The Cowboy SEAL's Jingle Bell Baby

by Laura Marie Altom

  Rowdy helped her to a bench in the school lobby, then said, “This time, please be here when I get back.”

  “Can’t make any—” She winced.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” She shooed him away. “Just my back. I’m fine.”

  His gaze narrowed, but then he said, “If you do happen to need the facilities, leave your hat to let me know you’re okay.”

  “Yes, sir.” She’d intended to give him a sassy salute, but the latest round of pain hit sharp enough to make her gasp. She clutched her lower back.

  “When did this start?”

  “I don’t know,” she said through clenched teeth. “My back always hurts, but this—”

  “Shit.” He looked to her, then at the blowing snow. “To be safe, we should probably call 9-1-1, but with this storm, my gut’s telling me I could probably get you to the hospital faster.”

  She shook her head. “I’ll be fine. It’s just those Braxton Hicks contractions my baby books talk about.”

  An hour later, while being prepped for an emergency C-section because of tests showing she’d suffered a placental abruption, Tiffany learned she couldn’t have been more wrong.

  She held out her hand to Rowdy. “I’m scared.”

  “Me, too. But everything’s going to be okay.” He kissed her forehead. She wanted him to kiss her lips. To claim her and their baby as his own.

  Three nurses and two doctors bustled about her in the birthing room’s cramped space. The fetal monitor reminded her with each rapid-fire beep that their son was in distress. He was a month premature, yet without the surgery, odds were he wouldn’t survive at all.

  Rowdy held her hand until she was being wheeled away from him and toward an operating room.

  Terror didn’t come close to describing her turbulent emotions.

  Would her baby be okay?

  Would she live to meet him?

  Once she held him in her arms, would she ever have the strength to let him go?

  * * *

  “MR. JONES?” A NURSE hovered near the waiting room’s entrance.

  “Yeah. That’s me.” Startled, Rowdy glanced up from where he’d sat in the uncomfortable chair for the past hour. “How is the baby? And Tiffany? She okay?”

  “They’re both fine. Your son is small, but thankfully, his lungs are fully developed and at five pounds three ounces, he’s a good size for being a month premature. As for his momma, she’s good, too. But will be sore and sleepy for a while.”

  He nodded.

  “I saw on your wife’s birth plan that—”

  “We’re not married.”

  “I’m sorry. I just assumed...”

  “It’s okay.”

  “Well, since you’re not together, I guess it makes sense that your baby is being adopted. I notified the adoptive parents of his safe delivery, but because of the storm, it may take them a while to get here. I thought you might like a few minutes alone with him?”

  “Sure. Thanks.” Rowdy swallowed hard.

  Everything had happened so fast after his nieces’ show that he hadn’t called his parents or even Gigi or Pearl. All he’d been capable of focusing on was Tiffany and his son.

  At 10:00 p.m. the nursery was quiet. The overhead lights had been dimmed. Two infant girls snoozed in clear plastic bassinets. Three nurses talked quietly at their station.

  “Wash your hands.” The nurse who had come to get him pointed toward a counter-mounted sink. “Then please put this on.” She handed him a yellow paper gown. “When you’re done, have a seat in the rocker, and I’ll bring your son.”

  Rowdy forced a few deep breaths.

  He wasn’t sure what he’d expected, but this overwhelming panic wasn’t it. What if he dropped the kid? What if he squeezed him too hard?

  Finished with the nurse’s instructions, he sat in the appointed chair, and she placed the impossibly small creature in his arms. It was then Rowdy realized his biggest problem—what if he fell in love?

  Staring down at this tiny sleeping miracle, Rowdy found himself gaping in awe. This was his son.

  His son.

  For all these weeks, he’d fretted about the adoption issue, wavering back and forth. But in this most sacred moment, the decision had already been made. No matter what, he was keeping his child.

  Period.

  End of story.

  He wiped tears with the sleeves of his gown, then inspected his little guy’s perfect pink fingers. He was wrapped snug in his fuzzy blue blanket, so Rowdy figured there’d be plenty of time later to count his toes.

  John Wayne Jones was already a looker.

  And then he opened dazzling blue eyes. Rowdy knew lots of babies were born with blue eyes, but there was no denying an instant connection.

  “Hey, buddy. You popped out early, but that’s okay. Now that you’re here, I’m never letting you go.” In that instant, Rowdy knew why his brother called him selfish. But in his defense, before cradling his son in his arms, Rowdy had had no idea the lengths he’d go to fight for him. For Tiffany. For the family it only made sense for them to form.

  He supposed he needed to run all of this past her, but proposing was a formality. Now that their son had entered their world, nothing else mattered besides making sure he had the best possible life.

  Two hours passed before a nurse took him to the room to which Tiffany had been assigned.

  “Hey, gorgeous.” He presented her with a bundle of limp blue carnations he’d found for sale in the cafeteria. “How are you feeling?”

  “Awful,” she said with a faint smile. “How’s the baby? Have you seen him?”

  “He’s spectacular. But with a mom and dad as good-looking as us, how could he be anything but gorgeous, right?”

  “You’re not getting attached, are you? The nurse told me Jeb and Susie are on their way. I can’t—” Tears streamed down her cheeks. She looked away. “I don’t think I can see him and still let him go.”

  “Babe...” He touched his fingers to her chin, urging her to look his way. “Our son’s not going anywhere. Once you get your first look at him, I know you’ll agree. He’s the most perfect kid ever in the history of kids.”

  “Really?” Her voice quivered. “You think we should keep him?”

  “There’s nothing to think about. This is a no-brainer. The second I held him, I knew I was destined to be his dad. You’re going to make a great mom. Together, we’ll be the best parents any kid ever had.”

  “What about your career?”

  “As soon as my current enlistment ends, I’ll retire.”

  “Just like that?”

  He snapped his fingers. “Just. Like. That.”

  Crying harder, she nodded and sniffled.

  He kissed her, vowing to never again allow her lips to taste of salty tears. From here on out, he would do his best to make sure her life consisted of nothing but smiles.

  “I want to see him,” she said. “Hold him.”

  “I can make that happen.” Rowdy pressed the nurse’s call button.

  Minutes later, the woman wheeled in their sleeping son and placed him in Tiffany’s arms.

  Once the nurse left them alone, Tiffany teared again, touching her pinkie finger to the tip of the infant’s nose, to his chin, his suckling lips. “He is beautiful, isn’t he?” Her voice held a note of awe. “I didn’t dare let myself dream of a moment like this. I knew giving him up would be the hardest thing I’d ever done, but better for him, you know?”

  “I get it. I thought the same. The whole adoption plan made so much sense—it was the only thing that made sense. But then I saw him and...” She wasn’t the only one who’d gone soft. For a guy who was supposedly a big strong SEAL, Rowdy had turned into a gentle giant.

&nbs
p; “What are we going to tell Susie and Jeb?” she asked in a whisper. “They’ll be devastated.”

  “Sorry, but we can’t give them our child to save hurt feelings.”

  She sniffled but nodded.

  Outside big picture windows, snow fell harder, frosting the world in white. Deep satisfaction settled over Rowdy. Though he felt physically exhausted, he was on such an emotional high that he doubted he’d ever be able to sleep.

  “What should we name him?” Tiffany asked.

  “Is there any doubt?”

  “No...” She shook her head.

  “Oh, yes. While you were still out of it, I already christened him John Wayne Jones.”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “Yes.” He leaned over her bed rail, kissing her forehead.

  “No.”

  Her cheeks.

  “No.”

  Her nose.

  “Rowdy...”

  Finally, her lips.

  When she sighed, then groaned, opening her mouth to the sweep of his tongue, he knew he’d gotten his way. As for whether or not the rest of their lives would go as planned, only time would tell.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “We got here as soon as we—Oh.” Susie froze before fully entering Tiffany’s room.

  The moment Tiffany had been dreading ever since she and Rowdy made their late-night decision to keep their son had arrived.

  Susie paled, then clung to her husband.

  Tiffany tugged the receiving blanket higher over her left breast, from which she’d been trying to get Johnny to suckle. The connection was painfully clear. If Tiffany and Rowdy had planned on going through with the adoption, she wouldn’t now have been breast-feeding her son.

  “I’m sorry,” Tiffany said. The words felt woefully inadequate in light of the gift she’d rescinded. “I promise to pay back every dime you’ve spent on my medical care.”

  “It’s not the money,” Susie said. “This has never been about that. If we could just buy a baby, don’t you think we would have?” Tears streamed down her cheeks, dredging a deep crevasse through Tiffany’s heart. “I knew this would happen. All along, this has been my biggest fear. Why couldn’t you have told us sooner? Why did you have to string us along?”

  “Because she honestly didn’t know.” Rowdy entered the room behind them. He carried the lime Jell-O she’d craved from the cafeteria, as well as a coffee for himself. “If you need a punching bag, use me. This was one of those things we never saw coming.”

  “I don’t believe that for a second,” Susie said. Her low tone was angry enough that it might as well have been a scream. “The day you entered the picture, everything changed.”

  “Let’s go.” Jeb turned his wife toward the door. The consummate politician, he bowed his head. “Tiffany, Rowdy, we wish you well.”

  They were gone, but Tiffany couldn’t stop shivering.

  “Need me to turn up the heat?” Rowdy asked.

  She shook her head. “That whole exchange left me feeling cold on the inside. Like I’ve made a horrible mistake in hurting Susie and Jeb so deeply.”

  “What about you? Me? Our son? Don’t our feelings matter?”

  “Of course. But I made them a promise I couldn’t keep. Maybe I was wrong in ever thinking I could?”

  “It doesn’t matter.” He slipped his arm around her shoulders. “I feel for what Jeb and Susie must be going through, but hon, this wasn’t just your decision. They’ll grieve for a while, but hopefully, find another child. I’m sure they don’t blame you.”

  “You make it sound so simple. So black-and-white.”

  “It is.”

  “It’s not, Rowdy. This whole situation is a thousand murky shades of gray. You and I don’t know the first thing about being parents or a couple. What if we’re making a mistake?”

  Baby Johnny whimpered at her breast.

  Her milk hadn’t yet come in, and even if it had, it didn’t feel as if Johnny had latched on properly to her nipple—not like her books said he was supposed to. Where was the euphoria new mothers supposedly felt when feeding?

  Johnny’s whimper grew into a full-blown cry.

  She tried jiggling him and humming, but that only made his face turn screaming-baby red.

  “Could you please take him?” She swaddled her son, then drew her hospital gown over her breast.

  “Of course.” Rowdy cradled the infant to his chest, but that didn’t help, either.

  “Should we call the nurse?” Tiffany asked.

  “Yes. I’m sure she’ll have a trick up her sleeve that’ll make him smile.”

  She didn’t.

  Rowdy called both of their families.

  By midmorning, grandmothers appeared in full force, cooing and rocking and singing, but no matter how much comfort any of them gave, Johnny remained fussy. Even in his sleep, he appeared restless.

  “When your milk comes in,” Pearl said two days after his birth, “he’ll calm right down. Seen it a hundred times with babies at the church nursery.”

  “He’s got gas,” Patsy said three days after his birth.

  Almost four days after his birth, Justine said, “I just read an article that said he might be missing the safety of your womb.”

  Tiffany struggled not to frown. Even if her son did miss his former cocoon, what was she supposed to do about it?

  She envied all the moms pictured in the bucolic scenes in her parenting books. They sat up in their freshly made beds with their hair and makeup perfect while holding court, everyone congratulating them on their sweet-tempered babies.

  Tiffany’s surgical incision wasn’t healing as expected, so her obstetrician opted to keep her a fifth day and night in the hospital. The more she thought about the mounting medical bill, the more panicked she grew, which in turn seemed to make her son all the more agitated.

  The fact that she couldn’t even manage to feed him, let alone nurture and soothe him the way a mother should, made her feel like a failure in every facet of her life.

  Then there was Rowdy.

  He helped as much as he could, but aside from bottle feedings, there wasn’t much to be done. He haunted the cramped room’s perimeters, most often standing with arms folded, a grim set to his mouth.

  Once his mother and Justine and Pearl and Gigi left for the day and Tiffany and Rowdy were alone with their son, who finally slept, she summoned the courage to ask, “Do you ever regret keeping Johnny?”

  The room was too dark for her to see him clearly, but his heavy sigh was unmistakable.

  “Should I take that as a yes?”

  “It’s more complicated than that.” He left the bench seat by the window to cautiously approach the bed. Afraid of waking their son? “I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t had doubts, but my issues are more long-term. I’m already worrying about how to pay for college if I quit the navy. Logically, he’ll grow out of this cranky stage, right?”

  “I guess?” She managed a faint laugh. “When he’s crying, do you ever feel panic? Like if he doesn’t stop, you’ll lose what little’s left of your sanity?”

  “Absolutely.” As if relieved to not be alone on that count, he released a rush of air. “Another thing bugging the hell out of me? Our hovering families—always giving advice. If they’re all such experts, then how come none of the crap they say to do actually works?”

  “Excellent point.”

  They both fell silent.

  Aside from the faint sound of a doctor being paged over the hall intercom, all in their world was blissfully silent, making Tiffany believe maybe everything would be okay.

  If only Rowdy would step closer.

  Take her hand.

  Hug her or kiss her or reassure her he was in this for the long haul, she m
ight even believe he cared for her as a woman instead of just as the mother of his son.

  Rowdy cleared his throat, then pointed at the general vicinity of her chest. “I, ah, don’t mean to be staring at your boobs, but...”

  After a flustered moment of embarrassment over his bizarre statement, she glanced down to find twin wet spots on her gown. She’d been so consumed by a multitude of worries that she hadn’t noticed the new sensation of achy fullness in her breasts or the slight tingling to her nipples.

  “Think your milk finally came in?”

  “Yes. What should I do? Wake Johnny to see if he’s ready to eat?”

  “No,” Rowdy said with a firm shake of his head. “One bit of advice my brother gave is to never under any circumstance wake a sleeping baby.”

  “Sounds wise.” Tiffany grinned. For the first time since Johnny’s birth, she felt a glimmer of hope that she and Rowdy might actually survive their son’s infancy—at least physically.

  As for the two of them as a couple?

  It was too soon to tell.

  * * *

  TWO DAYS BEFORE CHRISTMAS, while Rowdy sat on the chaise in Tiffany’s room, watching her breast-feed their son, he realized the sight never got old. What did?

  Gigi’s blaring Sinatra holiday CD.

  Pearl’s never-ending parade of friends and cookie clientele all clamoring to see and hold the baby.

  Most annoying of all? Tiffany’s general vibe.

  He was all the time catching her in a stare. He got the oddest sense she wanted—even expected—something from him, but what?

  Finally, after their son had a turn on each breast, Rowdy came right out and asked, “Did I do something to piss you off?”

  “No. Why?” Since having the baby, she’d lost her feisty edge. He used to love their epic bickering matches. The way her cheeks flushed when she was good and mad. How many times had he craved kissing the anger right out of her? Now he couldn’t get a feel for what was even appropriate when it came to touching her. She always, always held Johnny in her arms.