““How’s your hand?” she asked, as she opened the driver’s side door. Bud tweaked her ear. “You are such a mother hen.” Holly grinned. “So shoot me. I’m practicing for the real thing.” Bud stumbled. The thought of someone else being the father of her children was physically painful. Holly grabbed his elbow, then slipped an arm around his waist to steady him. “See? You do need a keeper.” Bud gritted his teeth to keep from sweeping her into his arms. “As long as it was you, I guess I wouldn’t mind.””
