“I’ve been looking for a snowmobile, something that can get through this deep snow. I’ll go out again today. If we leave first thing tomorrow, we could be in Fall Creek by lunchtime.”
A complicated mix of emotions flashed across her face—anticipation and joy mingled with a hint of anxiety. She was probably anxious about the reunion, worried about the well-being of her family after such a long separation.
Guilt pricked him. She needed to get home to them. She deserved to see her son again.
She cleared her throat. “You should have a good meal before you go out. Do you feel like fettuccine alfredo for breakfast? I think there’s a jar of alfredo sauce left in the pantry.”
“Not sure that’s part of a complete breakfast.”
“I’m certain that it is. If donuts make the cut, I don’t see how pasta wouldn’t.”
Hannah hesitated. She rubbed her damaged hand, then took the long way around the kitchen island, avoiding the basement door located at the far end of the kitchen.
The door to the basement was in a small hallway alcove that shared the door to the garage and the back door, leading to a small patio with outdoor furniture covered in snow.
Liam’s brow furrowed, but he said nothing.
All week, she’d studiously avoided approaching the basement. Maybe she would shun basements for the rest of her life. He understood her reluctance. He didn’t blame her.
He had his own demons that he’d rather evade than face. Some memories were too awful to relive—ever.
They hadn’t spoken Pike’s name since Hannah had told him what the monster had done to her and her second child. Just the thought of Pike filled him with outrage, loathing, and disgust.
Liam was sorry he hadn’t gotten the chance to finish Pike himself, with his own bare hands.
The smallest sliver of unease wormed its way into his gut. He hated the fact that he hadn’t seen Pike’s body. That he hadn’t drilled the kill shot into his skull himself.
Liam didn’t like leaving anything to chance. The hole in the ice haunted his thoughts, invaded his nightmares. Swallowed his certainty.
After they’d driven Pike’s snowmobile off the bridge, Liam had wanted to scale the embankment and hunt for that maniac until he’d found his body and made 100% sure.
Hannah’s preeclampsia had made the decision for him. Though it defied his training and soldier’s instinct, he couldn’t risk her life.
His instinct to protect—to save—had been stronger.
The dishes finished, Liam wiped his hands on a hand towel next to the sink and moved to the rear door. He tugged aside the blackout curtains that he’d duct-taped to the window to do a security check and watch for Ghost.
He wouldn’t leave Hannah alone without the Great Pyrenees there to guard her. In addition, he’d found a whistle in the garage which she wore around her neck beneath her sweater.
If she was in trouble, she would blow on the whistle, and Liam would come running. He made sure never to stray out of range, though he might have to in order to find a snowmobile.
He peered through the narrow sliver of window, instinctively checking the woods and scanning the back yard for threats. He didn’t see Ghost.
The dog had gone out exploring a few hours each of the last several days. He always came back covered in snow, dirt, and burs, tired but happy.
A dog like a Great Pyrenees was meant to be outside. Ghost hated being cooped up as much as Liam did, but the time to recover was good for him. His fur was already growing back over the bald spot that Dr. Laudé had shaved when she’d alleviated his brain swelling.
As much as Liam didn’t want to admit it, these last nine days had been a godsend for both Hannah and Ghost. And maybe for Liam, too. A vital break from the constant chaos and threat of death always nipping at their heels. A chance to regroup, to heal.
The baby awoke with a startled cry. Charlotte Rose was sleeping in the fire-warmed living room, tucked inside a makeshift bassinet—a dresser drawer stuffed with the softest sheets they could find.
Liam had cut up another pair of sheets to make diapers. They only sort of worked. Real diapers were high on the list of needs, along with wipes, bottles, pacifiers, butt powder, and everything else that came with a baby.
Hannah hurried into the living room and returned a moment later with a small bundle in her arms. He watched her, serene and radiant and full of a deep, abandoned joy.
Joy wasn’t an emotion he had much experience with. Love, either.
Unless you counted unrequited love, which came with an equal share of pain and heartache.
Suddenly uncomfortable, he fished around for something to say. “She sleeps so well.”
She looked down at the infant with a soft smile. “So did Milo.”
She held the bundle out to Liam. “Can you hold her? My mom used to make alfredo with rosemary and garlic. I bet they have some rosemary in a drawer somewhere.”
Liam took the baby easily, cradling the small human being in the crook of his arm. It hadn’t always been that way. The first time Hannah had asked him to hold her, he’d blanched.
“I don’t do babies,” he’d mumbled.
“I call B.S.” Hannah had rolled her eyes. “How many people other than OBs can say they’ve helped birth a human? Not many.”
He didn’t say he’d done it twice. He didn’t tell her how the thought of his nephew skewered his heart. How Jessa’s death played out in the theater of his mind every night, a terrible film that never ceased.
He wanted to, but he didn’t. He couldn’t. The words stuck in his mouth like nails.
“I’d say your expertise already outdoes most males on the planet,” Hannah said. “Here, take her. You’ll do fine.”
He swallowed, about to protest again, but somehow the bundle was in his arms and Hannah was already moving away, a sly grin on her face.
“See?” Hannah said. “She likes you.”
He’d held the baby stiffly at first. She was so small, so fragile. So tiny—just a breath, a bird in the hand, almost nothing at all and everything at once.
Now, he held her with more ease, but just as much care.
She scrunched her delicate little face and stared up at him with wide slate-blue eyes, so different than her mother’s jade-green, but just as beautiful. She wore the tiny gray and green knit hat that he’d given her the day she was born.
He remembered the squishy cord wrapped around her neck, the fear twisting his gut as he’d frantically unwound it, begging her to breathe.
He remembered the first child he’d delivered. How his nephew’s entire head had fit into his hand, a warm little body snuggled against his chest, pressed against his neck.
There was nothing that could prepare you for bringing another life into the world. No amount of training or discipline that could gird a man against the rush of emotion—and sense of responsibility—that he felt every time he laid eyes upon little Charlotte Rose.
She was Hannah’s through and through, but she was more than that to him. Liam would be damned if he allowed anyone to lay a hand on her.
Something long frozen had begun to melt inside him. He didn’t fight it. He didn’t want to fight it anymore.
He cradled Hannah’s child in his arms and felt that fierce protectiveness again. And not just protectiveness. Tenderness. Maybe even something deeper, stronger.