She gasped and laid a hand over her belly. Then she clutched Martin’s hand with her other one as another powerful contraction made her hunch forward in pain.
“Josephine, what’s wrong?” Martin asked and rubbed her back with his free hand.
She sat up slightly and met his worried gaze. “I think I’m having the baby.”
What a time for Gini (not!) to make her appearance! Right when Josephine was about to say… Well, I don’t know what, but the suspense is killing me! And poor Martin! He probably wasn’t expecting his romantic gesture to end with them racing back to Miami so that Josephine can give birth to another man’s baby!
Chapter Sixteen
Martin carefully scooped Josephine into his arms and lifted her from the carriage seat and down to the ground. He hurried with her into the cottage where Zara, Alberta, and Ronaldo were all sharing a late lunch.
“Take a breath, my darling. The pain will pass,” he said and kissed her temple, but in all truth, the contractions had been coming closer and closer together as he’d rushed them back from the homestead.
“It’s time,” he said as Josephine grunted in pain again and bit her lip. All three jumped to their feet and went into action.
“Take Josephine to her bedroom and then go for Lucia and Rake. Zara and I will take care of her until Lucia arrives,” Alberta said calmly.
“Do not forget that I, Ronaldo de la Sera, am also here to assist. I once played a doctor in one of my troupe’s skits,” he said, but as a louder moan erupted from Josephine, Ronaldo’s face paled to a sickly green color.
“Or I can boil water. I understand that’s something you do at a time like this,” he said and hurried over toward the kitchen cabinets.
“Martin, it hurts,” Josephine hissed and grabbed hold of his shirtfront.
“I know, but you’re strong. You’re going to do just fine,” he said and hurried to her bedroom where Alberta and Zara had already turned down the covers and prepared the bed for Josephine. As he tenderly laid her on the clean sheets, something fell out of Josephine’s pocket.
He wasn’t going to pick it up, but the red color was like a giant warning sign.
He bent and lifted the crumpled length of red velvet ribbon. Recognizing it, he peered at Josephine, who had gone pale, but not from the pain of her contractions.
Almost afraid to ask, he knew he had no other choice if he and Josephine were ever to have a future together. “Where did you get this?”
“The tunnel. I meant to tell you, Martin. But I forgot…especially when Rake promised—oooooh!” Her voice strained, then cut off with a groan as another contraction came.
It was not a time for anger, he told himself. He had to put Josephine above everything else since she was the single most important thing in his life. As images of the velvet ribbon assaulted his brain, he pushed aside the little voice warning him that he had been wrong about Solvino.
“It’s all right. Focus on the baby. I’m going to get Rake and Lucia.”
He shoved the ribbon into his pants pocket, dropped a kiss on her lips, and whispered, “I love you, my darling.”
Rushing from the room, he raced past Ronaldo, who was trying his best to heat some water, and leapt onto the seat of the carriage. Slapping the reins, he set the horses into the fastest trot he could along the streets until he reached the Regal Sol. He tossed the reins to the doorman, flashed his Pinkerton star, and said, “Hold the carriage for me.”
He ran through the lobby to the front desk where he ordered Adams to ring up to Rake’s suite and then Lucia’s. Within minutes the two arrived in the lobby, Lucia with a leather physician’s bag in hand. Once they were all settled on the bench seat of the carriage, he raced off again toward the cottage.
Ronaldo was waiting anxiously by the door, raking his fingers through his hair and looking disheveled. As he saw Martin pull up, he called out, “The water is boiling,” and hurried over to help Lucia down from the carriage.
Rake was about to follow her, but Martin laid a hand on the other man’s arm and said, “We have to talk.”
Josephine sucked in a breath, gritted her teeth, and nearly crushed Zara’s and Alberta’s hands as another contraction washed over her body.
“Mami! Abuela! It hurts so much!”
“Not much longer. Try to keep breathing, slow and regular,” Lucia advised. She was positioned at the end of the bed, between Josephine’s legs.
“I’m trying,” she said and began panting, trying to control the waves of pain that washed over her like a storm-riled ocean buffeting the shoreline. The steady, regular breaths helped a little.
As she calmed down, her mother toweled her forehead with a damp cloth and wiped away a trail of sweat along the side of her face.
“It hurts because I’m not a good person,” she said, fearing that the pain was punishment for her inappropriate behavior with Rake and betraying Martin. Imagining her little angel jabbing her repeatedly in the belly with the pitchfork she had apparently stolen from her devil as she said, “I warned you, Josephine!”
“No, mi’ja,” her abuela said and rubbed her hand across Josephine’s belly, trying to soothe her. “This is normal. It will be over soon, and you will have a beautiful daughter.”
“I don’t know what to name her. Maybe Rake has a different name. I really don’t like Gini. Or maybe Martin does. He’s not the father, but he’ll be a good one. And why am I so confused about them? Rake has changed for the better, but Martin is so wonderful. Why can’t they stop fighting?” The words spilled from her lips and grew ever faster as another contraction built, and the angel went to jab her again, but then reconsidered, muttering, “I think you’re beating yourself up enough.” With a poof, she disappeared.
She panted and, in between breaths, said, “Why can’t it be easier? I should be able to make them understand! It’s so hard to choose between them!”
A loud scream came from her as a powerful wave of pain wrapped itself around her midsection and the baby moved violently in her belly.
Just then Lucia muttered, “Oh no!”
Anxiously, she strained to sit up. “What? What is it?”
“Easy, Josephine. You may feel like you have to push, but don’t do it yet. The baby just shifted, and it’s breech now,” Lucia said.
“No, no, no!” Josephine called out and fell back against the pillows, sweat and tears mingling on her face.
Rake and Martin stood in the kitchen, eyeing each other angrily and silently. Martin finally said, “Look, I know you didn’t want to hear me out about Sin Sombra. But I’ve found out that—”
His words got cut off when they heard Josephine’s scream, and they both rushed in the direction of the bedroom door, reaching it at the same time. They stood there, jostling each other for position until Ronaldo approached and moved them back.
“Gentlemen. I do not recommend you going in there. I’ve heard it can be quite unpleasant,” Ronaldo said and swayed a little, his face nearly ashen.
“You look like you should sit down,” Martin said, wrapping an arm around the other man’s shoulders and guiding him to a chair by the kitchen table.
“Thank you, my friend. It’s not that I’m weak; Ronaldo is not weak. But the thought of my Josephine in such pain…” His voice trailed off, and he couldn’t finish.
Martin understood. His gut was in knots as he thought about what Josephine was enduring and all because of the man standing just feet away.
He glared at Rake but fought back his growing anger, because giving into it would only hurt one person: Josephine.
“She’s going to be just fine, Ronaldo. This is normal,” he said, hoping he was speaking the truth. “There’s nothing wrong.” But another scream escaped from behind the closed bedroom door, twisting his gut.
“Yes, Ronaldo. Do not worry,” Rake said, but he didn’t sound very persuasive either and began to pace nervously by the door.
A second later, Alberta emerged from the room, wringing her hands and
looking tired.
“How is she?” Martin exclaimed, rushing toward her.
“Is Josephine all right? The baby?” Rake said anxiously, crowding in on Alberta’s other side.
The older woman looked very serious. “The baby is breech, but—”
“Oh dear! That sounds serious. We should go get a doctor,” Ronaldo said and shakily got to his feet.
“Yes, I think that’s a very sound idea,” Rake agreed. “I trust my sister, but—”
“I’m coming too,” Martin said, but he peered past Alberta’s shoulder to look into the bedroom. Josephine lay on the bed, a sheet draped over her. Zara was at her side, holding her hands. She was red-faced and sweating, her eyes screwed closed as Lucia softly issued instructions and worked beneath the sheets draped over Josephine’s legs.
“Ay dios mío,” Alberta cried, holding up her hands. “There’s really no need. The baby has already started to turn into the proper position. I’m sure things will be back to normal soon. Why don’t the three of you go get some fresh air instead of hovering in here like mother hens, eh?”
He and Rake shared another glance. It was clear neither of them wanted to leave, but Ronaldo raised his hand and brought his thumb and forefinger together just a small distance apart. “Maybe just a short walk. For Josephine’s sake, of course, not mine.”
In deference to Ronaldo, Martin nodded toward the man and turned to Rake. “Maybe we should get some air. Just a quick stroll.”
Rake nodded and walked toward the door. Martin went to Ronaldo’s side, and as the man stood, he wrapped his arm around the older man’s shoulders. “Let’s go, my friend.”
They left the cottage, Rake walking in front of them. The other man had been relatively silent since refusing to talk to him when they had first arrived. But for all their sakes, he had to get Rake to listen to what he had to say. But their discussion should be private, and first he had to relax the older man, who still seemed quite unnerved.
“I understand your shows have been very well received, Ronaldo,” he said.
“Of course, although I cannot take all the credit. My players are wonderful, but they would be lost without me,” Ronaldo gushed.
“And Mr. Solvino has provided you with a marvelous venue, has he not?” Martin said, causing Rake to abruptly look back at him.
“Yes, without a doubt.” With a flourish of his hand, Ronaldo added, “The perfect setting for a jewel like my troupe, and myself, to shine.”
“Josephine did a wonderful job of making sure the setting was just what you asked for,” Rake said.
“Yes, my Josephine,” Ronaldo said and stopped. He stared toward the cottage, his smile dimming.
“Let’s go back,” Martin said and clapped Ronaldo on the shoulder.
They turned around and headed toward the cottage, but as they went to enter, Martin held back and stopped Rake. At Ronaldo’s questioning gaze, he said, “We need a moment.”
Ronaldo looked from Rake to Martin, but then nodded and entered the cottage.
Rake shoved his hands into his pockets and rocked back and forth on his heels. “Again, Detective? I guess we need to get this done for Josephine’s sake. So what is going on? What ludicrous accusations do you have to attack me with now?”
Martin wagged his head, reached into this pocket, and pulled out the wrinkled length of red velvet ribbon. “Does this look familiar?”
Rake narrowed his gaze and scrutinized the ribbon. “A mangled piece of lady’s frippery? Should it mean something to me?”
He held the ribbon up higher. “Josephine told me she found this in a secret tunnel in the Regal Sol. Your tunnel, Rake.”
“And? It’s nothing but a hair decoration.” He took the thin velvet strip and examined it for a second, then shrugged, handing it back to Martin. “Sondra wears ones like this all the time.”
Almost immediately after he said the words, Rake’s eyes opened wide, much like Martin’s mind had when he had seen a similar bit of frippery in Rake’s stepmother’s hair at the hotel. It had caught his eye, as such a rich, red velvet would be quite pricey to procure and far less common than the grosgrain or satin decorations most ladies wore.
And because the first time he’d seen such a ribbon, it had been clutched in the hand of a freshly deceased Richard Slayton.
“There’s more, isn’t there?” Rake said and arched an eyebrow.
“As much as I hate to say this, I no longer think you’re Sin Sombra.” He smiled tightly. “But the crime boss is a Solvino: Sondra Solvino.”
Oh my goodness! Sin Sombra is Sondra! The Man with No Shadow is actually a woman? I-I don’t know what to say. For once, I’m as surprised as you are.
In between rough pants and words no proper young woman should use, Josephine said, “I will never do this again. Never. Do you hear me?”
“Most of the cottages hear you,” Zara teased and smoothed damp wisps of hair from her daughter’s forehead.
She grunted as knife-sharp pain lanced her side. “Never,” she repeated and gripped her mother’s and abuela’s hands so hard she worried she would break a finger or two.
“You’ll want to do this again with Martin,” her wise grandmother said, her voice soothing.
Martin, she thought and nodded. “I love Martin, but I care for Rake too. I wish things were easier with them,” she nearly wailed and panted again as the pain in her belly was replaced by intense pressure between her legs.
“Something’s wrong,” she said and surged up to peer at Lucia.
The woman’s face was calm, and an almost beatific smile lit her face like that of the Madonna on the little altar atop their fireplace.
“The baby’s turned. She’s ready to come out. Push, Josephine. Push,” Lucia said.
Josephine leaned forward and bore down, clenching her teeth as she closed her eyes and tried to do as Lucia asked. The pressure built between her legs. She moaned as agony mounted with the force she exerted.
Zara rubbed her back and laid her forehead against Josephine’s while Alberta gripped her hand in both of hers and said, “You can do this, mi’ja.”
“Just one more push, Josephine. One big shove,” Lucia urged.
Mustering every last bit of energy in her body, she forced herself to push, and almost like a dam giving way, the baby rushed out of her body in a final wave of pain.
A second later, the wail of the baby filled the room. With a tut-tut and a quick rocking motion, Lucia calmed the baby and laid the wet, wriggling infant on Josephine’s belly.
“Welcome your new son, Josephine,” Lucia said.
Wait one second. A son? Is Lucia sure? But then again, one doesn’t have to have an A in anatomy (which Lucia had, by the way) to know boys from girls (something Lucia knew very well)!
Chapter Seventeen
Josephine cradled the baby close and peered at her son. A son! Not what any of them had expected given the Valencia women’s history of having females.
“He’s beautiful,” she said and cooed at the baby, who opened his eyes and stared at her. They were a rich chocolate color, a perfect melding of her deep mocha and Rake’s nearly black color. Soft brown fuzz covered the baby’s head.
Inside, her heart glowed with happiness and that glow grew ever bigger, expanding to suffuse her body until she felt it might burst out of her chest. And then it did, bathing the baby with its warmth and spreading outward to encircle her mother and grandmother.
Alberta and Zara leaned closer and murmured their approval and astonishment.
“A boy after so long! Such a surprise,” Alberta said.
Zara skimmed her hand over the swaddling blanket. “So beautiful.”
“He looks like Rake when he was a baby,” Lucia said and gestured toward the door. “I think it’s time we let the menfolk in, don’t you?”
Josephine nodded. “It’s time,” she said even as she girded herself for what was going to be a difficult moment.
Zara hurried over, opened the door, and invited th
e men to enter.
Ronaldo rushed in and to her side, gushing and gesticulating dramatically as he spied the baby. “She’s beautiful!” he exclaimed.
Zara rested her hand on Ronaldo’s arm and said, “She’s a he.”
“A boy? I have a son?” Rake said as he hurried over to Josephine’s side.
Josephine smiled and tenderly transferred the swaddled baby to Rake’s arms. It seemed as if his knees weakened, and he nearly dropped onto the chair beside the bed.
“A son,” he repeated in wonder and glanced at her tenderly, his eyes suspiciously shimmering.
“Congratulations,” Martin said, drawing her attention to him as he stood by the door, hands folded before him. His hesitation to come farther into the room troubled her until she met his gaze.
He smiled, and a halo of light surrounded him with the simple gesture that belied the sacrifice he’d made in letting Rake, the man he clearly despised, meet his son first. That glow began again as warmth and gratitude flooded her heart at his simple, but incredibly generous and selfless kindness. Martin had proven once again that he was the kind of man a woman could count on in any circumstance. The kind of man who would love her and cherish her no matter what.
She held her hand out to him, and he finally approached, glancing at the baby that Rake held. He took her hand into his and said, “You look so lovely, and the baby is beautiful.”
“Thank you, Martin,” she said, and within her, happiness burst forth and the radiance of it spilled over onto their joined hands.
Rake’s head snapped up, and as his gaze drifted over them, he seemed to sense that there was something different happening between them. “Would you like to hold him?” he said and held out the baby to Martin, but Ronaldo jumped in and scooped the child into his arms.
“I’d love to hold little Ronaldo,” he said gleefully.
“I’m sorry, Papi—”
He stared at Josephine in amazement; then his smile beamed even wider. “She called me Papi! Did you hear that, little Ronaldo?”
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