closed eyes grew full and dilated with surprise. He rose slightly, though not enough to disturb the pattern of our bodies. “What?”

I grinned. Nodded.

His hand slid up my hip and to the flat of my stomach where it rested. He shifted more fully, bringing me flat to my back, him hovering over me. Protectively. Seductively. “Are you sure?”

I nodded again. “Miss Justine took me to the doctor.”

His fingers stretched. Gripped. “So that’s why—”

“Mmmhmm.”

He kissed me. Lightly, then without reservation. “I love you,” he groaned, then sat up as if a revelation had come to him, bursting through the room on a flash of lightning. He blinked several times. Ran his fingers through his soft curls.

I raised up on my elbows, stunned by the suddenness of his movement, needing him to return and yet wanting to know the source of his actions. “What is it?”

My husband chuckled and his brow rose. “We’re gonna need a bigger house,” he said, reminding me of Brody in Jaws when he said, “You’re gonna need a bigger boat.”

I laughed, more with relief than anything else. “I think we’ll be fine here for a while. I’ve already thought of how we can turn Michelle’s room into half nursery, half toddler’s room.”

But he shook his head. “No. Michelle will need her own space. She’ll want to play with her toys and the baby will be sleeping and—a baby.” He looked at me, his expression wide with wonder, lips parted in the sweetest of smiles. “I simply cannot believe—a baby …”

I wondered then, ridiculously, how Cindie had told him of her pregnancy. How he’d reacted. Obviously not with joy. Or expectation or wonder. “March,” I said then.

“March?”

“The baby is due in March. So, it’s still early. We have plenty of time to think about nurseries and new houses and all that.” I sat up, adjusted the material of the jumpsuit that had become twisted around me. “But whatever you want to decide, Westley. Stay here or find a bigger place … whatever you say is fine by me.”

He slid closer. Kissed me again. “How did I ever find someone as wonderful as you?”

I grinned at him, tilting my head to make myself look more cartoon than wife. “You didn’t,” I reminded him. “I found you … behind the pharmacy counter.” I pointed to my throat. “I was getting sick, remember?”

My husband tweaked my nose. “Luckiest day of my life.”

I sobered. “Mine, too. I’d take a hundred sore throats—the sorest—if it meant finding you.”

We stared at each other for long moments, barely blinking, lips parted. From the next room the candles flickered, sending shadows dancing across the walls and into the living room. One song came to an end, fading into a musical measure of notes. The crackling of the album replaced it … and then another song began.

I rested my head on Westley’s shoulder, awkwardly. Not that I cared. I didn’t. I only knew one thing—the words of the song were true. “I won’t,” I whispered.

Westley moved us into a more comfortable position, then kissed my temple, his lips warm and moist. “You won’t what?”

“Last a day without you …”

Chapter Twenty-five

Westley and I rose early the next morning, assuring enough time for me to get over my morning sickness and for us to gather a few things together, throw them in the car, and head over to Paul and DiAnn’s. With the top down, August’s sun beat down on our bodies, already tanned by the summer. With Westley anxious to hit the lake as soon as we arrived, we were in our swimsuits—me with a cover-up and Wes with a V-neck tee.

“What do you think they’ll say when we tell them that I’m pregnant?” I asked, already excited.

Westley grinned as he stared straight ahead. “They’ll be happy for us,” he said.

I crossed my legs, looked out the window at the now-familiar roadside. We’d made this trip so many times since we’d married, usually with Michelle. She adored the water ... the boat ... delighted in watching her father ski. Paul and DiAnn doted on her, showered her with gifts every time we came. So much so that I’d asked Westley to talk to them about it, to tell them that she would become spoiled and learn to expect something every visit. “It’s fine,” he said, dismissing my concern. “Don’t worry so much. They love doing it and they can afford it.”

I looked again at my husband—so amazingly handsome. Like an ad in a fashion magazine. “Do they know that Michelle is at her—is at Cindie’s?”

He glanced at me then, catching my hesitation and knowing its source. “It’s okay, sweetheart. You can say it … Cindie is her mother.”

“I know. I just—it had all felt so real and then, especially now …” I pressed my hand against my stomach. “I don’t know how to feel.”

“Meaning?”

I paused long enough to—for once—think before I answered. What had I meant? Did I want to be Michelle’s mother? Did I wish in some crazy way that it had been me who gave birth to her? Me, who she called her best spin on Ali—Adi. I had fallen in love with her; that much I knew. I knew and I now understood why Westley had been so determined to gain custody of her—not just because of whatever Cindie lacked, but because of all that Michelle gave from her tiny little self.

“Ali?”

I shook my head. “I’m hormonal. Ignore me.”

But he reached for my hand just the same. Gave it a warm squeeze. “I think they’ll be thrilled.”

“I think they’ll go broke if they keep up the gift giving once the baby comes.” I turned a little toward him, the seat belt pulling against me. “Wes, why do you think they haven’t