by Terri Osburn
“You make it sound like we’re storming a castle. If Noah doesn’t want to be with me anymore, I’m not going to embarrass myself by trying to force him.”
“Heavens, child, you know nothing about men, do you?”
“I’m sorry, Lydia,” she said, “but it’s pointless. Noah walked away. He’s done.”
Tapping a nail on the side of her glass, she said, “Would you like to know what Noah told me the day before he left?”
Knowing she’d likely regret it, Carrie said, “What did he tell you?”
“That he didn’t deserve you and didn’t blame you for not wanting a monster like him in your life.”
Chest aching, she said, “Noah isn’t a monster.”
Lydia leaned forward. “I know that. And you know that. But he doesn’t believe it. That’s why we have to help him see the truth. See the loving man he really is.” She dropped her hand over Carrie’s knee. “Darling, you’re the best thing that ever happened to my son. Help me bring him back. Please. All you have to do is love him. Everything else will take care of itself.”
Struggling not to cry into her lemonade, Carrie nodded her head. “I can do that. I can definitely do that.”
Home at last.
Noah had never been so happy to sleep in his own bed. After a week of people poking around in his psyche, the peace of the empty old house soothed his tired brain. The morning would have been better if Carrie slept beside him, but he’d ruined any chance of that happening again.
The first Saturday of December dawned extra bright, filling the house with dusty beams of sunlight. Slipping on a wrinkled pair of jeans, he padded downstairs in his bare feet to brew a pot of coffee. As he waited for the black gold to process, Noah scanned the mail that had accumulated over the last week. The utility bills landed on the counter, but the rest, mostly ads addressed to Resident, hit the trash. He probably should have kept them as starter fuel for the fireplace, but newspapers were easy to find, and he’d stock up later.
Before pouring his coffee, Noah remembered the test medicine and jogged upstairs to dig the little brown bottle out of his bag. On his way back down, he caught a glimpse of someone stepping onto his porch. Before she could knock, he pulled the door open.
“Oh,” Carrie said, jumping back. “I didn’t even knock.”
Noah pushed the screen door open. “I saw you through the window. Get in here, it’s freezing.”
Molly reached for him, squealing “Nowuh” over and over again. He crossed his arms and put more distance between them.
“Is everything okay?” he asked, assuming nothing short of an emergency would send her over to see him.
“Fine,” she said, shushing her daughter. “Well, that’s a bit of a lie. You see, we’re here because Molly wrote you a letter.”
An almost-one-year-old with a vocabulary of maybe three words had written him a letter? Noah waited for the punch line.
“Actually,” she said, “I wrote it, but it’s her letter. I mean, she told me what to write.”
“Molly told you what to write?” he asked.
Carrie nodded. “Yeah. I mean, I’m sure it sounds impossible, but she is a bit of a genius, you know.”
Running with the insanity, Noah said, “Sure. She’s a genius.” The genius tried to shove a whole hand in her mouth and drooled down the front of her coat. “A rare kind of genius.”
Undeterred, Carrie pulled a folded piece of paper from her pocket. “If you don’t mind, could we sit down for this?” she asked. “And if you want to put on a shirt, we can wait. Though you don’t have to do that on our account.” Admiring his chest, she added, “Really. This is good, too.”
Noah tried to remember if one of the side effects for his new medication might be hallucinations. Because this scene was getting more and more trippy by the minute.
“Sure,” he said. “Let’s sit on the couch.”
The moment Carrie’s bottom hit the cushion, Molly wiggled out of her grasp and walked the short distance to Noah on the opposite end. When he didn’t reach for her, she took matters into her own hands and climbed up his leg, eventually landing in his lap, where she stuck her fingers in his much shorter beard. She might as well have reached through his rib cage and ripped out his heart.
“So,” he said, scratching his nose. “The letter.”
“Here you go,” she said, making no move to take her child. “You can read it out loud.”
“Out loud?”
Carrie nodded expectantly.
“Okay.” He unfolded the paper. “Dear Daddy Nowuh.” His voice caught at the word Daddy. Clearing his throat, he read on. “I don’t know what daddies are supposed to be, because I’ve never had one. So Mommy and I talked about it, and we decided what my dream daddy would be. We made a list of all the things that he would do, like carry me around on his shoulders and let me pull his hair. Fly me around the room like an airplane, and build me things that make me smile. He should love me and spoil me with swing sets and maybe a pony someday.”
When his voice caught again, Molly lay down on his chest and poked at the paper as if ordering him to keep going. Noah kissed the top of her head and did as she asked.
“My daddy would have pretty brown eyes that crinkle at the corners when he smiles at me. And big strong arms to lift me up when I fall down. To protect me and teach me things like how to ride a bike and throw a ball and catch all the fish in the pond. But most of all, my daddy would love my mommy as much as he loves me. He would make her laugh and kiss her a lot. And then, maybe someday, I could have a little brother or sister, but Daddy would never love them as much as he loves me, because I’m his little princess.”
Noah had to wipe his nose, breathing deeply to hold it together. Glancing over to the teary woman sitting too far away, he said, “She’s pretty good at this letter stuff.”
Carrie nodded. “I thought so.”
He shook his head, blinking to clear his vision. “When Mommy and I finished the list, we both agreed that there’s only one person who would do all the things that my perfect daddy would do. Only one person who would love us for our whole lives and never let us go. We want you to be my Daddy Nowuh and to live with us forever. I hope you’ll say yes. Love, your little princess, Molly Farmer.”
The letter dropped to the couch as he pressed his fingers into his watery eyes. When he opened them again, a beautiful ball of wonder with her knees in his gut clamped her hands on his cheeks, staring intently into his eyes.
Pushing out the words, Noah said, “I would love to be your Daddy Nowuh.”
A tear hit his chest as Carrie scooted across the sofa to lean against his side. With one arm around the woman he loved and another holding the best gift he would ever be given, he said, “I love you, Carrie. I swear I’ll never let you go again.”
She tilted her head up and touched her lips to his. “You are my hopes and my dreams, Noah. I could never ask for more.”
Epilogue
The second Carrie put her daughter on the bed, she crawled to the top and smacked Noah on the cheek. Not the nicest way to wake someone up, but a one-year-old possessed little patience for anyone who expected to sleep in on Christmas morning.
“Hey,” he said, eyes brightening once he’d focused enough to see the cherub pinching his nose. “It’s Christmas!” he yelled, lifting Molly into the air as he rolled onto his back. She squealed and squirmed, and Carrie fell a little more in love with them both.
She’d been certain that she couldn’t possibly love them any more, but each new day proved her wrong.
“You’re lucky,” she said. “She wanted in here a half hour ago.”
“I am very lucky,” he agreed, flashing her a devastating grin. “I am also very naked, thanks to you. Occupy her while I get some pants on.”
Carrie took her daughter and danced to the window, pointing out the dusting of snow on the ground. Though she made sure to glance back in time to catch sight of a very nice backside before Noah pulled his sweatpants into
place.
Clapping his hands, he said, “Hand her over. We’ve got presents to open.”
They all made their way downstairs, through the special gates that Spencer and Noah had designed to keep her daughter safe, and settled on the floor in front of the tree. It was hard to believe this house had been nearly empty only a couple of weeks before. Between the items Carrie brought over from the trailer and the gifts received during the combination birthday and housewarming party, the old farmhouse had been transformed into a cozy and welcoming home filled with love and laughter.
Wilson had taken to sleeping under the tree, and the commotion disturbed his slumber. Crawling out from between two presents, he rubbed against Noah’s side before bounding onto the couch and perching in his usual spot on the back.
“He likes you,” Carrie said to Noah.
“Only because I feed him,” he replied, preoccupied with the presents. Pulling one from the bottom of the pile, he said, “Here’s the one for Mommy.” Molly continued ripping through the Santa-covered paper of her own present. “This is from both of us.”
Ever since the day that she and Molly had given Noah the letter, Carrie had been an emotional mess. Simply thinking about her little family brought her to tears. In the car. At her desk. Standing in front of the bananas at the grocery store, which also brought a tear for Roberta, who had found a cousin in Colorado and moved away.
And clearly, this Christmas morning would be no different. As she took the present, Noah wiped a tear from her cheek with his thumb.
“I’m starting to think you’ve sprung a leak,” he said.
“I feel like I have.” She laughed before taking a deep breath. “I can do this.” Carrie ripped the blue-striped paper off the small box and lifted the lid to find a delicate silver bracelet. “Oh my gosh. Noah, it’s beautiful.”
He leaned over and pulled the gift from a bed of cotton. “It’s a charm bracelet. Each little silver plate has a name and a birthstone.” Pointing to each, Noah said, “There’s mine, yours, and Molly’s. And we can add more. You know. If we need to.”
On the edge of losing it, she said, “I love you so much, but I need to blow my nose before I kiss you.”
Noah half crawled to the end table to grab the box. “Here you go, babe,” he said with a laugh. “I’ve got two more boxes in the kitchen, so you’re all set.”
Molly pounded on the half-unwrapped box of a new toy, crying, “Upun upun,” which was her version of open.
“You need to unwrap some more presents before we start opening boxes,” he said, handing her a bag filled to the brim with tissue paper. “This should keep you busy for a second.”
“Oh,” Carrie said, sniffling, “we have one for you.” Leaning past her daughter, she reached for the flat present she’d leaned against the wall in the back so that Wilson wouldn’t break it. “I hope you like it.”
“Let me at it,” he replied, sliding a thumb beneath an opening in the paper and ripping it across the front. The moment the image was revealed, Noah froze. The smile slipped away, and he fell silent.
“Noah? Honey? I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”
“Where did you find this?”
“Your mother had it.” She should have known the picture would bring back difficult memories. “I’m sorry. Give it here and—”
“No,” he snapped when she reached for the frame. Carrie pulled her hand back. “No,” he repeated, softer this time. “I haven’t seen this in years.” Noah traced a fingertip around the smiling faces of himself, his grandfather, and Zeke. “This was down at the pond. Where I took you.”
Carrie nodded. “I know. You look very proud of what you’d caught.”
“We were.” Looking up, he said, “Zeke and I had a bet about who could catch the most fish. When Granddaddy weighed them, he said we’d caught the exact same amount. That was probably the only lie he ever told.”
“So it’s okay then?” she asked.
“Yeah, baby. This is better than okay.”
As she reached for another tissue, Carrie jumped at the sound of a horn outside. “Who could that be?”
Placing the picture safely on an end table, Noah said, “That’s a special delivery for the little princess.” Sweeping the baby off the floor, Noah grabbed her pink coat from the coat tree. “Help me get this on her.”
“Noah, what did you do?” she asked, stuffing uncooperative baby arms into fleece.
The horn sounded again. “We gotta go, woman. Hurry up.”
Zipping the coat to Molly’s chin, she said, “Hold on.” Before Noah could rush out the door, Carrie grabbed his jacket. “You can’t go out there half-undressed.”
He rolled his eyes but slid his arms into the sleeves. “They’re waiting.”
“Who is waiting?”
“Just come on,” Noah said, sticking his feet into the boots by the door.
Carrie slipped on her rain boots and dashed out behind them, tugging on her own coat over her pajamas. What she saw sitting in the driveway stopped her in her tracks. “Oh, Noah. You didn’t.”
“We did,” he said, hopping down the stairs as Spencer and Cooper climbed out of Spencer’s Dodge. “Look what you have, Molly.”
Hustling to catch up, Carrie said, “I thought we talked about this.”
Noah spun to face her, continuing on backward. “You said that I couldn’t get her a pony. You didn’t say that we couldn’t get her one.”
Poking Spencer in the chest, she said, “You went in on this with him?”
“So did Cooper,” her ex defended. “Every princess needs a pony, right?”
“I’m pretty sure that’s written somewhere,” Cooper said, meeting them at the back of the trailer. “Stand back while we bring her out.”
Two minutes later, a beautiful chestnut pony, not quite as tall as Carrie, stood in their driveway, and all of her misgivings disappeared. She was beautiful, and the moment she sniffed Molly’s coat, earning a gentle pat on the nose from her new owner, the two were bonded for life.
“We’re really doing this,” Carrie said, once again fighting back tears. “What’s her name?”
“Hope,” Noah answered, showing Molly how to pet the pony’s neck. “I knew as soon as I saw the name that she was the one.”
Carrie nodded, stepping closer to scratch between Hope’s eyes. “You’re right. She’s perfect.” Turning to the other two special men in her life, she said, “Thank you for doing this for Molly.”
“It’s for both of you,” Spencer said. “And it was all Noah’s idea. We were just happy to be part of it.”
Cooper clapped Noah on the back. “We also knew that if you got too mad, we could hightail it out and someone else would take the fall.”
Noah pulled Carrie close. “I wasn’t worried one bit,” he said, smiling into her eyes. “Merry Christmas, baby.”
Finally too happy for tears, she said, “Merry Christmas, Noah.”
Acknowledgments
This book could not have been written without three things—bologna, MTV’s Catfish, and the cast album for Hamilton: The Musical. So it is with sincere gratitude that I say thank you to Oscar, Nev and Max, and Mr. Miranda.
As a writer, one must learn to be productive and focused while navigating the normal chaos of life. During the writing of this book, the chaos in my life shot well beyond a normal rating, which resulted in several setbacks. And yet, my fabulous agent, Nalini Akolekar, never doubted or lost faith. Which is why she’s not only an amazing agent, but an incredible friend and supporter.
As is often said, no one truly sends a book into the world all on their own, so I am ever thankful for my editor, Alison Dasho, and the entire Montlake Romance team. They make me feel special and appreciated every day. Even when it looks like I’ve fallen down the rabbit hole and am in dire need of a miracle.
There are some difficult and very real subjects discussed in this book. Both domestic abuse and post-traumatic stress disorder are complicated and delicate ground to cover.
To the sources who shall remain nameless, thank you for offering your insight and experiences.
If you or someone you know is suffering from PTSD, help can be found at ptsdusa.org.
If you or someone you know is dealing with domestic abuse, help can be found at thehotline.org.
About the Author
Photo © 2012 Crystal Huffman
Although born in the Ohio Valley, Terri Osburn found her true home between the covers of her favorite books. Classics like The Wizard of Oz and Little Women filled her childhood landscapes, and the romance genre beckoned during her teen years. In 2007, she put pen to paper to write her own. Just five years later, she became a 2012 finalist for the Romance Writers of America Golden Heart Award, and her debut novel was released a year later. To date, she has released eight novels, two novellas, and one short story. You can learn more about this internationally bestselling author by visiting her website at www.terriosburn.com.