Ram Remy (Providence Family Ties 4)

SANTANA

“Where’s Wrecker, Bub?”

Unfazed by the fact I had my hands on my hips and was using my ‘mom voice,’ he shrugged and put the next spoonful of mashed potatoes in his mouth.

“I dunno, Momma.”

God, I loved it when he called me that. Just before the wedding, Remy had asked Clarice and Newt for their permission for me to adopt him. They’d been relieved, and along with their tears of sadness, they’d assured him were happy ones, too.

On our wedding day, he’d gotten Hart to pass me an envelope with the adoption forms inside it, along with a pair of sapphire studs—my something blue, but also Toby’s birthstone.

Mom and Ronnie had burst into tears along with Sadie, Sasha, and Addy. Still, I’d filled in the details and signed where the little sticky flags were, not leaving it until after the ceremony. Now that I had them, I was absolutely determined to make it happen sooner rather than later.

With a dramatic teenage sigh, Hart had taken them back to Remy for me after I’d thrust the envelope back into his hands, only minutes after he’d given it to me. It hadn’t taken long for it to become official, and that’d been the second happiest day of my life, after the day I’d married his dad, and we’d all become a family.

The third happiest one had come when he’d called me Mommy for the first time, which had happened on my first official Mother’s Day. That’s when I finally broke down and cried like my friends and our moms had on our wedding day.

And then the fourth happiest day of my life had happened four and a half months ago, when I’d given birth to our daughter, Zahara.

We’d decided that given we were still so young and already had Toby, we’d enjoy the time together before even thinking about adding to our family. Fate had something different in mind for us, just like it always does, and two months after Toby’s fourth birthday, I found out I was pregnant. Now I had a five-year-old, and a four-month-old, and life was almost perfect.

Almost.

“I’ll ask you one more time, Tobias King, where’s Wrecker?”

Sighing, he nodded at the door to Remy’s home office. We’d had some additions put on the house to accommodate his ‘second job,’ and an office made for me so I could get some work done while Zahara was napping and Toby was at kindergarten. I’d now published a total of twenty-seven books, and it was my main job—when I wasn’t being a mom, that was.

Toby had been outstanding throughout the pregnancy and had rubbed my back when I’d first gone into labor. We’d heard horror stories from the Townsends about how their kids had reacted when their siblings had come along, but that family was made different anyway, so no one expected the same thing to happen to us.

That’s where we’d gone wrong. After the second month of being a big brother, he’d changed.

The first warning we’d had was when he’d started telling people who stopped to see the little baby in the store they could “have her for free.” Initially, we’d laughed it off and thought it was cute, but then he’d become more earnest and offered to throw in a horse.

After that, he’d told everyone he saw that she wasn’t ours and we’d “borrowed her from someone.”

We’d gotten a lot of raised eyebrows and even a visit from the local police to ask us about it, which had been slightly awkward.

Bit by bit, he’d let us know he was no longer riding the joyous wave of being a big brother, and now I was determined to nip it in the bud.

Trying the handle, I growled when it didn’t open. “Why’s Wrecker locked in Daddy’s room?”

“Because he says he doesn’t want to see anyone, Momma.” He pouted out his lower lip and managed to squeeze a crocodile tear out.

It was a Saturday, and Remy was in a meeting at the ranch's office, so, fortunately, I had all the time in the world to get through to my willful child. If Remy had been home, he’d have probably laughed at what was going on, ruining the effect of my ‘mom voice’ and hands on hips.

That was my power move, and I wasn’t afraid to use it.

“Why doesn’t he want to see anyone?”

When Toby just shrugged and scooped another mouthful of potatoes in—the weird child had decided on eating the leftover ones for breakfast—I dropped my hands and leaned back against the walls, choosing to study my nails instead.

“Well, Wrecker hasn’t been out for a poop or a pee yet, and you know he has to do it first thing every morning. If he does it in Daddy’s office, the person holding the key to the door has to clean it up. That’s the law.”