Authors: Lisa M. Owens
If Only (22 page)
“I don’t know if I’m crying because I’m sad or because of postpartum depression,” she complained as his arms wrapped around her and he pressed her trembling body against his chest.
Laughing, Scott began to massage her shoulders reassuringly. “Probably a little of both,” he predicted.
Bree frowned as she gazed up at him. “When did you become such an expert at parenting?” she questioned, aggravated.
“Well, I have been reading parenting books ever since I found out you were pregnant,” he claimed.
“And you’ve been a father for what now,” she murmured with a knowing smile. “A whole hour and a half?”
“Cheeky woman,” he complained as his lips met hers. He began deepening the kiss when suddenly she pulled away from his embrace.
Her face lit up as she announced, “I just thought of the perfect name.” She looked at their daughter as she whispered with a knowing smile, “Lucy.”
Scott couldn’t begin to explain all the emotions washing over him in that instant. He felt like a dam about to burst. Gazing at the life they had created, he felt an overwhelming rush of pleasure and pride.
“Lucy,” he murmured with a smile. He met Bree’s intent green gaze, his large hand cradling the top of the baby’s head. “Lucy would be perfect,” he stated. “Lucy Breeanne Weston,” he continued.
The tears pooling in her eyes were the only answer he needed. He reached for his newborn daughter and cradled her protectively in his awkward yet loving embrace. “Named after the two strongest women I have ever known.”
Their conversation was interrupted by the door opening. A middle-aged woman entered, carrying an extravagant bouquet of yellow roses. The nurse walked over to the table next to Bree’s bed and placed the bouquet down, fussing with the golden petals. When her face was finally revealed, Bree had the unmistakable feeling she had met this woman somewhere before.
The nurse’s blue eyes focused on Bree, her smile widening in recognition. “Mrs. Sexton!”
Scott began to tell the woman she was mistaken until Bree placed a warning hand on his shoulder. She had the strangest feeling about this woman, and she wanted to hear what she had to say.
One of her wrinkled hands rested upon her heart as she stared at the baby nestled in Scott’s arms with fascination. Happy tears filled her eyes as her gaze focused on Bree. “I have said so many prayers for you over the years, Mrs. Sexton. After all this time, you finally have your baby!”
Her next words nearly chilled him to the bone. “I don’t know if you remember me, but we have met before. I was a nurse in the ER when you had your last miscarriage.” She clucked her tongue as she continued, “I have never forgotten that night or the shattered look on your face.”
Bree’s green gaze strayed to her husband, where his expression of disbelief matched her own. She had started to believe he had been right, that her marriage to Bryan had been nothing but a bad dream, but now she was beginning to wonder. This nurse did seem familiar; she had seemed to recognize her the minute her eyes had focused on the older woman’s face. But this all seemed to unbelievable to be true.
By the time they both looked back to where the nurse had been standing, the woman had simply disappeared. The bouquet of roses was still sitting on the table right where the nurse had placed them, but the woman herself had vanished.
A young blonde nurse, probably in her late twenties or early thirties, walked into the room pushing a portable blood pressure monitor. Reaching for Bree’s arm, she wrapped the cuff snugly, her eyes focused on the watch adorning her wrist as she checked her pulse. Bree and Scott traded bewildered looks as they waited for the machine to register and for the nurse to remove the cuff.
When Bree couldn’t take the suspense anymore, she turned to the nurse and asked the question they had both been dying to ask. “What was the name of the other nurse? The one in here right before you?”
The young nurse looked at her with surprise as she wrapped the cord around the cuff of the blood pressure machine. “You must be confused. According to your chart, no other nurse has been in this room since I was in here last to check on you.”
“There was a middle-aged woman in here just a few minutes ago. She left those flowers,” Bree murmured.
The young nurse commented, “There is no nurse matching that description on duty. And I have never seen those flowers before. There weren’t any flowers at the nurses’ station when I left to come in here.”
Shrugging, she turned and walked out the door, making handwritten notes on Bree’s medical chart.
“A dream? Or my guardian angel?” she questioned, her voice slightly breathless.
“We may never know,” Scott responded as they both gazed at their sleeping child cradled in her father’s loving arms.
“Our daughter has her own guardian angel,” Bree murmured with a knowing smile. “She’ll always be protected.”
“She sure will,” he agreed, running his fingers through her copper curls.
His eyes darkened with desire as he placed the baby into the hospital bassinet and covered her with the blanket.
Bree giggled, clasping her hand over her mouth as he walked to the side of her bed and climbed in beside her. Pressing his body against hers, he reached over and whispered huskily into her ear, “Feel like getting lucky in a hospital bed?”
Laughing, she replied with a wink, “Well, it does recline.”
He raised his eyebrows suggestively, his hands beginning to stroke the curves of her face. “Is that a yes?” he questioned with a grin, heat flaming in his chocolate brown eyes.
She chuckled as she sighed dramatically. “You know I would if we could, but I am afraid it will be at least six weeks before we can do anything in that regard.”
He stuck out his tongue in response as he complained, “I’m in for a lot of cold showers.”
“We both are,” she agreed with a tender smile. “But I believe our daughter is well worth the sacrifice.”
“I do believe you’re right,” he murmured as he kissed his wife on the tip of her nose. Reaching out, he stroked the now-smooth planes of her stomach. “How soon until we can get started on the next one?”
“The next one?” she repeated.
“You had your heart set on having a daughter named Mariah, and I would like nothing more than to be surrounded by a house full of beautiful women.”
“Exactly how many children do you want?” Bree queried with a slow smile.
“Pick a number,” Scott challenged.
About the Author
The writing bug bit Lisa M. Owens at an early age; she was writing short stories and poetry by the age of seven. At the age of eight, she entered a writing contest at her elementary school. About fifty books were written, but Lisa was one of the thirteen writers chosen who received a certificate and the chance to meet Oklahoma writer Sandy Miller.
A former victim of domestic violence herself, Lisa worked at the courthouse for over seven years. Almost three of those years she worked on the Marriage License/Protective Order desk. She helped women file protective orders and worked closely with the staff and counselors at DVIS.
Frustrated with books that merely gloss over the subject of domestic violence, Lisa wanted to write a book that told the entire story. Her dream is for her words to help give someone the courage to leave an abusive relationship.
She resides in Oklahoma and has two children. This is her first published novel, and she is currently working on the next novel of her
If Only
series.
Lisa enjoys hearing from her readers and can be reached at P.O. Box 9643, Tulsa, OK 74157-0643, or by e-mail, [email protected]. She can also be contacted on her website, www.lmowens.com.
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