Brave Enough(72)
“Never? Not even for, say, childbirth?” I ask, giving him my first real smile since that fateful day when we got back from our honeymoon.
Tag’s face softens, so much so that it brings tears to my eyes. “Childbirth? Children? With me?”
“Yes, with you. Only with you. I’d love to have some.”
Lips brush mine in the sweetest kiss known to man. Tag then winds his arms around me and crushes me to him in an embrace that tells me finally . . . finally everything is going to be all right. I know now—as surely as I know my name and my birthday and that I fell in love with a man the first day that I met him—I know that my husband will make sure of it. Because he’s brave enough to love me. And I’m brave enough to love him right back.
EPILOGUE
Weatherly
Five years later
The afternoon sun is pouring onto the patio. I take another sip of water, wondering if this was the best idea. In my condition, getting overheated probably isn’t a good idea. But when I hear the delighted squeals coming from the water, followed closely by a deep chuckle, I remember why I’m out here, why I wouldn’t miss this.
Tag is in the pool with our daughter, Willow. Since I’m so close to delivery, I can’t play with her as much as I’d like. Tag makes up for it, though, by taking her on four-wheeler rides through the grapevines and watching her while she climbs trees. And by throwing her around in the pool at least twice a day.
It didn’t take me long to figure out that he was going to be an amazing husband. Once we managed to put all our issues behind us and move forward, he threw himself into it with gusto. I was a little nervous about how he’d do with a baby, but I needn’t have been. He’s exceeded my expectations and then some. He can be so gentle, yet so playful. He’s every little girl’s dream daddy, I’m sure. He would’ve been mine, for sure.
My own father has come around quite a bit since the birth of our daughter. It’s like he realized he was being given a second chance to make different choices and set different priorities, and he did. He and Mom come to visit at least once a month and stay for a week. It’s not Tag’s favorite week, but they get along a lot better now that there’s no room for a hostile takeover in their relationship. The merger of a part of each of their companies worked out better than anyone could’ve anticipated. Dad’s money is safe. Growing, in fact. And Tag’s is, too. Not that he cares as much about it as my father does his. It’s nice to have a fortune, but our life is pretty simple. We’re happy spending our time here at Chiara, with each other and with our child. And soon, there will be another little laugh to add to the mix.
As if in agreement, I feel a tight squeeze low in my abdomen. It steals my breath for a second. I breathe through it, thinking that it’s just a Braxton Hicks contraction. I realize that it might be more than that, however, when five minutes later another one seizes my uterus. And another one five minutes after that.
“Uh, babe?” I call out to Tag when the third one eases.
He glances over at me, his face still wreathed in a gorgeous smile. “Beautiful?”
“I think you might need to cut the swimming short and call my parents.” I do my best to get out of the lounger gracefully, but I know it’s no use. At this point, the best I can do is lumber.
When I straighten, I see Tag’s smile fade. He stills, his long fingers unmoving where they’re wrapped around Willow’s waist as he was preparing to pick her up and throw her. “What’s wrong?”
“Whassa matter, Mommy?” Willow chimes in, her tiny hands resting over her father’s much larger, much tanner ones.
“I could be mistaken, but I think we might be making a trip to the hospital.”
With lightning speed that one wouldn’t expect from a man as big as my husband, Tag hauls himself and our daughter out of the pool. He runs, dripping wet, a giggling child in his arms, over to me to help.
“Don’t worry about me yet. I’m fine. Go get some dry clothes on both of you and bring my suitcase to the car. I’ll meet you there.”
“You got it, Mrs. Barton.”
They disappear in a swirl of excited whispers that include something about momma and a baby brother. I smile as I waddle my way across the patio and out to the garage. I have to pause twice, once to catch my breath and once until a contraction passes. This one seemed like it might be less than five minutes from the last one. Quite a bit less.
“Better hurry,” I call out to no one in particular. My labor with Willow was brutal, but surprisingly short, especially for a first child. I can only imagine how quickly our son might get here once he gets started.