By the time he made it back into the bedroom, Joan already had Amanda up on her knees. She was supporting her, whispering comforting words.
Amanda actually turned her head when she saw Jason come in. He set down the bucket of hot water and edged the clean sheets between Amanda’s spread legs.
“I feel like I’m being torn in half,” Amanda sobbed. Tears coursed down her cheeks. She cried out and clutched at her belly as another violent contraction hit. “I need to push,” she moaned. “I can’t hold back any longer.”
“Alright, sweetie, push then,” Joan encouraged. “Count to ten, keep pushing and then relax and take a breath.”
Jason came around and took Amanda’s other hand. He wrapped an arm around her waist, supporting her, letting her lean on his strength.
She bore down, like her mother said. He watched her face, watched her turn red until she took a raspy breath.
“That’s it, honey. That’s the way,” Joan encouraged. “Now take a deep breath and push again.”
Amanda did as her mother asked. This time Joan counted to ten out loud and Amanda pushed. She screamed and pushed, breathed, screamed, pushed, breathed in a horrible rhythm that seemed to be tearing her apart, like she said.
Jason couldn’t look. He couldn’t look at Amanda any longer and see her suffering. He stared straight ahead at the wall and offered her his strength. She was soaking wet, her sweat soaking into his own plaid shirt. He felt her straining, leaning on him, drawing on reserves of strength that were utterly remarkable.
“I can see the head,” Joan’s triumphant shout shattered the pattern of screams and moans and hard breaths. “Keep pushing honey.”
She moved around Amanda, letting Jason support her. He felt her tense and bear down, heard her teeth grind together as she gave it everything she had. A few more hard pushes and then it was over.
The shrill cry of his son filled the room. Joan moved quickly, tying the cord with a length of sanitized twine and snipping it with the sanitized scissors. She quickly wrapped the baby in the brand new, soft blanket that they’d purchased that day they’d gone to pick up the furniture they needed. Jason never imagined it would be used for such a purpose.
Amanda’s belly contracted again and his eyes were torn back to her.
“Jason, come hold your son,” Joan instructed. “I’ll help her deliver the placenta and clean up.”
He moved, hardly aware that he’d done so. Joan handed over a tiny, red bundle. The baby’s head was downy with dark fuzz, still covered in blood and what Jason could only describe was white stuff. He didn’t care. His son’s eyes were scrunched shut, his features pinched, his tiny mouth working hard as though trying to summon up the nerve to protest at being thrust into the world so abruptly.
He was absolutely perfect and utterly amazing.
Jason stumbled over to the kitchen chair he’d dragged into the room earlier. He sat down hard, cradling the baby protectively against his chest.
My son. My son is here. What a miracle.
His entire attention was held rapt by the small infant in his arms. He barely registered everything that went on around him until Joan was bundling up sheets and clearing them away and Amanda was settled back against their pillows, utterly exhausted. A smile turned up her lips and never left her face.
“Can I hold him now?”
“Yes,” Jason whispered.
He was aware then, as he moved, that he was crying. Sobbing like a baby. He handed over their perfect bundle, the son that they’d spent so many months hoping for, fearing for, loving before he was even born. He was finally there and what a story his birth was.
“He’s so perfect!” Amanda traced his little cheek delicately.
Their son never woke. He slept soundly, tucked against his mother’s chest, wrapped in the warm cocoon of his blanket, safe and well against all the odds against them.
“Look,” Joan said, entering the room once more.
Both heads swiveled to her at the same time. Jason’s eyes followed the path of her pointed finger towards the window. The snow was letting up. It was still swirling, the wind still howling, but it was definitely giving way.
“I’ll call for the ambulance,” he said, rising slowly, still in shock. His legs felt like water and threatened to give way. His hands shook along with the rest of his body. “It will probably be a while yet, maybe even overnight.”
“That’s okay,” Amanda whispered. Her eyes never left their child’s face. “It’s all going to be okay.” She looked at him then and her eyes held all the hope and promise in the world.
Jason believed her. He believed in that love shining in those emerald depths. He believed in all their tomorrows. For the first time in his life he believed miracles were possible.
Chapter 20
Their Moment
“It’s hard to believe everything turned out alright.” Amanda shifted slightly in the hospital bed, watching the hum of nurses buzz around the room.
“Thanks to your mom here,” Jason admitted. “I would have been totally useless by myself.”
Joan came to stand beside him at the bed rail. She glanced down fondly at her daughter, love written all over her face.
“I don’t know if that’s true. Actually, I know it’s not. You did just fine, whether you think so or not. Amanda is the real hero though. She knew what to do and how to do it.”
Amanda kept right on smiling. She hadn’t ever stopped in the hours following their son’s birth, the arrival of the ambulance and their rush to the hospital. The nurses were still busy weighing their son, taking his vitals. They were already assured he was a healthy baby so they could relax and just let them do their work.
“No one can prepare you for what that’s like. Not any of those videos I watched. Nothing I read. No one can tell you how much it’s going to hurt or how your body just takes over and does what it needs to do. It really is all instinct. I just tried not to fight it. I had two really good coaches though. Two amazing coaches.” She reached out and gripped Jason and Joan’s hand, one in each of her own. “Thank you for getting me through it. I can’t believe we’re here.”
“Next time I’m going to book us into some motel at least a month before you’re due,” Jason vowed. “Or at least time it so that you give birth in the summer.”
“Next time?” Amanda’s mouth dropped open. “I don’t think any woman believes there’s going to be a next time right after going through that.”
Jason and Joan both laughed gently. “I’m sure you’ll forget, honey. That’s what everyone says.
“You can’t leave Ross Jason Strathmore as an only child,” Jason admonished gently, humor in his tone. “You know what they say about only children being terribly spoiled.”
Amanda just made a small grunt of disapproval at the back of her throat. “We won’t be talking about another for a long time. Not until this one starts sleeping through the night.”
“So you agree?”
“Not at all.” Amanda finally gave in and laughed softly. Her eyes tracked across the room and fell lovingly on her son. He was kicking and cooing away in a little plastic tub thing while the nurses finished up. “He really is the best baby. He hasn’t even cried at all.”
“I agree. The most beautiful baby in the world.”
“My grandson,” Joan whispered, awe in her voice.
It about summed up the way they all felt. It was completely surreal that at last, he was finally here. “I guess the story of his birth will be one he can tell proudly. It’s not everyday someone is born in a blizzard at home. He’ll be able to tell his children and his grandchildren.”
“I’m just happy to stay in this moment,” Amanda said softly. “This moment is absolutely the most perfect one of my life. I have you and mom and our child and that is everything I could want.”
Jason leaned in and kissed Amanda on the lips. It was a gentle, chaste kiss, but somehow it conveyed all the love in the world. The prick of tears once again stung his eyes
and he didn’t bother to blink them back.
Truer words were never spoken. This was all he’d ever wanted. He’d never seen this in his cards; love, a family, but now that he had it he wouldn’t change anything. He would do anything, absolutely anything to protect his family, the people he loved most in the world. He felt whole, completely fulfilled, happy in a way he didn’t even know it was possible to be.
Amanda was right. That moment, their moment, was utterly perfect.
The End
COMING UP NEXT
a sample of the series
FORBIDDEN PASSION
from the first book
Cuffed & Dominated
co-written by
Melissa Devenport and Camille Crosby
Chapter 1
The Funeral
Charlene Penticton raised her head and stared at the shiny, somber black box at the front of the church. Her father, Charles Albert Ray Penticton had been the last family member she had left. At twenty-six she was unprepared to face the world totally alone.
The huge church was packed. Charles had been a good, fair man and people loved him. Business associates, old and new friends and those he had mentored and befriended throughout his too short life packed the church almost full.
The rows of pews with the somber faced, tear filled eyes were so orderly that Charlene wanted to scream. She kept her back carefully turned to them, kept her eyes glued to the front. A strange numbness settled over her. She blinked, trying to dispel the wild, detached feeling. It was like she was standing somewhere else, on the roof perhaps, if such a feat were possible, staring down at the rest of the people gathered there.
“We commit this soul to god,” the pastor’s deep voice boomed out over the people assembled.
Charlene barely heard it. She imagined herself, long blonde hair curled and pinned up, not a tendril out of place. Her neck was bent, exposing the strand of pearls that had been her sweet sixteen birthday gift from her father. Her black dress was expensive silk, the best she owned. It fit her well but hid the lush, womanly curves that lay below. It was a chaste dress. She’d picked it in Paris when her father took her with him on a business trip just short of her twentieth birthday.
He had always urged her to choose her purchases with care. To create an image that reflected her personality. She’d picked the dress because she saw it as something that was classy and tasteful. Because it was black, with a tight fitting waist, flared skirt that fell to the knee and a sheer, lace pane in the back by her shoulders, it was feminine and dainty.
Her father had loved that dress. She remembered trying it on for him, spinning around, feeling like a dark fairy. The shine of love in his eyes had been unmistakable. He’d proudly escorted her to dinner, a small place with tables that spilled into the cobbled street.
Charlene felt the sting of tears well at the corners of her eyes. Her throat closed painfully, the fire of grief burning its way up her throat and flooding her mouth. She blinked rapidly and forced herself to take deep, steadying breaths.
She raised her head again when she was able, slamming back down into her body. The sense of detachment was gone. She knew that in a few hours, her father would be laid to rest under layers of black soil. She would never see him again.
“Daddy,” she breathed out, the world inaudible to anyone around her. The cancer had come so quickly for him, reducing him to a shell of the man he once was. His suffering had thankfully been brief. In less than three months it was all over. A promising, beautiful flame snuffed out, plunging Charlene’s world into darkness.
The aged pastor droned on. This had been part of her father’s last wishes. To have a proper church burial though to the best of her knowledge, he hadn’t been religious.
Charlene had gone through the motions of death and grief woodenly. She chose a casket with care. Drained the last of her savings account so her father could have the best in death as he’d given her in life. Throughout the last months of her father’s illness she’d nursed him. She had that consolation at least. That ironically, her profession should have been so apt. She’d quit her job at the hospital, giving up her coveted nursing position so she could be at Charles’s side day and night.
She just hoped the will would be sorted out soon. She didn’t know how she was going to scrape together enough money to make her mortgage after all the expenses. She had enough left for one month. Enough to see her through.
Panic welled in up Charlene’s chest as she thought of returning to her house, the cold, empty rooms providing no solace for her pent up grief and wild rage.
The house wasn’t a mansion but it had been the one she’d been raised in since the time she was a small baby. Her mother had left them when Charlene was four years old. She hardly recalled what Clair Penticton even looked like. She didn’t even know fully why she’d left. All her father ever told Charlene over the years was that he never had any doubts her mother loved her. He shouldered the blame and never spoke ill of the woman he had loved and married, who had born his child and vanished.
Their home had always felt like a home. Would it now be little more than a cage of memories? Charles Penticton worked hard. He traveled for business and Charlene had seen much of the world on his trips. He’d moved heaven and earth to be both father and mother to her.
And now she had neither.
A sudden burst of piano music brought Charlene out of her dazed memories. She struggled to tear herself away from the pit of anxious worries, of cold, hard grief that threatened to consume her. There was an elderly woman at the piano. She had a kindly face. She closed her eyes when she played.
Charlene imagined the woman’s arms, soft and warm and grandmotherly. What would she give right now for a kind touch? For a few words of encouragement that would help her go on living.
Soon it was all over. The pallbearers lifted the coffin and filed slowly past Charlene’s front row pew. She felt as though if she wanted to cry it would be acceptable in that moment. Ironically enough, the tears refused to come.
She turned to watch the six men bear her father down the aisle to his final resting place, the tiny grave yard outside. It seemed perfectly suited to the man that he had been in his life, the man who valued love and family over anything else, that he should choose this quaint little Williamsburg church with the tiny plot of land beside it. In all of Virginia- no, in all of the world, nothing seemed more fitting.
Charlene’s gaze followed the stoic, broad backs of the last two men, friends of her father. They had discussed all this when he’d found out he was ill. It was like he knew it was his time. She’d been so shocked that he arranged everything so quickly in order to spare her. He had even contacted the men who were bearing him away now, personally, before his illness had him in the grips of pain so intense it was madness.
The church doors were opened and the bearers moved through the day lit portal. Sunbeams spilled onto the red carpet of the little church. Charlene wondered if they would ever feel warm on her skin again. Was grief always that way? Like a hard ball of ice freezing the insides so the outer layers felt no warmth?
She copied the rest of the people assembled and rose from the pew woodenly. Her actions were guided by the masses. Her eyes fell on the last pew, the one closest to the door as she began the long, torturous journey down that same aisle her father had been borne.
Charlene blinked when she saw him. Once. Twice. Her long, honeyed lashes framing shockingly emerald eyes. She stopped walking, shock gripping and squeezing her lungs so that they refused to take another breath. Chest on fire, she waited. He saw her and he stopped to. Their eyes met and the world closed in around them.
He looked exactly as she remembered him.
She was relieved when he turned his back and filed out ahead of her, into the open air. The rushing blackness rushing at the corners of her vision faded away. Her burning lungs inflated with life giving oxygen.
Ten years. It had been ten years since she’d last seen her father’s closest friend
, Clayton Ellison. Now that her father was dead he could not have prevented the man’s coming. They had broken years ago, their friendship in ruins. Had he come to pay his last respects, wish the man who was once a brother to him, a final farewell or had he come for something more?
“Clayton,” Charlene whispered, her words evaporating in the church like the fog of breath on a cold winter morning.
Charlene squared her shoulders and forced her wooden legs to take the required amount of steps to propel her into the heat of the mid July day. Her heart pounded wildly in her chest. A tiny spark of hope bloomed. Perhaps she wasn’t as alone as she had thought.
Chapter 2
Clayton
Clayton Ellison was aware of the people milling around the graveyard. Sober, black clad, their grief hanging in the air, suspended about them. His own chest felt curiously compressed. The hard bands of grief that clenched his heart told him that his college friend was dead yet he refused to believe it. Charles couldn’t be gone. Not yet. They had never officially made amends.
The coffin was in the ground, the fresh mound of earth still standing beside the open hole. He had watched from the sidelines, hidden from view by the towering trees surrounding the graveyard and church, as Charlene Penticton threw a handful of earth on the coffin. There had been crying and handshakes, hugs and well wishes from the mourners.
It went on for what seemed like hours until finally the last straggler paid their respects, got in their car and left.
Only Charlene remained. She knelt at the base of the headstone, staring down at the gaping hole in the earth. She held herself perfectly still, her back erect, her bearing regal. Her honeyed hair was done up in a tight bun above her head. Her body was that of a woman now, not the girl Clayton once knew. He’d only glimpsed her face in the church and then from a distance but he could tell that she’d become the great beauty she had always promised to be.
Claiming His Baby: Back On Fever Mountain 2 Page 10
