Chapter 8 #3
Mara sways ever so slightly against me, and I’m sure I’m the only one who hears her swift intake of breath before her head dips in a small nod again.
Even though it tells me she didn’t fully believe me when I told her she would find nothing but acceptance with my family, I can’t hold it against her.
The more reassurance she’s given by people other than me, the sooner her distrust will fall away.
“Momma, Pop...” Emotion thickens my voice, but I disguise it with a rough cough. “Meet our daughter, Emmaline Hazel Shay. Or Little Bit, as I like to call her.”
They step closer, Pop silently following behind her but staying to the side furthest from Mara.
Momma hovers a hand over Emmaline’s head but drops it back to her side.
“What a beautiful name for a beautiful little girl,” she breathes out.
“And she looks just like you did when you were younger, Warren. See the way her lips poke out in a pout? You had the same one, and oh my, did you ever put it to use when you didn’t get your way.
More than any of your brothers ever did. ”
Pop quietly chuckles. “You sure did. But I have a feeling this little one will be even better at it than her papa was.” Emmaline coos in her sleep, and he leans over to get a better look at her.
Mara’s fingernails dig into the crook of my elbow as she squeezes two times in succession and pulls our baby closer to her chest.
I angle my body to partially hide them from view. A promise is a promise. “Well, thanks for dropping by.”
“Of course.” Momma smiles brightly and grabs my father’s hand, pulling him with her as they move to the steps.
If they’re taken aback by the polite but clear dismissal, it doesn’t show.
“Mara, dear, it was so lovely to meet you. Maybe our next visit, we can send the men out so we women can have the house all to ourselves.”
Whether she means it or not, Mara jerkily nods in silent agreement, and when the dust forms behind the wagon as they leave, she stares at me as if in a daze.
I don’t mind having her pretty eyes on me.
Matter of fact, I return the favor and downright drink in every bit of her features as if I’d never seen them before.
In the brightness of the midday sun, the lightest smattering of freckles decorates the bridge of her nose. She’s so damn beautiful. “You okay?”
“You kept your word.”
An achy pang cuts at me. It was only a simple promise, and she’s stunned.
“I meant what I said. Every damn bit of it.” The slight weight of her hand burns in the best of ways where she still touches me, but I don’t dare mention it. Feels too good.
But the moment doesn’t last because she snatches it away when Emmaline stirs. I don’t want her to go back inside to hide away, though. I stuff my hands in my pockets and nod to the barn. “I finished her cradle today. Wanna go see?”
Mara stares indecisively between our baby and the barn, and I force myself to remain still. I won’t stop her if she turns away, but every part of me wants her to choose this. To choose time with me.
And then…a small nod that makes me dip my chin to hide my unstoppable grin. “Follow me.”
My legs are longer, so I keep my steps slow as she walks beside me without saying a word.
But the closer we get, the more an unsettling feeling weighs down my stomach.
What if she doesn’t like it? It’s not as fancy as I wanted to make it.
And what about the birds? Damn it. I should have asked her what she wanted on it.
But now it’s too late.
“Watch your step.” Damn Rosie left a surprise for us at the entrance.
Feeling unsure of myself, I move the cradle to the worktable and rub the back of my neck as I present the results of my labor to her.
“Well…here it is.” I sneak a quick glance, but I can’t tell what she’s thinking.
I press down on a curved leg to make it sway back and forth.
“See? I made it to where you can use just a foot if you’re sitting down.
And I smoothed everything out so she won’t get poked by any splinters or nothing like that. ”
Mara shifts Emmaline to one arm and traces over the first bird carved into the dark wood. “You did this, too?”
“Yep.” Still can’t tell what her thoughts are.
The other bird receives the same light touch before she tips the cradle to rock it herself. “You did this just for her?”
“Just for her.” And any other children we have, but it’s too soon to terrify her with that thought. “Want to put her in there and try it out?”
Mara eases her down, and for the briefest of seconds, I wonder if I made it long enough.
But when she moves back, it’s clear to see my worry is unfounded.
Emmaline fits perfectly, with plenty of room as she grows.
As if awaiting that very moment, my little girl stirs with a yawn that crinkles her flat nose.
“What do you think, Emmaline?” Mara allows her finger to be captured by the small hand that escapes the blanket and waves around. “Your…”—her gaze darts to me before falling away—“he built this for you.”
A knot sticks in my throat. Was she about to call me Emmaline’s papa? I free my little girl’s other hand, smiling crookedly as it instinctively wraps around my finger, connecting me to Mara with a fragile tether. “I sure did, Little Bit.”
And now everyone has a proper place to sleep.
Her in the cradle, and her momma in my bed.