Chapter 15 Tara
TARA
The wallpaper in the front parlor was finally straight.
Tara stepped back, wiping her hands on her jeans, and allowed herself a moment of satisfaction.
The pattern—delicate ferns on a cream background—had taken three attempts to get right.
Will had nearly torn the first roll in frustration, and the second had developed bubbles that refused to smooth out no matter how many times they’d run the squeegee over them. But this third attempt? Perfect.
“That’s the last of it.” Will descended the ladder, his t-shirt damp with sweat despite the air conditioning they’d finally gotten working last week. He came to stand behind her, arms settling around her waist. “What do you think?”
“I think it looks like a real inn.”
And it did. After months of renovations—sawdust in her hair, paint under her fingernails, decisions about fixtures and flooring that had kept her up at night—The Blueberry Inn was finally becoming what she’d imagined.
The hardwood floors gleamed with fresh polish.
The brass fixtures in the entryway caught the afternoon light streaming through windows that no longer stuck in their frames.
Even the smell had changed, from raw lumber and drywall dust to lemon furniture polish and the faint sweetness of the beeswax candles Ally had contributed for the sitting areas.
“Come see the breakfast room,” Tara said, tugging Will’s hand.
They walked through the dining room—table for twelve, chairs still wrapped in plastic, chandelier waiting to be hung—and into the smaller space that would serve as the breakfast nook.
Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the lake and Patty’s Garden, where the rosemary and lavender were thriving in the summer heat.
A built-in sideboard ran along one wall, and there, arranged on a shelf, sat Ally’s honey display.
Twelve miniature jars of golden honey, each one labeled with Sam’s hand-drawn designs. Wildflower. Clover. Summer Bloom. Autumn Harvest. The afternoon sun hit them at just the right angle, turning the shelf into a wall of amber light.
“She’s going to cry when she sees this,” Will said.
“Good tears, I hope.”
“The best kind.”
Tara leaned against him, letting herself imagine it.
Guests coming down for breakfast, helping themselves to fresh coffee and pastries, spreading Ally’s honey on warm biscuits while they planned their day of hiking or antiquing or simply sitting by the lake.
The rooms upstairs were almost ready—beds assembled, linens ordered, bathrooms tiled in a soft gray-blue she’d agonized over for weeks.
September felt like it was right around the corner.
The grand opening was less than two months away, and there was still so much to do—the website needed finishing, the booking system had to be tested, she hadn’t even started thinking about staff—but standing here, in this room that smelled like fresh paint and possibility, Tara let herself believe they might actually pull it off.
“You’re doing that thing again,” Will said.
“What thing?”
“The thing where you’re making lists in your head instead of enjoying the moment.”
Tara laughed. “I can’t help it. There’s still the—”
Her phone rang, cutting her off. She fished it out of her back pocket, expecting Ally or maybe the furniture delivery company calling to reschedule again.
Christina’s name flashed on the screen.
“Hey, honey. Everything okay?”
“Mom. My water broke.”
The words landed like ice water. “What? But you’re not due for two more weeks.”
“I know.” Christina’s breath came fast and uneven through the phone. “I was just—I was getting up from the couch and there was this—Mom, what do I do?”
Tara was already moving, grabbing her purse from the counter, keys jangling as she dug them out. Will read the situation instantly and headed for the front door.
“Where are you right now?”
“The cottage. I’m alone—Ryan took Angus for a walk and I can’t reach him—”
“Okay. Stay calm. Are you having contractions?”
“I don’t—maybe? I don’t know. It just feels like horrible cramps.”
“That’s normal. That’s good.” Tara kept her voice steady. “I’m on my way. Don’t try to drive yourself—just sit down and breathe. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
“Mom, I’m scared.”
Tara closed her eyes for half a second. Her daughter, her baby, about to have a baby of her own.
“I know, sweetheart. But you’re going to be fine. Violet’s going to be fine. I’m coming.”
She hung up and found Will already in the truck, engine running. The sky had darkened while they’d been inside admiring wallpaper—heavy clouds rolling in from the mountains, the air thick and humid with approaching rain.
“Christina?” Will asked as she climbed in.
“Water broke. She’s at the cottage. Two weeks early.”
Will pulled out of the inn’s gravel drive, tires spitting rocks. “She’ll be okay. First babies take their time.”
“I know.” But Tara was already texting her family, fingers clumsy on the screen.
Christina’s in labor. Heading to cottage now, then hospital. Meet us there.
The first fat drops of rain hit the windshield as they drove around the lake.
By the time they reached the cottage five minutes later, it was a downpour—sheets of water cascading from the sky.
The smell hit Tara the moment she opened the truck door: petrichor, thick and earthy, the scent of dry ground drinking in rain after too many hot days.
She ran for the cottage, not bothering with an umbrella. The screen door banged behind her as she burst inside.
Christina was on the couch, both hands pressed to her belly, face pale and covered with sweat. She looked up at Tara with eyes that were still her little girl’s eyes, still looking for someone to make it better.
“I’m here.” Tara crossed to her in three steps, kneeling beside the couch, pushing damp hair back from Christina’s forehead. “I’m here, honey. How are you feeling?”
“It hurts more now. Like—” Christina’s face contorted, her grip finding Tara’s hand and squeezing hard. “Like that.”
Tara counted the seconds—forty-five, fifty, sixty—before Christina’s body relaxed.
“Okay. That was a contraction. A real one.” She kept her voice calm. “When did they start?”
“I don’t know. Maybe... an hour ago? I thought it was just Braxton Hicks.”
Will appeared in the doorway, rain dripping from his hair. “I called the hospital. They’re expecting us. How far apart?”
“That was the second one since I got here, so—”
“Eight minutes,” Christina said. “I’ve been timing them on my phone.”
Eight minutes. That was good. That meant they had time to get to the hospital, time for the doctors to check her over, time for everything to proceed the way it was supposed to.
But Violet was two weeks early. And Christina was alone and scared, and somewhere out in this storm, Ryan was probably on his way back from walking Angus and didn’t know his sister was about to become a mother.
“I’ll find Ryan,” Will said. “You get her to the hospital. I’ll bring him.”
Tara nodded, helping Christina to her feet. Her daughter leaned heavily against her, one hand still pressed to her belly where Violet was making her entrance into the world—ready or not.
“I packed a bag,” Christina said. “It’s by the door. I did that last week, just in case—”
“Smart girl.” Tara grabbed the bag with her free hand. “Come on. Let’s go meet your daughter.”
They made it to the porch before the next contraction hit. Christina doubled over, gripping the railing, and Tara held her through it—counting the seconds, murmuring reassurances, watching the rain pour down in silver curtains all around them.
“Seven minutes,” Christina gasped when it passed. “They’re getting closer.”
“Then we need to move.”
Will had pulled his truck up to the porch steps, close enough that they only had to cross a few feet of rain to reach it.
“Hey sis,” Ryan called out from the back. “I can’t wait to be an uncle.”
Her daughter nodded, a grimace on her face as she blew out a breath.
Before Tara could ask, Will said, “Angus is in the apartment.”
Tara helped Christina into the back seat, then ran around to climb in the front. Will peeled out before she’d even closed the door.
The hospital was twenty minutes away on a good day. In this rain, on these winding mountain roads, it would take longer. Tara watched Christina’s face in the glow of passing headlights—eyes closed, lips moving silently, hands clasped over her belly.
“What are you doing?” Tara asked softly.
“Talking to her.” Christina’s voice was barely a whisper. “Telling her it’s okay. That I’m here. That she’s safe.”
As she watched, Ryan reached over and took his sister’s hand.
“You’re going to be the best mom ever.” He smiled.
Tara nodded. “You are. I remember you saying you wanted a houseful of kids back when you were a little girl. You’re going to be an amazing mom.”
Christina’s eyes opened, wet but determined. “I hope so.”
The rain drummed against the roof of the truck. Will took the curves as fast as he dared, windshield wipers fighting a losing battle against the deluge.
“Almost there,” he called from the front seat.
Through the rain-streaked window, Tara could make out the lights of the hospital appearing through the storm. Ally’s car was already in the parking lot—she must have broken every speed limit to get here first. And there was Evan’s SUV, parked crookedly across two spaces.
Christina squeezed Ryan’s hand as another wave of pain crested.
“Six minutes,” she managed through gritted teeth.
Will pulled up to the emergency entrance. Hospital staff in rain-soaked scrubs were already running toward them with a wheelchair.
“Singleton?” one of the nurses asked, checking a clipboard.
“Yes. Christina Singleton. Her water broke about an hour and a half ago. Contractions six minutes apart now.”
The nurse nodded, already wheeling Christina toward the automatic doors. “Let’s get you inside and checked out. First baby?”
“Yes.”
“How many weeks?”
“Thirty-eight.”
They passed through the automatic doors into fluorescent light and the sharp antiseptic smell of the hospital. Ally was there, jumping up from a plastic chair in the waiting area. Evan and Emily were close behind her, smiling.
“We’re taking her to triage,” the nurse announced. “One family member can come back. The rest of you can wait here.”
Tara didn’t hesitate. She grabbed Christina’s hand again and followed the wheelchair down the corridor, past curtained bays and beeping monitors and other families in various stages of waiting.
“Room four,” the nurse said, pushing through another set of doors. “Doctor’s on her way. Let’s see how dilated you are.”
Christina looked up at Tara, fear flickering across her face.
“I’m right here,” Tara said. “I’m not going anywhere.”
The nurse was already helping Christina onto the bed, handing her a gown, rattling off questions about allergies and medical history. Tara answered what she could and held Christina’s hand through another contraction—five and a half minutes this time, stronger than the last.
Through the window, she could see the storm still raging. Everyone was here, waiting to welcome a new person into the world.
Baby Violet was going to be as spoiled as baby Grace. Tara smiled.
The doctor swept into the room, snapping on gloves.
“All right. Let’s see how this baby’s doing.”