Cinderella's Secret Agent

From Milton to Shakespeare’s Macbeth? It was going to be a long night.

Maggie ran her index finger over the back of her baby’s hand, marveling yet again at the tiny perfection of her daughter. Perfect little nails, perfect pink dimpled knuckles, absolutely perfect. Not even one day old, yet already her presence filled the room. Heck, more than the room, it filled Maggie’s entire life.

“I love you, sweetheart,” she whispered, moving her hand to the baby’s head. She ran her fingertips over the wispy blond curls, inhaling deeply as she absorbed the warm, fresh baby scent that rose from her scalp. “I love you so much. Every day, for the rest of my life, I want you to know that.”

The baby’s mouth pursed in her sleep. Maggie didn’t even consider putting her down in the plastic-sided bassinet that rested beside the hospital bed. After those long months of anticipation, she didn’t want to squander one minute of the chance to hold her baby in her arms.

For what had to be the hundredth time that day, Maggie felt her eyes brim with tears. Had she thought the mood swings of pregnancy were bad? Now her body was bubbling with postpartum hormones. All she had to do was look at her child and the happiness simply overflowed.

“My child,” she said, marveling at the way the word tasted on her tongue. She’d had months to prepare for this, but she was still trying to wrap her mind around the concept. Nothing she had read or heard could possibly have prepared her for this feeling that was growing in her heart.

Maternal love was no myth. Her child was no longer connected physically to her, but another, far stronger bond had already formed. It was an emotional tie that no doctor’s shears could cut.

Loving Alan had been a mistake. She had been seduced by his smooth talk and clever hands and her own dreams of a husband and family. When she had discovered she was pregnant, she’d been overjoyed. He hadn’t. That’s when she discovered he already had children…and a wife.

Yes, Alan had been a mistake, but Maggie could never regard her baby as one. This child was a gift.

Sniffing hard, Maggie turned her head to wipe her eyes against the pillowcase, stirring up the boiled cotton smell of the bedding. Normally, she hated hospitals. She did her best to avoid them after spending so much time in them as a young girl. Strangely enough, though, she didn’t feel a breath of uneasiness now. The bad memories had been swept away by a tidal wave of good ones.

The other bed in the double room was empty. The woman who had occupied it had gone home this morning, along with her new son. Her husband and their other two children had come to fetch them—it had been a giddy, noisy celebration as they’d needed to take two trips to carry all the flowers and gifts to their car. They had all waved to Maggie and wished her well, then disappeared into the corridor, a cloud of bright foil balloons bobbing behind them.

Someday, it would be nice to belong to a family like that. A houseful of children to lavish with love, a husband to share her hopes and dreams…deep in her heart, that’s what Maggie really wanted.

Someday. But not today. Today—right now—was what mattered. That was Maggie’s approach to life. It was how she had learned to cope. As the old proverb went, the longest journey begins with a single step. And at this moment, Maggie had never been happier.

“You and me, sweetheart,” she murmured. “We’ll have more love between the two of us than a family of ten, you’ll see.” She dried her cheek against the pillow again, then focused on her baby’s features one by one. Sweetheart. Pumpkin. Darling. Her daughter was almost a day old. She really should settle on a name.

“Who do you look like?” she mused. “You have a mouth like a rosebud. Shall I call you Rose? Rose Rice?”

The baby waved her fist in a jerky movement, bumping herself in the nose. Her forehead wrinkled briefly.

“Okay, not Rose,” Maggie said. “Maybe I should call you Buttercup, because of your hair. It’s a beautiful color.” She tilted her head and smiled. “No, don’t worry, I wouldn’t saddle you with a name like that. How about…Angel. My little gift from heaven. Angel. Angela.” She sighed. “No, that makes me think of the Angela who lived next door when I was six. She used to trap cats in the garbage cans.”

Yawning widely, the baby relaxed into the crook of Maggie’s arm.

“Maybe I should call you Jewel,” she said. “Because you’re so precious.”

There was a quiet rap on the door. Maggie glanced up. When she saw who it was, she felt another spurt of tears.

This was crazy. It didn’t seem to take much to set her off, but the mere glimpse of the man in the doorway made her heart turn over.

But maybe it wasn’t that crazy. After all, he’d been the one who had shared the most incredible experience of her life. He’d held her daughter even before she had. Until yesterday, when he’d been nothing more than an attractive face and a good tipper, she had been uncomfortable with her reaction to him. Today she couldn’t think of anyone she’d rather see.

Smiling, Maggie motioned him into the room with a nod. “Hi, Del.”

“Hello, Maggie.” He paused in the doorway, pushing his hands into the pockets of his navy windbreaker. “I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

“No, not at all.”

“I was in the neighborhood and I just wanted to check on how you were doing.”

“I’m fine. Great, in fact.”

His gaze went over her features, missing nothing. Apparently satisfied, he moved his gaze to the baby. “How is your daughter?”

“Wonderful. Perfect. Amazing.” She tipped her head again. “Come and see.”

He wavered. For a man who normally appeared so sure of himself, his hesitancy was…appealing. “She’s asleep,” he said.

“She’s beautiful when she’s asleep, isn’t she?”

“I wouldn’t want to wake her up.”

“I wish you would. Then you’d be able to see how beautiful she is when she’s awake.”

The skin around his eyes crinkled into the beginnings of a smile. “And that’s a completely objective opinion, right?”

“Of course. Anyone can see that she’s the most beautiful baby ever born.”

He moved to the side of the bed. He hesitated again, then looked at the child in her arms. “You’re right,” he said softly. “She’s something else.”

“She has lots of hair for a newborn, too. Isn’t it a gorgeous color?”

“Outstanding. Definitely outstanding.”

“She’s six pounds, seven ounces. That’s a good weight for being early. She doesn’t need to stay in an incubator or anything.”

“That’s great.”

“Actually, she might not have been all that early. My doctor suspects I might have miscalculated my dates.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Laszlo was right. I should have quit working earlier. It would have saved everyone a lot of trouble.”

“You had no control over that, Maggie. Your baby decided it was time to be born.”

“Del?”

He glanced up. “Yes?”

She swallowed hard, determined not to be a watering pot. “Thank you. For helping me. I know we’re practically strangers, and it must have been an awful shock for you, and I’m sorry for putting you through all of that, but…” She took a deep breath, knowing no words were adequate but needing to express her gratitude anyway. “Del, I want you to know I appreciate everything you did. The way you delivered my baby, the way you stayed with me until the ambulance came. You went way past being a Good Samaritan. Thank you. From the bottom of my heart.”

He regarded her in silence. Gradually, the lean lines of his face relaxed. The smile that played around the corners of his eyes spread to his lips. “Maggie, I should be the one thanking you. It was a privilege to share in your daughter’s birth. I’ll never forget it.”

“Oh, Del,” she said, her chin trembling.

“What is it? What’s wrong?”