And now this little girl is mine, right along with her mother. My bride who’s laying in bed without me and looking much more frail and brittle than she did in the wagon. My wife that I haven’t even kissed except for a quick press to her forehead. I wonder where she came from. Judging by all the scriptures she screamed during labor, she probably spent a lot of time around missionaries. How the hell did she end up in this situation?
But now’s no time to ask her. Not with a pallor leeching away the smooth bronze of her skin as she stares with unfocused eyes at the baby’s makeshift cradle, a simple dresser drawer on a table beside the bed.
Did she want this child?
Does she regret marrying me?
It’s too late to change the outcome of either because the baby’s here and I’m not going anywhere. Not since I know how much they both need me, even if Mara doesn’t want to acknowledge it yet.
Chapped lips pinched with discomfort, she tries to raise up from the pillows, and the instinct to help has me reaching out.
“Here, let me?—”
Her wince deepens as she recoils from me. “Don’t?—”
Hands dropping, I smile grimly and drop into the bedside chair instead while I rub the grit from my sleep-deprived eyes. “Touch you. I know.” I keep my voice low as Mara’s slim fingers work through her dark, tangled tresses. Fingers that probably left little bruises on my thighs from how hard they dug into me when she was giving birth. As small as she is, there’s a strength to her, and with all the dirt washed from her face, her beauty punches me in the gut. As does her thinness. “Have you thought of a name yet?”
“No,” Mara says shortly, barely showing me the gemstone blue of her eyes as she braids her damp hair with shaky hands.
“Are you hungry? I can get you something if you’d like.”
Her forehead tightens before relaxing. “No.”
“Just let me know when you are, okay?”
Silence.
More silence.
“Do you want to name her after anyone?” I could kickmyself when my innocent question drops all emotion from her face. Damn it.
“No,” she whispers rawly, fingers stalling.
“No worries. I can help you come up with something.” Anything to break this heavy silence. I offer up one name after the other with the briefest of pauses between them. “Virginia. Grace. Rebecca. Gertrude.”
The last one elicits a scowl from her. Not the smile I was hoping for, but still progress. “Christ, no. Anything but that one.”
“All right, no Gertrude,” I soothe, mildly amused at her penchant for language. “I didn’t care for that one much either. Emmaline. Lydia. Charlotte. Ru?—”
“Emmaline,” Mara interrupts, voice returning to a flat tone. “I like that one.”
That’s better. Good thing she didn’t choose Charlotte, though, because I’d never be able to sing about how much Charlotte LaRue loves Watkins ale.
Come to think of it, I’m gonna have to change the songs I sing. I’ve got two little women in my family now, and bawdy songs like Charlotte LaRue aren’t fit for their ears.
“Little Emmaline Shay,” I murmur affectionately over the drawer, resting an arm on my knee. Huh...where’d that stain on my sleeve come from? Oh. Blueberry pie from the fair. Halfway surprises me that my fingers aren’t purple.
Looking back down at the newborn, I repeat her name to myself. It has a good ring to it, as does Mara Shay. “Aww...look, she’s awake. Do you want to hold her?” I know I do. With her scrunched-up features and soft black hair, she’s adorable.
Mara ties off the end of her braid. “No,” she says after a pause. “Not...not right now.”
“Oh.” Surprised, I look down at the squirming baby. Sothis is my daughter. Under the wary gaze of her mother, I run a finger over Emmaline’s soft skin and—swear to God—when this baby girl grabs my giant finger in her tiny fist, my heart jumps and something deep within me settles at the touch. I feel even more protective of her than I did my own nephews. “Hey, little one. Welcome to the world now. It can be a strange and ugly place sometimes, but I’m gonna be right here to make sure it treats you and your momma right. Just you wait and see.”
A feminine scoff makes me look up. “A few years too late for me. With a promise like that, maybe I should have married you sooner.”
A few years too late.
There was no way I could have found her before now and spared her all of her suffering. Spared her being subjected to men who only used her and didn’t care for her. “I can’t change the past, Mara, but I would if I could. And I know you don’t believe me—hell, you have no reason to yet—but I swear I’m not going to hurt you. Either of you. And I’m not gonna let anyone else hurt you ever again.”
