Page 47

OSCAR

“ S hould you be out in this heat?” I ask, keeping a close eye on Makayla as she works the soil, tugging weeds from around the young vines.

I find her out here after tinkering in the barn for over an hour, trying to sort through the mountain of farm equipment stashed in the rafters. My darling Makayla and her friend Janet had no idea what sort of treasure trove they were sitting on until my brothers and I moved in.

“I’m okay,” she says, wiping sweat from her brow with the back of her hand. It’s June, and she’s seven months pregnant. “Feeling heavier every day, but I can manage. This isn’t exactly backbreaking work.”

“You may be getting heavier, but you’re still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met.”

“Keep talking like that, mister, and I’m going to jump you.”

I laugh. “You’re not done with that patch yet, ma’am. You swore you’d finish it by sundown.”

“Look at you, keeping me honest.” Makayla giggles, then rises to straighten her back and stretch her arms.

This farm life is something else. And it’s doing us nothing but good, both physically and emotionally.

Among the three of us, we juggle the city business with Bryan while keeping the vineyard running.

We go to bed tired but happy every night.

With all the lovemaking and the hard labor, nobody misses the gym.

Granted, we’re always making sure that Makayla doesn’t overwork herself.

The mother of our child is our priority. Always.

“Kellan should be back soon,” I tell her.

“Everything okay in the city?”

“Let’s just say he doesn’t regret keeping our apartment. It’s practically a waystation for whichever unlucky bastard has to go back and face the music once a week,” I reply.

She nods slowly. “It’s a good thing you’re doing this in rotation. That way, there’s always at least one Anderson on-site.”

“And no one gets the short end of the stick,” I chuckle.

It’s Friday afternoon, but that doesn’t mean what it used to. There’s work to do every day, not just Monday-Friday. Saturday and Sunday are just as busy—Mother Nature never clocks out.

“Hand me that water, please, babe?” Makayla reaches out.

I pick up the bottle from the ground and pass it to her. “Bryan and Callie are coming over this weekend,” I tell her. “Alex is handling the shopping for both lunch and dinner, and Kellan says he’ll drive them back to the city afterward.”

“It was about time,” she says, half-smiling. “After he proposed to Callie on her birthday—frickin’ finally—we never got around to actually celebrating that milestone.”

“Things are getting better between us,” I add. “I mean, with Bryan—after the whole?—”

She laughs. “Swedish debacle.” It’s what we’re calling it these days.

She squints toward the farmhouse, tucked between ancient oaks and shaded from the worst of the afternoon sun on its north and west sides. I pause to admire the gentle swell of her belly pressing against her denim overalls, her hair braided into a single glossy rope that trails down her back.

Her cheeks glow a soft peach, her brows sun-bleached a shade lighter, delicate freckles dusting the bridge of her nose. She meets my gaze and smiles again. “What?”

“Just admiring you,” I admit with a casual shrug.

“I’m glad I’m worth admiring…”

“You’re kidding, right?”

She giggles. “A little, but truth be told, I’m the lucky one—I get to drool over three hunks every day.” She glances back at the farmhouse again, searching for something.

“What’s wrong?”

“Janet was supposed to harvest whatever’s ripe in the garden,” she mutters. “But I don’t see her anywhere.”

“I think she’s already done with that,” I say. “Pretty sure I walked past her earlier and she was already bringing in a full basket from the garden.”

Makayla sighs. “That girl is on fire.”

“True, but no one’s hotter than Alex right now. I had no idea he was such a natural with a saw.”

“I don’t think Alex had any idea, either, until he picked up a saw and decided to build the vineyard racks on his own.”

The vineyard keeps throwing curveballs, challenging each of us at every turn. But Makayla’s the one who pushes us past our comfort zones. She stitches every detail into a tapestry that lets our lives unfold in a steady, shimmering stream.

“Either way, I’m lucky to have you all riding this wild wave with me,” Makayla says before dropping to her knees and yanking at the weeds again.

“Remind me again why you didn’t just spray the whole lot with weed killer?” I ask.

“Because I want to give an organic crop a shot. Do it old school. Like they used to in the past. Some of the best wines came out of an age when they didn’t spray their vineyards with all sorts of toxins. And yes, I know they’re supposed to be safe and yadda yadda, but… I’m sticking to my guns.”

“Fine.” I drop beside her.

If Makayla’s digging in the dirt, then so am I. There’s no bridge I won’t cross or mountain I won’t climb to help make her dreams come true.

She shoots me an amused look, then returns to plucking the tender weeds. I do the same, and we work for a moment in silence. I figure she’ll come inside with me if I’m patient. The tactic works—it doesn’t take long before she reassesses the task.

“Is this silly?” she asks.

“No, it just means you need longer breaks because you’re—well—pregnant,” I say, pushing to my feet and helping her up.

“I wouldn’t mind an ice-cold lemonade right about now,” she says, glancing over the row. “I’m almost done, anyway.”

“See? Reason wins.”

“And lemonade.”

“The triumph of reason—and lemonade!” I proclaim, drawing a laugh from her.

We walk back toward the house, enjoying the fresh air.

I hold her hand protectively to make sure she doesn’t slip on the uneven ground.

Makayla knows we’re extra cautious with her, and she’s fine with it.

“What good is a man who can’t lead his woman?

” she’d said the first time we talked about it. “Let alone three,” I’d replied.

Now she lets me guide her toward the house without a fuss. We climb the porch steps and find Alex waiting beside the table and cushioned chairs, smiling and holding a pitcher of fresh lemonade.

“You fine gentlemen always know exactly what I need,” Makayla says.

“Anything for you, babe.” Alex pours her a glass.

We settle in, watching heat shimmer over the young, vigorous vines—rows that roll to the horizon, where green hills and scattered redwoods reach toward a flawless sky.

My nerves stretch thin; I check the time so often Makayla can’t help but notice.

“What’s wrong?” she asks.

Alex shoots me a warning look. I shake my head slowly. “Nothing,” I tell her. “Just waiting for Kellan. It’s taking him forever.”

“He said he’d be back before dinner,” she replies.

“No, he said he’s coming back with dinner,” Alex reminds her with a nervous chuckle.

That’s not what he’s anxious about, though. Not what I’m anxious about, either. But Makayla can’t know, not yet. We planned this carefully. Everything has to go according to plan, so I pull out my phone and fire off a quick text to Kellan.

“Where in God’s green earth are you, you big lug?”

Makayla snickers. “And that, my darling Oscar, is why you’re not getting the special dipping sauce… You always rile him up when he’s in charge of bringing food.” She pauses and arches a brow at Alex. “You could’ve just let me cook.”

“Nope,” he says. “After all the work you did in the field today? No way.”

At last, Kellan’s car turns onto the gravel drive, dust plumes curling behind it. He parks in front of the house, steps out, gives me a curt nod, and checks his phone.

“Conscientious driver, that one,” Alex mutters.

“Big lug?” Kellan asks me.

I offer a shrug. “You were taking forever.”

“And we’re triplets. If I’m a big lug, we’re all big lugs,” Kellan shoots back, earning a laugh from Makayla. “Worry not, I bring food. But first!”

“First what?” she rasps. “I’m starving!”

“I thought we were only taking a lemonade break,” I say.

The sun sinks low, incandescent streaks of bright orange blazing across the blue horizon.

“Hang on just a little longer,” Kellan says, joining us on the porch and pressing a kiss to her lips. “We need to talk.”

Makayla’s brows knit with concern. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Kellan says.

“On the contrary. We’re living our best lives, right here, right now, with you,” I add as Alex and I get up, while she remains seated.

Alex picks up the thread. “You’ve made us happier than we’ve ever been, Kay. We’re building something amazing here, bringing a child into the world, and we love you more than words can say… Will you do us the honor of spending the rest of your life with us?”

Makayla is speechless. For a second there, I’m worried we didn’t get the full message across, somehow.

“Will you marry us?” I add.

Kellan pulls a small velvet box from his pocket and flips it open, the diamond inside explaining why the drive home took him so long.

“Oh…” Makayla breathes, covering her mouth with both hands as we drop to one knee before her like knights before their queen.

She gazes at each of us, eyes brimming with tears. Finally, she nods, utterly speechless.

“A thousand times… yes.”