Page 3 of Wylder Ranch
I don’t even know where that came from. But I can’t take it back now. And honestly, I couldn’t think of anything I’d like to do more than spend New Year’s Eve with Haven Wylder.
In the end, after the world’s longest pause, I decide to finish the message by reciting my phone number.
With any luck, she’ll have returned my call by the time I’ve landed.
CHAPTER 1
Haven
PRESENT DAY
“Shh. . . Everly Jeanne, baby.Shh. It’s okay. Mommy’s got you. . .”
Sometimes I wonder if she’s crying because I’m crying, or if I’m crying because she’s crying.
And if it’s ever going to stop.
I’ve been doing this for a little over a month. Six weeks, three days, two hours, and twenty-seven minutes to be precise—not that I’m counting—and it hasn’t gotten any easier.
I’ve been told it will.
At some point.
But when that day’s coming is anyone’s guess.
“Just eat. . .” I beg my daughter one more time, thrusting my swollen, veiny boob in her face. I don’t blame her for not wanting it. “Please. You’ll feel better. You’re hungry, is all.”
Her tinny, garbled wailing echoes around the small room I’m staying in, and I pray the walls are thick enough that we don’t disturb the other guests here.
Slowly pacing across the room, hoping the movement might calm Everly, and let’s face it,me, I stare at thewallpaper.
It feels like I’m standing in the middle of a summer meadow. The walls are covered in flowers, creating a kaleidoscope of colors. It’s a contrast to the gloomy, wet afternoon outside, one much more suited to my mood—and my daughter’s. Summer meadow is not our vibe today. We’re too exhausted to appreciate any possible cuteness in this place.
I’m not surprised she’s as pissed as she is. We’ve been traveling for twenty-four hours, most of which we’ve been awake.
By the time I stepped off the plane in London, it was safe to say every passenger hated me. No one had gotten any sleep because Everly decided she didn’t want to sleep. The only time there was silence was when the poor stewardess had taken pity on me and carried her up and down the aisle for twenty minutes. But the second she was back in my arms, the cries began again—like my own daughter couldn’t stand her mother’s company.
If it was possible, the journey from the airport felt even longer, and we arrived at the nearby train station only to get soaked in a rainstorm while I tried to figure out how to get to our hotel without an Uber in sight, nor a person to help. It took another train to arrive with half a dozen passengers disembarking before I asked a kind-looking older lady for the directions to Valentine Nook and how to get there.
An hour of waiting for a taxi-cab later, followed by fifteen minutes of narrow, winding country roads that made me want to puke, and we arrived at the one hotel I could find to book.
So far, England sucks, and Everly agrees.
Only when I’m about to give up does she latch on.
Sometimes I wonder if she senses she’s almost pushed me to the brink of sanity and suddenly feels sorry for me. The deafening silence is broken up with hungry slurping and heavy breathing.
This time when my tears fall, they’re hot and grateful. Tears of relief that her belly will be full for the next few hours, along with renewed hope that she might sleep. And when she’s like this, I almost forget how hideous it can be, even mere minutes ago.
Everly lets out a gurgle, and I switch her over to the other side, and the relief for me is instant. My boobs had gotten to the point where they felt close to exploding.
When she was first born, getting her to drink was such a struggle. The nurse had to show me how to ease the pain in my chest from all the milk building up, while I tried not to panic that my daughter didn’t like me.
Because if she did, this wouldn’t be so hard, right?
It wouldn’t be this struggle.
I always miss my mom, but during the past six months since I discovered I was pregnant, I miss her so acutely it feels like my heart is breaking all over again. And when Everly fights me to eat and sleep, all I want to do is give up.
