Sarah's Child Read online

  Sarah was dozing, while Marcie quietly read a magazine. Both Sarah and the baby were being closely monitored, but time was dragging and nothing was really happening, though the twinges were getting closer together. They were in a private labor room; a television was mounted on the wall, and they’d watched the evening news, then a situation comedy. She’d thought Rome would have called before then, but perhaps he was being held up at the office. After all, there was a time difference of two hours.

  He came into the room and Marcie looked up, her eyes widening. She got to her feet. “Where did you come from?”

  “Los Angeles,” he replied, his strong mouth quirking in momentary amusement. “I caught the first flight out when Mrs. Melton told me Sarah had gone into labor.”

  Sarah’s eyes fluttered open, and she looked at him drowsily; then abruptly she was wide awake. “Rome! You’re here!”

  “I’m here,” he said gently, taking her hand.

  “I called your hotel and left a message for you.”

  “I know; Mrs. Melton told me. I’ve also talked with Dr. Easterwood. I was in a panic, afraid something was wrong because it’s two weeks too soon, but she said everything’s all right.”

  “I’m really not in labor yet, just trying to be, but she wanted me here so she could keep an eye on me.”

  She was beautiful, he thought. Her white-gold hair was pulled up, away from her face, and twisted into a single long braid. Her eyes were bright and clear, a soft Nile green, and her cheeks were flushed. She wore one of the plain nightgowns she’d been wearing at home, and she looked about fourteen, certainly not old enough to be having the infant who made a mound against the fabric. He kissed her gently.

  “Since you’re here, I’m going to go down to the cafeteria and get something to eat,” Marcie said cheerfully, with the obvious intention of giving them some time alone and not being abashed about it.

  But when they were alone, it was difficult to say anything. He held her hand, wishing that it was already over with, that she didn’t have to face labor and birth. He didn’t want her to be in any pain, not even the natural pain of having a child.

  Finally he drew a deep breath. “I won’t go in the delivery room with you, but I’ll be waiting.”

  “Just knowing that you’re here is all I need,” she said, and it was.

  Her daughter was born twelve hours later, after a relatively easy labor and birth. “Oh, she’s a tiny sweetheart,” Dr. Easterwood cooed as she placed the baby in Sarah’s arms. “Look at that black hair!”

  “She looks like Rome,” Marcie pronounced flatly, only her laughing, tear-filled eyes visible above the surgical mask she wore. “I swear, she’s even got black eyes.”

  Sarah examined the tiny infant, who’d already stopped her outraged squalling and was lying as if tired from her ordeal, ready to go to sleep. Rome’s daughter. She couldn’t believe it. Somehow, she’d thought it would be a boy. Tears filled her eyes as she touched the damp black curls with a shaking finger. This was the most precious thing she’d ever seen.

  Several hours later she woke to find Rome sitting quietly beside her bed; she’d been so sleepy when she was placed in her bed, she’d only been able to give him a smile before drifting off. She didn’t say anything but watched him as he read the newspaper. He was tired; he’d been up all night, and dark circles lay under his eyes. He needed a shave too, but he was gorgeous. With the enthusiasm of a new mother, she wanted to ask him if he’d seen the baby, but she knew he hadn’t. By even coming to the hospital, he’d given her more than she’d expected.

  “Hi,” she said softly.

  He looked up, relaxing as a deep relief spread through him. Somehow, until she spoke to him, he’d been afraid to believe she was all right. He took her hand and carried it to his lips, tenderly kissing her soft palm. “Hi, yourself. How do you feel?”

  She considered her state of being, moving gingerly. “Not too bad. Better than I’d expected. How do you feel?”

  “Dead on my tail,” he said, making her laugh.

  “Why don’t you go home and get some sleep? I’m not going anywhere.”

  “You’d better not.” He let her convince him to go home, because he really needed to get some sleep before he fell on his face.

  When the baby was brought to her to nurse, Sarah cried when the tiny rosebud mouth automatically rooted for her nipple. Her very own baby! She was thirty-four years old and had long ago given up the thought of being a mother, but now she had this minute living, breathing miracle in her arms. She stroked the downy hair that covered the small round head, then examined the incredibly small fingers, the shell of her ear. How very much like Rome she was! There was even a smooth olive tint to her skin, a hint of her father’s darkness, and her eyebrows mimicked Rome’s bold slant.

  The baby opened her eyes, looked around vaguely, then closed them again, evidently content that everything was right in her world. Marcie had been right; she had Rome’s eyes too.

  She named the baby Melissa Kay, and by the time she went home three days later, the name had already evolved into Missy. Rome had spent a lot of time with Sarah at the hospital, but he always stepped out when it was time for the baby to be brought in to her, and as far as she knew, he hadn’t seen it. He didn’t drive them home from the hospital—she hadn’t expected him to—and she understood that she’d have been asking too much of him if she’d tried to introduce him to his child by that method. He would have to decide for himself if he wanted to know his own daughter. Marcie drove them home, and together they placed the baby in her crib for the first time, both of them leaning over to admire the way she squirmed around until she was comfortable.

  Missy was beautiful; Sarah knew that, if given the chance, she was capable of working the second miracle.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Rome took Sarah to bed and held her against him for the first time in months, his arms tender. He kissed her over and over, as if he couldn’t get enough of having her in bed with him again. He was careful not to jostle her, but he felt an almost desperate need to hold her. Sarah curled against him, wishing that the six weeks were over instead of having barely begun. Her hands sought his hard, muscular body, traveling lightly over him as she reacquainted herself with the various textures of his flesh. “I love you,” she said against his throat.

  “I love you. Never again,” he said deeply. “I’ll never let you sleep away from me again.”

  Sarah slept contentedly but woke at the first small cry Missy gave that signaled her hunger. Gingerly she slipped from the bed and tiptoed down to the nursery to cuddle her daughter and reassure her that she wasn’t in danger of starving. She changed the baby’s diaper, then sat down in the rocker and hummed as she nursed Missy, slowly rocking back and forth. Missy wasn’t a fussy baby, and she went to sleep immediately after her stomach was filled. Gently Sarah placed her back in the cradle, then returned to her own bed, snuggling against the warmth of Rome’s back.

  He didn’t move, but his eyes were open, and he stared stonily at the wall.

  Sarah had worked hard before, but she’d never worked as hard or been under as much strain as she was in the following weeks. If Missy hadn’t been a good baby, it would have been impossible. During the day, after Rome left for work, Sarah spent as much time as she could with her daughter, playing with her, doing all of the things that a baby required. Mrs. Melton took care of the mounds of laundry and the cleaning, which freed Sarah for all her other duties. She tried to give Missy bottles as a supplementary feeding, but the formula made her spit up, and the pediatrician advised Sarah to feed the baby solely by breast until she was a little older; then they’d try the formula again. That meant she couldn’t leave Missy alone for any length of time, as she demanded regular feedings.

  She always had Missy bathed and in bed for the night before Rome came home from work and kept her fingers crossed that the baby wouldn’t wake before it was time for her usual feeding. The door to the nursery was always closed when Rome wa