Page 89 of Bargain with the Irish Devil

I’m looking through the pictures—there are some I’ve never seen before. My mother as a young girl, when she was a teenager, her holding me with joy clear on her face when I was a baby, and one with the same joy when I was five.

I shake my head in wonder. “When she was alive, the house was filled with pictures of her, me, and my father. Like any normal family’s home would be. But when I came back, the house was stripped of everything that was her. He’d had the house redone less than six months after she died. He said it hurt too much to be reminded of her. Only the two pictures of her remained—her on their wedding day and when she was pregnant with me survivedthe purge. I could have forgiven him if he’d stored them away or something. Except he didn’t. He burned them all. He left me with nothing of her.”

Once again, her arms go around my neck, and she clings to me as if she didn’t dare let me go. “Your father was cruel to send you away when you needed him most, to take you away from everything you’d known, and to take her away from you.”

It takes a long minute to find my voice. “Thank you for giving her back to me.”

Letting me go, she wipes her eyes. I snatch a tissue and wipe the tears away. “No crying for me,m’fhiorghra”

She sighs. “I have to you since you’re a big, tough man who won’t cry. Now it’s time to open the other box.”

I take it from the larger box and find a photo album. It’s large and filled with photos of my mother from the time she was a baby until the year she died.

Allowing my head to fall to hers. “Best Christmas ever, thank you.”

“Me too.” She whispers as she hugs me tight.

Now that thelast guest is gone. We’re in front of the fire in the living room, wrapped around each other with my hand on our son, when she sighs.

“He hasn’t been moving much, yesterday and today.” Her voice is small.

“Do you want me to get the heart monitor?” I ask as I look for itaround the room. I had known she would need the reassurance of the device.

She shakes her head. “I checked him last night, and tonight, your cousin was listening to him and telling Ryan she wanted one. I just can’t help but worry.”

“Sweetheart, you’re at twenty-eight weeks next week. You said yourself, he’s growing by the minute. I read those books and they say he’s not got a whole lot of room to be doing flips as much. But do you want to see if we can get you in on Tuesday when everything opens up instead of Friday when we have the normal twenty-eight-week appointment?”

She’s quiet for a long minute. “No, as long as I hear him tomorrow and Sunday. Have I told you how much I love you reading the books too?”

“All right, love. Whatever you want.” I assure her. “And you have. I’m glad I did. It wasn’t fair for you to have all those nightmare scenarios running through your mind on your own.”

“I do so love the way you take care of me. Thank you, my gorgeous husband.”

CHAPTER 27

Miranda

Whitney urges me to breathe deep as I relay my concern and desire to see the baby at the beginning of our appointment and not the end—the way we usually do.

“All right, we can do that.” She lifts the phone and lets the sonographer know we’re on our way.

I follow close behind her.

“While we’re walking, talk to me. How is everything else going? Did that rash clear up yet on your hip?”

Declan answers for me. “Yes, it was gone two days after our last appointment. The skin has been a little patchy and dry, even with the lotion you suggested.”

“Good. Maybe go with some shea butter or cocoa butter instead.”

I keep Declan’s hand after hehelps me onto the exam table. The moment the image of our son is on the screen, I see it immediately. “Oh my gosh, is he okay?”

“It’s okay, he’s fine. Look, his hands are moving around. The cord can get wrapped around their throat. I see from the notes he got pretty twisted in the cord from last time. Jennifer, can I get the measurements, please.” Whitney asks the sonographer.

“Okay, checking here. He’s doing good, I promise. His measurements are right in line where they should be. He’s growing the way he should have since the last appointment. I get it looks scary. But he’s good. Breathe for me.” Whitney is trying to reassure me.

I work to follow the instructions, but it’s not easy. His eyes are open, and I swear he can see me even though I know it’s crazy. “How do we know if he’s not okay?”

“Okay, you have the heart monitor? I remember you mentioned it.”

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