Page 64 of Mistletoe and Mischief

“Oh...”

“Another pain or two and this will be over,” Grace promised.

“Thank God, thank God,” Mary Jo said fervently.

“You’re going to be a good mother,” Grace told her.

Mary Jo wanted to believe that. Needed to believe it. All night, she’d been tortured with doubts and, worse, with guilt about arriving at this moment totally unprepared.

“Iwantto be a good mother.”

“You already are,” Mack said.

“I love my baby.”

“I know.” Grace whisked the damp hair from her brow.

Mary Jo was drenched in sweat, her face streaked with tears. “I’m never going through this again,” she gasped, looking at Grace. “I can’t believe my mother gave birth four times.”

“All women think that,” Grace said. “I know I did. While I was in labor with Maryellen, I told Dan that if this baby wasn’t the son he wanted, he was out of luck because I wasn’t having another one.”

“You did, though.”

“As soon as you hold your baby in your arms, nothing else matters. You forget the pain.”

Footsteps clattered up the stairs. “Mom?”

It was Maryellen, Grace’s daughter.

“In here,” Grace called out.

Maryellen hurried into the room, then paused when she saw Mary Jo and smiled tearfully. Her arms were filled with baby clothes.

A pain overtook Mary Jo. Again it was Mack she looked to, Mack who held her gaze, lending her his strength.

She was grateful that Grace was at her side, but most of the time it had been Mack who’d guided and encouraged her. He had a way of comforting her that no one else seemed to have, not even Grace.

“You’re doing so well,” Mack told her. “We have a shoulder....”

Mary Jo sobbed quietly. It was almost over. The baby was leaving her body. She could feel it now, feel the child slipping free and then the loud, fierce cry that resounded in the room.

Her relief was instantaneous.

She’d done it! Despite everything, she’d done it.

With her last reserve of strength, Mary Jo rose up on one elbow.

Mack held the child in his arms and Brandon had a towel ready. Mack turned to her and she saw, to her astonishment, that there were tears in his eyes.

“You have a daughter, Mary Jo.”

“A daughter,” she whispered.

“A beautiful baby girl.”

Her own tears came then, streaming from her eyes with an intensity of emotion that surprised her. She hadn’t given much thought to the sex of this child, hadn’t really cared. Her brothers were the ones who’d insisted she’d have a son.

They’d been wrong.

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