The Midwife's Glass Slipper / Best For the Baby: The Midwife's Glass Slipper

“Go on,” Jared prompted.

She shook her head. “I’m making it sound as if it were all his fault. It wasn’t. I think the trouble we went through made us realize we wanted different things in life. My dad died when I was in high school and I missed him. I think I married Richard hoping to replace that hole in my life.”

“Was your husband older?”

“Just five years. But enough that when I met him, I felt like the naive one, the one who could learn from him about a world I’d never seen, about a world I didn’t know—corporate America and all that.”

Jared stirred the sauce again, then gazed at her through the wisps of steam. “I can’t imagine you as a trophy wife.”

She laughed. “Now it’s hard for me to imagine, too.”

Still, Jared wouldn’t let her escape from serious to light in the space of a moment. “This man you married must have been blind not to have seen the independent woman underneath.”

“You’re kind.”

“I’m honest.”

Yes, he was, and she felt as if she were keeping something important from him. Yet if she told him, wouldn’t everything change? She’d had enough changes lately and wasn’t going to run breakneck speed into this one. Francesca had warned her that she needed to be careful.

The dinner was delicious and the girls seemed to enjoy it, too, especially winding the pasta onto their forks. Emily showed them how to catch it with their spoons and they giggled throughout the whole process. After they finished eating, it was time for them to get ready for bed. Emily knew, as with most children, that could take a while.

She told Jared, “You cooked. I’ll clean up. That’s only fair.”

Jared’s smile showed his appreciation as he took the girls into their room.

Emily was drying the huge spaghetti pot when the twins came running out to the kitchen.

“Daddy said we could say good-night and we can give you a hug, too,” Amy added.

Settling the pot on the counter, Emily hugged each of them, warmth filling her heart. Yet she felt an aching, too. She longed to have children of her own…to be a mom.

After she kissed them both good-night on top of their heads, they ran back to their dad.

When Jared returned to the kitchen, he asked, “How about a pot of coffee? I have about a half hour before I have to leave, unless you want me to get going so you can leave sooner.”

She enjoyed his company so very much. “No. Coffee would be great.”

“My mother’s into specialty flavors. Not my thing, but it’s all we have right now. Chocolate caramel or cinnamon mocha?”

“Chocolate caramel.”

“That’s her favorite.”

“Are you worried about her?”

“Sure. But I’m optimistic, too. She’s strong and healthy. She just landed badly.”

“I’ll bet she’s scared.”

“Of the surgery, you mean? Mom’s not scared about much. She’s a tough lady. How about yours? You said your dad died when you were in high school. What about your mom?”

“I lost her before I got married—an aneurysm.”

“I’m sorry.”

She still missed her mother a lot. The memories would come in waves, making her sad but giving her fond remembrances, too. “I truly felt like an orphan after she died. Sometimes I think we need our parents as much when we’re adults as when we were kids.”

An undecipherable look passed over Jared’s face. She sensed a reserve in him about his mother, maybe even the possibility that they didn’t get along. What could be the reason? She took care of his children, so he must trust her. Did he not want to depend on her?

Apparently the subject had become too personal, because he turned away from it and away from her, snagging two mugs from a mug tree. Soon they’d carried their mugs into the great room and settled on the sofa, a few inches apart.

“So, tell me about growing up in Lubbock,” she said to make conversation.

His mouth tightened into a thin line. He set his mug on the table in front of them. “Growing up was growing up.”

“If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine.”

He ran his hand through his hair. “No. Sorry. I didn’t mean to snap. Probably growing up in Lubbock wasn’t much different from growing up in Corpus Christi. Without the beach, of course.”

“Brothers or sisters?”

Again he frowned, and she had the feeling she’d better stop asking questions or he’d clam up and not tell her anything.

But he answered her. “No brothers or sisters. But I always had good friends until I returned here to practice and got too busy to make them again.” He laid his arm along the back of the sofa, and his fingers almost touched her hair. Not almost. He was touching her hair. “I like when you wear your hair loose rather than in a ponytail or a bun.”

“Loose just doesn’t seem professional for work.”

His fingers were in the curls now, sliding through them, testing their texture. Then as if he realized what he was doing, he stopped. “I’d forgotten how nice an evening could be, doing something other than consulting on a case. You’re easy to be with, Emily.”

She didn’t know quite what to say with him sitting there so close, the scent of male cologne tempting her closer. His muscled upper arms were evident under his T-shirt. His long legs were angled slightly toward her, his booted feet reminding her he was a Texan. Easy wasn’t the word that came to her mind. They had to work together. If they took this any further—

A child’s scream rent the air.

Jared was up and off the sofa so fast he disappeared into the twins’ room before Emily was even in the hallway.

She hurried after him. Amy had awakened and was wide-eyed. Jared was at Courtney’s bedside, not attempting to wake her.

Emily sank down beside Amy on her bed.

Courtney was sweating and Emily could tell she was breathing fast. Her eyes were wide open, but she appeared not to see her dad. Jared had sat down on the bed next to her, untangled the sheet from her arms and was stroking her hair. As Courtney cried, the sound broke Emily’s heart.

Emily wasn’t sure how long she sat there watching, wishing the episode to end for Courtney’s sake, as well as Jared’s. Amy had curled up beside Emily, and she found herself murmuring to her, “She’ll be okay.”

Amy nodded, maybe knowing that more surely than Emily.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, which might have only been fifteen minutes, Courtney turned into Jared’s shoulder and her crying ceased. He kept stroking her hair comfortingly. While he still murmured consoling phrases, he tucked her in. When Courtney was sleeping peacefully once more, he kissed his daughter’s forehead.

Emily stood, made sure Amy felt cared for and tucked in, too, and met him out in the hall. “That is so scary. Not just for her, but for Amy…and you.”