Taggart Family Values - Lexi Blake Page 0,53
that could be worse is if one of my precious babies marries a vegan. What the fuck is almond milk, Charlie? Nuts don’t have breasts. They don’t have breasts.”
The truck shuddered and went still, rolling along but without any life.
Oh, shit. She glanced down at the display.
“We’re out of gas. We have to walk.” How could she have forgotten about the gas? Ian had mentioned that they would need some on their way back, but he’d been eager to get to the party. Hell, he’d probably wanted to get there to ensure no one else got a lemon tart.
Her cell phone vibrated. She glanced down.
Please Charlotte. Please. I’ll do anything. I can’t handle it. It’s too horrible.
Her heart sank and she passed the phone to Ian.
He paled. “Park the truck.”
She shoved the F-150 into park. She was still in her corset. She’d shimmied into yoga pants but she didn’t have her sneakers on. There hadn’t been time, and who the hell could put on sneakers while wearing a fucking corset? No one. Not even Dita Von freaking Teese could manage it.
They were blocks from home. They lived in the country. She couldn’t walk without shoes. She would have to get out of the corset, and Ian only had one working arm.
The world was bleak. Her babies…her precious babies.
Ian came around to her door, opening it and holding out his good hand. “Come on, baby. I’m going to Emmitt Smith this motherfucker.”
“What?”
“Emmitt Smith. Dallas Cowboys running back. 1992. It’s the last game of the season and the Cowboys need to beat the Giants in order to win a first round bye and home field advantage for the playoffs, but their best player, Emmitt Smith, severely separates his shoulder before the end of the first half. He’s got two choices—go to the hospital or suck it up and win. I’m going to suck it up and win, like Emmitt. I’m going to do it for our girls. And our son. Not the dog. He smells.”
She gasped as Ian leaned over and put his good shoulder in her midsection, lifting her into a fireman’s hold. “Ian!”
“I’ll get us home. I’ll save our babies from dumbasses and themselves. I’ll do it for us, Charlie.”
“Emmitt Smith was only holding a football,” she pointed out.
“His most precious possession.” Ian broke into a jog. “You’re mine, baby, and I won’t ever fail you. I’m leaving the lemon tarts behind. Be safe, little ones.”
He ran, sprinting in a way no man with a separated shoulder who didn’t play for the Dallas Cowboys in their heyday should run. His feet pounded the concrete, bringing them ever closer to their home and their devil children who might or might not have murdered Boomer this evening.
“I don’t smell smoke,” he said as he turned down their street.
It was a good thing. They might still have a house. Three more blocks and they would be home.
“Have I told you, you have the sexiest ass I’ve ever seen.” It was right there, his well-toned glutes working in time with his muscular legs. “I love you, Ian. If our children weren’t currently attempting to kill their babysitters, I would fuck you right here.”
He should know. He should never question where her desires lay.
He was her hero.
“And if I didn’t think my baby girls were currently attempting to burn down our house and accidently kill their infant brother, I would fuck you right here, too.” He never stopped running. “Yeah, Linkmans, I would fuck my gorgeous wife on your perfect lawn that always gets TP’d because you suck! Go get ’em, whoever you are. Get ’em good.”
She looked up and sure enough, there was a kid with a bulk pack of toilet paper standing at the edge of the Linkmans’ yard. Was that Johnny Kellerman? It didn’t matter because Ian was still running.
He ran past a minivan parked on the street. She was almost certain she knew that van. And it was rocking slightly. Whoever was in that van was having a nice night.
“Who are you?” TP boy asked, his voice hushed. “Is that Mr. Tag?”
“I am motherfucking Emmitt Smith!” Ian screamed and picked up the pace.
She held on as her husband heroically took them home.
She knew they were there when she heard Bud’s barking. The door came open and Bud nearly ran them over.
“Thank god!” Malone ran out into the yard.
Ian set her on her feet and she took a moment to reorient.
Malone had Seth in his hands, holding him under his little armpits