Expecting Christmas
— Chapter 6 —
The Cry of a Babe Pierced the Night
EVERY SPECK OF OXYGEN BETWEEN them turned electric. Nathan's hands cupped Elizabeth's face for one fleeting second as mutual joy ignited like wildfire in the seam of space separating them.
"Our baby's coming?!" he whispered. Questioning disbelief mingled alongside exultation in his raw tone, his gaze riveted on her.
She managed one choked nod, and he became a whirl of focused efficiency.
He hoisted her up in his arms, uprooting her in one skirt-billowing uplift, and carried her through the house to their bedroom with rapid strides. A rock-hard economy of motion drove him, the sinews and tendons of his arms taut and hard under her back and knees, her legs bouncing gently over his forearm with each step.
He sank onto the bed, sitting beside her, hip warm and solid against her side. "Well, honey," he said softly, tucking hair back from her cheek, "it's just you and me."
A little tremor shook her, uncontrolled, anxious.
He reached for her hand, sandwiched it firmly between his. "This isn't how either one of us saw our child entering the world, but there are no two souls on this earth more invested in her safe arrival. I'll be with you every step of the way." His hands strengthened around hers. "I have absolute faith God will see you through this safely—both of you. He brought us to this, He will bring us through this. Soon, we'll hold our miracle in our arms. We can do this, sweetheart."
Their eyes clung in a throb of mutual yearning. We'll hold our miracle in our arms.
Elizabeth steadied.
She'd been waiting, preparing for this day for five years.
Concrete things became her focus. Breathing. The tiny stress line bracketing one corner of Nathan's mouth. The rough texture of his callouses from Newton's reins against her palm.
Labor came hard and fast.
Nathan never left her side. Every item they might conceivably need was already readied in the room; he'd made sure of that.
The blizzard raged frenziedly outside the windows, creaking the windowpanes and darkening the room, but the fire blazed with fresh logs, keeping off the chill and brightening the scene, their blazier glow joining the lesser light cast by the oil lamps Nathan lit.
From time to time, he closely consulted the childbirth handbook Elizabeth had among her supplies, but more often than not, he was right beside her, holding her hand, his eyes steeping unwavering belief into hers as he whispered encouragement and praise.
"You're a warrior," he celebrated her feminine power with fierce pride, eyes sinking into hers, hands a caress against her scalp. "Amazons have nothing on you, Elizabeth Grant."
She huffed out a labored laugh. "Just call me Amazobeth."
"Don't tempt me." He grinned, a flash somewhere between tenderness and sizzling humor.
She got her dimple kisses. Three hours later. In between contractions.
"Now?" Nathan stared at her in disbelief, though he readily knelt by her side. "You want them in a moment like this?"
"Yes. Now. Hurry."
But he didn't hurry. Instead, he stretched his shoulders across her and pressed leisurely kisses deep into her dimples, whispering tender words of empowerment and devotion.
And when Livia Grant made her way into the world an hour shy of midnight with a soft squall, a pumping exhilaration lit his face.
"A girl!" Elated marvel rushed through his voice. "Elizabeth, you did it, we have a daughter!"
"A girl!" Laughing, crying, from a voice that felt scraped raw, Elizabeth held out pleading arms for their daughter. "Let me see her, oh, Nathan, you were right—she was a girl."
"Our girl," he said achingly, approaching her with their tiny daughter cradled against him.
Elizabeth looked at him then, really looked at him.
Tired, shirt rumpled, their baby in his bare arms; she'd never seen a more stunning version of him than in that moment.
He sat beside her, wedged perfectly to her side. It was only then she saw the lone tear running unchecked down his face and the unshed shine of his eyes. Her fingers caught his bare forearm. "Nathan, sweetheart."
"She's here, she's really here, look at her. . . I'm so proud of you, honey." Pride in her burned in his eyes. He made no attempt to dry his cheek, to disguise the shake of emotion in his voice. "Elizabeth, meet our daughter."
And then their baby, lightly cleaned and swaddled in fuzzy cotton by Nathan's big hands—moving more delicately than she'd ever seen—was placed in her arms. Hand cradling frail neck, muscled forearm cupping fragile body, Nathan made the transfer as seamlessly as though he'd handled newborns his whole life.
His palm was bigger than their daughter's whole head.
Elizabeth swallowed a sob at the sight. A poignant ache she couldn't explain stabbed her.
Her yearning arms moved instinctively, accepting her daughter, feeling the whisper weight of her settle onto her arm, that tiny head not even reaching its crook. Something hot and forever slid into place deep in her love-swollen heart.
Our child.
Once so nearly despaired of.
Half-a-decade they'd waited and prayed and pleaded for this moment. . .
She stared at the tiny face under its cap of soft chocolate swirls and felt her throat close up as a wave of the fiercest love she'd ever experienced swept through her, tightening her arms around the tiny bundle.
"Nathan," she choked.
The wordless warmth of his hand caressed her arm. He knew.
Shakily, her fingertips explored, skimming feather-light over the petite perfection of the tiny girl's features.
Face heart-shaped and rosy. Eyes an unfocused blue under dark lashes, finespun as silk. Faint eyebrows, graceful as a swallow's swoop, so smooth under the trace of her forefinger. Cushioned cheeks impossibly cute.
Elizabeth couldn't resist and strained to bend far enough to kiss them.
"Easy, sweetheart." Nathan helped lift the baby instead, bringing the baby to her kiss.
The plump cheek she kissed was unimaginably soft and another wave of melting love flooded Elizabeth. "I'm going to love you forever," she vowed with a fierceness no less fervent for the little quaver that rattled it.
Dainty lips, red as roses, parted. A faint mewl escaped.
Their baby had come into the world with barely a fuss, only letting out a half-dozen helpless little cries—more disoriented and hurt than scared or angry—before her father's hands and familiar voice soothed her into quiet. Safe in the bulwark of his arms, all had righted itself in her insular little world.
Elizabeth cooed breathily. "Hi, my darling, hello. I'm your mama, and this is your father." Her hand floundered, searched blindly, found Nathan's. His fingers slid between hers and she calmed, looking up at him. "Our world's forever grown, Nathan. Everything has expanded."
"I never knew my heart could feel this big." His forefinger rubbed the side of hers in an affirming fraction of movement, eyes kindling with tenderness. "And, honey, we did get our Christmas baby." He glanced at the clock on their bedside table. "Just sixty minutes to spare, but our little last-minute girl made it in time for Christmas."
"I had a feeling she would be connected with December twenty-fifth."
"You did. The whole pregnancy."
"She's perfect, Nathan."
"Well, with a name like BGG. . . "
An involuntary laugh. "Pshaw, Sheriff Grant!"
"Pshaw, Elizabeth Grant." His banter faded; a hush entered. "She's perfect, absolutely perfect. I've never seen anything so pure in my life." He stroked the baby's head and a tiny wisp curled itself around his finger.
"Ten little fingers, ten little toes." Elizabeth unswaddled her to make sure.
"They're all there," Nathan was tenderly assuring.
"I just needed to see them."
"I don't blame you." He touched one petite bare foot with a careful forefinger. "I mean, look at her toes. How can something so dainty be so chubby at the same time?"
"They're darling."
"And they don't look like ten little piggies." Nathan sounded affronted, like the line from the old nursery rhyme had suddenly become a personal insult.
Elizabeth did so love this possessive side of him. She swallowed a smile as she looked back down.
"She's got your eyelashes, Nathan." She stared at the sooty lengths, unfairly long for one just entered the world.
Was this how Lillian felt? Mrs. Bouchard?
She supplicated God that Lillian had been safely delivered of her babe across town, joining the trio of new Christmas babies, and that even now she and Sam were cuddled down, their whole new world encapsulated in their arms. The Bouchards were probably the same in their boarding room. It was hard not to be lost in the wonder of new life.
She knew sleep would be long in coming—if at all—this night.
"Sweetheart?"
She looked up. "Hmm?"
"I don't want to move so much as an inch from you two, but I think I'd better clean the room up a bit. And we're going to need the cradle and rocker brought in."
She squeezed his hand as he moved to stand. "Nathan? I hadn't said yet, but—thank you," she whispered simply. "You thought of everything. . . and never faltered no matter what was asked of you tonight."
He rubbed his thumb across her hand, quiet for a moment. "There's nowhere else I'd rather be." His words were equally simple. "Wild horses couldn't have dragged me away. Helping you bring Livia into the world was my life's greatest honor—second only to you saying yes to marrying me."
She stroked his cheek, so warm under her hand. "I'm so glad you were here. I don't know what I would have done without you."
He tapped her heart. "Yes, you do," he said softly. "It's all in there." His finger moved to her forehead. "And here."
"You know what I mean."
A wordless kiss to her hand answered her.
In her arms, their daughter puffed out a sigh, so unexpected it made her laugh, startled. "Is she tired of us already?!"
"Just of that nickname you gave her." Nathan's playful ribbing caused her to laugh harder. He brushed a fir needle from her pillow, glanced at their headboard. "Should I remove the garland? It's shedding; is that safe with her in the bed?"
"It won't hurt her. And it's just one needle." She smiled. He was so protective. "It's just a little welcome gift from nature."
As if in agreement, the nature howling outside thumped a shutter against the side of the house. It must have loosened in the storm.
Nathan's look was dubious, but he didn't argue. Instead he quietly busied himself with removing used linens and basins, tossing another log on the fire, refilling her water glass, and re-fastening the loose shutter.
"I can't see a thing out there it's blowing so hard," he frowned, drawing the curtains closed and shutting out the wall of blowing white falling outside. "I wouldn't be surprised if we have two feet of snow at this point."
"We have everything we need right here," she reminded him softly. "And I know you took care of Newton in case this happened."
His frown dropped. He swiftened to her side. Catching her hand in his, he rubbed it between his. "Are you warm enough?"
"I am now."
His touch became a caress. But he didn't reply.
She stopped his hands with hers. "Nathan. Are you worried?"
"I've worried since the day I met you."
She blinked. All these years, she'd only thought of how she worried for him in his occupation. She'd never thought that he worried for her right back.
"A man worries in proportion to what he has to lose." His eyes were like a heated blanket across her face, before falling to the bundle in her arms. "I've got my whole world to lose," he said huskily, bending to kiss the baby's silken hair. "Yes, I worry, but my worry is for you two."
"Good," she said unevenly. "Because I do enough worrying about you for the both of us."
"I love you."
"A thousandfold back, and then a thousand more again," she whispered.
"What can I do to make you more comfortable?" His eyes searched hers. "Seeing you in so much pain earlier, unable to ease it. . . nearly killed me."
The impotent anguish searing his eyes during those difficult hours—held in to focus on giving her every bit of support he had in him—still resonated in her soul. Every time she thought she couldn't love this man more, he proved her wrong.
"I'm so hungry," she confessed sheepishly. "I've got all the pillows I could need. What I really want is food. I'm famished. I feel like I haven't eaten for days."
Was this common? Did all new mothers feel ravenously hungry in the aftermath of childbirth?
Nathan muffled his laughter in her hair. "I should imagine you are. What would you like, Amazobeth?"
He leaned across to kiss her and that most decidedly distracted her for a moment before she pushed him away to right her spinning head. "Uhm. . ." She coughed. "Wh-where was I? Oh, yes—food, Nathan."
"Yes, my queen." He bent low over the sheets in a bow that would have done a Medici courtier proud, then decisively stole another kiss—Elizabeth's lips curving in a smile at his tender piracy—on his way out the door. "You feed our little girl; I'll feed you."
"How very democratic of you," she teased.
He spun around. "I'll show you democratic," he vowed, and backtracked for a third kiss.
"I'm never going to get fed, am I," she groaned, laughing helplessly at the playful flirtatiousness glinting in his eyes.
"Watch me," he said promptly, and withdrew as smoothly as he'd returned.
"Your daddy, Livia. . . " Elizabeth made a pretense of complaining. She shifted her daughter, wincing as the motion utilized sore muscles, then whispered toward the tiny curve of her ear, exquisite as an opalescent pink shell, "I secretly love it, but let's keep that as a secret just between us girls, shall we? Your daddy's going to be the most playful father."
Fluttery lashes lifted. She could have sworn Livia's eyes grew focused—as if she understood her. Pillows rustled as Elizabeth leaned back into them, their cottony goodness easing around her.
Sore euphoria. That's what she felt like.
She could hardly believe she was holding her baby in her arms, despite the all too palpable realities of childbirth. The happy and slightly dazed buzz in her head created a little smile that never faded from her lips.
"Look at that smile," Nathan said softly from the doorway.
Her smile only grew bigger at the sight of him, leaning against the door frame. She loved his tousled look; hair rumpled, shirt sleeves rolled back. The food in his hands was looking pretty good, too.
She could smell the hot goodness of Henry's biscuits and chicken soup from here.
"Perfect," she mmm-ed happily.
He pushed himself off the door frame with a lazy shoulder. "Me, or the food?" he quizzed with a misbehaving twinkle in his eyes
A growl emanated from her stomach. "Definitely the food."
"If I'd known I married such a meanie. . . " He sat the tray of food on her lap and padded her back with more pillows so she could sit up better. "Well—I think you, holding our baby, is the picture of perfect. My kind of perfect. One I've waited years to see."
"I can't get over her." Elizabeth stared down at the sweet face, then back up. "And I feel the same way seeing you hold her. It makes me feel"—she laid a hand over her heart—"unsteady. I've dreamed of seeing you with a baby so many times."
"Same." He leaned over, captured her uptilted face between his hands and, on a murmur of love, kissed her for the fourth time since Livia had been born. Then he carefully slipped the baby from her arms to his and sat in the rocker scooted next to the bed. "So you can eat." He hooked his chin toward the tray in her lap. "I hope it's hot enough."
She took a bite of warm biscuit, the soft, fluffy dough sliding down her throat in a cocoon of melted butter and honey.
Her inhale was rapturous. And then she choked on a crumb.
She groaned as the ensuing fit of giggles twinged sore muscles.
"You alright?" Concerned, Nathan leaned forward from the rocker, burping Livia on his shoulder where her tiny body curved like it was her second home, hands loosely fisted next to her plump cheeks.
"Perfect," Elizabeth wheezed.
He chuckled, flicked an eyebrow. "That word seems to be going around a lot tonight."
Her laugh abbreviated when she glanced toward the clock. "Oh, no," she exclaimed, dismay tightening her throat. "Christmas is almost over! Quick, Nathan, we've got seven minutes before the clock strikes midnight—go bring in my Christmas gifts to you, please."
He rose and perched on the edge of the bed, wrapped his free hand around her hip, thumb brushing the edge of her now empty belly with deliberation. "Sweetheart"—his voice dropped with gravity—"your safe delivery and our daughter are all the gifts I could ever need."
It was a fight not to melt into a puddle in front of him. She opened her mouth twice before finding her voice. "N-Nathan," she ordered firmly, pointing out the door, "go get the gifts under the tree."
"Yes, ma'am," he said with rueful cheekiness, cleft chin growing more pronounced.
He laid Livia down beside her as she instructed him which presents under the tree were from her. As he exited the room on "gift duty"—as he dubbed it—she raised a gently steaming mug of chicken soup to her smiling lips, sipping the fragrant broth
Mentally, she blessed him for thinking ahead and putting the soup in a mug as opposed to a bowl; it was much easier for her to handle. And God bless Henry; who knew he had this much talent in the kitchen?
Beside her, Livia squirmed in her swaddle, as if sensing someone was missing from her orbit.
Elizabeth rubbed her tiny tummy. "Don't worry, daddy will be back soon—oh, look, here he is."
Nathan came around to his side of the bed and sat, placing the two large presents on the bed linens. "Which first, love?"
She pointed, excitement building. But she'd save the best for last. She savored his exclaim when he unfolded his first gift: a replacement work coat for the well-worn one he'd used for years.
"This is perfect." He stood up and shrugged into it, turning about to model it. "I should have replaced that old one a long time ago."
"Perfect is definitely the word of the night." She blinked slow eyelashes at him. "But as good as this one looks on you, I hope you keep the old one for around the barn so I can look out and see you in it from time to time."
Surprise overcast his features. "Why's that?"
"Because I like the way it makes you look extra rugged."
"Extra rugged, huh?"
"Mm-hmm." Don't blush, don't blush, don't blush.
"I can definitely do that for you," he stated softly. And pushed the wrappings out of the way to lean across the bed, gentle a kiss against her forehead, then drop more along her cheekbones.
"Time for the next gift." She raised endearing eyes to his.
"I'd much rather keep doing this"—he kissed her cheek again—"but if you insist. . . "
"So sassy," she grumbled, shaking her head against the pillow and sneaking in another swallow of soup.
"You know you love it."
"I do."
"And you know that I'm very much looking forward to seeing what on earth this oddly shaped heavy gift is. It's an upside down L-shape? But there's something here, coming down from the upper bar. . . " He frowned in concentration as he carefully stripped the puzzling gift of its wrapper.
She held her breath. A thrill of gladness went through her as she watched his face light with near boyish delight. "You like it?"
He shook his head. "Sweetheart, I love it."
Wrought iron, lacquered to a glossy black, served as the platform for a stately horse—mane and tail tossed as if windswept—cut from the same metal and painted white to match the woodwork of the gated entry at the front of their yard. Black, elegant scrollwork in the same wrought iron elevated the design, while beneath the horse's flying hooves hung a perfectly shaped bell, The Grant Family carved across the antique bronze of its sound ring.
Nathan took a breath, eyes showing how full his heart was. "This is incredible—the concept, design, the workmanship. Wherever did you find it?"
"I engaged Kevin Townsend to forge it in his blacksmith shop." She reached out and let her fingers graze the curve of the bell meaningfully. " . . . so you'll always hear the call of home," she said softly.
His fingers covered hers. "That call is one I can promise my ears will always attune to."
She slipped her hand free, skimmed her fingertips along his cheek, the slight prickle of his evening stubble pleasantly rough. "Then I'll always make sure it's loud enough."
Livia flailed in her sleep, doll-like limbs jolting against the binding of her swaddle. They froze, but she didn't wake, her lips pursed like a pout. Within seconds, her limbs went lax, mouth opening on a soft puff of air.
Nathan laughed under his breath. "Must have been a dream."
She mused, "I wonder what newborns dream about. . . "
"It's hard to imagine anything topping tonight's reality." His eyes lifted from the baby, found hers. "You two will always be my greatest earthly treasure."
Elizabeth's hand, which had lowered to caress Livia's hopelessly soft hair, stilled. "As you two will always be mine."
The smile they shared required no words. A contented silence fell as Elizabeth worked on finishing her soup.
"I've can't wait to be able to wire our parents," Nathan said idly, gaze drifting over them both like a hug from his eyes. "They're going to be over the moon about Livia."
A fond smile tilted her mouth. "They've all been so excited this whole pregnancy. I still can't believe your mother came all the way out here as soon as you told her."
"Swiftly followed by your mother." He was laughing. "Coming an even greater distance."
"And then the fathers joined, surprising everyone, including their wives." She threw up one hand. "With celebratory alcohol!"
"Sorry, sweetheart." He shook his head, but he was grinning. "We men can be a little dense, but it was done out of love. The first grandchild in either family; they were thrilled. And to be fair, they promptly bought Ned out of every type of tea he had in a desperate attempt to right their mistake as soon as they realized."
"Oh, I remember." Affectionately musing, she reminisced. "Poor Ned didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Such dear men; we really got lucky with our fathers."
Her father she'd been close to since she was a little girl, and Nathan's father, though he'd liked her on sight, had been slower to open up, but once he had, it was as if she was a long lost daughter.
The clock chimed midnight. She sighed. "Our first Christmas together over," she mourned. It felt like Christmas had just begun.
"Just the first in all our Christmases together to come, from here till the end of our lives."
He always had a way of brightening her spirits. "I like that better. That's how I'll look at it instead. It becomes a gain instead of a loss."
Nathan picked up the horse bell gift. "Where do you envision mounting this?"
"On the post by the walkway entrance." She was prompt. Since the moment she'd commissioned its construction, there had been no doubt in her mind where it should go. "It'll look so handsome by the oil lantern you installed there. Unless you want it somewhere else, of course."
"No, that's perfect. I'll put it up as soon as the weather allows." He winked. "Worse come to worst, I'll get my snowshoes from the front porch and use them to get to the front gate."
The wind growled around the chimney as if daring him.
"Goodness, I think the storm is taking that as a personal dare." Elizabeth set her empty soup mug down and stifled a yawn behind her hand. "Nathan, I'd like to at least clean my teeth before we try to sleep. Do you think you could—"
He was already on his feet, gathering her oral care supplies from the wash room.
"Thank you," she called after him, but quietly, mindful of Livia's snoozing body beside her.
Exhaustion was beginning to hit Elizabeth but the desire to wash up a bit first was stronger.
·oOo·
"HERE YOU GO, SWEETHEART." Nathan settled everything she needed to clean her teeth and wash her face on the bedside table, which he dragged forward for her ease of access. "Would it make you feel better if we washed your hair?"
Her eyes darkened with surprise.
Although pulled back in a braid when her labor had begun, the tiny tendrils that had sprung up around her face bore silent witness to her sweat-dampened scalp; a feeling he knew she hated. "I could do it here; I'd just lean you back over a basin."
"Oh, bless you." Her eyes went languid with tearful relief. "I would love that so much, I don't even care if we get the bed wet."
He smiled and gathered up her tray and empty dishes. "I'll be right back."
There was a part of him that hated letting his girls out of his sight even for this brief interlude. Sternly, he informed himself that he'd better resign himself to it as reality would come calling soon enough, breaking their blizzard cocoon, and there was no earthly way for him to be with them around the clock for the rest of their lives. And then the day would come when a man would come and ask his blessing to marry his daughter, his Livia—
He halted the progression of his thoughts with the discipline that stood him in good stead in his line of work, focusing instead on tidying the kitchen, not checking on Elizabeth and Livia every twelve seconds, and rounding up what he would need for hair washing.
Before returning to the bedroom, he made another check on the house, ensuring everything was as storm proof as he could make it. Testing, he unlocked the front door and gave it a shove. A resistant weight pushed back. He put his shoulder to it. Wind laced with icy shards flew at him through the crack, but the door opened far enough for him to see the foot and a half of snow blown up against the door, and beyond it—whiteout conditions.
His mouth tightened.
And he sent up a prayer that this storm would not last much longer.
Elizabeth had been awe-inspiringly astounding throughout her labor; a force of nature, leaving him shaken at the miracle that was woman, and all had seemed to go just as the childbirth handbook said—but he needed to hear from Dr. Cantrell that all was well with mother and child.
And in order for that to happen, this storm needed to end.
As both a man and a lawman, he remained concerned for their friends and the townsfolk. Hope Valley had withstood many a blizzard before and its residents were seasoned winterites, but still, he prayed for the safety of their friends, new and long-standing.
Pulling the door closed, he locked it and pushed the small entry rug up against it to block any drafts that might try to sneak underneath.
"Everything alright, Nathan?" Elizabeth raised her voice from the bedroom. She must have heard him opening the door.
"Just checking the storm conditions," he reassured her, entering the bedroom, hands full of supplies, steam spiraling from warm water, towels and a shampoo bar over his arm. "It's a bad one, but you two are snug and safe in here and that's all that matters."
"We three," she corrected him tenderly.
He smiled. "We three. Now, ready for that shampoo?"
"Oh, yes," she sighed happily.
He leveraged a pillow under her upper back and shoulders, then carefully lowered her down over the towel-padded rim of the basin and undid her braid. Her loosened hair fanned out in the gently steaming water; a brunette halo around her face. She looked like a water sprite; a water sprite with new depths in her eyes, almost as if something had profoundly shifted in the bones under her skin. In the twilight of the fire-lit room, her lips appeared stained, like damask roses at dusk.
"You're so beautiful." The whisper may have spilled from his lips, but it was born in the tenderest recesses of his husbandly heart. "Crazy, insanely beautiful."
The rose on her lips spread to her cheeks, her eyes blowing wide as she lifted long lashes to stare into his face. "Me? I. . . I'm a mess, Nathan; I just gave birth, my hair's a wreck, I'm sweaty—"
He laid a finger across her lips very lightly. "You've never been more beautiful to me," he said simply.
The depths of her blue eyes turned watery. "Bless you for saying that, Nathan," she whispered, emotional. "That's what every woman needs to hear after bringing a child into this world."
"Then I'll tell you every waking hour because it's the truth." Quietly, he brought a wet hand to her cheek, water spilling out to trickle back into the basin with musical tinkles.
She blinked back tears. "Well, maybe not every hour. . . "
He stroked a slow thumb over her eyebrow. "Every other then, my beauty." The smile she favored him with was all the thanks he needed.
Using the shampoo bar, he worked lather over her scalp and down her strands with fingertips and palms, taking his time to really pamper her as Elizabeth's eyes closed in drowsy enjoyment.
Having stretched that segment of the ritual as long as he could, he poured heated rinse water over her head from a pitcher, feeling her head sink heavier into his supporting palm as the water sluiced away every bit of dirt and grime, real and imagined. Removing the basin, he lowered her wet head onto a folded towel and reached for another, carefully wrapping sections of her hair between toweled hands and pressing to remove as much water as he could.
Finished, he sprayed the brunette lengths with her homemade rosemary spritz before working a thin amount of her lavender-scented oil through the ends. Completing the routine, he eased a wide-tooth comb from root to tip, spreading her hair out to dry on the towel covered pillow he scooted under her head.
"You didn't forget a single step." Elizabeth's eyes fluttered open.
He smiled, putting everything away. "I've been paying attention the past five years."
"And Livia slept through it all."
"Good," he whispered. "I wish nothing more than to hold both of you all night long, but I think it's time for you to get some sleep. Do you want me to bring the cradle onto the bed? That way neither of us will roll over on her in the night."
She told him she thought it could be helpful and he settled cradle and sleeping baby between them, barely bothering to kick off his shoes before crawling into bed. "Sleep, sweetheart; I'm right here if you need anything."
Her hand came over the cradle for his. He cupped it, kissed it.
"Our first night with her. . . " Elizabeth yawned so deeply he heard her jaw pop. "And I'm so exhausted I can't properly appreciate it."
"You've done more than enough tonight, love. You sleep. I'll appreciate."
"'Kay. . . " Her hand squeezed his, then slipped away, growing limp as she fell into an immediate and worn out sleep.
Nathan let the dark and silence absorb into him, listened to the storm outside.
He looked at his wife, one hand wedged under her pillow, the other nestled by her cheek; his newborn daughter, drowsily suckling her folded knuckles. . .
So tiny. So defenseless. Half him, half Elizabeth. All theirs. The best of each of them, combined in this one perfect little being. Welcome to the world, precious girl.
He remembered that first moment he'd held her after birth, weighing nothing in his arms. He'd whispered ragged words to her, words that made sense to none but the heart as his chest filled with some trembling emotion that threatened to well over as he carried her to Elizabeth's waiting arms. . .
A flood of the rawest protectiveness he'd ever felt surged his being, choking out all else as he moved to kiss the smooth warmth of his daughter's perfect little forehead.
Elizabeth stirred. Not quite asleep after all. "What is it, Nathan?"
He looked over at her, felt the burn of tears sandpapering his throat. "Thank you for her," he said a little hoarsely. He wasn't sure he was capable of more in that moment.
Her hand crossed the cradle barrier to him again in the darkness. "God's Christmas gift to us," she whispered, and it was as though the world made sense again.
"Our gift," he murmured. "She'll always be our Christmas miracle."
At long last they drifted into slumber, still holding hands over their daughter. Outside their home, the blizzard lashed through the night, but inside, the peace of Christmas still reigned under the watchful gaze of the Baby Jesus in His crèche.
·oOo·
A/N: Thank you to those who are still with me on this out-of-season Christmas journey with N&E. I appreciate you. :) Ch. 7 coming as soon as I can.