Free The Curvy Vet and the Billionaire Cowboy (He Wanted Me Pregnant!) by Victoria Wessex Page A

start my horrible, heart-breaking speech. “Um….”
    “I’m not a goddamn fool,” he said gently. “I get it. I’m sorry. I was so excited to finally have you that I rushed into everything.” He sat me down on the ground. “I shouldn’t have talked about a wedding. God, I can’t believe I said that. Or Wyoming. Amanda…” He took my hand in his. “I love you. I. Just. Do. I loved you from the first moment I saw you. We can take this as fast or as slow as you want to take it. And it can be anything you want it to—just as long as I don’t lose you.” He looked imploringly into my eyes. “ Please say I haven’t lost you.”
    “You haven’t lost me,” I whispered, amazed. “I…I don’t have to be a country wife?”
    He put his hands on my cheeks. “What in God’s name is a country wife?”
    I sniffed, blinking back tears. “Like…giving up my job and staying home and running the house and…baking apple pies and things?”
    He shook his head and chuckled. “No, Amanda. Country isn’t synonymous with 1950s. You have a very weird view of life out here. No, of course I don’t expect you to give everything up and just move here. I’m sorry I got carried away. We’ll figure something out.”
    I hesitated. I didn’t want to ask it but I needed to hear it. “And you…you really like me?” I looked down at myself.
    He put his finger under my chin and tilted my face up to look at him. “ Yes,” he told me firmly. “All of you. Every curve.” And he kissed me.

Epilogue
     
    Wyoming winters can be cold. A January date wasn’t going to make me popular with bare-armed bridesmaids, but if we left it until March or April I was going to be cutting it fine. I didn’t mind walking down the aisle big, but I drew the line at actually giving birth in the church.
    I was standing in the huge dining room of Russ’s mansion. The table seated twenty, but I’d still managed to almost cover it with set lists, table plans and menus.
    My gorgeous, brown-eyed cowboy walked in behind me and wrapped one arm around my waist. “It’s months away,” he said. “Relax.”
    “ Relax?” I looked at Russ as if he was crazy. “ Something like this takes a year to plan!”
    “Amanda,” he said slowly, gazing at me with those chocolate brown eyes. “What did we talk about?”
    I looked at the dining table, and what he’d told me he wanted to do to me on it that night. I raised a questioning eyebrow.
    “Not that. Hussy.” He spanked my ass and I yelped. “The other thing.”
    “Oh. Slowing down. Because this is the country.”
    This was the country. I’d moved into the mansion after many months of back and forth between Atlanta and Wyoming. As promised, Russ had let me call the shots and figure out what I wanted to do. I was still a vet and still specialized in horses, but things were a little more hands-on, now. I was out of the lab and in my own practice, taking calls from local farmers and breeders and, when needed, being the on-call vet for Russ’s farm. I still felt like a city girl dropped in the middle of nowhere, but—slowly—I was getting used to it. The fact I was happier in my own skin didn’t hurt. I found I was more confident around people, and was starting to realize how much I’d been hiding away, back in Atlanta.
    We weren’t sure exactly when I got pregnant. It might have been the time by the lake, or the few days afterwards, when we’d camped by the lake keeping an eye on the mustang until she was well enough to make the journey home. Or the trip home itself, when we’d stopped under the shade of some rocks because we couldn’t keep our hands off each other. Or the night, when we’d shared a sleeping bag. Russ often said that the mustang must now be the most morally corrupted horse in America, given what she’d seen. He’d therefore named her Roxy, after a stripper he claimed he once knew. She was now safely ensconced on the farm, and soon to be a mother herself.
    Russ hugged me,