Jamie Sobrato - Baby Under The Mistletoe

No, not hope.

Joy.

No, not joy.

Love.

It didn’t matter why he was coming now-to deliver a gift for the baby or tell her he was leaving or berate her for being a fool for not being willing to move to Colorado. There was one thing she had to tell him, consequences be damned.

She ran to the door and left it open as she bounced across the porch and down the gravel road toward the car. He stopped when she neared, stuck his head out the window and peered at her, looking confused.

“Is everything okay?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said. “I mean, no, everything’s not okay.”

He turned off the car and got out, staring at her belly as if it might hold some answer.

She took him by the shoulders and looked into his eyes. “I love you, West.”

“What?”

She’d never seen him look so stunned-and she’d had some pretty stunning news lately.

“I. Love. You.”

“Does that mean-”

“No, it doesn’t mean I’ll come to Colorado.”

“That’s not what I was going to say.”

“I love you, and I don’t know what to do about it. I can’t ask you to give up your career any more than I can give up my life here.”

He smiled, still looking a little stunned, a little confused.

“You could move here,” she said. “Help me run the farm. I could expand the program if I had you helping. We could help take care of your father if you were here.”

He laughed. “You just took the words out of my mouth.”

“Marry me,” she said.

“That’s supposed to be my line,” he answered, taking a small black velvet box from his pocket. “And this belonged to my mother.”

He opened the box, revealing a gold ring.

“Is that a yes?” she asked, her voice nearly catching in her throat.

Could this really be happening? Had he just said he’d move here?

“Of course it is. You’re the only woman I ever want to love. Aside from our daughter, of course.”

“But…the Air Force. What will you do?”

“It doesn’t matter. I’ll retire early. My life is here now, with you and the baby. Ever since I saw that ultrasound, there’s been a little voice in the back of my head whispering to me what I need to do.”

Soleil looked down the winding gravel road that led away from the farm, and that had brought West back to her-that had brought him home.

“You belong here, too,” she said. “Just like I do.”

“Yeah, I think I do.”

And when he kissed her, she knew without a doubt it was true. He belonged here.

With her, loving her, for life.

“YOU’RE SUPPOSED to smile, not cry.”

Soleil looked up at the camera pointed at her. “Would you put that thing away?”

“No, I want a few more shots. I’ve heard newborn babies’ faces change every day. We have to get lots of pictures or we’ll forget what she looked like.”

“Oh, God,” she muttered, but he could tell she was kind of enjoying the attention.

He clicked a few more shots at various angles, unable to stop himself. They looked beautiful together, Soleil and their little girl.

She smiled at the baby who’d been attached like a suction cup to her breast all morning. “Enough already,” she said to the baby, right before she gently pried her off.

“Your turn,” she said. “My arms are cramping up.”

He put down the camera and took the baby from her.

“Think of any names you like yet?”

“I know for sure that we’re not naming her Matilda.”

“Mattie for short! I think it’s perfect,” West said as the baby rooted around on his chest, only to discover that he didn’t have anything interesting there.

She began to howl. He gazed at the tiny pink bundle of screaming, angry perfection that had barged into his life and promptly taken charge of his heart a day ago.

“Let’s don’t be one of those couples whose baby goes around for a month with no name.”

“Alice?” he suggested.

“No.”

“Amanda?”

“No.”

“Drucilla?”

“Now you’re making me angry.”

West laughed. “You’re so cute when you’re mad, I can’t help myself.”

Soleil eased herself off the hospital bed. Her pink flannel pj’s were kind of turning West on, but since they had a baby to keep up with and she’d just given birth and all, he figured he’d better keep that fact to himself for now.

Or at least until she was in a better mood.

“How about Juliana,” she said. “It sort of combines both our mothers’ names.”

He looked down at the baby in his arms, who, for the moment, was lying there peacefully.

“Juliana,” he said. “Is that your name?”

“Juliana Morgan,” she said, trying out the sound of it.

“I like it, but I think her middle name should be Soleil.”

She sighed. “Okay, fine.”

There it was. That was their daughter’s name. “Perfect.”

She said nothing, but he could tell she was pleased.

He watched her walk, tentatively, unsteadily, across the room to the window, and his heart swelled with pride. She was his wife, and this life, with her here in California, running the farm, it was the first time he could look around and see that his choices finally resembled his heart, and not anyone else’s.

Jamie Sobrato has written nineteen novels for Harlequin. She spent her earliest years on a farm in rural Kentucky, before moving across the country and around the world. Upon seeing the majestic redwoods and rugged beaches of Northern California, she knew she’d found her permanent home, where she now lives with her two children. Jamie can be reached through her Web site, www.jamiesobrato.com.