Fortune's Baby Claim
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Michelle Major
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HarlequinPrologue
Esme Fortune didn’t allow herself to believe in karma because that would mean she’d done something acutely awful to wind up in her current situation.
“You’re doing fine,” the nurse told her with a gentle pat to her arm before rushing out of the makeshift delivery room that wasn’t a room at all—just a tiny alcove on the first floor of County Hospital outside of Chatelaine, Texas.
Another contraction started, bringing a surging wave of pain. At the same time, a flash of lightning followed by a booming clap of thunder shook the window next to her hospital bed.
The lights flickered again, something they’d been doing off and on for the past hour despite the various nurses who popped in and out to monitor the progress of Esme’s labor and assure her that the hospital’s backup generator was reliable.
At this point, she didn’t trust anything—or anyone—other than her sister, Bea, who wasn’t here yet. A fallen tree and downed power lines blocked the two-lane highway that led from Chatelaine to the hospital.
But she couldn’t worry about her sister right now and instead concentrated on breathing through the pain that ripped through her. One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four...
The first thing she’d done after moving from Houston to Chatelaine a month earlier was to sign up for birthing classes with Bea as her coach. Esme, who’d spent her childhood dreaming of the sort of fairy-tale love that filled the romance novels she devoured, had failed at love and marriage, but she was determined to be the best mother she could.
Her baby would have a wonderful life full of laughter, happiness and no uncertainty about whether they were cherished and adored.
As the contraction subsided, a cold droplet hit her smack dab in the forehead, and she looked up to see water dripping from the ceiling above her. Esme sighed. Clearly, motherhood was not off to an auspicious start.
Who could have predicted that her water breaking would coincide with the late-October storm ravaging the region? It was the kind of storm that happened once in a lifetime—a hundred-year storm, the older neighbor who’d driven her to the hospital ominously reported, glancing at Esme like her situation had somehow predicated the lashing wind and pounding rain.
As it turned out, Esme wasn’t the only soon-to-be mother whose baby seemed eager to meet the world in the middle of a torrential downpour. The frantic young woman at the admissions desk reported that four other women were already on the labor and delivery floor of the small hospital—a veritable baby boom in this sleepy region of Texas.
But now they were all crowded into a section of the hospital’s OR with hastily constructed fabric partitions separating them after a burst pipe flooded the floor above them.
Esme cradled her stomach and tried to calm her nerves. It would work out. She could handle this. Her late husband might have believed she was weak and ordinary, but she was made of stronger stuff than Seth Watson had claimed. And she’d do anything for the baby she already loved with her whole heart.
A woman’s cries from the other side of the divider made Esme’s anxiety ratchet up a few levels. But at least she could take solace in the fact that she was managing this unexpected turn of events with more calm than her neighbor, who had been swearing and screeching at staff and the man she kept calling “you big oaf” since Esme had been wheeled in.
“I don’t want this,” she heard the woman complain in a fierce whisper. “Make it stop. This is your fault, you big oaf! I’ll never forgive you.”
Esme couldn’t hear the guy’s response, but his tone was low and calm, especially given the venom being spewed his way. His words might not be comforting to her neighbor, but they had an oddly soothing effect on Esme, and she was grateful to the stranger.
Another contraction roared through her, so she concentrated on activating her own coping techniques once again. As the night drew on, the waves of pain came faster and more intensely, although the woman’s shouting and cries drowned out Esme’s soft moans.
She hated making any noise. It made her feel like she was losing the battle for control, but the pain slamming through her over and over felt relentless.
A new nurse checked her progress, assuring Esme it was all going according to plan, and she’d be ready to push soon.
No, she wanted to answer. None of this was part of the plan. Having a baby alone and raising her child as a single mother was not how she’d envisioned her life.
Was she as ill-equipped to welcome her son or daughter into the world as her neighbor loudly claimed about herself? The difference was the woman next to her had a big oaf at her side.
Esme imagined him broad, hairy and bearing a striking resemblance to the troll under the bridge from the classic children’s tale.
How sad was it that even a potentially mean and hungry troll could comfort her now? Clearly, the fairy-tale life she’d imagined had gone very, very sideways.
She lost track of how much time had elapsed, but it felt like hours or days later when the curtain was yanked back to reveal another nurse and an older man who had the commanding air of a doctor.
As they entered the cramped space, tears sprung to Esme’s eyes unbidden, but not in response to the pain or the exhaustion that threatened to pull her under like a riptide. She was simply so relieved not to be alone.
For an instant, her gaze was drawn to something over the doctor’s shoulder, and she found herself looking into the most piercing set of green eyes she’d ever seen. Esme’s eyes were green or hazel, depending on her mood, but the man staring at her had eyes the color of spring grass, vibrant and full of promise.
She had just enough time to register the handsome face surrounding those green eyes, a strong jaw and a full mouth that curved into the barest hint of a smile as he nodded and mouthed, “You’ve got this.” He couldn’t possibly be the oaf, or else Esme was delirious with fatigue.
But those three little words spoken silently by a stranger bolstered her resolve in a way that defied logic.
As the nurse pulled the curtain shut, Esme drew in the steadiest breath she could manage.
“Are you ready to meet your baby?” the doctor asked in a reassuring tone, then simultaneously winced and chuckled as another crack of thunder reverberated around them. “Because a child born on a night like this is bound to be special.”
Esme swallowed around the emotion clogging her throat, then nodded. “I’m ready,” she whispered.
