Lady Luck (Colorado Mountain #3)(183)

She was silent.

He was too.

Then she whispered, “Love you, Ty.”

It was the first time she’d said it even after years of her acting it and Jesus, God, it felt f**king good.

“Same,” he rumbled, his voice rough.

He saw the shadow of her head nod then she got up and he watched her walk up the stairs and turn right.

He sucked in breath. Then he followed her.

As he did every night, he looked in on Lella and Vivie who shared a room at Lexie’s demand. She wanted them to grow up close, like Bessie and Honey did. She wanted them to have girlie nighttime chats. She wanted them to have togetherness.

She got what she wanted. Ty didn’t argue. There was no reason, her motives were sound.

Both his girls were out. Not a surprise. They’d had a full day.

Then, quietly, because Ella, Bess and Roland and Honey and Zander were staying with them, he went to his wife.

He barely got the doors closed before she looked at him from her place sitting cross-legged on the bed and said, “The answer is yes.”

He stopped and stared at her.

Then he guessed, “Sam called you before he called me.”

She threw her arms in the air and, in a muted shout, cried, “Hawaii!”

Jesus. His wife was a goof.

He walked to the end of the bed, trying and failing not to let the scar marring her left, dark, arched eyebrow penetrate. He could ignore it in the day. It was the night when the rest of the world faded and it was him and Lex in their room, their bed, when he couldn’t. It was a constant reminder of that day where he lived for agonizing hours with the possibility that he could lose her, he would never have Lell or Vivie, when he couldn’t ignore it.

It wasn’t identical to his, slightly off to the outer edge whereas Ty’s was in the middle. He didn’t mind matching Team Walker t-shirts (something, now, both his daughters had, his wife and his daughters wore them often, he wore his solely at the gym).

He did mind semi-matching scars.

This had got so deep under his skin, he’d eventually talked about it with Tate, considering Laurie bore her own scar after being stuck by a serial killer and Tate had to see that shit every day. Tate had words of wisdom, they helped but not enough.

So, in the end, he had to suck it up and remind himself she was in their room, their bed, their daughters down the hall and now his, hope to God, son in her belly. She’d endured a nightmare and killed a man so she could end up breathing and save him from the lonely, lost life Tuku had led.

And he absolutely could live with that.

But he wished like f**k one of the many times he swept his thumb along that scar, when he was done, he’d make a miracle and it would go away.

So far this had not happened but he didn’t stop trying.

He made it to the end of the bed and put his hands to his hips. She pushed forward and crawled on all fours to him. His c**k started getting hard watching her and kept doing it when she made it to him, got up on her knees and slid her hands up his chest as she pressed close to him.

“Nic already gave me the time off,” she told him.

“I’m thinkin’ you chattin’ with Sam behind my back is somethin’ I should be pissed about.”

Her head tipped to the side and her lips twitched. “Why?”

“Uh… Lex, you and Sam are playin’ me,” he informed her.

“Right, so you can beat the pants off stodgy old farts that Sam heard saying the n-word,” she returned. “It’s worth it.”

And there it was. It was gone. Any wound he left after tearing her apart five years ago hadn’t just healed over. It was gone. He knew it because she didn’t blink before playing him. No uncertainty. She knew he’d do nothing, not one thing, to harm what they had.

But f**k, ass**les said that shit all the time.

“When did I become a crusader for black justice?” he asked.

“You’re not. Sam is. It’s just that, this time, Mr. Humongo is his wing-man.”

He stared down at his woman and shook his head because, serious as f**k, she was a goof.

She pressed closer and coaxed in a soft voice, “Come on, honey. Sam says his house is right on the ocean. The girls’ll love the beach.”

The beach.

Hawaii had beaches.

“I’ll do it,” he stated and watched his wife smile. Then he asked, “Can you tell me why you keep puttin’ clothes on before you go to bed?”

“It’s November. It’s cold.”

Not in the house it wasn’t. He had three girls to look after. He never jacked down the heat. He wanted them to be comfortable at all times so he saw to that, including paying a whack on heating their huge, f**king house. Something else he spent a whack on to keep them comfortable.

“Lex, f**k you before we go to sleep,” Ty pointed out. “You puttin’ on pajamas is a ridiculous obstacle.”

She pressed closer and her hands slid down and around his back to hold him tight.

“I like the ways you take them off,” she whispered.

“That’s good, mama, but it’s me who’s gotta take them off.”

She pulled back and asked, “Is it that much of a pain in the ass?”

Ty moved and he did this quickly and efficiently and in less than thirty seconds his wife was on her ass and na**d in their bed.