“Stop cursing in front of the kids,” Kamryn snapped.

Linus curved an arm around her waist and pulled her tight to his side.

I looked up at Joker. “I think I like him.”

“I’d like him more if he’d watch his mouth,” Mrs. Heely declared.

Kamryn grinned at her then turned her grin to me.

I grinned back.

“Candy, Miss Carissa gave me flowers. Do you want to help your Momma Heely put them in water?” Mrs. Heely asked a pretty little girl who was sitting on an armchair wearing a pretty little dress and swinging her legs.

She didn’t hesitate to hop right off the chair and push her way through bodies to Mrs. Heely.

When she got close, she grabbed the woman’s hand.

Apparently, that was her answer.

They got to the doorway of the kitchen before, shyly, little Candy turned back and called, “Like your hair, Mister Carson.”

“Thanks, doll,” Joker called back.

Kamryn came forward, hand up to me. “Hey there, Carissa, so nice to meet you. I’m Kam.”

Thus it began, the introductions, hand clasps, hugs, smiles, but this finished with Mrs. Heely yelling through the opening that had a view from the kitchen, “I’ve made Carson’s favorite, my pot roast. But I’ve also made brussels sprouts, and I’m saying right now, all my boys are eating them.” She pointed a tangerine rose at Joker through the opening before swinging it to Linus. “Including my big boys. Am I understood?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Linus answered on a grin.

“Shit,” Joker said under his breath.

“What did I just hear?” Mrs. Heely called on a snap.

“Just don’t put too much of that… stuff on my plate,” Joker called back.

“Six,” she returned.

“Two,” Joker fired back.

“Four,” she haggled.

“Two,” Joker repeated.

“Three,” she snapped.

“Deal,” Joker said.

I started giggling.

Kam giggled with me.

All my panic slid away, and I was finally good to go to give good girlfriend.

* * *

“Next, I want a Candy,” I declared somewhat tiredly, belly full of pot roast, potatoes, rolls, and brussels sprouts (which I detested but forced down five), apple crumble pie and ice cream, and with this, several glasses of wine.

After all that food and not much sleep the night before, I was ready for snuggle time with Joker and then bed (with Joker).

We were in his truck and almost home and I was in love with a little girl named Candy.

Well, I was in love with them all, but Candy was just so sweet. She said practically nothing and was shy as could be. But she also loved her daddy loads, whispered with her mother and “Momma Heely” with her hands on their necks, put up with her rambunctious brothers with a great deal of patience, and studied Joker timidly like she had a crush on him.

All of which (particularly the last) was exactly why she was so stinking sweet.

“Say again?” he asked, his hand in mine holding them at his thigh.

“A little girl,” I explained.

His hand convulsed in mine and the good company, good food, and wine-induced mood melted instantly as I realized what I’d just said.

I turned my head to him. “Not immediately, of course.”

By the dashboard lights, I saw him grin at the road as he murmured, “Of course.”

I shut up and looked at the street.

We drove in silence for a while before Joker asked, “How many you want?”

“How many what?” I asked, purposefully obtusely, scared, what with him already taking on one child (who, incidentally, was not his own) that this was way too soon for us to be talking about future children.

But more scared it would scare him.

Joker didn’t play my game.

He gave it to me straight.

“Me. Four. That includes Travis. And I don’t give a shit what they come out to be.”

I wasn’t breathing right when I turned again to look at him.

Therefore, it sounded funny when I asked, “You want four kids?”

“Including Travis.”

My heart skipped a beat.

“This goes the distance, you good to push out three more?” he asked.

I was good to push out seven more (okay, perhaps that was slightly overstating it).

“Yes,” I croaked.

He squeezed my hand. “Good.”

I stared at him.

Then I blurted, “All I ever wanted was to be a wife and mom.”

I watched him grin at the road again before he teased, “Shocker. No burning desire to be a grocery store clerk?”

“I lost my sister when I was six,” I whispered, and his hand tightened again in mine but this time didn’t loosen. “My mom when I was seventeen. Losing half my family, I know it can slip through your fingers so easily. So all I ever wanted was to spend every waking minute of my day taking care of my husband and my kids.”

Joker said nothing but the air in the cab was far from light.

I swallowed, thinking I read his thoughts, and looked back to the windshield. “It’s lame. I know. I should want to be a graphic designer or bank president or something.”

“Most important job in the world.”

I looked back at him.

“Not one fuckin’ thing lame about that,” he stated firmly, his hand still holding mine tight. I watched as he lifted it to his lips and brushed them against my knuckles. I was breathing strange again when he dropped our hands back to his thigh. “Not one fuckin’ thing.”

“Well, now, I kinda wanna be a stylist,” I shared.

“Then do it,” he said. “We’ll get you there. You want part-time and the rest of the time family, that’ll happen. You want full-time, whatever. Days where you didn’t get what you want are done, Carrie.”

“I can’t take night classes with my work schedule,” I told him.

He glanced at me again then back to the road before replying, “Day at a time. Week at a time. We’ll deal with your ex. We’ll be together and make the solid we got unshakable. Then we’ll sort it out.”

“It’s easy with you,” I said straight out, got another glance and kept going. “I didn’t realize how hard it was with him until you gave the easy of you.”

“Butterfly, I think we’ve both had enough hard. We could use some easy.”

I wished I was driving. If I was driving, right that second, I’d pull over and kiss him.

Since I couldn’t do that, I again faced forward, muttering, “Totally wish I could bronze that tire.”