Page 11 of Stowaway Whirlwind
My family.
Chapter 5
Goldie
I have never known love like I do when Nurse Martina first lays my daughter on my chest. I loved my aunt deeply, as if she were my mother, and I love my dad, though I don’t remember much of my childhood with him. I even loved Colton for a time. Butthis…this is unlike anything I have ever felt before. It fills and spills out of my heart. I don’t know how a body is supposed to contain so much love.
“Congratulations, honey,” Davis says.
Something stirs in my chest for this stranger who has stayed by my side, supporting and encouraging me as I delivered my daughter. He looks absolutely wrecked and pale-faced. He did faint after all, and I know he must be exhausted after sleeping in the driver’s seat overnight, then driving for eleven hours, then staying with me all through the birth and afterbirth, even though he had no obligation to do so. And those kisses he gave me…so beautiful. Every moment—although painful—has been more beautiful than the last.
“Thank you for staying with me.” I blush at the soft look in his eyes, the wonderment.Why did he kiss me?I had been so shocked the first time he laid his lips on my neck, then the cornerof my lips, and then fully on my lips like a lover.Why do I want him to kiss me again?
I have no idea what to say after I thank him, and I don’t think he does either, as he stands silently by my side while my daughter nurses. Thirty minutes later, when she’s fed and sleepy, I still don’t know what to say. So I ask Davis instead, “Do you want to hold her?”
Davis places a hand over his heart. “Really? Yeah, I would…I would love to if that’s ok.”
“Of course,” I answer as I start to lift my daughter up to pass her to him.
Nurse Martina tells Davis to take his shirt off first so he can hold her skin-to-skin to help him bond withhis daughter. Andoh god, I don’t know what to make of that. If I should finally tell them the truth—that he’s just a kind stranger who has been more than generous with his time and care, simplyplayingthe role of Dad so I wouldn’t have to give birth alone.
But something stops me from doing just that when Davis raises a light brow at me, silently asking if doing so is ok, especially when he looks so…hopeful…that I’ll say yes. I give him a small nod as my heart races. Why am I not speaking up? Stopping this? Playing pretend right along with him? Why doesn’t itfeellike I’m playing pretend?
And then my mouth goes dry as Davis slowly pulls his flannel up from where it’s tucked into his jeans, unbuttons it from the top down, then slips it off his muscular shoulders, all while maintaining unwavering eye contact with me. I’m pretty sure Nurse Martina and I both drop our jaws when he takes off his cap and shakes out his thick hair, then draws the bottom hem of his white undershirt up over his torso, exposing his thick middle with a line of hair that starts at his belly button and disappears into his jeans, and finally reveals a broad barrel chest. The majority of his upper body iscoveredin colorful tattoos, thoughI can’t tell what they are as my vision goes hazy, wondering if any of that artwork disappears into his pants right alongside his body hair.
He’s not lean like Colton, and he’s not ripped like a superhero movie star, but you can tell he’s strong, like maybe he used to play sports and developed a soft, fluffy layer as he matured. And—wow, I want to fan my face. I had no idea I’d have this kind of reaction to him, my skin heated as I rake my gaze up and down his form.
I glare at the nurse when she whistles and chuckles. “Damn, Marigold. You are one lucky lady.” She must read my expression because she adopts an innocent one and says, “Oh, don’t mind me. I’ve got a man of my own who rivals yours.” She gives me an exaggerated waggle of her brows as she rubs her baby bump.
Yours.
But he’s not mine, is he? And besides, he’s way too old for me at almost double my age…right? And even though he kissed me, I’m sure it was just an impulsive celebratory kiss.Kisses, I remind myself.Plural. He probably kisses all the girls when he’s happy.
Wait, no.
One—that doesn’t make sense. And two—I hate the thought of Davis kissing other girls the way he kissed me.Crap!I’m young, dumb, and already jealous of imaginary women. Oh! And also a mother. Abrand new nineteen-year-old motherwho most definitely shouldnotbe thinking about boys—men!—right now.Jesus,what the hell is wrong with me? Hormones? Yeah, that has to be it.
I look away, embarrassed, as soon as Nurse Martina takes my daughter from my arm and winks, probably seeing everything I’m thinking and feeling written on my face. She directs Davis to sit in the green pleather chair catty-corner to my bed and shows him how to support my daughter’s tiny, red-topped head. Myheart flips when Davis murmurs something to her that I can’t hear. He runs the tip of his nose over her fine hair and kisses her crown.
It should be Colton sitting in his place, holding our daughter. Colton, who should have held me, swayed with me, massaged my back, and supported my belly. Colton, who should have supported my leg, palmed my cheek and kissed me sweetly as he congratulated me on birthing our child.
Suddenly, I want to cry for my daughter, who will never know her father. He’s not here like he should be. And he won’t ever be.
“What’s her name?” Davis asks me, tilting his head when I wipe away a tear before he places another kiss on her crown.
“Lily. Like the red—”
“Red calla lilies. My mother’s favorite flowers,” he says softly, adjusting Lily so he can point to the tattoo covering his left pec over his heart. It’s a—oh my god—red calla lily. What are the chances? After a minute of staring at Lily as he gently strokes her tiny cheek with his thumb, he asks, “What about her middle name?”
“I was thinking of Lydia, after my aunt.”
“Lily Lydia Lewis? Or are you giving her Colton’s last name?”
I hum as I frown. “No, she’s definitely going to have mine.” Colton doesn’t deserve to pass on his last name, not when I will be raising our daughter without him. “But I didn’t think of that—the triple L’s. Not sure I like it.” I chew the inside of my cheek, eyes glued to the calla lily tattoo Davis got in honor of his mother. “What’s your mom’s name?”
“My mom?” He raises his eyebrows in surprise. “Her name was Joann.”
Wasnotis, I remember. That solidifies my decision. “Hmm. Lily Joann Lewis—or Lily Jo. I like it. Feels very Texan.”
