Page 43 of Bossy Mountain Daddies
I feel heat creep up my neck. "Norma?—"
"Oh hush, Buck. Let me have my fun." Norma winks at Skye. "He gets so flustered. It's adorable."
Skye laughs, her eyes darting between us. "I can see that."
Norma leads us to a washing station, where we scrub our hands and arms meticulously. "So how did you two meet?" she asks as we rinse off.
Before I can answer, Skye jumps in. "My car broke down in town. Buck and his friends own the bar where I've been staying."
"Ah, Devil's Pass," Norma nods. "Buck's burgers are legendary around here."
"And his muffins," Skye adds. "I had one this morning that nearly made me cry."
Norma's eyebrows lift, and I catch her giving me a meaningful look. "Is that so? Well, he's been holding out on me. Never offered me a muffin, and I've known him for years."
I dry my hands on a paper towel. "I’ve brought you muffins a million times. You always told me you can’t eat them and to stop bringing them or you’d ban me from the hospital."
"I don’t know what you’re talking about," Norma waves dismissively and then starts laughing. "Now, let's see what you've brought us this time."
I hand over the paper bag of hats. Norma peers inside, then empties them onto a clean counter, examining each one with approving nods.
"Beautiful work as always, Buck. We have three new arrivals this week who could use these right away." She selects a pale green hat. "This one's going straight to baby Lila. Born yesterday at twenty-nine weeks."
Skye's face softens at the mention of the newborn. "Can we... see them?" she asks hesitantly.
Norma glances at me. "Absolutely! Two of our little ones need some holding time. Their parents can't be here until evening."
She leads us into a room where we put on sterile gowns over our clothes. The fabric drowns Skye's smaller frame, making her look even more delicate next to me.
"Anything I need to know before we go in?" she asks quietly, watching me tie my gown.
"Norma will show you but there’s nothing to it. They're tiny, but not as fragile as they seem."
The NICU itself is dim and quiet, with soft beeping from monitors and the occasional gentle alarm. Six incubators line the walls, each containing a tiny baby. Norma leads us to two incubators in the corner.
"This is Evan," she says, gesturing to a baby that can't weigh more than three pounds. "And this is Marie."
Norma explains how to hold them, though I already know the drill. She lifts Evan from his incubator, a bundle of wires and tiny limbs, and places him carefully against my chest. Despite all the times I've done this, the weight of him—so light it's barely there—still surprises me.
I watch as Norma helps Skye with Marie, showing her how to support the baby's head and avoid disturbing the various tubes and monitors. Skye's face changes as she holds the infant—a softening, something so deeply feminine and beautiful that I can't look away.
We settle into rocking chairs side by side. The babies make small sounds against our chests, their bodies rising and falling with impossibly tiny breaths.
"They're so perfect and complete, just… smaller," Skye whispers after a long silence.
I nod, gently rubbing Evan's back in small circles. "That's what always gets me. All those fingers and toes, the eyelashes, everything's there. Just needs time to grow."
Skye's eyes are fixed on Marie's face. "I always assumed I’d have children," she says so quietly I almost don't hear her. "It was part of my plan, you know? Get a good job, find the right person, then have a baby by thirty."
Her eyes are shining with unshed tears. "You've still got lots of time," I say gently.
She nods, a small smile touching her lips. "I know. It's just... when my parents died, something changed in me. I realized how quickly it can all fall apart. How nothing's guaranteed." She strokes Marie's cheek with one finger. "And then Daniel... I thought he was the one I'd have children with. And you know how that turned out."
"Life has a way of taking detours," I say. "Doesn't mean you won't get where you're going."
She looks up at me then, her eyes searching mine. "Did you ever want kids?"
The question catches me off guard, though I should have expected it. "Yeah," I admit. "With my ex-wife. We tried for a few years, actually. Didn't work out—the kids or the marriage."
