The Christmas You Found Me, page 25
“We will,” I say, then I pause and whisper, “Merry Christmas, Jeff.”
“Merry Christmas, honey.”
For once, I leave my father with a smile on my face. And yes, I’m still trying to keep it together, but in a much better way than usual. It feels like the Christmas gift I didn’t know I needed.
“Thank you, Emma,” I tell her when we leave the memory-loss unit and sit down on a bench outside. “You were very nice to him.”
“Can I have a snack?”
I blink back the wetness from my eyes and nod. “Yeah, you just have to take your binder first.”
I dig the medicine out of her bag and then give her a pill and her little Tupperware of grapes. Guy doesn’t speak until after we get Emma in the car seat and shut the door behind her.
When I turn to him to see if maybe his silence is because he’s upset, Guy quietly says, “Jeff is the only grandparent she’s ever had. He’s a good man, and I’m glad we got to meet him. Thank you, Sienna. It means more than you realize.”
As he opens the door for me to climb into the driver’s side of truck, suddenly I know being a Naples woman is nothing compared to what I am now. A Maple. Emma’s stepmother. Guy’s wife.
And this temporary marriage of convenience? In my heart, it is absolutely, one hundred percent real.
Chapter 24
Emma’s blood pressure is low enough that she almost doesn’t get approved for dialysis. She doesn’t want to sit still for it, even though the dialysis nurse warns she could end up with bruising on her fistula. After a very long three and a half hours of trying to keep her in her seat, we finally start for home. Emma says her chest hurts when we’re almost at the ranch, and she starts breathing faster than normal, which worries us enough we turn around and start back toward town.
Halfway back to Caney Falls, she falls asleep, her breathing seeming to return to its usual rate. We decide to take her into the emergency room anyway, just to be careful, and they offer to keep her overnight for monitoring. But other than recommending she see her usual doctors for follow-ups, the emergency doctor doesn’t have much to add. She’s a sick little girl on a lot of medication in renal failure. She’s puffy with edema, and her blood pressure is lower than a normal child her age. She’s tired, but she’s also getting dialysis every day, which is exhausting.
She’s spent most of the afternoon in dialysis or the hospital, which is even more exhausting.
At the idea of staying the night away from Barley, Emma pitches an absolute fit, which causes her breathing to worsen again. It gets better when we finally calm her down, and Guy and the doctor decide it’s best to take her home. The less stress on her system, the better, and she’s happier at home. We can always come back if we need to do so, and Emma will rest better in her own bed.
So home we go.
I take care of feeding and checking the animals while Guy gets her bathed and ready for bed. He looks worn out from the day, and even though I’m tired too, I volunteer for Emma’s bedtime story. She has a tough time settling down, even though she’s happier with her arms wrapped around Barley’s neck.
Halfway through my second bedtime reading of A Moose’s Majestic Christmas, Emma tugs my sleeve. “Sen-na?”
“Yeah, Em?”
“Do you want to be my mommy?” The way she asks the question makes it sound as if she isn’t sure of my answer, and her eyes don’t quite meet mine.
It takes a lot of bravery to ask someone if they want to love you.
For a moment, I sit there, wondering what Guy would want me to say. He’s downstairs doing what he’s now dubbing “relax-ercise,” and ultimately, my relationship with Emma is because of him. Except… I love this little girl. Even though all this started as a complete confusing mess, I love her from the tip of her nose to each of her tiny pink-painted toes.
“If you want me to be your mommy, I would love to be. But you get to choose.”
There’s a lot in her life Emma doesn’t have control over, but this one is something she gets to decide. The worry smooths from her brow, and she nods, snuggling into the bedding. “Daddy likes you.”
Despite my best efforts, I can’t help the goofy smile that comes to my face. “I like your daddy too.” And then we go back to reading. Apparently three times is the charm, because her blue eyes finally start to grow heavy-lidded. Emma yawns, then reaches her arms up to me for a hug.
“’Night, Mommy.”
My heart does this flip-flopping thing, and I blink rapidly when my eyes suddenly sting. I lean over and kiss Emma’s brow. “Good night, sweetie. When you wake up, it’ll be Christmas Eve.”
When I start to stand, her little hand catches my sleeve again. “We get to open a present. Remember? Daddy said one present on Christmas Eve.”
“I remember.”
“And go ride on Legs,” she adds, eyes closed already and half asleep.
I laugh softly and smooth her hair. “And ride Legs. We can all go for a ride together as a family. I love you, Emma.”
“Love you too.”
She snuggles into her pillow with Barley curled up on the end of her bed, watching over her like the good boy he’s always been. I don’t mind I’ve lost my dog to Emma, because if any little girl needed to be loved by a big, fluffy dog, it’s her.
Guy’s in the hallway, hands stuffed into his pockets. By the relaxed set of his shoulders as he leans against the wall, I can tell he’s been there a while. His eyes lock on to me, and I hesitate, biting my lower lip.
“I know we didn’t talk about it first,” I say in a rush. “But she asked if she could call me that and I—”
His fingers catch mine as Guy gently tugs me a step closer, cutting me off. When I look up at him, his eyes are reddened, the way they always are when he’s been crying. I reach up to touch his face, and he leans his jaw into my palm.
“It’s just been Em and me for a long time,” he says quietly. “You have absolutely nothing to apologize for.” There’s still moisture on his cheek, and when I wipe it away, he drags his wrist across his face in a rough motion. “Sorry. It just got to me more than I realized it would. She just hasn’t had… I tried to be two parents for her, but I knew she wanted more.”
“Now she has both of us.” I hesitate, then lean into him, adding, “As long as you two want me, I’m in. And you have nothing to apologize for either.”
Guy’s head dips down, and his mouth brushes across mine, once, twice, then he deepens the kiss. Our fingers tangle, and his body somehow manages to coax me closer with only the softest touches. When he pulls away, I’m breathless and yearning, wishing it hadn’t stopped.
“Sienna?” Guy murmurs. “You asked me what I wanted for Christmas.”
“And you said more of this,” I breathe in reply. There’s a look in his eyes I understand, and when he cradles my face in his hands, stealing my lower lip from between my teeth, I know what he’s silently asking me. “No more annulment?”
“Let’s take it off the table, gorgeous.”
I’m melting beneath his touch, the way his breath is warm against my neck, the way his body is nothing but hard muscle and soft caresses. I never truly knew what it was like to be in a man’s arms until him. As if nothing can touch me when he is.
“Guy? Are you sure? I don’t want to pressure you.”
His lips curve against my skin as he laughs softly. “You stole my line.”
We usually keep the door open a few inches for Emma, but tonight Guy reaches behind his back and closes it. I should go build up the fire so it doesn’t go out in the middle of the night, but for once, the cool air feels good on my skin. The chunky sweater I’m wearing is too thick, and when I start to peel it over my head, Guy’s hands help pull the fabric free. His T-shirt follows suit, and both end up balled up on the floor. I’ll never get tired of looking at this man shirtless, but allowing myself to run my hands over him is still very new. Hard muscles contract as my fingertips brush over his stomach, and his own hands are sliding down my back, tracing my curves, then squeezing gently as they tighten around my hips.
“Too many clothes?” I ask breathlessly, pressing into the heat of his body.
“Definitely too many,” Guy agrees, his voice the low, husky tone he gets when his attention is one hundred percent, completely on me. His fingers undo the button on my jeans, and when I wiggle out of them, kicking them off to the side, Guy sinks to his knees. His mouth presses soft kisses to my belly, and I close my eyes, threading my fingers into his short hair. Those strong hands trace my curves like I’m made of glass, as if I’m far more delicate than I’ve ever felt before.
I like being special to him. I like being someone he’s careful with, because he’s very good at taking care of the people who matter to him.
I’m overly aware of what we’re building up to here, what we’ve been building up to since the first moment we locked eyes over the cup of coffee in my hands. I don’t know how long it’s been for him, but I definitely know how long it’s been for me. I’m already shivery and breathless with need.
When I wrap my arm around his neck, Guy easily picks me up and heads toward the bed. Instead of lying us down, he turns and flops backward, making me laugh as we both bounce.
“We’re going to break the bed,” I warn him, giggling, and Guy threads his fingers through my hair, pressing a soft kiss to my lips.
“Don’t tempt me,” he murmurs. I love the way his voice gets when his hands are on me. Low and soft with just a little bit of a growl that is oh so sexy.
Then he flips us so I’m on my back in the bedding. When I reach for him, there’s a moment when his eyes half close, then he steals my hands, kissing the tips of my fingers before moving to the inside of my wrist.
“Slow down, Sienna,” Guy whispers against my skin. “We have all night. I want to see where it takes us.”
Good places. Considering how skilled this man is with his lips, his tongue, and soft nips of his teeth, I know we’re only going good places. I settle in, for once riding shotgun and not having to take the lead. Guy’s too good at this, making me feel like I’m the endgame. As if I’ve always been the endgame.
And as this beautiful man’s mouth moves down my body, for the first time in a very long time, I feel like being me is absolutely good enough.
***
I don’t know why I keep turning Guy into the little spoon when he’s clearly a much better big one. Yet somehow, I wake up with my nose in the back of his rib cage, my left leg hooked over his and my left arm wrapped around his torso like he’s a man-size teddy bear. My hand seems to have decided to do inappropriate things of its own accord while I slept.
“Hmm.” I wriggle my fingers. “This is new.”
“I’m considering it an extra Christmas present,” he says sleepily, and I can hear the smile on his face even though I can’t see it. “You’ve been groping me all night.”
“Should I apologize?” I wonder, earning a low chuckle and my little spoon rolling over to face me.
“You should definitely apologize,” Guy murmurs, threading his hands into my hair and kissing me.
“I have mouth breath,” I protest, but he laughs and blows a raspberry against my breast.
“I like your mouth,” he promises. He likes other things about me, but before he gets too distracted, I remember there are many ways to wake up in the morning. Since Guy’s been missing out on a lot of the best ones, I decide to remedy the situation. The look he gives me afterward is so heated, I’m pretty sure we could spend all day in this bed. Unfortunately, I need to—
“Hey, Sen?” A warm hand strokes across my stomach, then squeezes my hip. “Want me to feed the animals while you rest?”
The noise that comes out of my throat at his offer isn’t PG rated at all. Guy grins as he untangles us from the bedding, looking more relaxed than I’ve ever seen him. “Are you sure?” I ask. “Because if you’re just teasing me, it’s very mean.”
“I’m never going to be mean to you,” he promises me. Then he sneaks a handful of rump, kissing my neck where I’m ticklish and making me giggle. “Unless you ask me to, and only if you ask nicely.”
I grin at him and wiggle the rump in question. But behind his teasing, I can hear the promise to his words. He knows where I’ve been, and I close my eyes, sighing softly with the relief of a promise I never have to go back there again.
This is the moment when I finally accept it. The man in the corner pulling a pair of jeans over his hips is the best decision I’ll ever make.
Guy stirs the ashes in the woodstove back to life and then squeezes my pinkie toe, the only part of me not underneath the covers.
“Everyone gets their supplements at night, so grain only. Last year’s hay in the turnout, check the water heater. Sleep, Sienna. Or at least spend the morning in your pajamas not working for once.”
“Mmm. I’m not technically in pajamas.”
“Oh, trust me, my gorgeous wife, I know.” Guy pauses, and his hand trails down my torso, his palm resting over my belly. “You were the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen the day we met. I didn’t understand why in the world I wasn’t in a line out the door vying for a chance for your time.”
“Now you’ve seen me up to my knees in cow crap,” I joke, but whatever hard edges I have directed at myself are soothed by the look in his eyes.
“Sienna? You were the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen, and that was before I realized you were the kindest one I’d ever met. And after last night… We may need to talk about this. I’d like to make sure we’re on the same page.”
I start to sit up in bed, pulling the blanket up my chest and wondering if I’ve misunderstood things.
“Not that page.” Guy kisses me, a slow, lingering kiss full of unspoken promises. “Never that page. A guy who feeds your horses isn’t on that page.”
Every step of this, he’s put himself out there, and I finally feel safe enough to do the same. I watch him finish getting dressed, then I say, “Hey, Guy? A girl who makes you breakfast while you’re feeding her horses isn’t on that page either.”
When he gives me that boyish, charming grin of his, it melts me every time.
We’d checked on Emma multiple times during the night, and other than her edema and blood pressure, she seemed the same. Bruised on her arm from wriggling too much during dialysis, but the same. But I’m not surprised to hear Guy checking on her again before heading down the stairs.
“Emma, start waking up,” I hear him say across the hall, and her sleepy mumble in reply. After a moment, I hear him again. “No, you need to sit up, baby. It’ll make you feel better.” Guy pokes his head back in the room. “Hey, Sen? Her blood pressure is a bit lower, but I think it’s because she was sleeping. Can you retake it in twenty minutes? If it’s still low, we might be driving back to Caney Falls.”
“Sure.”
For fifteen blissful minutes, I lie in bed, soaking up memories of the night before. Then I get up because I can hear Barley whining from Emma’s room. He probably needs to go out to the bathroom, although I know for a fact Barley’s perfectly capable of nosing a door wider and getting out.
“Hush, floofy boy,” I say to him softly. “You’re going to wake Emma.”
Then Barley starts barking in alarm, and I’m screaming for Guy because Emma’s lips are blue. Her heart is beating, but she’s gasping for breath like she’s drowning. And Guy just makes it to the top of the stairs when she stops.
She stops gasping, she stops moving, she stops breathing. She just…stops.
There are moments in your life when time slows down to the point where you feel frozen in place. Even though you’re moving, you’re frozen. Even though you’re calling 911 and being told an ambulance is coming, you’re frozen. Even though you’re doing mouth-to-mouth resuscitation on someone you love more than life itself, forcing air into her little lungs, somehow, you’re frozen.
The EMTs get there right before your baby’s heart stops, and in between chest compressions, the defibrillator shock makes her body jerk. It takes three shocks to start your baby’s heart again. Even as they rush her outside toward where the Life Rescue helicopter just landed in the driveway, and you trip over your feet as you follow them down the stairs, you’re frozen. Barley won’t stop barking, a loud staccato relentlessly contrasting with my breath choking in my throat, and I’m frozen even as I force him away by his collar when he tries to stop the paramedics from taking her.
As the helicopter lifts into the air without us in there with her, I wonder if I’ll ever unfreeze from this moment again.
Guy has the truck keys, and between one blink and the next, I’m no longer in Emma’s room, begging her to stay with us. We’re driving down the highway to the hospital in Idaho Falls, but I don’t remember getting into the truck. She’ll get there before us because they’re taking her by air. I cry as we drive, even though part of my brain tells me to stop. Get up. Be stronger. Guy’s having to hold it together because I’m not. He’s crying too, but somehow, he manages to drive and hold on to the back of my neck, because I’m still sobbing into my knees.
“She’s okay,” he keeps saying over and over, but there’s no way to know. Our little girl is in a helicopter above us somewhere, and we just don’t know. “Breathe, baby, breathe.”
I want to be better than this for them, but I think something inside me broke when I realized she wasn’t breathing. I’ll never catch my breath again. Frozen. I’m frozen.
“She’ll be okay,” Guy whispers, steering with his elbow so he can wipe the tears from his eyes without letting go of me. It’s the dangerousness of his action that finally forces me to sit back in my seat and inhale shakily. Emma needs her daddy, and he can’t get in a car wreck today.
“She’ll be okay,” I agree, my lower jaw trembling but my spine straight.
The two-hour drive to Idaho Falls is horrifically long.
Acute CHF exacerbation, they tell us at the hospital. Emma’s in heart failure. It’s why she’s been getting paler and why her blood pressure is so low. She’s struggling to breathe because her lungs are filling with fluid. They have her stabilized, but she’s being bumped to the top of the donor list. The only thing we can do now is wait and pray.
