Page 44 of Bossy Mountain Daddies
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be. Things happen the way they're meant to." I adjust Evan slightly as he squirms against my chest. "These little onesfill that space for me now. Not the same, but it’s still something real."
We sit in silence after that, each lost in our own thoughts, the weight of tiny lives in our arms grounding us in the moment. Norma checks in periodically, adjusting a monitor or jotting notes on a chart. At one point, she catches my eye across the room and gives me a thumbs-up while nodding toward Skye. I pretend not to notice.
After about an hour, Norma returns to take the babies. "Time’s up," she explains. "They both need to be fed."
Carefully, we hand the infants back. Watching Skye reluctantly release Marie, the tenderness in her movements, a thought flashes through my mind—what she might look like holding our child. The image is so vivid, so unexpected, that it knocks the wind out of me. I turn away, pretending to adjust my gown, needing a moment to compose myself.
"Thank you for the hats, Buck," Norma says as we prepare to leave. "And Skye, it was lovely meeting you. Come back anytime."
"I'd like that," Skye says, her voice warm. "Thank you for letting me hold Marie."
Outside in the hallway, Skye is quiet, thoughtful. I give her space, understanding that holding those tiny lives can stir up emotions you didn't know were there.
"Thank you for bringing me," she says finally as we reach the truck. "It was... I don't have words for what it was."
"I know," I say simply, because I do. "That's why I keep coming back."
The drive back from the hospital is quiet, but it's a comfortable kind of quiet. Skye gazes out the window while I keep my eyes on the mountain road. Something shifted between us back there, holding those tiny lives. I can feel it in the wayshe sits beside me now, relaxed and open, like we've known each other for years instead of days.
"Are you hungry?" I ask as we pull into my driveway.
Skye turns to me, a small smile playing at her lips. "Starving, actually."
"I've got steaks in the fridge," I say. "And some fresh vegetables from the farmers' market."
"You cook me lunch and I may never want to leave," she says lightly, but something in her voice catches and makes my heart thump harder against my ribs.
"That a promise?" I ask, keeping my tone casual even though the question isn't casual at all.
Her eyes meet mine, steady and clear. "Cook for me and find out."
Inside, I move around the kitchen, pulling ingredients from the refrigerator while Skye explores my living room. I can see her examining the bookshelves, the artwork, the small treasures I've collected over the years.
"You have a first edition Hemingway," she says. "Ford would be jealous."
"That was a gift," I reply, slicing red peppers into thin strips. "I'm more of a Twain man myself."
She appears in the doorway, leaning against the frame with a glass of water I gave her earlier. "Adventures of Huckleberry Finn?"
"Life on the Mississippi," I correct. "Though The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn's a close second."
She watches me work, her eyes following my hands as I season the steaks with salt, pepper, and herbs. "Need help?"
"Nah, I've got it. But come keep me company."
She slides onto a stool at the island, chin propped on her hand. "Where'd you learn to cook?"
"Grandma Sadie again," I say, heating oil in a cast-iron skillet. "She believed every man should know how to feed himself properly."
"Smart woman."
"The smartest." I lay the steaks in the hot pan, the sizzle and aroma filling the kitchen immediately. "What about you? Do you cook?"
She laughs, the sound warming me more than the stove. "I try. Nothing fancy. My mom was the cook in our family. She tried to teach me, but I was always more interested in books than recipes."
"I know you miss her," I say quietly.
