Mother Knows Best(book 1)

Chapter 9

There are two things we should give our children: one is roots. The other is wings

-unknown

Azazel aims the pistol at the liquor bottle. It had a gentle curve in the body, with a long handle. The soft liquid inside twirled and twinkled in the light. He clocked his head and studied the way his hard, broad fingers matched the shiny black metal. He liked the way it felt in his palms, the power that welded itself in his chest, and his finger curled tightly around it. Azazel squinted one eye, slowly starting to squeeze the trigger and imagine the noise, the kick, the bullet shattering the glass. He watched the bullet hit the glass, the liquid spurring like blood and the glass pieces like torn skin. He enjoyed this too much.

Azazel would have gone off to be a gunslinger, but Lilura argued against it. "Your unborn baby needs you alive, not by a gravestone Zel." Her stomach was swollen, round in front her like a watermelon underneath her shirt. She cradled her stomach protectively, an arm around it and the other gently placed on the top. "You must not go swaying your life around."

He came closer to her, the gun still in his hand. "Baby, it'll be fun." The words came out smoothly, his voice warm and the low rumbles comforting as it wraps around his pregnant wife even before his arms could reach her. "It is a man's sport, my dear Lilura, a man's sport." Azazel grinned, leaning to hug her.

Lilura flushed but still inched away. "Azazel Charles Freeman! Do not bring that gun near me." Her eyes traced the gun in his hand, pondering over why it fits perfectly in his grip. "A man's sport, more like a death wish. You must not go, at least let your child see you. I am due soon."

"Fine dear, I will not go. But can I at least hug and kiss my wife?"

Azazel wasn't the most handsome man in the world, but he wasn't the ugliest either. There was no feature about him that made him so handsome, however, his eyes fought to come close. His eyes held an intensity, an honesty, and a gentleness. It was his eyes that held her through a storm, cooled her heart and soul with the truth, and embraced her with softness. Lilura had often wondered if this was the true meaning of being a gentleman. He is, or what is beautiful about him, comes from deep within. It is the reason for her longing to feel how his lips move in a kiss, how his hands follow the curves of her body.

And even if age catches onto him and the lines deepen on his face, he'd still be handsome. At least only to her.

Lilura's eyes averted to his face and she muttered some, "You can embrace me when you put that gun away. You know how I feel about those things. They only strip away."

"I do, but I also wish you'd not worry so."

Azazel tucked his gun away, then rubbed at the jagged white scar around his wrist. A scar which reminded him to be keen to his wife's warnings. But as usual, boys would be boys, and that hardly ever changed. "How's my little fighter in there." He took up the sides of her stomach in his hands, rubbing gently and instinctively felt excited kicks.

"A little fighter," Lilura said questioningly, narrowing her eyes. "I beg to differ, my child will not be swaying his life around." She softly pats the top of her belly, rubbing delicately and couldn't help but smile. "He knows your voice."

"Of course, dear."

"Zel, have you worked on the field today?"

He smiled uneasily, "Of course dear."

She stared sternly, "Azazel Charles Freeman!"

"Okay, maybe not yet. But I will do it soon. I promise, dear."

Lilura's brows furrowed deeply. "What have you been doing?"

"Nothing, love, I have been doing nothing."

"Nothing! Zel!" Lilura cried out. "Winter is creeping near, and you've been doing nothing? How on earth are we supposed to eat? Is enough wood chopped? Have the cattle been taken care of? Did you sell the extra goats?"

It was at times like this that Lilura remembered something: she had married an idiot. Azazel gave a closed-eyed smile, a sweat rolling down his temple.

His voice was getting smaller beneath hers a little. "I will do it, love, I will," he says. "It'll be done before winter arrives. I promise you it would not be like last winter. I will get everything under control this time."

Lilura crossed her arms. "If you say so."

"Oh, for God's sake, I know so," he says, "I will have everything done before you come back. The wood will be chopped, the cattle taken cared of, and the goats will be sold."

As much as Lilura loved him, she knew he was useless. He was a cutie, but the man had never worked a day in his life. And she hadn't expected him to start now. Lilura still, as his wife who had to believe in what he could be and not what he was, gave him the benefit of the doubt