Shoulda Been a Cowboy (Rough Riders #7)(73)

“So we should get started right away?”


“Yes. Would you like me to get it set up?”


“Please. And one other thing.” Domini hesitated. “Can you call me with updates? And send your bills to me at the restaurant?”


“Not to your home address?”


“No.”


Ginger was quiet a minute and then she sighed. “You’re keeping Cam out of this?”


“For now. He’s already done so much and this isn’t something he needs to think about until we are actually closer to the adoption process, is it?”


“No. You are the client and I can set it up however you want, but I strongly recommend you include Cam in every step.”


“Why?”


“Because he’s your husband. Because he will be Anton’s adoptive father. Because keeping secrets is never a good thing, Domini.”


How well Domini knew that. “I appreciate the advice, Ginger. Keep me updated.”


Week Four…


Cam dragged ass. Talk about a colossally shitty day. He wanted to tear off his uniform, ditch his prosthesis, stand under a scalding shower, drink an icy cold beer and f*ck his wife for an hour.


In that exact order.


He opened the door and chaos whacked him in the face.


His house—his haven—was utterly trashed. Blankets and sheets were draped across every surface. Hell, he couldn’t even see his furniture. The stereo blasted some classical crap with a billion weeping violins. Neither Domini nor Anton were in sight. His blood boiled when he noticed the small bronze statue his brother Carter had sculpted tipped on its side on the floor.


“Domini?” he shouted over the music, picking up the statue.


Her head popped up from beneath a yellow sheet. “Hey! Hang on.” She disappeared beneath the blankets. The music stopped. She reappeared holding the stereo remote. “How come you’re home so late?”


Cam clenched his teeth at her accusation. “I was busy.”


“Anyway, Anton and I were just playing—”


“Pigs in a blanket?”


“No. That’s food, not a game…” Domini frowned. “Not nice, Cam.”


I’m not feeling very nice.


“What’s the matter?”


“I’m tired, I’ve had a shit day, and I just want to get out of these clothes and have some peace and quiet.”


“You’re at the wrong place for that.”


She’d meant it to be funny, but it struck a sour chord in him.


“Are you hungry? I saved a plate for you in the kitchen.”


He scowled. “How am I supposed to get to the kitchen? I can’t even get across the damn living room.” Of my own damn house, he silently tacked on. Be just his luck if he tried to ford his way through the maze only to land in a big heap on the floor. Perfect capper to his awesome day.


Domini kept her tone cool. “Anton? Playtime is over. We need to get this stuff picked up. Now.”


Due to static from the blankets, Anton’s hair stuck up every which way. “Aw, do we have to? It took forever to set up.”


“I know, sweetling. We should’ve asked Cam first before we created such a mess in his house.”


His house. That barb crossed the room, sharp as an arrow, and hit him dead center. “For Christsake, Domini, that’s not fair and you know that’s not what I meant.”


She scalded him with an “Oh really?” look and vanished beneath the blankets.


Fucking fantastic.


He exited through the front door, grumbling as he trekked to the backside of the house and scaled the rear deck steps. He paused at the sliding glass door to rub the section of skin where the sock was chafing his stump. He couldn’t wait to get the goddamn thing off. He snagged two beers from the fridge, ignoring the piles of dishes stacked everywhere and headed down the hallway, which was blessedly free of blankets. And dishes. And people.


Cam shucked his clothes, removed his leg and used his crutches to propel himself to the bathroom. He froze in the doorway.


Whoa. Looked like a Revlon factory exploded in here. Lotion, powders and creams were strewn across the countertop. Did Domini really need all that crap? And would it have killed her to put it away when she was done with it? Especially when it seemed she stashed his shaving stuff in a completely new drawer every damn time he turned around?


He ground his teeth. He was not a neat freak, not any more than any other guy who’d spent a dozen years in the army. But he hated shit piled everywhere. He’d learned the hard way not to leave wet towels, empty soda bottles and magazines scattered around after he’d tripped and fallen on his ass a few times.


A shower didn’t calm him.


He slipped on a pair of frayed sweat pant shorts and cast a look of loathing at his prosthesis. No way was he putting it back on tonight. No f*cking way.


Now what? He was in a pissy mood. He wanted to be alone. The living room wasn’t an option, neither was the kitchen. With no other recourse, he flopped on the bed.


Cam reached for his beer on the nightstand. His knuckle clipped the edge of the fan attached to the headboard, nearly knocking it off. That’d be great, if he’d have to crawl underneath the bed on one goddamn knee to plug in Domini’s pacifier.