35

MY LIFE WAS GOOD.

Not perfect, but good.

My neck, shoulders, back, and arms ached from holding Ellison. No one ever told me that holding something—someone—who weighed less than six pounds could make me so tense I hurt. And that the thought of coughing or sneezing could scare me. Yet there was an altogether different sort of ache when she wasn’t in my arms.

My C-section site hurt on the surface where the staples were visible, but also inside where they’d had to sew off two of the uterine arteries to stanch the flow of blood. Even though I’d been given a medicine pump to mitigate the pain, I tried to avoid using it. No sense in depending on it too much since it wasn’t coming home with me.

“I can’t say Dr. Gray and Dr. Anand were totally convinced about moving me back up to the postpartum ward.”

Mom adjusted the pillow behind my back. “They both realized you were going to fight them about staying in the ICU. And they recognized how stubborn you are.”

“Like I told them, the hospital is the hospital. They both admitted I’m doing well overall—better than they expected—and that being together is better for both Ellison and me.”

“Everyone agrees on that. A baby should be with her mom.”

“It also helps that you agreed to stay with me tonight.”

“We’re all here to help you, Johanna.”

“I know.” I hesitated. “I was jealous of Jillian . . .”

“Jealous? Why?”

“Just for a moment I was jealous because she was with Ellison that first night after she was born, instead of me.” Even now the thought caused my throat to tighten. “But then I realized it was an irrational response. I was thankful Jillian stayed with her. There’s room in Ellison’s life for Jillian and you and Payton . . . and we’ll all make certain she knows about Pepper.”

“Her namesake.”

“One of her namesakes.”

“Thank you, Johanna.”

“Thank you, Mom. I didn’t realize that you’d always been there for me.”

It was as if I was stepping closer to Mom, even as I sat in a hospital lounger holding Ellison. How odd, to be with Mom, holding my daughter. Her first granddaughter.

Ellison’s eyes opened for a brief moment as she turned her head, and she moved one tiny fist up against her face. I rested my hand on her body and savored the sense of her inhaling and exhaling. Her breathing was my new favorite sound. Earlier in the day, we’d both fallen asleep, Ellison in her bassinet, and me in the hospital bed, on my side, one hand draped over, resting on her little body, feeling the rise and fall of her breath.

My daughter’s breathing was a precious distraction.

“Where’s Dad? I thought you said he was coming over tonight to see his granddaughter.”

Mom paused from folding some of the clothes she and Payton had purchased for Ellison earlier that day. So many tiny outfits that they’d taken home and washed and dried and presented to me with huge grins of satisfaction.

“Um, he should be here anytime now.” She glanced at the clock on the wall facing my bed. “How are you feeling? Are you good? In pain? Is it time for your medication?”

“I’m fine, Mom. I’m tired, but that’s my new normal. And I’ve got the pump—but I don’t want to get attached to that.”

“Right. Right. I forgot. Do you want me to get you some more water? Remember, they told you to keep up on your fluids so you don’t get—”

“Yes. I remember. We are not discussing that, even if you are my mother.” I shifted my position just a bit. “What is going on?”

“Nothing. Everything’s fine.”

“Mom. You are a terrible liar. What aren’t you telling me?”

And then the door to my room swung wide and Beckett strode in.

“Traffic was a bit of a mess coming from the airport—” Dad came in right behind him, smiling as if showing up with Beckett was a wonderful, welcome surprise—“but we’re finally here!”

“You’re supposed to be in California.” I tightened my grip on Ellison, as if Beckett might take her from me.

Beckett stopped a foot from where I sat, his gaze ricocheting between my face and the tiny form in my arms. “I’m supposed to be here.”

I didn’t know how to process his words. The room seemed hazy, reminiscent of when I was in the operating room, losing too much blood. Only then I’d told Dr. Gray that I trusted her. And I didn’t trust Beckett Sager. I didn’t want to trust him.

Ellison—innocent, hours-old baby that she was—was oblivious to everything. Peaceful. Asleep. Her breathing quiet and steady beneath my hand.

Beckett had said the right thing. But he was no longer the right person.

“Who told you?”

“Payton . . . Payton called me after Ellison was born and told me you were having serious complications.” Beckett swallowed hard. “And no, Johanna, no one asked you if she should call me. But it was the right thing to do.”

“You had a job interview—”

Beckett raked his hand through his hair. Muttered something under his breath. I was half-tempted to say, “Watch your language in front of the baby,” but my sense of humor failed me.

“I told you I was coming back, Johanna. I only went to the interview because I’m trying to get the job here in the Springs.”

“And you’ve probably lost it now . . .”

“Not necessarily.” Beckett’s eyes held a wicked gleam even as his face flushed. “I explained that my . . . my daughter was being born earlier than anticipated . . . an emergency C-section. The interview team insisted I get back to my wife right away.”

“Beckett Sager!” I had to whisper the rebuke to keep from disturbing Ellison. “Did you set them straight?”

“I didn’t have time—I had to make arrangements to get back here.”

“I hope your ticket cost you triple what you’d normally pay.”

“I couldn’t find a regular flight.”

He wasn’t making any sense, or maybe I was too tired to follow him. “Then how did you get here?”

“I have a buddy with a private pilot’s license. Let’s just say he owed me for something . . . and I said I’d pay for the gas and putting him up in the Springs for a couple of days if he’d get me back here.”

“That’s quite a story.”

“I was worried sick about you and Ellison.” Beckett took a step forward. “I flew into the Springs and your dad picked me up. My car’s in Denver.”

Beckett hadn’t come to my rescue—Dr. Gray had done that last night. But he had come back like he said he would. And he’d risked losing the job he wanted to get here.

Even road-weary, Beckett still had the charisma that had always appealed to me. He was being nice. Concerned. But he was still Beckett, the man who had betrayed me.

Wait.

I had changed.

Maybe Beckett could change, too.

Not that we’d resume our romance, but enough to establish a relationship for Ellison.

“Do you want to see her . . . our daughter?” Saying the words caused my throat to ache.

I wanted her to be my daughter. Only mine. But that wasn’t the truth. Ellison was here because of me and Beckett . . . because of something we once had.

“That’s why I’m here.” Beckett dropped to one knee beside my chair.

I shifted, stifling a hiss of pain as I moved my arms to angle Ellison so he could see her. “Ellison Thatcher, this is your dad.”

“She’s so tiny.” Beckett’s voice was the softest whisper. “Can I touch her?”

“She won’t break.”

“I don’t want to wake her up.”

“I’m learning you can’t wake this little girl up when she wants to sleep.”

“She’s beautiful, Johanna.”

“I know.”

“How are you feeling?”

“I hurt all over, to be honest.” That wasn’t the entire truth—the best truth. “But I’ve never been happier. Isn’t that crazy?”

“You look like a natural. I came into this room and saw you holding her . . .” Beckett stopped. Cleared his throat. “I’m so glad you’re both okay.”

For the first time in months, I didn’t want to be angry with Beckett. It was as if Ellison was a tiny little buffer . . . a reason to gentle my response, my reaction to him. When he touched the side of her face, I was tempted to rest my hand on top of his. To complete the connection between the three of us.

But I couldn’t do that.

Beckett and I were here for our daughter. Not for each other.

The nurse returning to the room broke the connection. I wasn’t even certain Beckett was aware of the moment.

“Johanna, are you ready to get back in bed?” She stopped when she saw Beckett kneeling beside the chair. “I didn’t realize you had a visitor.”

“Yes. . . . I’m not sure where my parents are.”

“They said something about going to get something to eat.”

Ah. I hadn’t heard that.

“This is . . . Ellison’s father.” I appreciated the nurse’s nonreaction. “And yes, I’d like to get back in bed.”

“Maybe Ellison’s father would like to hold her while you get settled?”

Beckett rose to his feet. “Would that be okay with you, Jo?”

“Absolutely.” Even as I agreed, I almost wanted to change my answer. But Beckett had to hold Ellison sometime.

“Then let me take this little sweetheart—” the nurse lifted the slight weight of my daughter from my arms—“and give her to her daddy.”

For a moment, I couldn’t see Ellison as the nurse instructed Beckett on how to hold her. Support her head. Hold her close to his chest.

“She’s moving . . .”

“Yes. Newborns do that. She’s fine. Why don’t you step over here with her? I’m going to pull the curtain around the bed while I get Johanna settled. You just hold your daughter.”

“But what if she cries?”

“If she cries, we’ll all hear her. It’s a curtain, not a brick wall. Here’s a bottle. You can always try to feed her.” And with those words, the nurse pulled the curtain around us, blocking Beckett and Ellison on the other side.

“You okay over there?” I couldn’t keep the laughter from my voice.

“We’re fine . . . so long as she stays asleep.” Beckett’s words were spoken in a stage whisper. “Is it okay if I walk with her?”

“Yes. Just don’t drop her.”

“Don’t even say that. I’ve never been more afraid in my life.”

“Take little steps . . .”

It was quiet for a few seconds . . . until Beckett started counting.

“Are you counting your steps, Beckett?”

“Yes.” A soft laugh followed his admission. “I don’t know why. Counting seems to help. I’ve never held a baby before.”

“And now you’re holding your daughter.”

“Our daughter.” The sound of Beckett counting came from the other side of the curtain again. “Ellison is your mom’s maiden name?”

“Yes. And I assume Payton told you that I chose Pepper as her middle name.”

“Ellison Pepper Thatcher. It’s a beautiful name. She’s beautiful.”

The nurse drew the curtain back, exiting the room and leaving the three of us alone.

“Is it okay if I hold her a bit longer?”

“You flew all this way . . .” I smiled. “Yes.”

Beckett eased into the chair I’d just vacated. “Thank you.”

“I wanted to let you know that I haven’t had a chance to fill out her birth certificate yet. . . . Things have been a bit hectic.”

“That’s an understatement.”

“But I’m listing you as Ellison’s father.”

Beckett didn’t respond at first—seemed to struggle to respond, his chin quivering as his eyes filled with tears. “Thank . . . thank you, Johanna.”

“It’s the right thing to do, Beckett.”

Until I said the words out loud, I’d believed I was doing the right thing for Ellison. But now I knew I was doing the right thing for all of us. For me. For Beckett. And for our daughter. I was stepping away from anger.

I started to reach for Beckett’s hand . . . and stopped.

This was not the time. It might never be the time for that again. Ever.

I had to choose what was best for Ellison . . . and that meant being more kind to Beckett. And probably more kind to myself, too.