Page 28 of Her Remarkable Protector

For a second, panic twists in my chest. I’m ready to throw off these blankets and run to the nursery, stitches be damned. But then I turn my head, and there she is.

The tiniest human I’ve ever seen, wrapped snug in a pale pink blanket, lying in the cot beside my bed. And just like that, the panic dissolves. Relief rushes in, so warm and overwhelming it steals my breath for a moment.

I ease myself up, wincing at the sting low on my belly where the stitches pull. The ache is there, but it fades the moment I reach for her.

“Hello, baby. Nice to meet you,” I coo, the words tumbling out as if I’ve been waiting a lifetime to say them.

I cradle her close, marveling at the perfect weight of her, the velvety softness of her skin, the delicate curve of her tiny nose. I press my lips to her forehead, and the scent of her—new and sweet—fills me with a joy I didn’t think was possible.

“Hello, Laramie.”

She stirs, her tiny breath catching in that cough-like sound babies make when they’re winding up for a cry.

“Oh no, was that wrong? I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I whisper, holding her closer. I search her tiny face for clues, but she’s still protesting as much as a newborn can.

Was it me? Did I upset her? Or maybe she’s hungry.

If Mom were here, she’d know without hesitation. And Dad? He’d tell me I’m doing fine—that I’m a great mom.

A tear slips free. I’ve accepted they’re gone. I’ve told myself that a thousand times. But God, I miss them. Mom, with all her no-nonsense cop attitude, would have spelled it out for me—the what, the when, the how—and she’d have been right. She always was. And Dad? He’d have held me, gentle and reassuring, his easygoing warmth settling my nerves.

I place Laramie back in the cot, fumbling with the hospital gown. The snap buttons at the front make it easier than I expect, but it still feels like a lifetime before I’m ready. By then, her cry is in full swing, small but insistent. Her determination is a stark reminder of how much she needs me.

If I were on a boat, I’d be sinking by now. But then, like a buoy in the storm, Dad’s voice cuts through my spiraling thoughts: “You’ve got this, Skipper.”

The laugh-cry bursts out of me before I can help it. I feel him, like he’s right here. I scoop Laramie back up, and as soon as her tiny body presses against mine, the connection is there, as if it never left. It has to be teamwork—me and her, captain and crew, figuring it out as we go.

“I know, baby. I’m figuring this out too,” I murmur, guiding her to feed. The moment she latches on, I feel an almost surreal attachment, like my body knows exactly what to do even if I don’t.

They say there’s no manual for raising a child, but every mother is equipped. I didn’t fully understand that until now.

As she settles into the rhythm of feeding, her tiny hand resting against me, my heart swells with a fierce, protective love. Laramie wasn’t planned, but she’s mine in a way that nothing else ever will be.

“They say diamonds are forever,” I whisper, my voice small. “But they’re wrong. Forever is this. You and me.” I pause, feeling the weight of the words settle over us like a promise. “No one will ever come between us. Not ever.”

I watch her suckling, her tiny cheeks working like she’s already got this life thing figured out.

“But hey, that doesn’t mean diamonds are off the table,” I murmur, a quiet laugh escaping me. “You buy your own diamonds, baby girl. No man needed.”

I pause, thinking about the future. “And if, if there’s a man who’s actually worth it—like really worth it—then maybe, just maybe, you can think about saying yes.”

I smile down at her, already certain she’ll never settle for less.

Taking a moment, I glance around the room. It’s surprisingly posh for a hospital in Bozeman. The bouquet of summer blooms catches my eye again, bright and fresh on the side table. I lean closer to read the card. It’s from the hospital. Pretty generous—whoever’s footing the bill for this room must’ve made sure no detail was overlooked.

The nurse enters, cheerful and efficient. As she walks in, I catch a glimpse of a figure by the door, his broad shoulders briefly framed before he turns his head toward me. It’s barely a second, but an unwelcome jolt runs through me.

I look away, my pulse leaping. I haven’t forgotten about him.Chase Samson. And I definitely shouldn’t be feeling this way just from catching a half-second glimpse of that man.

“You’re up,” the nurse says, her face lighting up as she notices Laramie nursing. “That’s wonderful to see.”

“Yeah,” I reply, keeping my voice steady, though my emotions still swirl under the surface.

“How are you feeling?” she asks, her tone gentle but attentive.

“A little sore and stiff, but I’m fine,” I answer honestly, shifting Laramie slightly in my arms.

“You do look better than most, Ms. Deveraux. We do encourage mothers to stand and move around after a C-section, but you might want to wait a little longer before pushing yourself,” the nurse says with a kind smile, already stepping forward to help. “Let’s get you settled back in bed.”

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