St. Patrick’s Baby (SEAL Team: Holiday Heroes Book 4)

by Laura Marie Altom

  By the time the meal ended and parents cuddled sleepy children, Gustav and Tally offered Stephie and Patrick a ride home and they accepted.

  Alone in the cabin, she should have felt content, but instead felt oddly empty, as if she was an observer in her own life.

  While Patrick busied himself with building a fire in the river stone hearth, she watched, frozen, wanting to recapture the evening’s earlier bliss, but it seemed out of reach—like her favorite tea mug on a too-high shelf.

  A fire soon merrily crackled.

  The faint, sweet trace of woodsmoke filled the air.

  She should have been happy—desperately wanted to be—but the solemn truth always hung like a veil between her and all things good. What were the odds of their baby surviving? Fifty/fifty? More? Less? It would take hours to reach her doctor where she could have an emergency ultrasound and a definitive answer within minutes. But then what? Sit and wait for the inevitable? For her baby to die?

  What if your baby’s healthy?

  Shut up!

  Even though the voice of hope was only in her head, she cupped her hands over her ears. She couldn’t bear hearing it. She couldn’t bear the pain of getting her hopes up only to bury them in her baby’s grave.

  Silent tears struck again. Usually they at least provided a temporary release, but she’d grown so weary of crying. She envied Tally and her happy pregnancy filled with anticipation for her baby’s arrival as opposed to fear and dread.

  “What’s wrong?” Hugging her from behind, clasping his hands over their baby, Patrick nuzzled her neck.

  “The usual.” She placed her hands over his. “Part of me enjoyed tonight more than I ever thought possible. Another part of me resented their happiness. I selfishly wanted the same for myself—for us.”

  “I get it,” he said.

  “Does that make me a horrible person?”

  “More like normal. Human. Any woman in your position would probably feel the same.” He gently turned her to face him. “With that in mind, give yourself a break—permission to see this through however you need.”

  Throat aching and raw, Stephie nodded.

  Placing his hand beneath her chin, he coaxed her gaze to his. “We’re going to make it through this.”

  She nodded but didn’t fully believe him. How did a couple survive the loss of their first child? Of course, they weren’t the only ones to experience this agonizing pain, but how would she handle losing Patrick’s love, too?

  Maybe in some ways it would have been better had he stayed away.

  While she’d been overthinking, he’d come closer until his warm breath now fanned her upper lip. He pressed his lips so softly atop hers that she might’ve imagined his kiss, but then she twined her arms around his neck and drew him closer. She opened her mouth, welcoming the sweep of his tongue.

  From habit, they continued the kiss while drifting toward the cabin’s lone, dark bedroom. He gently steered her toward the bed, kissing her, kissing her until maddening all-consuming need overrode her usual fears. Raw pleasure came as a heady treat after so many months of her only emotion being fear.

  “This okay?” he asked on the heels of a ragged breath.

  She nodded.

  She shimmied his shirt over his head. Unfastened the fly of his jeans.

  He fumbled with her blouse’s buttons until cool air finally licked the tops of her breasts. Though there was no shortage of oxygen, her own breathing had turned shallow and frantic. Her need for him—for their union—had become a living, breathing thing to be nurtured and cherished and savored.

  He swept his kisses down her throat, across her collarbone, teasing at her sensitive nipples through the lacy scrap of her bra.

  After wrestling free of his jeans and boxers, there was no question as to his desire.

  He sat on the foot of the bed, pulling her near. He freed her from her bra, rising to knead and suckle her breasts, then dipped lower to skim off her panties, teasing her with his fingers before settling her atop him, where she slowly, achingly drew him in. It had been so long, but her body remembered.

  Her size dictated the script for lovemaking that turned feverish once he filled her in every way a man could. Eyes closed, she rode him, abandoning herself to a rising, swirling thrill that had nothing to do with grief or fear, but love and hope and dizzying, intoxicating joy.

  “I love you,” she said before slanting her mouth atop his, plunging her fingers into his hair. Their tongues mimicked their actions below until she felt as if they’d become one. How she’d missed this. Him.

  Pressure built and swirled and climbed until they crested and then crashed in a vivid Technicolor dream she feverishly clung to, desperate to hold onto this temporary escape from their cold, harsh reality.

  Chapter Thirteen

  PATRICK FOUND HIMSELF whistling while putting the finishing touches on the breakfast plates he’d made for himself and Stephie. Scrambled eggs with cheese. Plump blackberries Tally’s mother had sent home with them, and thick slabs of buttered and jam-spread sourdough toast—another gift from Mrs. Haggar.

  Just beyond the floral curtains framing the kitchen sink, the sun reflected off the glassy lake. On such a gorgeous day, how could anything be wrong?

  His mind went to that dark place where his fears for their baby resided, but he tamped them down, refusing to believe in anything but miracles. The night he and Stephie had shared reconnected them in ways he’d never dreamt possible. Instead of assuming the worst for their baby, he’d expect the same miracle that had reunited them as a couple.

  Grinning, he placed both plates on a wooden tray he’d found atop the fridge, then added forks and napkins before carrying the load to the bedroom—only Stephie was no longer in the bed.

  “Steph?”

  The sound of retching drifted from the bathroom.

  After setting the tray on the bed, he jogged the short distance, kneeling alongside her at the commode. “Babe…”

  Fear for her—for their child—slammed him like a two-by-four against his forehead. He could pretend all he wanted that everything between them was sunshine and unicorns, but that didn’t change the fact that very likely the precious infant she carried inside her was a ticking bomb to their lives. Before they’d even have time to count fingers and toes, the baby would be cruelly taken from them by a God he wasn’t sure he still believed in.

  Rising, he wet a cloth, then returned to Stephie, drawing back her hair to clamp the cold fabric to her forehead.

  “Thank you.” She rocked back on her heels.

  “Is this normal?” he asked.

  “For me,” she said with a faint smile. “The sickness comes and goes.”

  “You don’t think last night…” What we did hurt the baby?

  She shook her head. “All my pregnancy books say sex is actually good for you. As for the nausea?” Shrugging, she hugged their baby. “It could be normal. It could be a sign of what’s to come. The only way to know for sure is to go to a doctor for extensive tests.”

  “Then let’s do that.”

  “No. I already told you, I’m struggling to deal with the fact that our child could be born with a death sentence. Pregnancy’s hard enough. There’s no way I can be pregnant while knowing our baby will die. I need hope to go on.”

  Lips pressed tight, the realist in him—the SEAL who’d been trained to take charge and to overcome any adversity—didn’t like her reasoning but understood. To him, it was a bit like pulling an ostrich move and hiding her head beneath sand.

  Did a maternal instinct he could never understand already know their baby was doomed? The thought raced his pulse and turned his mouth dry. His eyes stung, and he wanted to punch something.

  “Could you please help me back to bed?”

  “Of course.” Handling her as if she were the most rare and delicate flower, he didn’t just help her, but scooped her into his arms, carrying her to the bed, careful not to jostle the breakfast tray.

  Once she was set
tled, he returned their breakfast to the kitchen, then joined her, curving his hand atop her giant belly.

  He’d almost drifted off to sleep when a thump beneath his hand jolted him awake.

  “Was that our son or daughter?”

  Eyes welling, she nodded. “I feel kicks all the time.”

  “But that’s a good sign, right?” Hope swelled anew.

  “I like believing it is, but the accounts I’ve read all say it’s common—even in the worst-case scenario.”

  His fragile hope burst.

  “Whatever happens,” he said, “I love you. I’m sorry I wasn’t here from the start.”

  “Please stop apologizing. You weren’t here because I never told you there was a reason to be.” She turned to him, kissing him in hopes of conveying the rise of emotions she couldn’t begin to explain. “All that matters is that you’re here now.”

  When she rolled onto her back, he interlocked his fingers with hers, resting their clasped hands atop their baby.

  In that moment, he held his dreams for a healthy child as tightly as he held her.

  But above all, Patrick was a realist. For his family, dreams had a nasty habit of never coming true…

  “It’s about time we meet,” On a blustery October day, Jewel held out her hand for Patrick to shake. During her last visit, he’d been on an Anchorage supply run. He still suspected Stephie had knowingly sent him out of fear that Jewel may have discovered something wrong. He appreciated her trying to protect him, but he also wished she’d knock it off. When would she finally realize they were in this together? “Excited to hear your baby’s heartbeat?”

  “Very.” From his perch on the edge of the armchair across from the sofa, he wiped his sweating palms on the thighs of his jeans. Nerves had his stomach all kinds of cranky. He’d been with Stephie at the cabin for a month. During that time, they’d fallen into a comfortable routine that mostly consisted of him spoiling her—not that he was complaining.

  Stephie once confided in him that she always grew antsy about this portion of Jewel’s visits—terrified her friend wouldn’t find their baby’s heartbeat. If the baby’s heartbeat was strong, she rejoiced. If it seemed faint or hard for Jewel to find, she struggled to maintain a positive attitude for days after.

  “Sometimes,” Jewel said after spreading a cold glop of lubricant on Stephie’s tummy, “your little guy or gal likes playing hide-and-seek.” She waved the wand over Stephie’s baby bump. “Fingers crossed that for Daddy’s first visit—” The happy gallop rang through loud and clear. “That set a new record. Fantastic!”

  Patrick swiped relieved tears from his eyes.

  He went to her, perched on the sofa’s edge, holding her hand extra tight.

  “What do you think?” she asked.

  “I think I’m the happiest man in the world. Wow…” He sharply exhaled as their baby’s heart’s staccato continued filling the room. “That’s more beautiful than any music ever written.”

  “Couldn’t agree more,” Jewel said. “At least, until you hear your healthy baby’s first cry upon entering the world. That’s truly the best. Can’t wait to experience that with you two.”

  Patrick’s shared look with Stephie conveyed what a thousand words couldn’t. They both knew what could happen, but they also both prayed for a miracle.

  What were their current odds?

  Not even the most experienced Vegas bookie would know…

  Chapter Fourteen

  LATE-NOVEMBER IN Alaska could have been a snowy mess. Instead, while Patrick held Stephie’s hand to help her over the log that had fallen across their favorite hiking trail, he looked to the blue sky, smiling at the chilly, yet beautiful day he was spending with this gorgeous woman he hoped to soon make his wife.

  Ever since sharing a perfect Thanksgiving at the Haggar’s, he’d known he wanted to marry Stephie. But he wasn’t sure whether to wait until before or after she delivered their baby to pop the question. Truth be told, the entire issue was a potential minefield. God forbid their baby die. Would she blame him? No longer want anything to do with him? On the flip side, if he asked now, would she think his proposal wasn’t borne from love, but pity for the untenable situation they found themselves in?

  The relatively flat trail wound its way around the lake and through an aspen forest that hadn’t too long ago been golden, but had now lost all its leaves.

  “How gorgeous is the lake today?” she asked.

  “Pretty spectacular. We’re lucky this nice weather is holding.”

  “Tell me about it. When I was little, I remember spending Memorial Day weekends up here when we were snowed-in.”

  “What were your parents like? You don’t talk much about them.”

  “They were awesome. I was lucky to have spent as much time with them as I did. Mom was an interior designer and Dad owned a few restaurants in the Anchorage area. He always wanted to be a chef, but soon discovered his true talents were in the front of the house. Mingling with guests, training staff for great service.”

  “I know you used to be a chef—before the fire that caused your burns. Did you get your love of cooking from him?”

  “Probably.” She followed the trail around a boulder. “Another part of me thinks I did it because I wanted to make him proud. You know, work in the family business. Funny—in hindsight—how the worst time of my life was recovering from those burns, yet it led me to a career in helping other burn victims that has proven more rewarding than my best day in the kitchen.”

  “Excited to get back to your job once our baby’s born?”

  “Yes and no?” He understood her cautious smile all too well. “Should the worst happen, I think I’m ready, but how can anyone ever be for that sort of thing, you know? On the flip side, if we get a miracle and our baby is born healthy, I might want to stay home with him or her for as long as possible—just drinking in the sight of them. Counting fingers and toes and holding them till they’re squirming to be free.”

  He laughed. “Somehow, I can’t imagine any child wanting to get away from you—not if they love you as much as I do.”

  She stopped. “Do you?”

  “What do you mean? Of course, I do. Why would you even ask?”

  “Insecurities.” Walking again, she said, “Maybe you’re only with me out of a sense of guilt?”

  “Whoa.” He reeled her back against him. Planting his fingers beneath her chin, he tipped her face upward, forcing her to meet his gaze. “Let’s get one thing straight—I’m pretty sure I’ve always loved you. From that Fourth of July party when you won every field game to watching you spin perfect ice skating pirouettes on Kodiak Gorge Lake. You are everything I’ve ever wanted in a woman. Spunky and thoughtful. Beautiful and sexy.” Sweeping his hand beneath the fall of her hair, he drew her in for a kiss. He would’ve expected to be nervous, asking a woman to spend the rest of her life with him, but if anything, he felt flooded by a warm river of calm. He’d take that as a sign that not only was his proposal right, but so was the timing. “I wasn’t sure when I should do this but screw it. Now’s as good a time as ever. Stephie… Will you—”

  “Oh, no…” She looked down.

  A puddle had formed on the dirt between her hiking boots.

  That happy buzz stemming from his marriage proposal? Replaced by the sheer and utter panic caused by the knowledge that the puddle could only have been formed by Stephie’s water breaking.

  Patrick swooped her into his arms.

  “Put me down,” she said. “I can walk.”

  “I don’t want you to walk. You need your strength for what’s to come. In fact, if I’ve got a cell signal, we should call Jewel. Have her meet us at the cabin.”

  “Relax. From what I’ve read online, we could have twenty-four hours before I even go into labor.”

  “How can you be so calm?” He picked up his pace.

  She wrapped her arms around his neck, resting her head against his shoulder. “Because one way or another, I’m glad this
horrible limbo is almost over. I can’t say I’ve made peace with the situation, but if we only have minutes or hours with our baby, I want to cherish that time rather than dread it. Does that make sense?”

  “All that makes sense right now is getting you to a place of safety. I’d rather call in a helivac and have you back at an Anchorage hospital.”

  “You know that’s not what I want.”

  I don’t care. When do we get to do what I want?

  Patrick swallowed his pride, his fears for her and the baby to focus on her safe return to the cabin. Once there, maybe he could talk sense into her about seeking a higher degree of medical attention.

  Until then, there was nothing more he could do but pray.

  “Push, Stephie,” Jewel urged from the foot of the cabin’s bed. “Come on, sweetie, you can do it.”

  “I can’t...” Stephie tossed her head from side to side, the agony verging on being more than she could bear. She wanted—needed—to stay strong for her baby but having been in hard labor for twelve hours and counting, exhaustion was taking a toll.

  “I love you.” Patrick took her hand, squeezing for all he was worth. “I tried asking you on the trail yesterday, but then your water broke. Marry me.”

  “B-but we don’t knoooooow...” Pain stole her breath and words. Was any of this normal? Maybe she should have gone to a hospital? At the very least, let Jewel in on her secret that her baby could be born with serious defects. “If our baby will be okay?”

  She rode out this latest contraction.

  “Of course, your baby will be okay,” Jewel said. “A few more pushes and you’re home free. He or she is crowning! Come on, Stephie. Breathe deeper than you’ve ever dreamed possible, then push that air out. Pretend your pushing all that energy into your precious baby’s future. Give him or her everything you’ve got...”