Carey paused outside the door. She’d seen Sophie’s head at the window, watching for her, when she arrived. Inside, she could hear her daughter’s suppressed giggles. She had a feeling there was a surprise in the making.
She opened the door. The kitchen was empty.
“I’m home,” she called as she usually did. She laid her purse on the counter and hung her ratty old cardigan on the peg. Hmm, perhaps she’d better stop at the Army-Navy Store and see about a new one one of these days. “Is anyone here?” she yelled. “Or do I have to eat whatever smells so good all by myself?”
A muffled giggle led her into the living room.
“Surprise,” a whole chorus of voices yelled.
Carey really did blink in surprise then. Her living room was filled with people—moms and dads and kids, some of whom she’d delivered. She stood there with her mouth agape.
“But there are no cars,” she protested.
“Happy birthday to you,” they all sang.
A cake held pride of place on the coffee table.
She looked at her friends, happiness like a shining bubble inside her. Susan and Ken, Annie and her husband, Bennie, and most of the nurses from the pediatric wing were there. The sheriff and his wife, their two children. Sterling and Jessica and five-year-old Jennifer. Clint and Dakota. Reed Austin and his bride, Janie Carson. Sam Brightwater and his wife and son. Kane and Moriah. Lorrie and Reynaldo. Her own family, Wayne and Sophie, who was a nearly grown-up seven-year-old. And…
“Mom. Dad.” She gave each of them a bear hug. “I can’t believe you’re here.”
“Wayne said it was a command performance,” her mom explained. “Dad gave up his place in a golf tournament.”
“Wow, I’m impressed,” she said, teasing her father, who had become obsessed with the game during his retirement.
“Sit,” Wayne ordered.
She was treated royally, not standing once as the evening progressed from pinwheels of smoked ham, cheese, tomatoes, avocado, cucumber and lettuce rolled up in flour tortillas and cut into slices; chips; veggies with exotic dips; right to the cake and punch and coffee.
With youngsters in tow, the party broke up early. She was shooed into the bedroom to slip into “something comfortable,” her husband suggested with a wicked gleam in his eye. Her parents bundled Sophie up and took her to a cabin they’d rented on the lake for the weekend.
Carey returned to the living room. A fire burned in the grate, although it was late April. She settled on the sofa.
“Here we go,” Wayne said, returning to the room with a bundle in his arms. He gave the baby to her.
She smiled into the incredibly blue eyes of Wayne Kincaid III, named after his great-grandfather and father, and opened her gown. The four-month-old latched on and sucked hungrily. The odd sensation of her milk coming down brought a sigh of contentment from her.
Wayne touched her cheek. “Have I told you how very beautiful you are?”
“You might have mentioned it.”
Only about once a day, she thought happily. She pressed his hand between her cheek and her shoulder as she cupped their son into the curve of her arm. She suddenly remembered something.
“Winona Cobb once told me, before we were married, that I would receive a Christmas present. My heart’s desire, she called it. I didn’t pay much attention, but she was right. Our son was born on Christmas Day.” She gazed in adoration at the man who took his place beside her on the sofa. “And I do indeed have all my heart’s desires. Every one of them.”
He settled an arm around her shoulders. “As have I. Sometimes I remember that I very nearly didn’t stop here.” He kissed her temple. “I wouldn’t have missed loving you for the world.”
“We would have met,” she declared firmly. “It was fated. Just as you were fated to leave, then return years later when you were needed. Sterling and Clint are very pleased with your management of the resort. Will we be ready for the first guests this summer?”
“Yes. Little more than a month away. June is sparse, July a bit more rushed, then in August—the deluge.”
She laughed at his wry note. Studying him covertly, she thought he looked younger and more handsome than ever. He was forty-five now. The gray was gaining on the light and dark strands of blond.
But someplace in her heart, he would always be the handsome young man who had knocked her ice-cream cone into the dirt and bought her another. She closed her eyes and envisioned him as he’d been on that afternoon—beautiful and perfect, her golden idol.
On that day, she’d vowed to marry him. It had taken twenty-five years, but she’d done it. Her hero had come home to her after all.