Falling for the Babysitter - Page 33

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“Would you like to change the date?” he asks.

Deacon and I look at each other. We don’t want a different date. We want to get this over with.

“I’m afraid not. My client won’t be showing up at all. She’s left the state.”

Deacon squeezes my hand, fighting a smile. It’s all either of us can do to stop jumping up and down with joy.

“Very well then,” the judge says. He’s an older man, worn down, and looks like he doesn’t have much patience for anyone anymore. I imagine that’s what happens when you have to sit through court day in and day out for a living. “Mr. and Mrs. McCarthy—” (That’s us. It still sounds weird to be called Mrs. anything, let alone by Deacan’s last name. I love it, though. When I first changed it, I spent hours practicing my new signature) “—I am granting you full custody of Bailey McCarthy. Congratulations.”

Deacon and I are both crying as we cling to each other. We finally have our happy family together and there’s nothing anyone can do to ever get between us again.


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The longer I’m out here, the harder leaving the mountain becomes.

Damn, it’s crazy to think that just a few years ago I was giving my business partner Jaxon a bad time about selling his shit and staking a claim in the woods, and now, here I am.

A few trips out to these woods sold me on them. The pine trees, the clean air, the clear blue sky, and the quiet.

Well, it was quiet.

Not too quiet anymore. I swear this place ought to be called the Fertile Mountain. There are babies fussing all over the place. They’re cute as hell, but there are a lot of them.

Jax and Harper have four, their three-year-old triplet boys and a one-year-old baby girl. Rosie and Buck have their three daughters--two-year-old twins, and a six-month-old baby, and my brother and his wife have a set of newborn twins to boot.

That’s a helluva lot of babies.

I close my suitcase, wishing I were packing clothes that are a little more me. Flannels and blue jeans. But I’m going to Seattle to fucking charm the pants off some exec who wants to film a reality show out in the woods. Apparently, they think mountain men that build custom homes who have a bunch of babies might equal good television.

What the fuck do I know about TV? Not much, but Jaxon and Buck don’t want the crew around their women unless they’ve been vetted first. We need to know their intentions before we set them loose on our property.

That’s why I’m out here. Before I went into business with Jax, I went to law school. Fuckin’ A, right? But I didn’t last long. Hated the bullshit then, and I hate it now. I didn’t want to be in an office–I wanted to use my hands.

But I’m also the right person to go meet with this show, find out what they are planning. Hell, I don’t have a woman and children to look after. God knows no one is gonna miss me.

After pulling on my winter coat, I lock my front door. Toss my luggage in the truck, and head down the mountain.

On my way out of town, I stop at Rosie’s Diner to have lunch with the guys. Jaxon and Buck are already there, sitting in a booth, shooting the shit.

I slide in next to Jaxon. Facing Buck, I watch as his eyes land on his woman who’s walking toward our table.

Lucky bastard to have a woman like Rosie. Funny, sincere, genuine. Both these jackasses won the goddamn lottery when it came to women landing on their doorstep.

“You boys having your usual?” Rosie asks, pouring us black coffee.

“Yes, ma’am,” I tell her, having a sweet spot for her meatloaf sammy. “I need a Rosie Special, I’ve gotta long day ahead of me.”

“Flying out of Coeur d'Alene?” she asks.

I nod. I’m gonna drive the two hours to the city, then fly over to Seattle for tomorrow’s meeting.

Buck asks for a burger and fries, and Jax grunts out his order.

Rosie pauses before heading to the back and says, “You boys think this is a good idea? Because from where I’m standing, a TV crew is going to make a racket we aren’t prepared for.”

“I know, baby,” Buck tells her, threading his arm around his wife’s waist. “But this fell in our lap, we might as well see it through. Things tend to happen for a reason, you know? And the exposure for the company could be huge.” Buck is a chainsaw artist by trade, but after the babies came, he joined our custom home company. Gotta put food on the table, and all that shit.

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