Warren
Mara
Six years later
“Charlotte LaRue rode in on the gale, singing…” Emmaline bellows the lyrics of the bawdy song—much to my dismay—as she plays a game of checkers by herself.
“Emmaline Hazel Shay!” I scold from the sofa. “Sing a different song, please.”
“But I like that one.” Her lips turn down into a pout. Good Christ, Warren is right when he says she’s the spitting image of me when she frowns like that.
“I can’t believe you taught that song to our daughter,” I murmur beneath my breath as I side eye my husband.
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 that comes 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 favorite six year 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.”
“Ugly?” Sullivan interrupts before I can register the deep crack that forms in my heart.
I’d wondered when this day would come. “No, it isn’t.
That’s what happens when an angel gives you a kiss.
” He answers so confidently that I almost believe it myself.
How on earth did he come up with such a sweet idea like that?
Emmaline’s dark eyebrows furrow with a healthy dose of suspicion. “Then why do angel kisses look so ugly if angels are supposed to be pretty?”
“Because you have to be an angel to see how pretty it is. And since Momma had to scold you twice today, I’m thinking you’re gonna have to wait a few more years before you can see it, too.”
“Hey!” Emmaline’s fierce scowl as she crosses her arms has a smirk tugging at his lips. “That’s mean.”
“I’m just saying,” he says with a shrug. “I don’t think angels sing about Charlotte LaRue all the time.”
As the children egg each other on, I hold tightly to the wildflowers and struggle against the surge of happiness that makes me want to cry.
Warren’s arm eases around me, and he kisses my temple. “All good?”
“Yes, just happy.” I settle into his side.
I never thought my life would be like this. Like a dream come true. From an unwanted child begrudgingly raised by missionaries, to being abused by their son and sold time and time again, and to now be here in this moment.
But I’m not alone like I was before.
I have Warren, the man who held a hand out to me and refused to let me wallow in self-despair.
Emmaline, the heart of my heart.
Sullivan, the ever-watchful protector of his sister.
Patches, the scraggly dog who loves to join in on the children’s shenanigans.
A ripple travels across my abdomen as if this baby knows my thoughts and feels left out. A soft smile plays at my lips.
I didn’t forget about you, my darling.
I already love you so very much, and I can’t wait for you to meet the rest of your family.
This is everything I’ve ever wanted and more.
I’ll never be alone again.
Warren
“Pa?”
Pausing from chopping wood, I lean the axe against a stump and wipe my brow with my shirt.
It’s become a bit of a game between me and Mara.
I pretend I don’t know that she likes watching me do this with my shirt off, and she pretends she doesn’t know that I know.
But every time I do it, she more than likely will be peeking through the window.
Just like she did when I brought her home.
Seven years of marriage might dull the flames of passion in another couple, but with us, it’s only grown. If I want to show off for my wife because she likes to watch me, I’m damn well gonna do it. “What is it, son?”
Sullivan gazes back at the house, then studies me intently.
It’s clear something’s bothering him, but I wait patiently for him to gather his words.
He’s been a quiet boy ever since we brought him home.
He was young, too, but still old enough to know the scars he carried from his own hurts.
If Emmaline remembered anything from that day with Blackwood, it doesn’t show now.
She went to sleep that night a somber little baby, but the next morning, she woke up with a fit of giggles as Patches licked her hair.
I take a swig of water and remember when Mara announced in the middle of her rescue that the boy with the sad, mistrusting face was our new son. That was fine by me. I’d always wanted a boy, and with Emmaline and Patches, our family was complete.
But later she told me how she knew him, and now I understand why Mara could never forget his eyes, even in her dreams. I was taken aback the first time I saw him, and not just because of where he was.
It was those eyes…one brown and the other blue, both filled with hidden emotion and knowledge beyond his years.
He’s a happy boy of eleven now—tall for his age and strong as an ox, too—but soulful. Some scars heal, but they don’t leave you the same as you were before. Some mornings I’ll find him sleeping all curled up on a pile of blankets on the floor instead of his bed.
Sometimes Emmaline’s there with him, too, and seeing them together reminds me of the cabin.
He was just a little fellow, and even though it likely took all his strength to hold her, he was bound and determined to keep her safe from anyone he considered a threat.
Even from me. Ever since then, there’s been a special connection between them, so it doesn’t surprise me all that much that they’re both keen on the other’s emotions.
Sullivan shoves his hands into his pockets. “Did you adopt Emmaline like you did me?”