Page 15 of Hideaway Whirlwind (Big Boys of Berenson Trucking #4)

Teagan

Elliott is gone for hours , and I’m surprised by how upset I am when it begins to pour outside again, worrying about him when he’s a grown, competent man who knows how to take care of himself.

Because what if he slipped on the ice and got hurt?

I don’t know which direction he went or where Russell’s house is, and I have no idea how I would get in contact with Elliott or anyone else.

My anxiety gets so bad, constantly getting up to press my nose to the little windows in his back door to look for the first sign of his return, that I automatically stand from the living room floor, where the kids and I had been playing Go Fish for the millionth round, and go to Elliott when he finally returns.

Ice clings to his beard, sleet covering his broad shoulders, his fingers frigid and stiff from being exposed to the elements.

As soon as he sets the bags on the kitchen table, I grab his hands, tucking them under my armpits since I read you aren’t supposed to rub them to get warm.

Or wait, was the other way around? Crap .

“Why didn’t you wear gloves?” I ask, fussing over him. “ You’ll be lucky to keep all your fingers.” I don’t stop to think what I’m doing when I bring one of his hands up to blow warm air over them, accidentally brushing his skin with my lips.

“Birdie,” he says low under his breath, almost like a moan, sliding his other hand around my upper back as he crowds me against the kitchen counter. “You were worried about me?”

“Of course, I was,” I snap, rolling my eyes up and meeting the deep blue pools of his, his expression thawing as much as his fingers. “Don’t worry me like that again.”

“Santa brought presents!” Dustin yells. Sydney and Kendall follow him to the table, jumping up and down when they find a duffel bag filled with games and puzzles—more presents than I’ve ever been able to afford for them at Christmas.

I’m quick to slip around Elliott, putting the table between us, busying myself with sorting through the other two bags, happy to see we’ll have more than the half bag of stale potato chips and the cans of sweet peas and carrots warmed on the stove that we had for breakfast and lunch.

“Oh, man.” I crack open a tepid ginger ale and drink it down, my shoulders relaxing as if I’ve just taken a sip of the nectar of the gods. “That’s the good stuff.”

Elliott clears his throat when I catch him watching me, and he shucks off his boots and his thick, light brown work jacket, worn over a vintage denim jacket that looks like it may be as old as me.

I set my coveted soda down and hold up one of the two pairs of trendy designer boot cut blue jeans mixed in with a few sweaters, sweatshirts, and fancy satin nightgowns with the tags still attached. “Whose clothes are these?”

“They’re from my sister-in-law, Layla. I think she’s around your age,” he says offhandedly.

“Really? How old is she?”

“Twenty-six, if I remember correctly.”

His answer takes me aback. “How old is your brother?”

Elliott tugs at the end of his beard. “Fifty-three.”

“And you are…?”

“Fifty-five,” he answers in a low voice, scratching the back of his neck. He doesn’t look directly at me when he asks, “You?”

“Twenty-two.”

“Christ, I thought you were older,” he mutters under his breath, dragging the heel of his left palm down his face, knocking off the ice that has started to melt.

Sensing he’s uncomfortable and wanting to avoid any judgment in his eyes—which I’m well acquainted with, considering my age and the kids’ ages—I move on to folding the cute jeans, dropping them back in one of the tote bags since I doubt I can pull them up past my knees.

“I take it all this stuff means we won’t be staying at their house?

” I ask, holding up an unbelievably soft, cream sweater that will fit Sydney and Dustin better than it will me.

He grunts, and I bob my head, chewing the inside of my cheek. Maybe I’m not done thanking him if we have to stay here for a little longer.

“Mama, Mama,” Kendall says with a whine, hugging my thighs, rubbing her eyes with her polar bear.

I pick her up, careful not to rest too much of her weight on my belly.

“I need to put her down for a nap,” I tell Elliott, though I don’t take my eyes off Sydney and Dustin, who have settled at the table with a five-hundred-piece puzzle of a commercial dumpster with approximately twenty raccoons wearing sunglasses dancing on trash bags.

Odd, but at least the kids are happy to finally have something to do.

“I’ll watch them,” he says. “If you’re ok with that.”

I have to be since I have no other option. “I’ll just be a minute.”

* * *

I jerk awake when Sydney stutters next to my ear, “Papa’s making something called goo—goo—” She huffs. “Goulash! For dinner and asked if you want any.”

“He’s not your papa.” I must have fallen asleep when I had lain down with Kendall, since this last pregnancy is kicking my ass and leeching all my energy.

Thoughts of Kendall have panic rising as I pat the empty mattress.

“Kendall?” I lurch over the side, fearing she may have fallen off the bed. “Kendall!”

“Hey, hey, she’s right here,” Elliott says, barging into the room with Kendall, who is waving around a wooden spoon like a wand, flinging tomato sauce at Elliott’s face.

I collapse back on the mattress, taking a deep breath to calm my racing heart while Sydney skips out of the room. Elliott takes the wooden spoon and hands Kendall over when I sit back up and reach for her, hugging her extra tight, and kiss the top of her head. “I’m sorry,” I say into her hair.

“For what?” Elliott leans his shoulder against the door frame after wiping the sauce from his cheek with the tiniest chuckle.

I can’t bear to look at him when I say, “For falling asleep and making you watch the kids.” I should have been more vigilant, kept my guard up, especially where the kids are concerned.

“I don’t mind. They’re good kids. And you needed the rest.” Elliott sniffs and abruptly leaves the room.

The unspoken reason as to why I needed the rest, having caught hardly any sleep last night, has me rubbing my sore thighs together.

“Baby,” Kendall says around her thumb in her mouth.

“Yes, you’re mommy’s sweet little baby,” I coo, stroking her black hair that’s thickening as she grows older, already long enough to brush her shoulders. No matter how much harder it’s been since I had her, I’ll always be grateful I get to be her mom.

I lose my breath when she pushes back to pat my belly and repeats, “Baby.”

“No, no baby,” I say with a shaky voice, pulling her hand away with no idea how she knows . How much longer can I keep my pregnancy a secret if even my two-year-old has sensed it? “You’re my only baby.”

When she starts to whine, I distract her by pretending to chomp on her chin and cheeks.

It works like a charm, and shortly after, she squirms to be let down, toddling out of the bedroom.

It takes me a few minutes more to drag myself out of bed, and when I do, I tug the waistband of my leggings up and pull on a second, lumpy top, before I join the rest for dinner.

Elliott

Birdie is as much a puzzle as the jigsaw we’re working hard at putting together, all the black and gray fur pieces indistinguishable from the next, making it nearly impossible to finish.

When full darkness falls, it’s even harder to accomplish, since we can only run a few lights at a time with the generator, needing to conserve gas since I don’t know when or where I’ll be able to get more if this freeze continues longer than forecasted.

Each time Sydney’s head droops forward on her neck, she jerks back awake, only for her eyes to flutter shut. Dustin isn’t in any better shape, yawning repeatedly.

“Bedtime, guys,” Birdie says, pushing her chair back and stretching her arms up with a pleasant groan that reminds me of last night.

“But I’m not ti—” Another yawn squashes the end of Dustin’s sentence, and Sydney almost faceplants on the table top.

Birdie twists from one side to the other to pop her back, and I get a little flash of her smooth skin when the waistband on her leggings rolls down.

I want to peel her clothes off and kiss and lick every square inch of her.

I immediately set Kendall on the floor so I’m not holding her on my knee with such inappropriate thoughts of her mama heating my blood.

“Your mama says it’s time for bed, so it’s time for bed, kiddos,” I tell them when Dustin tries to negotiate to stay up for another hour.

“Goodnight, Papa,” Sydney says when Birdie rouses her from the table, smacking her lips after yawning as wide as Dustin before she gives me a side hug.

“I told you, he’s not…” Birdie slumps her shoulders and shakes her head, her feathery black hair half falling out of her high ponytail.

Returning Sydney’s hug, I close my eyes and pretend she’s mine when I whisper, “Goodnight, sweetie. Sleep tight.”

My heart swells and shatters when Dustin does the same, and I find I have to lean forward with my elbows on the table so I can fold my hands over my nose and mouth, pretending to cover a yawn to hide my longing as Birdie eyes me.

Dropping my head to the side, it’s impossible to resist watching Birdie’s curvy backside retreat down the hallway.

I’m caught red-handed when she looks back after shuffling the kids into the bathroom to brush their teeth, then into the spare bedroom when they’re done.

She lifts her chin a fraction before closing the door.

Shutting everything down and double-checking that the doors are locked, I head into my bedroom with nothing else to do except replay Birdie’s every look, every move, every breath and sigh and word over the last four days to explain the miracle I was gifted last night.

I come up with nothing.

Nothing except the memories of Birdie sinking onto my cock that I still can’t believe she was able to fit inside her.

Of the way her naked hips flared wide, sloping out to a gorgeous, full ass that filled my old, unworthy, blood-stained hands.

Of what it felt like to curl my body so completely over hers.

Of the euphoria of being given leave to cum inside her instead of pulling out like I should have at the last second.

I sit up in bed so fast it makes me dizzy, blood rushing fast in my ears. I came inside her without a condom . How did I not think about that potentially life-altering— please, please, please —fact at all today?