Never Kiss a Cowgirl, page 29
“Then it’s you and me, a wedding, and forever.” Everything Asher had said that morning was perfect, and that only added to the emotions building in her.
“I love you, and that sounds perfect.” She kissed Asher again and smiled. “You are perfect for me.”
Epilogue
Three years later
Reagan sat in the grass at the back of the house nursing her and Asher’s five-month-old daughter Wynn while their two-year-old daughter Dustin got a riding lesson from Asher. It had taken some convincing for Asher to go along with naming their firstborn after her father, but the name fit perfectly. Dustin, like her late grandfather, loved every animal on the ranch from the moment she could walk, and like her mother, showed no fear.
That at times drove Reagan wild with worry, but she’d suspected when they’d agreed to start trying for babies that they’d all act and look like Asher, especially since they’d used Asher’s eggs both times. It’s what she’d wanted, and she’d gotten that in two tiny Asher clones who had her wife wrapped around their little fingers.
She watched the two together and smiled at how Dustin concentrated on what Asher was telling her. They were both in jeans and white T-shirts, and Dustin’s hat was a smaller version of Asher’s. The belt around Dustin’s waist had a small duplicate of Asher’s championship buckle, and she’d never heard their kid squeal as loud as the day Asher gave it to her. Reagan had a sinking feeling she had another bull rider in the making, but she had time to get Dustin interested in other things.
“Keep your knees close to the pony’s body,” Asher said as she led the pony through the yard.
Two was kind of young for this, but Asher had held Dustin at bay as long as she could before giving in to the kid’s wishes. Asher kept telling Reagan that saying no to their kid was as hard as telling her no when it came to something she really wanted. It wasn’t in her.
“Honey,” Reagan called out, startling Wynn into releasing her nipple. Dustin had stood up on the pony’s back with perfect balance when Asher turned around. “That kid is going to kill me before the year is out.”
She got Wynn situated again and watched Dustin jump from the pony into Asher’s arms laughing the entire time. She loved her children, but watching them grow up was giving her a better understanding of her father and what it had been like raising them as children. Granted, she’d never been as wired as Asher, but they’d gotten into their fair share of trouble.
Asher handed over the reins and let Dustin lead the horse around the yard. She watched her for a moment as she squatted close to the fence with her hat low on her head. Her wife really was the best-looking thing she’d ever laid eyes on, and on most days she had a hard time not dragging her off somewhere to get a better view of that handsome face.
“Come over here, Buck,” she said, wanting that better view now.
Asher came and sat next to her once she seemed convinced Dustin wasn’t going to take up trick riding if she took her eyes off her. She kissed the bottom of Wynn’s foot, getting a kick to the mouth for her trouble, but it only made her laugh. “You doing okay?” She kissed Reagan next, and she loved how Asher lingered. “Any morning sickness today?”
“You know that only happens in the afternoon,” she teased and kissed Asher again. They’d decided on one more and were waiting to tell anyone until she was at least past the nine-week mark, but she couldn’t wait to add to their family.
The baby got fussy between them, so she leaned back and let her finish. Albert and Booker ran to the fence, obviously having spotted Dustin. Their horses were obsessed with their kid and were much gentler than Reagan would’ve guessed. The strange thing was that they were saddled, but she’d ask questions later. Asher was vigilant as the big animals lowered their heads so Dustin could reach. She burped Wynn and laid her on the blanket she’d put next to her for the baby’s nap.
“What’s your afternoon looking like?” Asher asked as she stretched out.
“I’m going with Helki to check out some horses later, but I trust her to go alone if you have something in mind.” She rested her head on Asher’s chest and watched Dustin feed Albert and Booker buttercups. “Did you have something in mind?”
“They finished the new hay barn at the southern tip, and I thought you might like to ride out and check it out with me. We can pack a lunch and see if the loft is up to the job.” Asher combed her fingers through her hair and laughed. Pregnancy had been a lot of fun, especially in those months when she thought she’d kill Asher with her demands. If great sex was a prerequisite to a happy marriage, theirs would last a thousand years.
“Are you up for the job?” She slid her fingers just under the waistband of Asher’s jeans and gently bit her shoulder.
“Always, my love, always.”
“Mommy, look,” Dustin yelled. “Albert’s kissing me.” Albert was lipping Dustin’s hair, and their kid was loving it.
“He loves you,” she yelled back, making Asher laugh. “What? He does, and you should be happy it’s the horse. Wait until she’s sixteen, and you find her in the hayloft with some nice cowgirl or cowboy.”
“Don’t even say that.” Asher covered her eyes with her hand and moaned.
“I don’t know. It turned out pretty good for me.” She chuckled at Asher’s discomfort.
“We were doing more than kissing at sixteen in that loft,” Asher reminded her. She rolled over when Asher prompted her to and gazed up into those eyes that fueled every dream she’d ever had.
“True.” She lifted her head and kissed Asher like they were alone. “But I’ll warn her about one important thing.”
“What’s that, my love?”
“Never kiss a cowgirl unless you’re prepared to be swept off your feet. They do wild things like ride bulls and get along better with cows than most people, but they’re loyal for life.”
“I love you and this life you’ve given me,” Asher said, cupping her cheek.
“Me too, Buck. Me too.”
About the Author
Ali Vali is the author of the long-running Cain Casey “Devil” series and the Genesis Clan “Forces” series, as well as numerous standalone romances including two Lambda Literary Award finalists, Calling the Dead and Love Match.
Originally from Cuba, Ali has retained much of her family’s traditions and language and uses them frequently in her stories. Having her father read her stories and poetry before bed every night as a child infused her with a love of reading, which she carries till today. Ali currently lives outside New Orleans, where she cuts grass, cheers on LSU in all things, and is always on the hunt for the perfect old-fashioned. The best part, she says, is writing about the people and places around the city.
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Ali Vali, Never Kiss a Cowgirl
