Epilogue
The hospital waiting room was crammed full of cowboy boots and many hats and men enough to fill them. Rugged types, built strong, and those would be Casey’s brothers. Leaner types, more wiry but no less powerful and those would be the bull riders. That was what Rowan told the midwife in between the waiting to push and the panting.
She’d almost made it to full term with her pregnancy, only a couple of weeks shy of it and that was good because the baby was still small enough for an easy birth. The tour had been in Washington State that weekend, where Casey was finishing his studies, and Paulo and Huck had been visiting when she’d gone into labor. Good thing too, because Casey had panicked and her father had panicked and it was eighteen hours later and chances were they were still panicking.
Could be she’d called this labor a little too early. How was she to know?
But the midwife was smiley and reassuring and kept going out to the waiting room and returning with reports.
“Who’s the older one who hasn’t stopped pacing since he got here? The one with the blue eyes and the thousand-yard stare?” asked the midwife as she took Rowan’s hand in hers and studied the readouts on the machines.
“That would be my father.”
“And the woman who waltzed in and sat him down and made him drink tea with sugar in it?”
“Mab’s mother, Lenore,” Rowan grated and then a contraction got her in a vise-like grip and made her roar. “When can I push?”
“Soon. You’re almost there.”
“She was almost there two hours ago.” This from Casey who held her other hand and could have used a tea with two sugars as well, or at least a dose of Lenore.
She’d ask them all to dinner when this was over. There was room at the house and room in her heart for them all. When she’d married Casey in Vegas she’d gained a mother-in-law, four brothers-in-law, a twenty-piece dinner set and a pet rescue hawk called Robin.
“If it’s a girl we should call her Meadowlark,” Rowan told Casey between pushes.
“We are not naming our daughter after Wyoming’s state bird,” muttered Casey. “What’s taking so long?”
“And you were doing so well,” said the midwife, prizing her hand out of Rowan’s grip and checking the business end of dealings. “Okay, Tomas, help Rowan lean forward a little while you plump those pillows and make her as comfortable as possible. Hands around the backs of your knees, Rowan. That’s quite a grip you’ve got there, isn’t it?”
“What about Ava for a girl’s name?” She was sweaty and bare-ass naked and all modesty had fled hours ago.
“Ava could work.” Casey tried plumping pillows and ended up settling in behind her, so she could lean back on him instead. “Or Cheyenne, which was where this all started. What if it’s a boy?”
Of all the tests that had been done, they’d never asked to know the sex of the baby. They’d take whatever came and feel blessed. “If it’s a boy we call it James, after your father. James Joseph,” she said.
“Or Joseph James after your father,” Casey countered. “Joe has worried about this baby enough for all of us.”
Casey winced as Rowan reached for his hand again and squeezed, lost in the grip of a contraction. The crush of his hand wasn’t quite as bad as being hung up on a bull, but it came mighty close.
“Honestly, guys, decide later,” said the midwife. “Rowan, I need you to push. Push now.”
Rowan pushed. Casey bowed his head and prayed.
Ten minutes and six lifetimes’ worth of pushing later a baby boy drew his first breath and cried and Casey gave thanks.
He had ten fingers and ten toes and Rowan looked shattered, and never again were they doing this, Casey vowed. Once was enough.
“It gets easier,” said the midwife, and maybe the woman was a mind reader. “I need to weigh him and check him out but I’ll be quick and I’ll only be ten feet away, and then your son will be back with you. Casey, you can come and hover if you want to.”
“I’ll stay right here.” Resting his head gently against Rowan’s and still holding her hand and his was the grip that now wouldn’t let go. “He’s got ten fingers and ten toes,” Casey whispered. “He’s probably going to be an accountant.”
“He’s a fine healthy boy,” said the midwife, minutes later, and placed the baby skin to skin across Rowan’s chest. “Rowan, you’re doing so well. Placenta next, okay, and, Casey, before you ask again, no, there’s no untoward bleeding.”
Which, fair enough, might have been a question on his lips.
“Would you like me to tell the crowd in the waiting room that you have a son?” the midwife continued.
“We’d love you to tell the crowd out there that we have a healthy baby boy.” There were wagers running as to gender. Jett and Mab were going to win big.
Casey had wanted a smiling Rowan and a trouble-free birth and beyond that he’d been easy. He knew boys. Then again, a doe-eyed girl with flyaway hair and a will like her mother’s would have terrorized them all and he’d have been grateful. He touched his son’s tiny, fern-like fingers and watched in wonder as the baby’s fingers closed around his.
“Good grip,” he murmured and Rowan laughed weakly.
“I know what you’re thinking,” she said. “But there’ll be no bull riding for him for quite some time.”
“You realize Mason’s got a pair of crocheted miniature cowboy boots out there already? In blue and red stripes.”
“Bring ’em on. Your family’s support is overwhelming and I love them, even Mason—sometimes.”
Casey grinned. The rift between him and Mason hadn’t healed completely but they were making progress. Mason had been one of the first to arrive when Rowan had gone into labor and had since done countless airport runs as others had staggered in. “He’s not so bad once you get to know him. Bit like your father. Is now a good time to tell you that my mother’s out there crocheting a cream-colored baby cowboy hat? She’s probably finished by now.”
“Baby cowboy hats are awesome.” Rowan looked down. “Oh, Tomas, look at him. He’s so beautiful.”
He looked. At the baby in her arms and the woman who meant the world to him. He pressed his lips to her temple. “I’m looking. And I’ll never stop loving you.”
She touched her lips to his, soft and gentle. “Let’s do this again.”
“Never.”
“I’ll wear you down.”
A chorus of cheers, whoops and yee-haws sounded somewhere outside the room, and that was his family out there, all of them. He’d go out and introduce them to the newest addition soon enough, but not yet. He needed this time alone with his wife and newborn child.
“As long as I can keep you safe.” Because that was the crux of it. He needed her safe and standing right beside him. “You’re my heart.”
Twenty minutes later, with his tiny son safely wrapped in a blanket and cradled in the crook of his arm, Tomas pushed through the door to the waiting room and every bit of conversation stopped.
“Rowan’s resting and doing really well. There were no complications.” His gaze found Joe’s, the man who so rarely shared his thoughts but who’d been pacing for eighteen hours solid. “This is Joseph.” He met his mother’s eyes next. “Joseph James, after his grandfathers, and there’s more.” He looked for Mab and found him tucked up in the corner, completely outnumbered by cowboys but still determined to be there. “Joseph. James. Macallister. Casey. And he’s ours.”
The End