Acres, Natalie - Propositioned by Outlaws [Outlaws 2] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) (17 page)

“Art, shut up before I change my mind about you,” the marshal said, taking a seat on the stoop.

In recent months, the marshal and his wife, Caroline, had gotten in the habit of dropping by to check on
Victoria
. Lane and Art were quite fond of them, but at times like this, they knew better than to cross
Victoria
’s pa.

The marshal’s love for
Victoria
had become more and more apparent. His visits were more frequent. He occasionally outstayed his welcome, often keeping
Victoria
on the porch until the wee hours of the morning, telling her things he remembered about her mother while educating her on his family history.

Victoria and her pa were close. God forbid if something should happen to her.

A loud squeal resounded and Lane jerked, his eyes immediately affixing on the front door of the cabin. A few seconds later, Caroline appeared in the doorway. “You have a boy!”

“A boy! Did you hear that?” Art exclaimed, embracing Lane. “We have a boy!”

Lane and the marshal shook hands. Congratulations were passed around. Then, Art said, “I gotta tell ya. I sure am glad
Victoria
gave birth to a boy. I wouldn’t know what to do with a girl.”

Caroline frowned. Her eyes watered.

“What is it, honey?” the marshal asked, placing his arm around his wife’s thin shoulders.

She reached right inside the door and took the two bundles from the doctor’s arms. “I wanted you to rejoice about one child before you celebrate the birth of another.” A beat later she mustered up enough enthusiasm to exclaim, “You also have a girl!”

“Two?” Art asked. “We have two of them?”

The marshal laughed. “You know what this means of course, don’t ya, Art?”

Art stared at the babies. Rubbing his eyes with balled fists, he shook his head. “I reckon it means—considering our situation and all—one is definitely mine, and the other one is Lane’s.”

“Sure,” Lane said, pacifying him. “That’s what I was thinking, too.”

“How do we know which one is which?” Art asked, looking to the marshal for answers. “They both look the same to me.”

“I guess we’ll have to wait until they’re a little older,” Lane told him. “Then we’ll be able to tell which one looks like me and which one belongs to you.”

“But you really believe one is mine and the other one is yours?”

“Why hell no,” the marshal said, slapping him on the back of the head. “Wake up, boy. One of you is a daddy this time, and the other one will have to get busy after you figure out which one of you fathered the first two.”

“That’s not how it works, Carl,” Lane said softly.

“It’s not?” the marshal asked.

“Nope,” Lane assured him. “We’re a family. I’ll love the kids we bring into this world, whether they’re mine or Art’s, and he will, too.”

“But surely you both want boys of your own.”

“Did you ever want a boy?” Art asked.

The marshal shook his head. “I messed up a-plenty the first time around.”

“Pa! Pa!”

The marshal’s wife stepped out of the marshal’s way and he hurried inside. “I’ll sit with her a bit.”

“You do that,” Lane said. Before the marshal shut the door, he added, “Carl, about that boy? You didn’t need one. You were right about that. You did pretty damn well the first time around. And I don’t think you would’ve ever had a child who loved you any more than your daughter does.”

The marshal smiled, nodded, and disappeared behind the door. His wife handed off the two infants and returned inside as well.

Art took a deep breath and said, “I figured out how we can tell if the boy is mine or yours right off the bat.” He pulled back the blanket covering their baby boy and said, “Yep, he’s mine all right.”

“Oh for the love of
Victoria
! I can’t believe you think you can tell by looking there. He’s a few minutes old, for pity’s sake.”

Art laughed as well. Then, he said, “I do, you know.”

“Hell, don’t tell me,” Lane said. “Get in there and tell her. She’s waited for over a year for you to tell her what I say every day.”

“I reckon I’ll get around to it.”

“When?” Lane asked.

He shrugged. “I’ll wait until the heat of passion.”

“You may be waiting a few weeks.”

Art shrugged then pointed at the small window. “It’s never too late to tell someone how you feel. Look at Victoria and her father. They’re as thick as thieves.”

“They ought to be,” Lane said. “Thieves are the very reason we’re all standing here today.”

THE END

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