Page 13 of Enduring Magic

“Agreed,” Rorie said with a light laugh. “While pies and breads may be savory, I think we all prefer a little sweetness in our cake.”

Aurora had the type of laugh that drew a person in. Sometimes verging on naughty and hinting at reckless depths, and at other times, bubbly and bright, making the listener want to take part in whatever she found amusing.

Alastair leaned in close, speaking in a low voice for only Coop’s hearing. “Suck up.”

As Coop sputtered his indignation, Alastair smirked and approached Summer. “Would you like to test all the samples, my dear child, or would you prefer to narrow it down to five to try?”

“Nice try, Dad. But no, we’re sampling them all. Even the olive-oil cake.” Coop pretended to gag for her amusement, and she glared her response. “All of them, Coop.”

“Yes, dear,” he said, mocking her with a wide flare of his eyes and a contrite expression.

As she turned toward the table, he caught sight of her grin. Although it was never far from the surface, his unadulterated love for her boiled up and over, and he experienced a moment of awe that she chose him to love in return. She’d picked him and never wavered, even when he’d been a jerk with his head stuck so far up his ass that he couldn’t see daylight. And despite the fact he hadn’t deserved it, she gave him chance after chance whenever his fear got the better of him or he rejected the idea of magic.

Coop dutifully sampled cakes—olive oil and all—then weighed in with his opinion as Summer jotted notes. After removing the phone from her hand, he pushed a plate toward her.

“Your turn. I’m not the only one involved in this wedding, sweetheart.”

“What’s your favorite?” she asked, blissfully ignoring the fact he’d attempted to include her.

“What’syourfavorite?” he countered.

When she glanced up from the notes she’d been scribbling, understanding dawned on her beloved face, and she wrinkled her nose as she grimaced. “Yeah, sorry. I’ll try some.”

He frowned at her lack of enthusiasm. “Summer, are you feeling okay?”

“A little nauseous, truth be told. It’s probably the stress of the planning.”

Alastair’s deep chuckle caught their notice, and the wry amusement on his face as he watched them told Coop they were missing something deeper.

“Care to enlighten the rest of us?” Coop asked testily. Had Summer’s condition been serious, her father wouldn’t have been nonchalant about it. The only reason he’d find anything funny was if the two of them were missing the point altogether.

Nausea.

An alarm went off in Coop’s head, and he whipped around to stare at Summer. “You’re pregnant.”

“What? No! I—” She paled, placed a hand on her stomach, and looked back at her father for confirmation. If she was carrying another soul, her energy signature would be double.

Sure enough, Alastair grinned. “Princess Poopie Pants will have a baby brother or sister to spoil by the end of the year.”

“Ohmygoddess!”

Summer looked ready to faint. Shoving back his chair, Coop rushed to assist her.

“Another baby? Coop, we can barely keep up with Olivia. Between my practice, the sanctuary, and family life, I’m already running on empty,” she cried tearfully.

For some time, he had been toying with the idea of retiring from the force. Of handing the reins to his next in line so he could ease Summer’s burden by taking over her sanctuary and caring for Olivia during the day. The knowledge of another bundle of joy arriving before they’d expected it now cemented his decision.

“I’m resigning as sheriff.”

“Coop!”

“No, listen. I’ve been thinking about this for quite a while, and it feels right. It’s time we stop popping back and forth and make our home in North Carolina.”

“But you love being sheriff,” she protested.

“I love you and our family more. That includes your zoo and our future son or daughter,” he replied, overcome with tenderness for his wife. His voice wasn’t quite steady when he said, “Nothing is as important as all of you.”

With a soft sob, she wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her nose against his throat. Her hot tears dripped past the collar of his shirt, running down his skin until the material soaked up the moisture.

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