Brendon hadn’t seen his youngest brother quite as excited as he was these days. The pregnancy announcements that had come a few months back hadn’t come as a complete surprise. Considering the overall size of the Walker clan, it only made sense that his brothers would start having big families of their own. And Kaleb … The guy radiated happiness from every pore. “Do you want kids?”
Cheyenne choked, and Brendon couldn’t help but laugh. Yeah, so he’d caught her off guard with that one. “Sorry,” he said, chuckling. “I didn’t mean now. I meant in general.”
She was silent for a moment before she said, “Yeah, I’d like a couple of kids. A dog or two. Maybe a few horses.”
Brendon thought back to Cheyenne’s story about her childhood and he tried to imagine what it was like for her growing up. Having been raised in a house where family was the most important thing above all else, he couldn’t picture it. There’d been plenty of arguments growing up between him and his brothers, but that was generally the extent of it. Boys being boys and all that shit. But they’d quickly learned that when they stepped out of line, their father would be right there to keep them from stepping too far.
Brendon figured his parents’ reasons for rooting their lives in family had a lot to do with the hardships they’d endured before they ever started having kids. Hell, they had married when Lorrie was only fifteen years old, and a good sixteen years passed since the day they said their vows and the day Travis was born. He’d heard a few of the stories, knew that his parents hadn’t had it easy in the beginning and a lot had transpired during that decade and a half. As he understood it, their love and complete devotion to one another was what carried them through. Still, Brendon couldn’t imagine waiting that long before starting a family. Then again, he couldn’t imagine getting married as a teenager, either.
That’s ultimately what Brendon wanted for himself though: his own family. Like what Kaleb, Zane, Travis, Ethan, Braydon, and Sawyer—every last damn one of them—had.
It’d taken him a while to figure it out, but he’d had a full year to accept it. He wanted a wife and kids. The whole nine yards. Not that he saw that in his immediate future, but it had always been something he secretly desired. It just wasn’t what others expected him to want, and maybe that was part of the reason he was the way he was. He’d established a reputation—him and Braydon together—as a playboy. The whole Doublemint-twin deal: two times the pleasure, two times the fun. And because they had flaunted the fact that they were a package deal—because for years on end they were—that was the type of women they had attracted.
Sure, he wanted a woman who wasn’t intimidated by her own desires, her own fantasies, wasn’t scared to experiment and test her boundaries, but he also wanted a relationship that was deeper than mere lust.
Something compelled Brendon to reach for Cheyenne’s hand, linking their fingers together as they sat there listening to the sounds of the night, the wind rustling through the pecan trees, the cicadas chirping, and Scrap’s nails scraping on wood as he moved from spot to spot, checking out his surroundings with his nose. When she didn’t say anything, he let the comforting feeling wash over him. “Don’t make me leave tonight, Cheyenne.”
He didn’t mean to say the words aloud, but they’d come out on their own. As soon as they were out there, he realized how he sounded—somewhat needy, maybe a little desperate—but he couldn’t do much about it. Nothing other than hold his breath and wait for her to respond.
“I won’t, Bren. I like that you’re here.”
“Come here,” Brendon instructed, placing his tea glass on the floor and tugging Cheyenne’s arm.
Once her glass was on the ground beside his, Cheyenne got up from her chair. When she came over, he easily pulled her to him, forcing her to straddle his lap, facing him.
“Remember, I don’t have anything on underneath this shirt,” she said softly.
“Trust me. That’s somethin’ I’ll never forget.” And because he liked the idea that she was naked save for the oversized T-shirt, he flattened his palms against her thighs and caressed her smooth skin as he slid them toward her hips, slipping beneath the shirt.
Cheyenne sucked in a breath.
Freeing one hand, he pulled her head to his shoulder, her forehead pressing against his cheek, her breath warm on his neck. He pressed his lips to her ear. “Make sure you’re quiet. You wouldn’t want your neighbors to hear you,” he warned her before placing his hands back on her, both of them snaking higher up her thighs until he met the warmth between her legs.