Page 51 of Darla's Christmas Knight
Or maybe it was because a little girl sought him out, remembering a simple deed he had done months ago.
Or because a town came together, ensuring that those still without a home enjoyed a day filled with fellowship and fun.
Or because that same town took time to celebrate rekindled love.
The bustling of chatter and clinking of silverware faded into the background, and in that quiet moment of self-reflection, Bobby understood exactly what it was — the power of forgiveness and healing and second chances.
It was the power of love.
Epilogue
Andrastian Islands, Nineteen months later …
Darla watched the man and baby shriek with laughter as they tussled on the lawn bordered by a field of wild hydrangea bushes, the sea and sky a clear azure backdrop to the vivid blooms. The beauty of the islands almost eclipsed the sheer wonder of watching her husband and son play. Almost. Nothing enthralled her more than watching the deep love between the boys in her life.
The past year-and-a-half had been eventful.
They were married early February, and Bobby’s family flew out to attend. She wore a long-sleeved A-line lace dress that concealed her expanding midriff. Her mother had not officiated, although they said their vows in her church.
In May they moved into the house they purchased close to her work. They had gone back and forth about where to live, debating about extending the cabin on the ranch. But when the older four-bedroomed home two blocks from the clinic came onto the market, they snatched it up. And yes, Taffy moved with them, adjusting to town living with typical feline nonchalance.
Erik Edmund Bellerose was born on the nineteenth of July after an uncomplicated pregnancy and an intense, but shortseven-hour labor. Watching Bobby cradle their son with an expression of absolute awe and unconditional love was the most thrilling moment of her life.
It was what she always wanted — a baby and a husband who loved with his whole heart. A partner to help raise their children. A soulmate to grow old with.
She took four months off before going back on a part-time basis. Bobby changed his working days, handing over responsibility of the stables on weekends. During the times they were both working, Erik stayed with one of her sisters-in-law. It worked for them.
Bobby’s notes hadn’t stopped. While not daily, they were frequent and meaningful. From a simple “I’m crazy about you” stuffed inside a lunch box he had packed, to the extravagant “You hold the key to my heart” attached to the key fob of the gleaming blue Volvo SUV.
Another energetic laugh ripped through the air, breaking into her musings, and she walked across the lawn.
“Ma, Ma, Ma,” her son cried, toddling over as fast as his chubby legs allowed. Erik started walking two weeks ago, and the almost one-year-old enjoyed his newfound freedom every moment he was awake. Darla crouched and opened her arms. Erik flung himself at her, toppling them both. She closed her arms around the small body and blew kisses in his neck. He laughed and laughed, babbling a stream of nonsensical words as he wriggled from her hold and clambered to his feet. Bobby scooped up Erik, anchored the boy to his hip, and stretched out his arm to her. She clasped his hand, and he tugged her to her feet.
Bobby drew her closer, his hand dropping to her butt, anchoring her to him. Arm in arm, they walked up onto the veranda. Bobby secured Erik in the highchair and set a sippy mug with apple juice in front of their boy. He poured them botha tall glass of ice water while she heaped fresh garden salad onto their plates.
“Chicken?” Bobby asked over Erik’s loud chatter.
“Hmm,” she hummed, popping a piece of carrot into her mouth.
Bobby lifted a sliced chicken breast and placed it on top of her salad.
Erik stretched out a chubby arm. “Me, me.”
Chuckling, Bobby caught the flailing hand and bent to kiss it. “Patience, kiddo,” he said, “Momma first.”
“Ma, Ma,” her son called out, clapping his hands together, a big grin on his face.
Darla blew a kiss at him, laughing when her son slapped a hand over his mouth.
Bobby nudged the salad dressing closer. “Did you enjoy shopping with Mum?”
“We had a great time.” Bobby’s mother was a blast, delighted beyond words they chose to celebrate Erik’s first birthday with them. “But we need another suitcase to take all of Erik’s gifts home.”
Bobby chuckled. “No surprise there.” He removed the lid from the colorful plate containing Erik’s food, leaned over the top of their boy’s head, and pressed the plate down, anchoring the suction pads. The kid wasted no time digging into his food, and her husband (the thrill of calling Robert Björn Bellerose herhusbandnever diminished) claimed his seat beside hers.
The meal seemed to take forever, and when Bobbyfinallywiped Erik’s face, she could no longer contain her excitement. “I also bought something for Erik,” she said, handing the wrapped gift she had hidden earlier to Bobby. “I couldn’t resist.”
Eyeing the colorful wrapping with a mix of indulgence and exasperation, Bobby took it from her. “Momma’s spoiling you as much as Gamma and Grandma.” Bobby helped the boy wrigglehis hand under the loosely taped paper. They tugged together, and the paper tore.
