Page 17 of A Crossroads Christmas

That wasn’t entirely true, but I didn’t contradict her. She could eat dinner most days and it rarely came back up. It seemed most of her nausea happened earlier in the morning and into the afternoon.

“Here. You’ll feel better with a clean mouth.” Maybe.

I didn’t remember Cindi being this sick with Zara, but maybe I just forgot. Cindi had loved being pregnant. Skyla was miserable. I wasn’t comparing the two women, but I did worry about the woman who helped me love again after loss and her lack of nutrition. “Should we call the doctor? Do you think you need stronger meds?”

Skyla already took something to help with the vomiting, which slowed it down a bit. Still, she got sick most days, and it took a toll. She seemed pale, and my Reaper grew agitated that she was unwell. Not to mention our baby in her womb and how this could affect him.

No, we didn’t know the sex yet. My Reaper insisted I would have a son. Nothing persuaded him to consider a daughter. He already had Zara, and he wanted a boy.

I’d kick his ass if he wasn’t thrilled with whatever we ended up having, regardless of his desire. He only grew amused by my thoughts, not at all threatened.

“I don’t think I can go to the daycare today.”

“No problem. I’ll see if one of the other ol’ ladies can cover it.”

“Thanks,” she whispered.

I helped Skyla into bed and left her to rest. “I’ll take Zara to The Crossroads and give you a peaceful day off.”

“Good. She won’t get bored.”

After a kiss on her forehead, I made a couple of calls and arranged staff for the daycare. Zara played in her room until I bundled up my daughter and brought her to the clubhouse. She loved going to the daycare, and I didn’t think dropping her off would be a problem. I was wrong.

My little three-year-old princess had a serious attitude today.

She stopped in the bar before we could go far into the building and released my hand. Her little pink boot stomped on the ground as she glared at me. “I wanna have a tea party.”

“You can have one in the nursery,” I promised.

“No, Daddy. Right here.”

“Zara,” I gently replied, “I have to finish some work today. You have to play in the daycare with your friends.”

“Mama promised me a tea party.”

It took a long time for me to accept that Zara would never be able to call Cindi her mother. When she grew older, I’d explain about Cindi’s death, show my daughter pictures, share memories, and hope Zara would get to know her.

But right now, as a little girl, the only mother she understood was the woman who loved and cared for her daily. They weren’t related by blood but had bonded in a permanent and loving way.

“Skyla is sick, baby. She’s resting,” I tried to explain.

“I want a tea party!” Zara hollered at the top of her lungs, and I knew this was about more than the tea, animals, and pretend parties.

I lowered to a crouch, staring into her eyes. “If I have a tea party with you, will you tell me why you’re feeling angry?”

Her big blue eyes filled with tears. “I’m sad, too.”

I tapped my chest because hearing that hurt my heart. “That makes my heart sad that you feel that way. Why don’t we set out your tea party so we can talk about it?”

She nodded as I slid her backpack off and reached for Zara’s hand, leading her to an empty table in the bar. No one was around, and I didn’t care if anyone had been. My little girl needed me, and nothing else mattered.

I helped Zara arrange her stuffed bears and dolls in empty seats, leaving two open so we could sit beside each other. Once she poured tea for everyone and added sugar, I picked up my cup and took a drink. “This is delicious.”

“It’s Mama’s favorite.”

Skyla? She didn’t like tea much. Of course, she pretended for Zara, but it wasn’t her preference.

“What flavor?” I asked, trying to get her to talk.

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