Nine Month Contract (Mountain Men Matchmaker, #1)

by Amy Daws

Obviously, every evil plan needs a spreadsheet. That’s just science.

I tend to have this effect on people just meeting me. And it’s not just because I’m six foot four, tattooed, bearded, and all the typical things that make people feel on edge.

“These things take time,” I state with a shrug, feeling like a fucking creeper for being somewhat grateful that it didn’t work the first time because month two of trying to knock her up is fixing to be a lot more interesting than month one. Bring on sundown.

She never touches herself like this, and the sight of her embracing her belly with tears in her eyes, soaking wet in the rain, hair slicked down to her face, is soul crushing. I don’t just want to protect the baby at this moment. I want to protect her. I want to comfort her. I want to hold her. I want to burn the world to the ground for making her hurt like this. Her shoulders quake as she begins to cry. “I’m such a fuckup.” My chest concaves as I pull her back under the roof, my hand pushing the strands of hair stuck to her face. “No, you’re not.”

Once he catches his breath, his hands skate softly up my back and pull some bits of straw out of my hair as his deep voice murmurs, “Imagine what I would have gotten if I saved all the chickens.”