“I love you, Cherry.”
I grab the baby when the shoulders are out, pulling him or her the rest of the way. Whitley falls against the seat, exhausted.
The baby cries, wailing into the day like a madman. He wants back in his mommy’s belly. Well, that’s too damn bad.
“We have a son,” I say in awe, staring at the beautiful baby in my arms. He has a white film all over him, and his little fingers are reaching toward the sky. His face is pinched as he cries, and one of the nurses brings over a pair of scissors.
“We have a son?” Whitley asks, holding her hand over her mouth. Her entire body is quaking from the shock to her system. She did it, though.
“He is beautiful. He looks just like you. He has a ton of red hair.” I laugh, happy as hell that he does. I hope he has her beautiful green eyes too, because nothing would be more special to me than looking at his eyes and being reminded of his mother.
“Want to cut the cord, Dad?” the nurse asks, holding a pair of small scissors.
I swallow the lump in my throat and nod, unable to speak. The cord falls away, and the doctor pushes me up to stand as I hold my son in my arms. They get Whitley out of the SUV and they lay her on the gurney.
One of the nurses reaches up to take my son out of my arms, and I turn away, staring at her as if she had a death wish. She is not taking my son from me. I just got him in my arms.
“I know you don’t want to let him go. We need to clean him up, examine him, weigh him, and you guys need to name him. You’ll get him right back.”
I follow where they take my wife, holding a naked newborn baby with afterbirth all over him still.
“Right back?” I don’t know if I believe her.
“I promise.” She holds a wrinkled hand over her heart.
I kiss his small head, holding back tears as they take him from me, disappearing into the room Whitley is in. When I enter, they have her in bed, delivering the placenta, which is the most amazing, disgust thing I’ve ever seen in my life. She lays there with her eyes hooded, trying to stay open.
“Is he okay?”
I lean over her, petting her hair back. “He’s perfect, Cherry. You did so well. I’m so proud of you. I love you. I love you so much.” I kiss her lips, and they taste salty from tears and sweat, I don’t care. I’m just glad my family is safe.
“So, what are we naming this eight-pounds-fourteen-ounce, handsome little man?” asks the nurse, stepping back into our room.
“Asher Tompkins Stone,” she mutters through her exhaustion, clutching my hand like it’s a lifeline.
The nurse looks at me, and I nod my head in agreement. “Well, here is little Asher.”
Whitley is wide awake now. She is holding her arms wide as the nurse places him in her arms. He is wrapped in a blue blanket, topped with a little hat.
“He’s beautiful.” Whitley runs a finger down his chubby cheek. “I really thought he would be a girl,” she smiles at him. “Shows you how good my instincts are.”
“I can’t get over how gorgeous his hair is,” I say.
“Just like his mom,” a voice says from the doorway.
Standing there, in the flesh, are Charlie, Kyle, Whitley’s parents, Frankford, and Anthony. And Anthony is the one who said that.
“You have no right to be here. Not after the way you treated her.” I stand, blocking him from seeing Whitley and the baby. No way in hell am I allowing him to come in here after his neglect.
“I’m an ass. I know. I want to meet my nephew. I swear, I won’t cause her any more pain. I love her. Please,” he begs, his eyes reddening with tears.
“If you even think about upsetting her, I’ll kick you out of here, do you get that?”
“Logan? It’s fine. It’s a happy today. All is forgiven.”
I look back at Whitley, and she smiles right back at me, piercing my heart.
“Whatever you say, Cherry.”
“Out of my way, damn it!” an old voice yells through the halls.
Tops works his way in with his IV drip rolling behind him. “Let me see. Let me see. Boy, girl?” he shuffles his feet, his now-bald head gleaming against the light.
The entire family crowd the bed and Tops’ nurses come in. “You can’t be in here, Mr. Tompkins.”
“Yes, he can. He’s family,” Whitley says, handing our son to Tops.
His big brown eyes stare at Asher in wonderment and awe. “What’s his name?”
“Asher Tompkins Stone.”
I have never seen the old man cry, but a tear breaks free as he nods. “That’s a good name.”
“He's going to grow up strong to be just like his great-grandpa. Ain’t that right, little man?” I croon, grabbing his baby finger.
Asher opens his eyes for the first time. They are a piercing blue, and he looks between Tops and me, letting out a huge wail that has Whitley lactating. “I think he may be hungry.”
I take him from Tops, laying him in Whitley’s arm.
“Okay, everyone. We ask that you give the parents some privacy during the first meal. It can be difficult sometimes.”
The nurses push everyone out, and Tops kisses Whitley’s hand before strolling back out, to see the back of his gown not tied.
So much ass.
“Oh god,” Whitley laughs, squeezing her eyes shut, but then she winces in pain. “Ow, ow, ow!”
“You’ll be sore for a while, I’m afraid. Let’s see if we can’t get this little guy to latch on, huh?” the nurse says, helping Whitley getting into a comfortable position.
I look at my wife and son, and smile.
I never thought my life could end up this way. I never thought I could find anyone who could so completely own me. But then Whitley came into my life. And now, little Asher. I couldn’t be happier.
Life has given me two people that have completely owned me: mind, body, and soul.
THE END
The Mistake (Sample)
An Amazon Top 15 Bestseller
*117 Customer Reviews – 4.6 Stars
He took my innocence and walked away...
But The Mistake is one I never saw coming
The story of how it all began?
We'll have to go back 10 years...
Preston Laurence was the king of my world.
Breathtakingly handsome and the son of a powerful family.
I was the bookworm, the daughter of the "hired help".
Safe to say I was unremarkable in comparison.
My family lived on the Laurence estate.
And my first mistake?
Falling for a boy I could never have.
Loving him was my little secret.
I never intended for things to get so out of hand.
Now I’m carrying something more than unexpected.
The only question left is…
Do I give him another chance?
Chapter One
Preston
Grant should be thankful I’m not in the business of making widows.
Savannah Mae Beauregard Jackson the Third was originally his client. When I offered to take her bucket list from him, I was only trying to be a good brother. I wanted him to have plenty of time to stay home with Emma and their new baby. I never would have tried to be such a good brother if I knew it would result in having to sit in a damp, earthen trench next to an eccentric eighty-six-year-old woman who won’t stop babbling about everything and anything. An eighty-six-year-old woman who somehow doesn't understand that her age means she's supposed to take it easy and knit “charming” sweaters for her seven grandchildren. We’re only here in the first place because some dubious online genealogy research found a woman in a remote branch of her family tree who supposedly dressed as a man and enlisted as a Confederate soldier during the Civil War. Discovering this, of course, inspired Savannah Mae to honor her ancestor by recreating the specific battle from the tale. So, here she sits beside me, stuffed into an authentic Confederate uniform, a hat pinned to the puff of gray curls she
tries to keep hidden out of sight.
For the fourth time, I reach over and take hold of her arm to stop her from scrambling out of the trench and rushing the reenactors. She was not pleased when I told her she couldn't actually wage war and would have to be satisfied with a choreographed battle with trained actors.
"It's not time yet," I warn her again.
"But I want to…"
"Nope."
"They're gonna get away," she hisses.
"Savannah Mae, they aren't going to get away. Do you know why?"
She pauses for a second. "Because I'm going to ambush them and take ’em out single-handedly?"
"Because they are actors and the entire battle has been choreographed and planned. Down to the last minute."
"That's not how war works, Preston. We have to use the element of surprise to our advantage here."
"No surprises. The battle is going to seem completely real, I promise. These are the best Civil War reenactors available. You will believe that you are fighting for your life, but it will all be completely safe."
She mutters something that sounds like, that's what they think.
"Hmm?" I ask.
She looks up at me with widened eyes and shakes her head innocently.
"I didn't say anything," she says.
I look at my watch. Five minutes to go until we get the signal. Glancing around at the woods surrounding us, I smile.
"You know," I say, "this brings up a lot of memories for me." I take her arm and guide Savannah Mae back down again. Her bottom lip pokes out in a pout. "Being out here reminds me of Magnolia Falls. My brothers and I had an old fort back in the woods behind our house. We played in there all the time when we were kids. The last time was during my freshman year of college. I went back to Magnolia Falls to visit my family and decided to drop in on an old friend of mine. Victoria was the daughter of a family we employed, and we were always really close when we were younger. I thought it would be nice to see her, but when I found her, she was really upset. Turns out, she was going through a really hard break-up."
"And I’m sure that the world kept turning, time marched on, and she got over it," Savannah Mae mutters with an exasperated sigh. "Can we go?"
"Not yet," I reply. I just need to keep this woman sitting down for another three minutes and this will all be over with. "Anyway, so I wanted to make Victoria feel better. I'm not exactly the best when it comes to emotions, so I did the only thing I could think of. I brought her back to the fort. It always worked when we were younger. She used to hide in the fort when my brothers and I played capture the flag. I told her we could just hide out there until it all blew over. So we went. It was fun at first. She laughed at me. But then she kissed me."
My chest squeezes painfully at the thought. I can still remember the intensity of my feelings for Victoria back then. I was never able to tell her. Even that afternoon, when we were in the fort together, taking up so much more of the small space than when we were younger, I couldn't find the right words. I'm about to lament this little tidbit to Savannah Mae, thinking it’s worth at least a few seconds of her sympathy, when the old woman lets out a blood-curdling yell, jumps out of the trench and takes off.
"Oh, shit!" I snap.
I scramble out of the trench and lunge after her. Ten seconds. Ten fucking seconds of trying to bring her along on my bittersweet stroll down memory lane and the shriveled-up soldier of yore escapes.
"Savannah Mae!" I shout after her. "Stop!"
She sure is fast for her age. My shoes sliding on slimy, wet leaves isn’t exactly helping the speed of my pursuit either.
"I held back until I could see the whites of their thighs!"
"Stop!" I yell. I slip and barely catch myself on a tree beside me. "Really wrong body part."
"Take that, Scallywag!" she shouts as she lunges at one of the reenactors.
He looks like he’s much more concerned with getting out of the way of the wooden sword she's brandishing than attempting to maintain any historical accuracy. The entire reenacted battle has erupted in chaos all around us. People are frantic. The actors don’t know what to do now that their carefully-laid plans have completely gone off the rails.
"Savannah Mae!" I shout again. This woman seriously needs a less cumbersome name. "You need to stop."
I am not cut out for this. My brothers are the ones who run around in the woods while dodging weapons and traumatized actors. There's a reason I moved to California and handle the finances for DreamMakers, Inc from states away. After clawing my way back up from tripping over a root and landing on my knees, I realize Savannah Mae has disappeared. Again. Suddenly, she pops out from behind a tree, holding an antique weapon that looks particularly ominous in her hands.
"Holy shit! Is that a real musket? Who gave her a real musket?"
Boom.
End of sample. Click here to continue reading The Mistake.
About the Author
R.S. Lively is a romance writing duo consisting of Ruth Scott and Lauren Lively. With every page you turn, their passion for books and love of romance jumps out. Their novels are guaranteed to bring you laughter, and light up your day/night. If you're looking for a beautiful, sexy, funny, and sweet romance... You'll love their wonderful creations!
Also by R.S. Lively
The Mistake
Marriage Mistake
The Protector
My Billionaire Protector
Not Over You
Hate To Love
Accidentally Royal
Keeping Up With R.S. Lively
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