The hand that was playing with my hair goes up in surrender. “Hang on now, it’s not my fault that she likes it. It’s a damn good song.”
“You can’t deny your responsibility in this,” I interrupt dryly. “You sang it to her practically from birth,Warren. What are you going to tell her when she asks what Watkins ale means? Have you thought about that?”
His face pales, and he tugs at his shirt collar. “Shit,” he mutters. “Okay, maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to sing it to her.”
The front door opens, and Emmaline perks up. “Sully! Come play checkers with me.”
Sullivan had spent part of the morning exploring with Patches, but now he has one hand behind his back as he and Patches enter. “I will. Just gotta give something to Momma first.” His hand stays hidden until he reaches the sofa, then he bashfully thrusts a bunch of flowers towards me. “I picked these for you.”
“Wildflowers!” I take them and bury my face in the bouquet. “Thank you, my sweet boy. This is so very thoughtful.”
His cheeks darken at the praise, but I know he loves the acknowledgment. “Wasn’t a big thing. Just saw ‘em and thought you might like ‘em.”
“Nothing for me?” Emmaline pouts.
Sullivan goes to her and digs into his pocket. “Found your favorite marble you lost.” He brings out a marble that matches her eyes.
Emmaline beams. “Thank you, Sully!”
“We have some good children,” Warren says quietly but proudly. “You know that?”
“We do. This one, however, has been a bit naughty lately.” I place his big hand over my rounded belly as our unborn baby kicks inside me. If he were any happier at feeling the movement, I’m afraid his face would split into pieces with how widely he grins.
“There you go, little one,” he cajoles with the charm thatcomes so naturally to him. “If you’d be so obliged, get all that kicking done now so Momma can have just one peaceful night’s sleep tonight.”
“Emmaline moved all the time, too.” A bit of nostalgia sweeps over me. It’s been six years, but I remember the feeling of carrying her as if it were yesterday.
I would never wish for her to be anyone other than who she is, but part of me hurts knowing she didn’t get to experience Warren talking and singing to her in my belly like he is with this baby. He more than made up for it, though, ever since he brought us home.
Warren’s other hand joins, and when his brow dips in subtle concentration, I sigh. He’s not being very discreet in his actions. “You know it does no good to measure my waist right now because you’d need more hands than just two. Especially since you feed me five times a day.”
His wry smile acknowledges my accusation, but I’m aware it comes from a place of love. If I thought Warren doted like a mother hen when I first arrived here with Emmaline, it’s nothing compared to the level of care and attention he bestows upon me now. It’s as if he’s afraid I’ll waste away to nothing even though I’m waddling around from all the weight I’ve gained. He tries to hide his worry, but he’s never forgiven himself for not noticing the time I tried to eat less when I needed to eat much more.
But we got through that together. He’s been with me for better or for worse and loved every minute of it. And so have I. He’s the best papa to both our children and the best husband to me. Even though he’s loved all of us from the moment we walked into his life, I can’t deny being so very happy that he can experience the waiting part of being a papa.
“Can’t have my favorite girl going hungry.” He presses a kiss to my belly.
“Heyyy…” Emmaline protests from across the room. “I thought I was your favorite girl.”
Her papa backtracks smoothly. “You, my little darlin’, are my favoritesixyear old girl. Just like Sullivan’s my favorite eleven year old boy. And Patches is my favorite dog.”
Emmaline’s face brightens. “So we’re all your favorites!”
Warren winks. “That you are, Little Bit.”
She abandons the checkers and wanders over to us, Sullivan in tow. “Can I pet your belly, Momma?”
“Of course, my darling.”
Emmaline carefully places her small, light brown hands where her papa had his. Sullivan hovers a hesitant hand over my stomach before looking at me. “Can I feel, too?”
I lightly ruffle his hair. Just like the day in the cabin, he leans into it. I’ll never tire of giving him the motherly affection he so clearly yearns for. “Of course you can.” I help him place his palm where I think he might feel movement.
Emmaline’s mouth forms an O. “I can feel her!” Ever since we told her a baby would be here soon, she was determined that it was a girl. There’s been no changing her mind since then.
I suppose she gets that from me as well as her frowns.
Speaking of frowns, one makes a return appearance on her face as she looks at her hands. “I wish both my hands were the same like yours are, Momma. This one’s ugly.”
