One Christmas Knight Page 2

  Emma let out that breath. So, clearly not a man.

  She moved closer. “What’s that? A puppy? A kitten?”

  “A baby. My baby.” Krystal snuggled her bundle. “You’re an auntie, Em. And we need your help.”

  Every drop of blood fell to Emma’s feet as time wound back like a glitch-filled movie reel in her head. Krystal had a baby? A child of her own?

  Every child was a blessing.

  Still, the news cut deep.

  From what Emma could see of the baby, she was perfect. Glowing peachy skin, long, soft lashes that kissed the tops of her cheeks. Her pink lips were parted in a way that left a tiny O. When those lips sucked in and out, as if she were enjoying a bottle in her dreams, Emma laughed.

  Her reaction surprised her. The emotion surprised her more. Warmth swamped her from top to toe. Then the backs of her eyes began to sting, but in a good way. In an ‘I’m actually an auntie” way.

  “She’s cute, huh?”

  Emma spoke over the lump in her throat. “Krystal, she’s beautiful.”

  “She has your eyes.”

  “Really?”

  “You’ll see. She’ll be awake soon.”

  Emma studied the low gray sky getting ready to dump more snow and headed for the porch. “Come inside. It’s freezing out.”

  A moment later, as Emma turned the front door key, Krystal made a strange sound. A hiccuppy groan.

  Emma saw the tear slipping down her sister’s cheek and laid a gloved hand on her parka’s sleeve. “Don’t cry.” She pressed her trembling lips together. “If you cry, Krys, so will I.”

  “It’s been so long.’ Krystal let go a pent-up breath, smiled. “I’m just so happy to see you.”

  “I’m happy to see you, too. See you both.”

  Krystal’s smile faded. “I hope you feel that way when I tell you why we’re here.”

  Emma sat in stunned silence as her sister relayed her story. Krystal had met a man―well, of course she had. Not long into the relationship, a huge argument had spelled the end. The following month, a home pregnancy test made an announcement: Baby on the way.

  Now, all these months later, Krystal had gotten in touch with the father. He had a right to know he had a daughter, she said, and Emma agreed. Only Krystal didn’t want to show up on his doorstep with a baby in her arms, like she’d shown up here out of the blue. She didn’t want to give him a coronary or have him think she was demanding anything because she never would. And if he got angry, accusing, she didn’t want her baby around that either.

  Emma sat further back in the sofa while, beside her, Krystal cradled the baby.

  “You could tell him over the phone. In an email,” Emma said.

  “This needs to be done face to face. He lives just across in Tenterville.”

  The next town over.

  Curling chestnut hair behind an ear, Krystal struggled cobbling her next words together. “I was hoping you could look after her while I break the ice with Shelley’s father.”

  Emma paused, blinked twice, and then smiled.

  “Her name’s Shelley?”

  Krystal’s eyes were a brilliant rich green―verdant, their artist mom had called them. Those eyes shone now as she grinned. “I’ve always like your middle name.”

  When he was in a good mood, their father would call Emma Shell-Bell. Of course, if he’d had a bad day at the wharf, she’d simply stayed out of his way. Everyone had.

  Krystal got to her feet. “Wanna hold her?” Emma rushed to stand, too, but Krystal stopped her. “I’ll lower her down.”

  Carefully, she offered the baby over and Emma brought her niece close.

  The warmth radiating through the blanket was different to any other. The scent was powdery, clean and incomparably pure. Emma savored an overwhelming need to absorb it all. She’d never known a feeling like it. For the first time in a long time, she felt close to complete.

  Krystal sat again and stroked Shelley’s brow as Emma gazed down, smitten.

  “I’ll leave in the morning,” Krystal said. “Be back by nightfall.”

  Emma’s heart was glowing inside of her chest, melting her all the way through…globs of snow under a new spring day.

  Nothing was more certain. She and Shelley would get on fine until then.

  Tuesday, December 21

  Damon couldn’t believe his eyes.

  Was that Emma Bagwell running toward him, arms opened wide like he was her one and only savior coated in gold? That she couldn’t wait to speak with him? Embrace him?

  He had to be dreaming.

  The previous night, he’d left the clinic with a skip in his step. He was on vacation, back after New Year. He’d reheated leftovers for dinner and had gone to bed around ten. An image of Emma gripping that card, tears in her eyes, kept him awake till after one. She’d probably hate him more, but he needed to try again…see if he could help.

  A few moments ago, he’d arrived at her address with an honest excuse―he’d forgotten to hand over a key belonging to his property’s separate guest dwelling. He’d knocked on the door, waited, and then knocked again.

  He was heading back down the drive, mulling over plan B, when she’d called out his name, like she had at the realty office the day before. Only this time the cry was urgent. Almost frantic. He’d spun around.

  Emma was running so fast, she practically slammed into him.

  “Damon,” she said, out of breath, her beautiful face flushed. “Thank god you’re here.”

  He did a double-take.

  “You’re…happy to see me?”

  She laid her head against his coat covered chest, wrapped her arms around him and squeezed. She was still in pjs and an oversized unbelted bathrobe. Her usually immaculate hair was in disarray, like she’d tossed and turned all night. And she smelled…different. He knew the scent, but no way did it fit.

  Pulling away, she grabbed his gloved hand and tugged. “Come. Quick.”

  “What? No drink first?”

  She looked at him like he’d spoken in Martian. Then she scowled. “I don’t have time for jokes.”

  Damon grinned. The Emma he knew and loved was back.

  Soon, they were up the porch steps and inside her home. He followed her dash into a tidy bedroom that was sparsely decorated in pristine creams and mauves. When she grabbed his hand again, Damon hesitated. He liked Emma. Liked her a lot. But now he had visions of her tearing his clothes off, pushing him onto that bed, and that was doing his head in.

  Then he saw the bundle on the quilt and the world got a whole lot weirder. He dragged off his beanie, wiped his brow with the wool.

  “Em…that’s a baby.”

  She pushed him over to the bed in an entirely non-romantic way.

  “She was fine an hour ago,” Emma said. “I changed her diaper, gave her a bottle. She threw it back up and started to wail. I changed her diaper again.” Emma dropped to her knees beside the baby. Her hand shook as she laid a light palm on the blanket. “There’s a rash, Damon. I didn’t see it the first time. It came up so fast. She finally sobbed herself to sleep.” She peered up at him with trust-filled, pleading eyes. “I was about to call you.”

  Thinking of the day he’d diagnosed that five-year-old boy, Damon got to work.

  He felt the baby’s skin. Warmer than it ought to be.

  “Can I have a look at the rash?” he asked.

  The baby stayed sound asleep while Emma unwrapped the blanket and undid the suit. Soon he had an answer.

  “That’s nappy rash.” Not a medical emergency, thank God.

  Her eyes narrowed. “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure. Do you have ointment?”

  “I, uh…maybe.”

  She dived into a bag, patterned with pink elephants, beside the bed. He was used to seeing Emma with a leather briefcase and in professional attire, not jacket’n’pants pjs, face make-up free. No starch. No barriers.

  While she rummaged inside the bag, he felt the baby’s temp again. “
If she’s still warm when she wakes up, we’ll try another bottle. She needs to stay hydrated. Then a luke-warm bath to help cool her down.”

  Crouching beside that bag, diapers and rattles and whatever else littered around her, Emma looked up and searched his eyes. “So, nothing bad. You’re certain.”

  “A temperature is nature’s way of defending against an infection. It’s best to let it run its course as long as it doesn’t reach past a certain point.”

  “I imagined sitting in Emergency, nurses rushing around… I’ve heard so many times, if you’re not sure…”

  “Being a parent sometimes isn’t easy.” He knelt down and found a tube of ointment himself. “But I hear it’s extremely rewarding.”

  Emma stared at him. “I’m not her mother, Damon. I’m her aunt.”

  He’d figured something like that. Which brought him back to…

  “Does this have something to do with that Christmas card you got yesterday?”

  Her laugh was entirely humourless. “That was just the beginning.”

  “I have a younger sister―Krystal,” Emma said as they moved into the living room, which was sparsely decorated and super neat, as well. No Christmas tree. No ornaments. Not even a framed photograph on the mantle.

  “We had a major falling out three years ago. My long-time boyfriend dumped me. A month later, he and Krystal were dating.”

  His grin was wry. “Well, hey. No point rushing things.”

  “I understand emotion,” she said. “I get how powerful attraction can feel.” She flicked him a cagey look and got back on track. “But, hard as I try, I can’t understand how she could’ve done that. Krystal was the one I confided in. I trusted her.”

  “The guy sounds like a real prince, too.”

  “I know, I know. I’m better off without him. And, I suppose, so was my sister. He and Krystal had a bust up not long after that.”

  “What goes around comes around.”

  “I want to say I forgive her, and I do. There’s no point hanging onto that kind of pain. But I couldn’t be around her. I didn’t want to be around anyone. Too much time went by. Then, out of the blue, that card arrived. She was supposed to get here Christmas Eve. Instead she showed up late yesterday wanting a favour.”

  There was a man who needed to know he was this baby’s daddy, and Emma’s sister wanted to break the news gently. After three years of radio silence, ‘betrayed big sister’ was asked to look after the package.

  Damon thought of his own family, his three sisters. He’d pogo hop naked down Main Street if any of them would even consider doing such a thing. Immaturity, the powers of romantic love…there was no excuse.

  Emma glanced toward the bedroom and visibly shivered. “I can’t believe I panicked like that,” she murmured.

  “Better to be safe.” When she nodded slowly, still uncertain, he added, “Hey, you’re human.”

  Her lips twitched. “That’s a compliment coming from you.”

  Tempting, but this wasn’t the time for a dig. “What about the realty office?”

  “I’d imagined taking her with me, watching her from my desk and getting on with business. Not so much now.”

  When she cringed, he asked, “Sure you’re okay?”

  “Yes.” She cringed again, harder. “No.” She took in a steadying breath and held his gaze like she’d come to a mammoth realization. “It’s silly to go on the way we have been. We need to talk about that day. The day you kissed me.”

  “And you kissed me back.”

  She groaned. “Make this easy for me, huh?”

  He cleared his throat. “Sorry. You were saying.”

  “I’ve been avoiding you…being hard-headed…because, frankly, it frightened me.” Her chin lifted. “I’m not looking for a relationship.”

  “You’re still not over that jerk from three years ago?”

  “I’m so totally over him. I’m just…not ready to put myself out there like that again.”

  Emma waited while Damon siphoned down a breath like he was going to put his own opinion forward, which naturally would clash with hers.

  Instead he said, “Breaking up is tough, particularly when you’ve been together a while.”

  She studied his understanding expression and blinked. “Yes... Yes, it is. You sound like you might’ve been there.”

  “Once or twice.” He shifted forward. “If we’re being open with each other, I need to say something, too.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “When I kissed you that day, it was impulsive. Insane. Totally not me. It was also like nothing I’ve ever experienced before. You and I come together and it’s a lightning-bolt.”

  “Lightning can be dangerous.”

  “And illuminating.”

  He was so gorgeous and intelligent with a sense of humor she could like if only she let herself. But whenever she thought of him, her insides ended up in loops. They were looping now, wilder than ever before. She’d made her position clear. She was grateful for today, she could never thank him enough for his help, but she wouldn’t explain her position on relationships any further, or argue the point.

  Particularly not with a man who was ready to pack up and leave town in a matter of weeks.

  Suddenly, Emma’s scalp tingled and her ears pricked up. She swung toward the bedroom and listened hard.

  “Did you hear that?” she whispered. “Is that the baby?” Damon stopped and listened, too. “She shouldn’t be awake so soon, should she?”

  “Want me to come with you to check?”

  When that squeak came again, louder this time, Emma bolted for the bedroom. Damon Knight was close on her heels.

  While Emma gave Shelley a bath in the laundry room sink, Damon stood alongside, confident, giving assurances, distracting her with his smooth tones and heady scent.

  When the baby had woken up with her temperature, Emma was glad Damon had stuck around. After Shelley had taken her bottle, and kept it down, Damon had suggested this bath. Given the baby was such a small, slippery package―given the distraction of Damon’s mere presence―Emma was quietly pleased with the job she was doing.

  Then, suddenly, Shelley kicked both legs like she was riding a bike. Water splashed everywhere. Standing at the lower end of the sink, Damon wiped down his face and black sweater, chuckling the whole time.

  “Babies love their baths.”

  “Have you ever delivered one?” Emma asked, shifting to get a better grip. “A baby, I mean.”

  “Now there’s a story.”

  He moved closer until his natural heat soaked in through her wet clothes, creating a steam that brought out a different form of damp across her brow and upper lip.

  “Happened before I’d even started med school,” he said. “A heavily pregnant lady and I got stuck in an elevator. By the time we were rescued, I’d helped deliver a ten pound boy.”

  Emma stared at him. “You’re kidding?”

  “I thought about becoming a paediatrician for a while. Then my grandparents got ill, and I took an interest in geriatrics.”

  Damon found a towel and wiped at water dripping from Emma’s chin. As he drew the towel away, Emma spoke up.

  “There’s more, I think. My brow…and, uh, mouth.”

  Damon dabbed a corner of the towel on the prescribed locations…above her eyes, around her lips.

  “Truth is,” he went on, “I find every field of medicine fascinating. I get a kick out of trying to help if I can.”

  She felt almost drugged by the sexy slant of his smile. For a heartbeat, she could almost taste those lips again. Then the baby kicked. Her grip slipped, but before Shelley’s head could go anywhere near under, Damon swooped in.

  “It’s all good,” he said, “We gotcha, Shelley.”

  Submerged beneath warm, sudsy water, their hands held each other as well as the baby. Emma’s heart was pounding. But when Damon’s gaze caught hers, she saw only plutonic support. He was on the job. Doctor Damon to the rescue.

  An
d here was she, getting all worked up.

  “Ready to dry her off?” Damon asked. His fingers slipped away from hers and he spread a fluffy towel on the counter before grabbing another. “Here, give her over.”

  Emma looped her hands under the baby’s neck and bottom and lifted―an incredibly delicate, slippery move. Damon gathered her in the towel and then nestled the bundle against his broad chest. Emma sighed aloud. He might have thought she was relieved the bath was over. In fact, she was thinking about how amazingly safe Shelley must feel.

  As he gazed down, a satisfied smile lifting the corners of his mouth, Emma’s heart doubled in size. A confident, billboard handsome male cradling such a trusting little soul… The baby was concentrating on Damon, too. Her soft brow pinched as she reached out a hand. Bowing his head, he dabbed a feather-light kiss on the tips of her fingers. When he chuckled, Shelley cooed like she got the joke.

  As something deep inside of her shifted, Emma bit her lip and held a second sigh down. She’d never been so in awe, or so sure.

  Damon Knight would make an exceptional dad.

  After her bath, Shelley was awake for hours, cooing and blowing bubbles and basically being the cutest baby ever. Every passing minute, Emma fell more in love. Given his amount of cuddle time, most of which was laced with lullabies or baby talk, Shelley had won Damon’s heart, too.

  Every now and then, Emma had to catch herself. Her mind would wander to a sheltered, cushioned place where Shelley was their baby. She and Damon were a couple. Every time that baby looked up into her eyes, with such trust and, yes, love, Emma was mesmerized all over again.

  Of course, Shelley was Krystal’s baby, and Damon and she would never be a couple―ecstatically happy or anything else.

  After her afternoon bottle, Emma put the drowsy baby down. When she wiggled, unsettled, Emma laid beside her on the bed. Patting the baby gently, Emma sung one of Damon’s lullabies until Shelley quietened and fell sound asleep.

  When Emma next opened her eyes, aside from the wind blowing through the trees outside, the room was hushed. Shadows had crept in, cloaking every corner in mellow darkness. The baby was breathing evenly, still asleep, with her mouth sucking an invisible teat every now and then. Careful not to wake her, Emma stretched her arms.