Something Borrowed

Chapter 12

Josh

Josh Tucker had never been one to give himself over to feelings of pride or bouts of boastfulness. As a child, speaking up had earned him lashings. As an adult, he quickly learned that drawing attention to his own good fortune would only ensure that the universe snatched it away that much sooner. So he kept quiet about the things that made him happy and, for that matter, about the things that made him unhappy as well. Both were equally useful as weapons.

Nonetheless, he couldn't help the swelling pride that grew inside him during the long wagon ride home. Something had changed inside Amelia in the scant minutes she'd been alone in Vivian's before chasing after him. Gone was the meek, apologetic girl he'd dragged from shop to shop. Gone was the heartbroken young woman he'd so gracelessly proposed to out in the orchard.

The woman sitting beside him on the bench sat with her back straight and her head held high. She was strong and confident and talkative. She pummeled him with questions-- about the ranch, about his family, about himself-- as if making up for all the time they hadn't spent courting. She was, it seemed, as determined as he was to make this work. Whatever this was.

A business arrangement? A friendship? A marriage?

Whatever it was, he decided on that long ride home that he would not allow her to regret it. Brent had put her in a terrible position and left her with an impossible choice. It was up to Josh to make sure she suffered as little as possible for his brother's actions. He would love her as much as she would allow. He would put a roof over her head and food in her belly, and he would let that child inside her call him whatever the hell it wanted. They would want for nothing, material or spiritual.

And as gallant as he knew his actions seemed, he was still a selfish bastard because look at what he was getting in return. A beautiful woman as his wife. A child. A family. A home to live in, instead of a cot in the bunkhouse. Something of his own to work for instead of pouring blood, sweat, and tears into his father's pockets until the old man died and the ranch passed to his brother. And the more Amelia transformed, the more he realized his wife-to-be wasn't just beautiful. She was also smart and funny and sweet. It was nothing less than a miracle that a woman like her would think to marry someone like him.

"What's your favorite color?" she asked, rubbing her belly and frowning at him as thoughtfully as if she'd asked him his thoughts on the hereafter.

"My what?"

"Your favorite color," she prodded. "Suppose I was to make curtains for our windows. What color would you like them to be?"

"I dunno," he answered with a shrug. What a bizarre question. "What color would you want?"

"I'm partial to lilac," she said confidently. "It makes me think of spring."

"Well, then, I suppose I'd want lilac curtains," he answered, proud of his ingenuity, but Amelia just huffed.

"You can't just want what I want," she said, shaking her head. "What about food? What is your favorite thing to eat?"

"See now, there's a question that actually makes sense," he said, smiling over at her. "Pork ribs and garlic mashed potatoes with sauteed onions and a side of succotash. Finish with a slice of apple pie and a glass of milk."

Amelia laughed, and the sound made him dizzy. So did the sight of her, eyes twinkling, cheeks pink. She'd kill him if she kept laughing like that, but he wouldn't mind very much. He always figured he was doomed to die getting thrown from his horse during a stampede or some such nonsense. What a delight it would be to die of a laughter-weakened heart.