Chapter 26

The next morning, Emma woke in a fog, still dizzy and nauseous after a fitful night’s sleep. She tried to sit up, then fell back on her pillows when her stomach threatened to revolt. She had a moment of panic, wondering how everyone at Shady Acres was holding up—wondering who else had come down with this evil bug, and who had recovered enough to get back to work.

Her bedroom door was half-open, and she felt a lightning-sized jolt when she spotted the backside of none other than Jasper Stone standing at her counter, looking out the window.

She closed her eyes. Had he been here all night? She looked at the clock, then felt her eyes widen. It was eight o’clock—if he was here, who was manning the café?

He turned around then, as if he’d heard her. His face was serious, troubled, and the way his eyes shifted away from hers sent alarms ringing in her gut. They didn’t help the nausea much.

“Morning, sunshine,” he said, coming to the door. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I got run over by a Mack truck, thanks.” She pulled up the blankets, not sure what she actually had on for pajamas. “Did you—stay?”

He nodded. “Not so easy to leave a woman who practically takes you down in the middle of a hallway, even though she doesn’t weigh enough to hurt a flea.”

“I’m so, so sorry.” Emma felt her cheeks go hot as she pictured what the scene must have looked like. “I was fine, and then I—wasn’t.”

“It’s okay. I’m just glad we were there to catch you. I had no idea Katrina could move so fast.”

“Ugh.” She closed her eyes. “Hey, who opened the café if you’re here?”

“Couple of my guys.” He shrugged. “They’re good for an early-morning shift if I bribe them well enough.”

“Thank you. I’m really sorry. You should—go. I’m sure you have a million things to do. I’m fine. I’ll just—I’ll be fine.”

“No rush,” he said. “You want to try some coffee or something? Ma sent down some soup last night.”

At the words coffee and soup, her stomach sent a very clear message, and she shook her head. “I think I’d better wait a bit.”

“Okay.” He stood there, coffee in one hand, looking so adorably scruffy that she wanted to haul him into bed, despite how terrible she felt. His eyes met hers, and in them she saw a swirl of emotions.

If she’d known him better, she might know which ones she was seeing.

“Okay,” she whispered.

He paused for another long moment, then took a deep breath. “Tell me about Charlotte.”

Emma sat up straight, the blankets falling down around her. “What?”

“I was just straightening things up, I swear. I wasn’t looking at your stuff. But”—he held up a piece of paper she’d had in her hand ten thousand times, at least—“this fell out of your book.”

“Jasper.” Emma heard her voice come out but almost didn’t recognize it. It was a voice raw and pained and oh-so-violated.

He stepped into the room, walking slowly toward her so he could set the baby footprint on her blanket.

“Who is she?” he asked, his voice soft and curious, tentative as he sat carefully in the rocker beside her bed.

“She can hold her for a minute,” a nurse said, shooting dagger-eyes at Emma’s father.

“It’ll only make it worse,” he growled.

“With all due respect, nothing can make this worse.” The nurse stepped around him, a blanket-wrapped bundle in her arms.

“The parents are waiting in the hall.”

“I know how it works, Mr. Winthrop. Now if you’d kindly leave the room, we will be with you shortly.”

She held his eyes as Emma watched from the bed, fearful. Nobody stood up to her father. Nobody. It just wasn’t done.

“Five minutes,” he finally said, throwing a disgusted glance Emma’s way. “No more.”

The nurse didn’t reply—just held the baby and his glare until he’d backed out of the room. Then she walked quickly to Emma.

“Do you want to hold her? Because you don’t have to. It will make it harder—he’s right. But I wanted you to have the option.”

Emma nodded, reaching desperately for the baby. “Please. Yes.”

The nurse placed the bundle in her arms, tucking the blanket away from the baby’s face so Emma could see her.

“She’s beautiful. She has your nose.”

Emma smiled through tears, touching the baby’s tiny, precious nose.

“This wasn’t your choice, was it?” The nurse’s voice was quiet as she rubbed Emma’s shoulder.

“It wasn’t,” Emma whispered, stroking her fingers over the tiny cheeks as tears cascaded down her own. “I wanted her. I do want her.”

“Oh, sweetie.” The nurse brushed her hair back from her face, her voice so, so soft. “Someday it’s going to be the right time. You’ll have another chance.”

“I don’t know.”

“Do you have a name picked out?”

“The parents get to name her.”

“Yes, they will. But you get to name her first. You whisper her name in her ears, and maybe someday the two of you will find each other again.” She patted Emma’s shoulder. “Now, I’m going to lock that door and find some very busy things to do for the next fifteen minutes. That’s probably the best I can get you before they get someone to create an ugly scene. You hold that baby close and you memorize her scent, and you talk to her. She’ll remember you, honey. She’ll remember you.”

And then she was gone, through a connecting door to another delivery room, and Emma was alone with the baby.

“Hi, little one,” she said, trying to corral her tears. “I’m your mommy.”

She took a shaky breath. “I have loved you since the moment I found out about you, and I’ll never, ever stop loving you.”

The baby yawned and opened her little eyes, which made Emma smile. Lord, she was sweet, all soft skin and pudge. Her tiny fingers gripped Emma’s pinky, and Emma studied the little nails for long minutes. She had Winthrop fingers.

She tried to memorize her features, bent close to inhale her baby scent, pulled the baby to her neck so she could cuddle her close.

“Charlotte,” she whispered. “Your name is Charlotte, after your great-grandmother.”

And then the door clicked, and the nurse came back.

“I’m sorry, honey. It’s time.”

“I know.” Emma bit her lip. The last thing she wanted to do was drip tears on her precious baby.

“Give her a kiss.”

Emma held her close, studying her face, then kissed her forehead carefully.

And then the nurse slid her hands under Charlotte’s blanket and lifted her.

“Let go, honey.”

“I can’t,” Emma sobbed. “She’s mine. She’s mine.”

Another nurse appeared, tears in her eyes. “It’s okay, sweetie. She’s going to have a gorgeous life.”

“No!” Emma held on harder. “No!”

Charlotte emitted a teeny squawk, and Emma just about lost her mind. It was her job to comfort this baby. It was her job to feed her and change her and stay up all night with her.

“Let go, sweetheart.” The second nurse’s voice was strong, as was her grip as she loosened Emma’s. “It’s going to be all right.”

And then the sweet, warm, tiny weight of the baby was gone. The first nurse was out the door and in the hallway, and the second one stayed close to Emma, hand on her shoulder as she shook.

“Mine,” she sobbed. “She’s mine.”