Epilogue
Rhett and I gather in the bathroom around the sink, holding our breaths. His arms are tight around me, one hand planted on my stomach, the other braced on the vanity. There’s so much hope in his expression, and he doesn’t try to hide it.
The last couple of months have been a blur. From the wedding to our two week honeymoon, then returning to a busy life of running my own clinic and Rhett building our dream home, we haven’t really had time to breathe.
Or talk about the possibility of what I’m feeling.
Nausea sits in the back of my throat, twisting in the base of my stomach. I’m terrified to look down, too used to the disappointment.
I don’t want to think too much of the ache in my lower back, the fatigue, the persistent nausea. I can’t get my hopes up again.
And most of all, I don’t want him to be wrong about my body.
“Even if you aren’t pregnant,” he starts, pressing a kiss to my throat, “we can try again.”
I snort, holding back the tears threatening to fall. “We weren’t even trying in the first place,” I point out, voice strained.
He shrugs, hold on me tightening possessively. “Maybe you weren’t, but I was finishing in you for a reason.”
Raising a brow, I meet his amused stare in the mirror.
Behind us, Shadow waits in the doorway, tail wagging, while our clan of cats hover nearby.
Shadow really took to momma Bell, as well as Jingle, Elf, Rudolf, Claus, and Buddy.
Our little Christmas miracles. We hadn’t been able to give any of them up—as much as Delilah tried.
“Were you trying to baby trap me?” I ask, trying to match his humour just a bit to ease my own worry.
“I promised you everything.” Another kiss to my throat, and a smile that’s both panty-melting and excited. “Including a baby.”
My heart flutters, but I try to keep my expectations realistic. I’d never been able to stay pregnant for longer than a couple of months with Scott. I’ve had a chemical pregnancy, a miscarriage, and a whole lot of tears over negative tests.
Rhett might think that was my body trying to protect me from Scott, that he was the long persisting issue when it came to all my pregnancies, but the doubt doesn’t leave me that easily.
But he’s not Scott, I remind myself. He’s everything and more.
“If it’s not positive, we can go to one of the clinics in Denver. See if there’s anything we can do,” he offers, and I want to just melt further into his embrace. “You never know: Scott may have been the problem all those years and we may just need a little…help. And that’s okay.”
There he goes, making me fall more and more in love with him.
The alarm on Rhett’s cell goes off. The sound has my heart lodging in my throat. Slowly, with trembling fingers, we both hold our breath as we flip not one—but three tests—over. Each one is a different colour and brand.
And each one says the exact same thing.
Two pink lines. Pregnant in bold black writing. A clear cross. Tears spill from the corner of my eyes. “I’m not imagining this, am I?”
Rhett gently turns me so we’re facing one another, and he cups my cheeks. “We’re pregnant, princess. We’re having a baby.”
Thank you so much for reading The Mountain Man’s Christmas Bride.