Fly (Wild Love Book 2)

by Red L. Jameson

H’s dark brows furrow. “I think so. Oh, hey, did you say Shirley is coming to visit in September, right?”

  Shirley is Brad’s mother—Brad is/was Baby’s daddy. I called three months ago, and she and I have Skyped a few times, getting to know each other. I told her she was welcome to get to know her grandchild. She cried, saying how blessed she was.

  I nod. “September, yes. But that’s a ways off still. Maybe you should call your mom, though, and find out for sure if your dad is coming tomorrow. I’ll make him that peanut brittle he likes.”

  H laughs. “Okay, I should call—”

  My phone chimes then, making all of us chuckle. When we quiet down, I can hear the ring I set for my mother—the ominous tones before Michael Palin says, “Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition.”

  H shakes his head. “You going to change that? One of these days your mom will catch on.”

  I sit up and weakly stretch over Jay trying to find my phone, giggling.

  “It’s Mother, Henry,” Jay says in a mocking icy tone. “That’s Dee’s mother. Never mom.”

  H shrugs. “She’s loosening up. I think hanging out with Jane so much when Jane’s up here is helping.”

  And I agree. Jane’s been up almost as much as Vicki, sometimes with her three hulking men. Sometimes alone. When she’s alone, my mother suctions herself to Jane all the more. Still, I’m not sure how to trust my mother. I’m especially suspicious because my mother is suddenly warm and affectionate, suddenly clinging to me and my belly, asking if she can help me when Baby is born.

  As I adjust my legs, stretching even more for my phone, something odd happens internally. It’s as if I released something that had been holding my stomach to my spine. It feels slightly good but also uncomfortable. Then I feel warmth along the inside of my thighs.

  “What’s wrong?” H springs into action, holding me by my hips.

  The sheets under me are dark. There’s a small patch of something…and I have to touch it to confirm what it is, because I had this idea there’d be a gallon of liquid if my…oh, god, it really is…

  “My water broke.”

  Both men freeze. Yes, I have two highly trained military men who I’ve turned into paralyzed versions of themselves. It’s enough to make me laugh, so I do. And I have to say it again. “My water broke.”

  Then H and Jay are running all over the room, naked, yelling at each other to get everything ready.

  I shake my head and answer my phone. “Mom.”

  My mother’s silent and I wonder if she’d hung up because it took me so long to answer.

  But finally she says, “I’m getting used to being called mom. It’s nicer than I thought.”

  “Great, but I have news.”

  “You do?”

  “My water broke.”

  She’s quiet again, then she’s screaming. “I’ll be over in a second, baby. Don’t you worry. Mommy’s going to be there soon.”

  I start laughing and crying all at once. I vaguely remember trying to call my mother mommy when I was a child. She chided me instantly. Now, she’s…oh god, I don’t know what to expect. But I guess, I shouldn’t expect. The best things in life—like two men yelling at each other to find my hospital suitcase while naked—you can’t expect. Not in a million years.

  * * *

  She’s so pale and I’ve asked my doctor twice if that’s normal, to which I was assured that my baby is perfectly fine. She’s tiny with a button nose. And she has jet-black hair.

  She’s on my chest, immediately after birth, but she’s not messy. She’s perfect.

  When she looks up at me, her blurry blue eyes blinking, she moves her lips. I’ve read that infants can’t smile this young, so I’m shocked when she does. I wait for her to burp, which is usually why babies smile. But she doesn’t. She just grins at me. From my periphery, up above, I see H and Jay hovering, within her line of sight, smiling and crying.

  “She’s so beautiful,” H whispers.

  “She is. She really is.” Jay sniffs.

  Dr. Stevens smiles at me. “Got a name picked out?”

  I nod, looking down at my daughter again, amazed she’s finally here. This moment is so magical, like the moment when I met H and Jay. And I can’t help but feel the suspension of time as I think of how much I love everyone in the room, even my doctor and the nurse who wants to take my baby away to weigh her and do the other duties she’s supposed to do. But Dr. Stevens is allowing this time, letting Baby and me meet, letting Baby and her daddies say our helloes.

  I nod and look up at H and Jay. “Neve.”

  “Oh, that’s pretty.” My doctor smiles even wider. “I’ve never heard it pronounced like that.”

  I can’t help but stare at my daughter again as she struggles with her teeny arms circling in jerky movements. But once I look at her again, she stops and smiles.

  “It’s Portuguese,” I say, caressing Neve’s cheek. “It means snow.”

  THE END

  Want to read more by Red L. Jameson?

  Here’s an exciting excerpt from Enemy of Mine, Book 1 of the Glimpse Time Travel Series

  Prologue

  “The poor girl is so exhausted, she’s sleeping through your rummaging around in her underwear drawer. Or wait, is that a herd of buffalo stomping through Erva’s things?” Clio snaked a dark red brow high at her sister, Erato.

  Erato, clad like Clio in a golden toga also with burgundy-colored hair and smelling of Mediterranean lavenders, pulled out a purple thong. “Girl? I think not. She’s a woman. Looky here.”

  Clio giggled, but then sucked in her mirth with a bite of her lip. “Stop it. You always get me into trouble.”

  “Well, what are you doing here anyway? I thought we’d planned to go to that male stripper club.” Erato looked around the dark and bland bedroom. Even cheap hotel rooms had more character. The only human element to it was the piled books and papers strewed about the nondescript floor. “Instead I find you here in this God-awful mess.” Then, Erato snorted. “Get it? God-awful?”

  Clio rolled her eyes. “We’re muses, not gods, love. And I’m not convinced I’m awful.”

  “Nice. Insult your own sister, why don’t you?”

  With a smirk Clio sat close to Minerva Ferguson, Erva, on her beige bed. While Erva slept soundly, Clio pulled back a few strands of long blonde hair from her creamy complexion, sighed, and smiled at her sister. “We’re here because...because...”

  “Oh God, not again.”

  Clio cleared her throat. “She’s so deserving, Sister. I’ve been watching Erva for quite a while now. She finished her dissertation two years ago, but her supervisor won’t let her argue it, won’t let her graduate. She should have been a professor by now. Instead, she works like a dog for her supervisor, a Dr. Peabody. Can you believe that name? Anyhow, Erva has been working tirelessly for a place at her university; she is one of the most knowledgeable in her area of expertise; she’s being held back by evil Dr. Peabody; and—oh!—she’s had one hades of a bad day today. The dean observed her classes—all of them—and in her last class one of her students accidentally poured water down her front. She looked like she was going to enter a wet t-shirt contest. In front of her dean! She was mortified.”

  Erato leaned over her sister to stare down at the human in pink flannel pajamas. “She’s got great boobs, that’s why the little accident happened. Are those even real?”

  Clio growled and turned quickly, making Erato fall on Erva in a lump of giggles.

  As Erva stirred, Erato scurried off her to sit closer to her sister. Erva curled in a ball on her side, fists tucked under her chin.

  “Did you drug her?” Erato asked.

  Clio shook her head. “She did that herself. She drank a whole bottle of Moscato wine before bed.”

  Erato sighed. “She’s been beat up by the world. What else is new, Clio? Why do you always do this? You think you can save everyone?”

  “I don’t think I can save everyone.”

  “Just hist
orians?”

  “Well, why not? I am their muse, after all.”

  “You don’t see me saving every romance writer, do you?”

  “Um, yeah.” Clio crossed her arms. “The rise in romance writing is monumental. Further, many romance writers are finally making good money too. You can’t tell me you didn’t have something to do with that.”

  Erato bit her bottom lip playfully.

  “I knew it!”

  Erato pressed a finger against her full lips. “Shh, Sissy. You’ll wake your new project.”

  “So you’re agreeing with me? You think I should give Erva a glimpse?”

  Erato shrugged. “Why not? Where is she heading?”

  Clio couldn’t help but chuckle again as she scooted even closer to her sister. “That’s the fun part! Minerva’s doctorate pertains to the American Revolution, but get this. This little all-American, blonde, doe-eyed girl is in love with a British officer of years afore. Her dissertation defends one of the youngest English generals to serve during the war.”

  Erato arched a brow. “So she’s in love with her former enemy?”

  Clio smiled appreciatively.

  “I love complications.”

  “Oh, I do too, Erato.” Clio took a large inhalation, then gently shook Erva’s shoulder, while Erato pulled more blonde hair from the mortal’s face. “Waky, waky, little historian.”

  Erva moaned, but didn’t open her eyes.

  Erato leaned forward until she was a couple inches from Erva’s face, then screamed, “Oy! Wake up!”

  Erva sat up with a start, fists swinging, her eyes hardly open enough to see.

  “Oh, I like her. She’s a fighter,” Erato said.

  “I know. She’s quite deserving of this.”

  Erva looked from one muse to the other in blurry-eyed wonder. “I’m dreaming.”

  Clio chuckled while she shook her head. “No, dear girl. I’m afraid you’re not.”

  “Are you going to rob me then? In togas?”

  Erato giggled. “The only thing I like that you own are all those thongs. You’re a bit of a randy girl underneath the nerdy historian exterior, aren’t you?”

  “You know what kind of underwear I wear? Are you Homeland Security? Please don’t waterboard me.”

  Erato turned to her sister. “She’s funny too. I really like her.”

  Clio nodded and found Erva’s slender hands. After placing them in hers, she said, “Sweet girl, you’re still drunk and think you’re dreaming. But you’re not. You’re going to wake in a different century, in a different town too. I hope you like New York City in 1776.”

  “What’s her boyfriend’s name?” Erato asked.

  “General William Hill.”

  Erva flinched. “What? Why are you talking about him?”

  Erato snickered. “Look. She’s defensive. She’s so cute about him!”

  Erva tried to retract from Clio, but Clio was much too strong. She held the human in place. “I’ve arranged for everything. You will be staying with him. You can ask him anything you want to know. You will have a glimpse of what life was like for him. You will then return here, back to Boston in your time, and write about it. You’re the only one who has done him justice. But I need you to write more and get it out to the world. He was a hero, but is only known as a villain. Or lazy, at best. He was neither, as you well know. You will become his champion.”

  Erva swallowed and shook her head. “I don’t—”

  But then Clio released one of her hands, and with a snap Erva instantly fell back asleep.

  Both Clio and Erato stood and watched the human.

  “When she wakes,” Erato said, “she’ll have one hades of a headache.”

  Clio smiled. “She’ll have much more than that.”

  Chapter One

  In fact it is Brooklyn, 12th day of September in the year of the Lord 1776

  A scream rent through the manor, much the way a musket shot could whiz by. It was beyond startling. It crawled into General Lord William Hill’s skin and settled there, forcing him to repress a grimace, while he raced to his chamber’s door. Unlatching it with a jerk, he rushed into the elaborately decorated yet stark white hallway, to be met by two maids and his own man of business racing toward him.

  “Sir, I—” Paul, Will’s personal man, stammered.

  Muffled sounds emerged from the closed door across from his own. Surely Paul hadn’t put the visiting lady so close to him? For some odd reason her letter of introduction and even her entrance into his rented house seemed beyond his recollection. He knew she was to stay with him, but much more than that he couldn’t remember.

  Will stared at the door as he heard a husky woman’s voice repeat, “No, no, no...oh no.”

  When had she arrived? At the dead of night?

  It didn’t matter. His guest was obviously in need of something.

  He looked down to the eldest of the maids. “Mrs. Jacobs, would you please see to our visitor. I will gladly assist in any way.” Formalities being what they were, he couldn’t barge into the strange woman’s chamber. Although he wanted to. The frantic way her silky voice kept repeating the word “no” made him want to run to her.

  Mrs. Jacobs nodded, quietly knocked, then quickly entered the chamber, closing the door behind her.

  Will heard a gasp, before Mrs. Jacobs’s hushed Irish brogue. “Lady Ferguson, is everything all right?”

  Silence.

  “Dear me, you look affright, ma’am. Where is your maid? I might seek her for your—”

  “I don’t have a maid. At least—I don’t think I have a maid.”

  That was odd. Why didn’t the lady bring her own maidservants? In fact, Will thought the younger of the maids, the one standing beside him still, belonged to the lady. He didn’t recognize the tall woman who seemed not at all perturbed by the lady’s distress.

  Lady Ferguson’s lowered voice asked, “What—what’s the date?”

  Silence again.

  Will was about to yell through the door when he heard Mrs. Jacobs finally tell her. The lady gasped again.

  He couldn’t stand idly by while the lady was obviously upset. But he couldn’t break down the door either. Or could he? Finally, he relented to just shouting through the damned thing.

  “Does the lady need my assistance?”

  “Does the lady need my lord’s assistance?” Mrs. Jacobs almost parroted.

  Silence once more.

  That was it! Although Will by nature was a taciturn man, he would never let a woman wait for help if he was close by. He didn’t think, but burst through the door, forgetting the latch and all.

  Wood splintered around him, which made him momentarily distracted by his tactless efforts. But the goddess standing in the early morning’s sun, letting dandelion beams bounce off her long, loose, light blonde hair, took him aback. He didn’t see her bed, the floor, the windows, nothing, other than the vision before him. She had fashioned a bed sheet into an odd toga around her thin frame and was most decidedly uncovered. Will easily made out one of her ankles, a thoroughly feminine calf, one shoulder, and just the slightest wisp of a waist. The sight of her made him realize why the Greeks and Romans worshiped female deities. He’d bow low to her.

  If he weren't thoroughly humiliated by his antics, that is.

  She, for her part, didn’t seem affronted that he stared at her in her Greek garb but gazed upon him with the tiniest trace of a smile on her full pink lips, as if surprised, but happily so.

  “It’s you,” she whispered.

  He swallowed and looked at the floor. Ah, there was a floor in her room, and it was a dark oak. Staring at a notch in the wood, he forced his eyes to stay there. “I beg your pardon, my lady. I—I fear my anxiety at knowing what disturbed you got the better of me.”

  Slowly he tried to walk backwards from the wholly lovely image, from her.

  “Were you reading your correspondence? It’s the morning. Isn’t that what you do first thing?”

  He
halted, wondering about the odd question. Not being able to help himself, he stole another look at her. She bit her lower lip, as if confused or mayhap humiliated.

  “Yes,” he said slowly. His voice rasped. He realized then that many people read their letters in the morning, and she was perhaps trying to make small talk. But of all the bloody times, when he’d like to step closer to her, only a foot away to behold her better. Nay, perhaps six inches. Two?

  Will swallowed again.

  “Heavens, just look what you’ve done to this door, my lord,” Mrs. Jacobs reproached.

  He turned and saw the damage. The lady would never be able to close her door. He looked at Paul still in the hallway. “Please see to a carpenter immediately. The lady needs this fixed.”

  Paul blinked, his dark brows cast down for a second, then he bowed. “Yes, my lord,” and left before Will could say anything further. That was why he preferred Paul. His man of business seemed to understand him better than most. But that look Paul had given him a moment before he’d left...it was just on the cusp of incredulous.

  Indeed, Will surmised, he was acting like an idiot, breaking through doors for a lady. Who did he think he was? Some knight in shining armor, come to rescue the damsel? No, he told himself, he’d never amount to something so virtuous, not after all he’d done. Or didn’t do, in his case.

  Mrs. Jacobs moved beside him, offering her unflappable calm. “My lord, seeing as how the lady’s not...attired, perhaps you could visit later? I think her fine now.” Mrs. Jacobs’s spirited eyes danced as she leaned even closer, then whispered conspiratorially, “Just your presence appeased the lady. I will dress her and have her ready for you soon.”

  Will blinked and nodded, unsure what to make of Mrs. Jacobs, of that comment, as if she were presenting their guest to him like a...like she was a...Lord, what was happening with his staff—and him!—this day?

  He’d have to leave. After all, the lady was naked. Damnation.

  He wouldn’t turn back to her, but said to the broken door, “I hope all is well with you, my lady. When...after...perhaps in a few...minutes...an hour, we may eat? Breakfast?” God, he hated how he stammered when nervous.