Bred Winner (Filthy Dirty Desires 1)

"It's time," I say. "It's time for my girl to become the mama she's always wanted to be." She smiles as we drive to the hospital. Her contractions are beginning, but this is what she's been waiting for, dreaming of—and now it's finally here.

Several hours later, the doctor tells her to push. "You got it," he says. She's been in labor for a long time, pushing for nearly an hour. But then, then, we hear the cry.

"Oh my," Molly groans, dropping her head back against the hospital bed. "Major, Major. Is she okay?"

"It's alright, just breath," I say. "Look, she's perfect." And she is. Our little daughter is held up before us by the doctor. And he places her against Molly's bare skin. The nurses are suctioning her off and wrapping a towel around her, making sure the baby is dry, clean, and warm. Tears are in Molly's eyes.

"Oh my God, she's perfect," she says. "Our Sugar."

I smile. "Yes, our Sugar."

Molly’s eyes are full of happiness, and I want to hold onto this moment forever, our Sugar with her mama, held for the very first time.

I will do whatever it takes to protect them all the days of my life, to provide for them as the bread winner of the family, ensuring my girls are cared for in every way.

EPILOGUE 2

MOLLY

5 years later…

Major always told me his fantasy was me being in the kitchen, barefoot and pregnant, making dinner.

Sometimes I tease him, saying he sounds a bit like a chauvinistic guy, but I know deep down that's not what it's about.

It's about my Major wanting a family, wanting to put down roots, and somehow I've been lucky enough to be his partner in that.

Now, I'm living out his fantasy, which has become our shared fantasy, in real time, because once again, I'm pregnant.

When I deliver these twins, we will have six kids, all five and under. Sugar is five now, Violet is four, Harley and Jack, the boys, are three and eighteen months, and now these two babies on the way.

I smile as Sugar tugs on the bottom of my skirt. "Mama, snack please?"

"Of course, sweetheart," I say. "But just a little one because I don't want to ruin your dinner."

In the pantry, I grab a box of Goldfish crackers and a few plastic cups, pouring them out for the kids. I carry them into the playroom and get down on the floor with my little crew.

"Okay, guys," I say. "Mama's going to sit here and read you stories while you have your snack because my feet are aching."

"I'll give you a foot rub, Mama," Harley says. He's probably watched his father do this a hundred times, so he knows the drill. I don't have any shoes to take off, so he just sits on the floor at my heels, tickling my feet.

"Okay, buddy," I say, laughing. "I think we're good."

But he wants to do a good job, and he pats my feet gently. "I love you, Mama."

"I love you more, goose," I tell him.

Jack crawls up at my side, his eyes big and wide, and he hands me a book. "Peas?"

"Of course. I'll never say no to Thomas the Tank Engine."

The playroom became my little fantasy. After learning about early childhood needs, I wanted to create a space that would be appropriate for our kids to learn and grow and become their best selves. It's something I never had growing up and always envisioned giving to my own children. Now, I have the pleasure of doing just that.

Major is so helpful and handy. He put in large bookshelves and toy chests, a place for all the puzzles and books and toys. There's a craft cabinet and a painting center. It's better than any preschool I've ever seen. I even stenciled a big mural of the world on one of the walls. I want my kids to all dream big and imagine all things are possible, and creating this little space for them makes me feel like that will be in my reality.

It's not that I didn't want to be a nanny back when I took the first job I was offered after college with Todd and Jane, but this? This was my real desire.

I read the kids a stack of books until the timer in the kitchen goes off. "Violet, you want to help Mama? Can you get me the pot holders?" I say as we enter the kitchen. She gives me my pot holders as I pull out a meatloaf and a tray of baked potatoes.

"Mm," she says. "Smells good, Mama."

"Do you want to help me set the table?" I ask her.

She nods happily, wanting to be my little helper.

"Daddy's going to be home soon," I tell her.

She claps as she grabs the plates from the kids' cabinet and begins to spread them out at the big dining room table. "Where will the new babies eat dinner, Mama?" she asks.