Loving Against the Grain (Into the West #2)

Chapter 20

She slept. After finishing up the birthing process, changing into a clean nightgown, and attempting to breastfeed little Rebecca Sarah Lawson, Emmaline had retired to the bed, daughter squashed against her. She'd marveled at the fact the baby even slept; her milk hadn't come down yet, she didn't know what she was doing, but somehow they both managed to slide into the healing unconsciousness of sleep, leaving Noah to clean up after the joyous, life-altering event.

With his emotional exhaustion equaling his wife's physical fatigue, Noah nevertheless returned their home to relative normalcy and, after one last peek at his family, slipped out to the rain bath to wash off the remaining evidence of the night's miracle. Well, the lasting evidence lay slumbering in his bed; the wrangler could hardly wait to get back in there and enfold himself in that cocoon of contentment.

The cool, predawn air crept about him, clinging wetly, comfortingly, cloaking him with a damp calm as he walked around the side of the cabin. Eager only to return to his girls, Noah nevertheless took a moment to inhale deeply the heavy scent of pine, erasing his weariness with every breath before stripping bare and stepping into the bathing stall. He hadn't waited to heat water for the bath; instead, bracing himself for the jolt, he poured first one shockingly cold bucket of water over himself, soaped up, and then finished off with a freezing rinse, shaking his wet hair like a dog before quickly toweling off and pulling on clean sleep clothes over shivering skin.

Returning to the yard Noah paused, spying the faint light of approaching dawn just beyond the hills and trees. The birth had taken most of the night, though it felt like only minutes. Nostrils flaring on a full intake of breath Noah closed his eyes, tilting his head upwards, saying a short prayer of thanksgiving; thanks for delivering to him a healthy baby girl, and thanks for keeping his wife, his life, his saving grace unharmed in the process. Somehow, with no expertise whatsoever, they had managed to expand their family and their love to three, and Noah knew miracles like that just didn't happen. So, he gave credit where credit was due, and then returned to his love nest.

The pink glow of Emmie's bedside lamp beckoned him to her side upon his return and, after a last, cursory check of the stove and hearth, Noah made his way to that welcoming corner and slipped under the pink quilt, relieved that Emmaline had stopped him from ruining such a beautiful covering for his girls. Leaning across her, Noah blew out the lamp, and Emmie stirred ever so slightly, mumbling as she curled into him with the baby between them, "I love you, Noah." She immediately returned to her exhaustion-induced slumber, seemingly unaware of the gentle touch of his lips against her hair, or of his large hand cupping little Rebecca's fuzzy head.

Right before he joined that feminine torpor, with one arm protectively slung over Emmie and his chin atop her head, Noah replied hazily, "Love you, too, Em. Love you, too."

##

"You did good, Sis. You did real good."

Edward, Uncle Eddy as Noah immediately christened him that next morning with a hearty clap to his shoulder, rocked in the rocking chair the wrangler had drawn up beside Emmie's bed, holding newborn Rebecca Lawson in his arms as if he cradled volatile explosives. He'd never been close to a baby. Single men tended to avoid children like the plague, the very thought of having one sending shivers down their spines, and Edward was no different. But Rebecca was acceptable; she was family; belonged to his sister and best friend. Edward could visit all he wanted, yet still return home to his blissful, bachelor abode whenever the company and noise got too much. So now he cuddled his sleeping niece against his chest, staring down at her tiny features and feeling himself fall in love with each little finger, each tiny toe, even that rosebud mouth that even now pursed in pursuit of nourishment while in slumber.