A/N: I never stated this in previous chapters, but I don't own anything. Please read, and let me know on what I need to improve on in reviews!

Months seemed to soar quickly. Reba had finally agreed to get married once she saw the sincerity in his eyes. They had a small, but wonderful wedding in a small restaurant over looking the beach. A fantastic honey moon, that was celebrated on a cruise ship to Hawaii. Brock seemed to brag about it over and over again. Cheyenne and Van had actually taken Reba's advice, even if it was mere mockery and bought their own house. Kyra had decided to go off to college, and settle on from there what would happen to her music. That left Reba and Brock alone…with Jake; who had grown up to be a young adult as he started high school.

Brock had been looking for a job lately, since he threw his dental practice away to chase his golf dream; which wasn't going pretty well. While he was playing golf, he put out his back, so looking for a job was to be put on hold. So it seemed that Reba came to be the bread-winner in the family. Of course this annoyed the hell out of Brock, because it made it seem to him, that he was a defenseless house wife.

It was Friday night. Van and Cheyenne went out to see a movie, Jake was spending the night at his friend's house and Reba was out working, showing a house to newcomers in the neighborhood. Brock had dinner set on the table, sat on the couch waiting for Reba to come home. As if on cue, Reba walked into the door.

"Hey honey." she said walking into the door and putting her coat on the coat hanger.

"Hey sweetie, I made dinner." he said with a smile on his face.

"Aww, you're a peach, thanks."

"Anything for you."

They walked towards the table, and Brock pulled out her chair, as he helped her into the seat. He lit the two candles, and poured the white wine into their glasses. Reba looked at him in the eyes and smiled. As they sat down to eat dinner, Brock had noticed Reba hadn't drank any of her wine. He decided maybe she wasn't thirsty.

"Brock, I need to tell-" she said but was cut off by him.

He took a sip from his wine and put the glass down. "Reba, you know I was thinking about looking for a new job tomorrow."

She looked up from her plate taken aback. "Brock, you know what the doctor said about your back. He wants you to take it easy."

"Honey, I can't help but feel as if you're becoming the man of the house, and I'm some kind of wife."

"What's wrong with that?" she asked.

"Well, I don't want people getting the wrong idea."

"No one's getting the wrong idea, Brock." she paused.

"Reba..." he started as he walked towards the table in the kitchen and picked up an envelop. "There has been mail coming in as, 'Mr. Reba Hart'."

"I'm one hundred-no as a matter of fact I'm one million percent sure, that was just a typo." she said stating a perfectly good reason.

"So I guess all these other's are typo's too." he said holding out more envelops.

Reba looked at him, instead of stating the truth that she knew, she said: "Yes...did you know there was this segment on the news about people mistypin' on envelops?"

Brock looked at her, with a look on his face as if he wasn't convinced. "Sure, there was."

She looked at him defeated. "Oh come on, Brock. What's so wrong about being a house husband?"

"Reba, I don't want to ask my wife for money. It feels weird." he confessed.

"Oh sweetie, the money I make, is for both of us, you shouldn't feel weird about it."

"You see, that's just it!" she looked at him confused. "It's the money you make. You even said it! This is exactly why I want a job."

"Honey, look at me." she said taking his hands in hers. "If you want to get a job, I'm completely fine with it. It's just I'll miss you having around as much." she sighed. "I guess we could live apart from each other for a while, you know away from each other. With you workin' and me workin' we won't have time to talk or come home to a dinner like this, or even worse. You could forget all about desert." she sighed again.

"Reba, you're make sound gettin' a job horrible. Besides we'll make time for each other." he paused and went over to the dinner table and took the two glasses of wine to the couch, where Reba was sitting. "Like tonight." he said handing her the glass, but she put it down on the coffee table. He eyed her suspiciously and then asked her. "What's wrong with the wine? You don't like it."

"No, No, No. It's good, it's just I can't have any." she started off hoping Brock would get the idea.

"Oh I see." she looked at him waiting for a response, but Brock had gotten the wrong idea. "Yep, heartburn gets me all the time, and then the best part is some of those pills never work, and then you end up throwing up and getting sick. Then to top it all off, you wake up with a headache." he said as he shook his head and took a sip of the wine.

"No, I mean I can't have any, because the doctor told me that women that have my condition...can't." she said in hopes that maybe that would trigger something in his brain. Brock looked at her, and Reba looked at him.

"Ohh...I know what you're saying!" he said, Reba smiled at him. "You have the flu, I mean it's completely obvious." he looked at himself pretty proudly thinking he had gotten the answer right.

Reba grew very impatient, perhaps too impatient. "OH FOR PETE'S SAKE I'M PREGNANT!" she screamed at the top of her lungs, only to startle Brock, along with Van, Cheyenne, and Jake who had all walked in the door at the same time.

A/N 2: Okay, so women Reba's age can't get pregnant. But people, lets have some imagination here please; just pretend, it's 10 years earlier. Ahh that's the beauty of Fan Fiction. lol!