Ramsey: A Military Bad Boy Secret Baby Pregnancy Romance (The Bradford Brothers Book 3) by Juliana Conners
Authors: Juliana Conners
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kids. It’s a soundtrack, of our time together. I hope that when you listen to it, you will know that I’m thinking of you, and fondly remembering the time that we shared.
Your partner in secrecy and in musical journeys,
Monica
I can’t believe it. Part of me wants to throw the package away, because I have a feeling that once I listen to the songs, I won’t ever be able to forget Monica. Not that I’m so sure I could, anyway.
The weaker part of me wins. I put the CD into my computer and upload the songs, so that I can play them in MP3 version on my phone, in the Jeep.
“Bye, Mom, I’m headed out.”
“Whatever.”
She’s sniffling like a child on the couch.
On my way to the Elephant Bar, I start the music. Our soundtrack. That Monica made me.
And as the music washes over me, filling up the Jeep just like it did when Monica was riding in it with me, I think I may be starting to form my first inkling of what love is.
Chapter 19
One Week Later
“I found you!” I call out, peering behind the curtain and then tickling Becky.
“No you didn’t, I’m not here!” she protests. “I even made it so that you wouldn’t think I was here!”
“I know. Good job!”
A couple days ago, some of her toys and dolls appeared, lined up in front of the curtains. This was obviously a planned ruse, because today she was hiding in the very corner of the curtains, and I’d had to move all the obstacles to check.
“I almost didn’t find you before the timer went off,” I told her, seriously impressed with her strategy. “But I did! I see you! I win this round!”
I pick her up and she resists, lightly pounding her small hands against my chest and saying, “You can’t see me! I’m invisible.”
“Ouch!” I say, putting her down and rubbing my breasts.
“I’m sorry, Aunt Monica!” she says, pouting. “Did I hurt you?”
“No honey, it’s okay.”
My breasts feel swollen and tender, as if someone much larger than Becky had beat them up. And I know it isn’t her fault— they’re just naturally feeling this way. To make matters work, when I set her down, I feel nauseous, as if I’m about to throw up.
I can’t possibly be pregnant, I think. There’s just no way .
I try to set aside the gnawing thought, by smiling at Becky and getting back to the matter at hand.
“I think we have time for one more round before your mom comes home,” I tell her. “Which should be any minute now. And as long as Mason doesn’t wake up from his nap.”
I turn my head towards the baby monitor, which shows my nephew sleeping soundly upstairs in his crib.
“All right,” she says, “But I’m going to find you. And then I’ll still be ahead! You found me this time, but not next time!”
I laugh, then turn on the counter above the kitchen stove, as she closes her eyes and begins counting.
My niece takes after me. She’s cutthroat and competitive. Even what started out as a simple game of hide and seek has turned into an endless tally of who’s winning and by how much. At the end of each week, the loser had to do the other’s laundry.
Becky’s too young to do it on her own, anyway, but Susan assigned it to her as a chore to start teaching her responsibility. Usually Susan or I help her wash, dry, sort, fold and put away the clothes. But when she wins hide & seek, I have to do the honors.
And when I win, she has to do mine in addition to hers— which kind of puts an unfair burden on Susan, but she doesn’t seem to mind. She’s glad that Becky has someone to watch her and to be competitive against.
I head to the dining room, where I myself had scoped out a good hiding place earlier today. While Becky was taking her nap, I’d cleared out the entire bottom portion of the china hutch, and now I slink in and close the cupboard doors behind me. I’d put some fabric over the glass windows, and I can vaguely see out to the living room, where Becky’s still counting.
“Ready or not, here I come!”
Your partner in secrecy and in musical journeys,
Monica
I can’t believe it. Part of me wants to throw the package away, because I have a feeling that once I listen to the songs, I won’t ever be able to forget Monica. Not that I’m so sure I could, anyway.
The weaker part of me wins. I put the CD into my computer and upload the songs, so that I can play them in MP3 version on my phone, in the Jeep.
“Bye, Mom, I’m headed out.”
“Whatever.”
She’s sniffling like a child on the couch.
On my way to the Elephant Bar, I start the music. Our soundtrack. That Monica made me.
And as the music washes over me, filling up the Jeep just like it did when Monica was riding in it with me, I think I may be starting to form my first inkling of what love is.
Chapter 19
One Week Later
“I found you!” I call out, peering behind the curtain and then tickling Becky.
“No you didn’t, I’m not here!” she protests. “I even made it so that you wouldn’t think I was here!”
“I know. Good job!”
A couple days ago, some of her toys and dolls appeared, lined up in front of the curtains. This was obviously a planned ruse, because today she was hiding in the very corner of the curtains, and I’d had to move all the obstacles to check.
“I almost didn’t find you before the timer went off,” I told her, seriously impressed with her strategy. “But I did! I see you! I win this round!”
I pick her up and she resists, lightly pounding her small hands against my chest and saying, “You can’t see me! I’m invisible.”
“Ouch!” I say, putting her down and rubbing my breasts.
“I’m sorry, Aunt Monica!” she says, pouting. “Did I hurt you?”
“No honey, it’s okay.”
My breasts feel swollen and tender, as if someone much larger than Becky had beat them up. And I know it isn’t her fault— they’re just naturally feeling this way. To make matters work, when I set her down, I feel nauseous, as if I’m about to throw up.
I can’t possibly be pregnant, I think. There’s just no way .
I try to set aside the gnawing thought, by smiling at Becky and getting back to the matter at hand.
“I think we have time for one more round before your mom comes home,” I tell her. “Which should be any minute now. And as long as Mason doesn’t wake up from his nap.”
I turn my head towards the baby monitor, which shows my nephew sleeping soundly upstairs in his crib.
“All right,” she says, “But I’m going to find you. And then I’ll still be ahead! You found me this time, but not next time!”
I laugh, then turn on the counter above the kitchen stove, as she closes her eyes and begins counting.
My niece takes after me. She’s cutthroat and competitive. Even what started out as a simple game of hide and seek has turned into an endless tally of who’s winning and by how much. At the end of each week, the loser had to do the other’s laundry.
Becky’s too young to do it on her own, anyway, but Susan assigned it to her as a chore to start teaching her responsibility. Usually Susan or I help her wash, dry, sort, fold and put away the clothes. But when she wins hide & seek, I have to do the honors.
And when I win, she has to do mine in addition to hers— which kind of puts an unfair burden on Susan, but she doesn’t seem to mind. She’s glad that Becky has someone to watch her and to be competitive against.
I head to the dining room, where I myself had scoped out a good hiding place earlier today. While Becky was taking her nap, I’d cleared out the entire bottom portion of the china hutch, and now I slink in and close the cupboard doors behind me. I’d put some fabric over the glass windows, and I can vaguely see out to the living room, where Becky’s still counting.
“Ready or not, here I come!”
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