This Fortune's Thanksgiving table is about to get a little bigger…
Order Your Copy
Rancher Nash Fortune can't believe his eyes during his unexpected reunion with the captivating Imani Porter: she's in labor—with none other than Nash’s child! The heir apparent to Porter Oil knew Nash never wanted to be a father. But now the newly minted Fortune is all in, ready, willing and able to spend time learning to parent Colt together—even looking forward to sharing baby's first Thanksgiving. If only Nash could shake his doubts about his own ability to commit to forever with Imani… The duo’s chemistry might still be combustible, but will their fears of not being perfect enough tear their newfound family apart?
Chapter One
If only she could stop shaking, Imani Porter could go through with this spontaneous wedding of convenience. She could recite the vows to a man she didn’t love to give her son a father. A son scheduled to make his appearance really soon.
That’s why as she stood under the awning of the justice of the peace in Stone Crest, Texas, clutching her bouquet of water lilies at the beginning of November, she reminded herself she was doing the right thing. Then, taking a deep, calming breath, Imani looked up into the face of her friend Simon Evans, who had proposed to her just seventy-two hours before.
The stand-in for a man who told her he didn’t want to have children.
Imani had the best daddy in the world. Phillip Porter. Of course, she wanted the same for her son.
Her bridal ensemble included a designer wedding veil, a white one-shoulder jumpsuit with a cape and a wide skirt. And finally, she’d donned a pair of peau-de-soie pumps that pinched her toes. All because she knew Simon wanted them to look the part of a happy couple. For the pictures…and for her baby’s sake. Even though they weren’t actually a real couple, she suspected Simon very much desired that to be the case. She had met him during graduate school, when they were study partners, and they had remained loose acquaintances.
Until she learned she was pregnant a month after her relationship ended with the man of her dreams. During a bout of nausea at a nearby gas station, she had run into Simon, who had purchased her ginger ale and crackers. He had stayed with her until she felt well enough to drive. Simon became a shoulder, a sounding board, a support, which she appreciated. But he didn’t make her heart race or her palms sweat like—
No. No. No. She couldn’t allow herself to think about Nash Windham when she was about to promise a lifetime to another man. Squaring her shoulders, Imani slapped a wide smile on her face and tipped her head back to peer into Simon’s blue-black eyes.
Her mother called them shifty eyes.
He reached over to take one of her brown hands in his fairer ones at the same time the judge entered the room. “Are you ready to become Mrs. Evans?” Simon asked, his voice smooth, like the bass guitar he strummed from time to time. Right as Simon asked the question, the baby kicked.
A sign that her child agreed?
She nodded, her lower lip trembling. The baby kicked again and she looked away. Wait…did her son disagree with her decision? Her heart began to pound and dread piled in her stomach. Maybe she was making a mistake by taking Simon up on his spontaneous proposal. Maybe she shouldn’t have accepted his offer to be her baby’s stepfather. Maybe she should have listened to her mother and grandmother when they advised her to have Simon sign a prenup.
After all, she had the means to be a single mom. At thirty-two, she was the proud owner of Lullababies, a high-end baby specialty store she had started with her cousin right after finishing design school. An accomplishment she was proud of.
Simon released her hand to greet the judge. She gripped the lilies she held and gave him a tight smile before drawing a few deep breaths. Seeing her purse on the desk, she battled the sudden urge to snatch it and flee. You can’t back out now.
“Are you cold?” Simon asked, rubbing her shoulders, which made her teeth grit.
“N-no. I-I’ve just never been married before,” she squeaked out, forcing herself to meet his eyes.
He chuckled and ran a hand over his goatee. “Neither have I.”
The judge cleared his throat. “Are you ready to begin?”
With a jerky nod, Imani and Simon turned to face the magistrate. She shook so much that a couple of petals fell at her feet. The judge commenced using the traditional vows they had chosen. With a gulp, she slaked a glance at her groom, taking in his wide shoulders, powerful chin and smooth skin. Anywhere they went, Simon made the women take a second look, got them all hot and bothered, but she remained oddly…unaffected. Unmoved. Then, suddenly, another face, another body—tall and muscular with thick, dark hair and sultry amber eyes—popped into her mind, spiking her heart rate.
Clenching her jaw, she shook her head, shaking Nash out of her psyche. She didn’t need the heart quivers. What she really needed was to think of the man she was about to marry today. This marriage would be a partnership.
Her mother, Abena, and paternal grandmother, Zuri, believed that Simon was marrying her because she was a Porter. He had his eye on a big payout—her grandfather’s billion-dollar oil business in Cactus Grove. Hammond Porter, one of the only Black billionaires in Texas, had begun training her to lead his business from the time she was a child. Imani was his chosen heir and he planned to pitch her ascension to the executive board at Porter Oil. All of which Simon knew.
But Imani ignored her mother and grandmother’s suspicions and their insinuations that he was a rebound. Because, in truth, she didn’t view Simon through a romantic lens.
Then why are you marrying him? Zuri had asked her several times.
Because…
Imani allowed herself to get caught up, listening as Simon recited his vows with that warm baritone and surprising sincerity in his eyes.
They were going to be a happy family, with a happy life and an even happier baby. Weren’t they?
“I promise to love, honor and obey…” he said.
Yep. She could do this.
Then Simon winked. A slow, suggestive wink.
That snapped her out of the fairy tale and back to reality. Panic weaved through her body at a rapid speed, tightening her chest. She took choppy breaths, fighting a sudden wave of nausea, of dizziness.
No. No. No. She couldn’t do this. Her baby delivered two powerful kicks. Imani lifted a hand. “S-stop. We have to stop. Right now.”
Imani dropped the flowers, then snagged Simon’s attention.
“I feel like I’m about to pass out.” Sweat drizzled down the side of her face. She could feel the curls wilting. Dang it. Her stylist had warned her against getting a blowout with the day so humid. She should have listened.
“Is it the baby?” Simon asked gruffly. He wrapped his arm about her, his eyebrows furrowing into a deep V. She heard the judge calling for someone to bring her a glass of water.
Imani lifted a hand. “I just need…a second.” She didn’t have the heart to tell him that the thought of marrying him made her feel weak-kneed and sweaty—and not in a good way.
Simon scooped her close and led her over to sit on the judge’s chair. She could faintly hear the judge asking for a medic. Her fiancé picked up a manila folder and pumped it back and forth, causing her curls to bob against her cheek. Next thing she knew, someone shoved a glass of water in her hand and commanded her to drink. As soon as she was finished, the paramedic on duty stuffed a thermometer in her mouth and wrapped her arm with a blood-pressure cuff.
“Is she going to be alright?” Simon asked, concern in his voice. Was he worried about the woman that she was, or about losing the perks of marrying a heiress? The fact that she didn’t know the answer made her stomach bubble.
Oh, goodness. All this fuss made her face go hot, and the tighter the cuff got, the more embarrassed she became.
Simon was beside himself. “I hope this baby isn’t trying to come today, of all days.”
Was he for real? “What did you say?” she asked, enunciating slowly.
He stuttered, seeming to catch his faux pas. “I—I meant it’s too soon. You’re not due yet.”
Of course, that’s what he meant.
“Her blood pressure is elevated,” the paramedic interjected, her voice steady. “But that’s to be expected. A lot of brides get nervous.” Peering down to look at her, the young woman asked, “Are you feeling contractions?”
“N-no. I’m only eight months pregnant so I’ve still got a few weeks to go. But my baby has been kicking up a storm.”
“That’s perfectly normal,” she replied with a laugh, then patted Imani’s arm. “I think your bride is safe to proceed. It’s probably her nerves.” The room cleared, leaving her alone with Simon.
More like Imani didn’t want to get married. Kick.
And her baby didn’t want her to do it, either.
Kick. Kick. Kick. “Alright, little one, I get it,” she mumbled.
“What was that?” Simon asked, patting his brow. She couldn’t look him in the eyes as he helped her to her feet.
“I’m sorry. I—I have to use the bathroom,” she said, grabbing her purse and scuttling toward the door. Simon came toward her but she sped up and rushed into the hall. Imani hurried into the restroom so fast, she had to stop to catch her breath first before going into the largest stall. Once she was finished and had washed her hands, she dug into her purse for her sandals and changed out of her shoes.
She closed her eyes. Ah. What a relief. You know what else would be a relief? Getting out of here. Along with that thought came a sense of peace. And another kick from her little guy.
Decision made.
“Mommy hears you,” she said. Quickly, she gathered her hair in a bun using a scrunchie from her purse, then opened the bathroom door and peered outside. Simon was a foot from the door. Waiting. Like a vulture with her as the intended prey.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“No, but I will be.” Imani raced down the hallway toward the exit with Simon following.
“Don’t do this!” he yelled.
Imani waved a hand but didn’t look back. “It’s already done.”
“If you walk through those doors. I’m done,” he called out. “Lose my number.”
She shrugged, unmoved by his idle threat, and sailed through the automatic doors. They opened with a swoosh and she ran out, grateful for the mild autumn day.
Imani beelined toward her Jeep Wrangler—a baby shower gift from Daddy—so glad she and Simon had arrived in separate vehicles. Simon had spent the morning at a spa—on her dime—while she had been at the hairstylist. Panting, she tried to stuff herself into the vehicle but the skirt was a pain. Good thing it was detachable. After snapping it off her waist, she tossed the flimsy material on the ground of the parking lot before settling inside the SUV. Imani took a moment to shut down her phone. Then, she pressed the gas, and peeled out of the lot.
A couple miles down the road, she slowed as a thought occurred. She couldn’t go home. Simon might show up at her penthouse suite…accompanied by her mother and grandmother. She had planned to sublease her place since she would have been moving in with Simon temporarily while they searched for their permanent home. At his insistence. Simon felt she should purchase a more grandiose compound—again, his words—suitable for her elevated status as the next CEO of Porter Oil.
Abena and Zuri lived in Cactus Grove and had traveled to Stone Crest for the celebratory wedding brunch following her nuptials. The two women had been furious that a Porter would get married in a courthouse. But Simon had pressed her so hard to elope that she had caved, mollifying her family with the brunch.
Thank goodness she had insisted that Nia Okafur, her cousin and business partner, not reschedule the meeting with a new artist and the textile vendor they used. Nia had flown to Paris to meet up with an artist who made one-of-a-kind baby blankets. Imani’s cousin would be back in time for her delivery and would take over the helm of Lullababies while she was on maternity leave.
Her stomach growled. The little guy had gone quiet. Despite the pitiful situation of her own doing, she giggled and wiped her brow. Spotting a creamery, she veered into the long queue of the drive-thru lane.
So since her penthouse suite was out, where could she go? She had packed her weekender with comfy pjs and loungewear, intending to spend her first night as a new bride at Simon’s place. That had put her on edge even though at eight months pregnant, they wouldn’t have been consummating their union. They had agreed to a partnership. Or, as Simon called it, a merger.
Ugh. He really had been all about the dollar signs.
Jumping at the chance to marry the heiress of Porter Oil.
Maybe she could reach out to her brother, Jonathan . . . Naw. He was all the way in Dubai with her father. They had been building Porter Oil’s legacy overseas for more than a decade. Imani didn’t know how her mother tolerated such a long-distance relationship but whenever her parents reunited, they acted like randy teenagers.
Whatever. That wouldn’t be her.
She supposed that was why she had run out on her own wedding. She wanted something more and she was at the place in her life where she went for what she wanted. And she’d start with a huge serving of ice cream—even though her stomach felt squirrelly all of a sudden—then she’d drive to one of the nearby towns and do some shopping.
Imani moved up a space in the queue.
She squirmed in her seat as guilt flowered in her chest. The magnitude of what she had done weighed on her shoulders. Oh my gosh. Even if he had ulterior motives, Simon hadn’t deserved her running off like that. If only she had listened to Nia, who begged her not to take Simon up on his sudden offer of marriage. What had her cousin called it? A pop-up proposal.
The rocky road ice cream on display looked enticing, making her salivate. It also made her think of the first time she had met Nash Windham. The tears flowed easy—the result of guilt, missing Nash and pregnancy hormones. She struggled to speak clearly when it was finally her turn to order. By the time she got to the checkout window, Imani’s body was shaking from her cry fest. She was the worst person in the world.
The young man at the window bent over to hand her the cone. She was sure her cheeks were red and puffy from crying. “Ma’am, are you okay?” he asked, his eyes widening with alarm when he saw her round tummy. He gave her a stack of napkins.
“Actually? No…I feel horrible,” she sniffled, wiping her face and reaching out to take the ice-cream cone before handing him a crisp twenty-dollar bill. “Keep the ch-change. That’s the least I can do.” Before he could utter another word, she drove off.
A sharp pain sliced across her lower back—a sign she needed to calm down. Imani drew deep breaths, gripping the wheel with her free hand, and then began devouring her cone. Eating her feelings. Since being pregnant, food had become her go-to for every emotion she felt—joy, fear, loneliness and now guilt.
Feeling another cramp, Imani pulled over and finished her treat. Then she cleaned her mouth before blowing her nose. Oh, no! There was a huge chocolate stain across her bosom. She lifted the middle console to take out the small bottle of hand sanitizer. After squeezing out a tiny dollop, she rubbed her hands and then poured some on a napkin. She gently dabbed at the chocolate but her garment was probably ruined. Plus, she could feel a headache forming.
A fitting end to her disastrous non-nuptials.
Oh, well. She would change once she got to the strip mall. Imani shoved the image of her plush comforter atop her four-poster bed out of her mind and started up the vehicle, appreciating the gentle whir. Eyeing the phone in her bag, she bit her lower lip and decided to turn it on.
Sure enough, her phone pinged with multiple alerts. Two from her mom, one from her grandmother, five from Nia.
And one from Simon.
Ignoring the low-battery alert, she pulled up his text. We can still do this if you change your mind. Ugh. This man didn’t know when to give up.
Their friendship had run its course.
She blocked him and deleted his contact information, then rubbed her lower back. Tossing her phone in her bag, Imani avoided her reflection in the rearview mirror. She couldn’t face herself.
She couldn’t face anyone.
*
Oh, Lord, she wasn’t going to make it to the hospital. It was no use trying.
Parked on the side of the road, with no idea of her exact location, Imani wished someone would drive by. Anyone. Her phone had long died and she hadn’t brought her charger with her that morning. She could see the cord on her coffee table and bit her lower lip to keep the panic at bay. How many times had her mother and Simon told her to keep a spare in her car? If only she had listened…
After spending a few hours engaging in retail therapy, very much unaware that she was in labor, Imani had been on her way home late that evening when the first serious contraction hit. It only took a few minutes before she realized her multiple trips to the restroom could have been her water breaking. Somewhere on her journey back, her vehicle navigation system had lost signal and she had made a wrong turn. Now she was well and truly lost in these back roads. And now low on gas, with labor pains, she couldn’t keep driving and put herself and her baby at risk. So here she was, in active labor with only the cows and a couple of goats for company.
Breathe, Imani. Breathe. In, out. In, out.
Oh, it was no use.
Her contractions were now coming so fast and furious, about a minute apart, that she struggled with remembering how to do anything she’d learned in Lamaze class.
I can’t have this baby, out here in the middle of nowhere, alone.
But it looked like she might not have any choice in the matter. Her stomach muscles tensed, her body priming for another contraction. Holding on to the door handle and gripping her leather seat, Imani bunched her fists and screamed.
Chapter Two
As long as he lived, Nash Fortune would never forget the terror etched across Stanley Trotter’s face after his new part-time employee had fallen off the horse at the Fortune Family Ranch. As foreman, Nash was responsible for the well-being of every single worker, and the fact that it had happened on his watch had left him shaken.
He headed out the front door of County General Hospital that Friday evening, having paid Stanley a visit. Thankfully, the other man had only suffered minor injuries and would be released in a couple of days before recuperating at home. He had been in good spirits, surrounded by his wife and baby girl.
Stanley had introduced Valentina and his six-month-old, Penelope, his voice filled with pride. Nash had felt a twist in his gut. One that felt oddly like jealousy. Nash had backed out of the room with haste, stating that he had to oversee the feed delivery for the cows, all the while grappling with that foreign yearning for family. Which was ridiculous. He had five siblings and they all lived in separate houses on the thirty-five-hundred-acre cattle ranch in Chatelaine Hills, purchased from a wealthy family who had relocated to Arizona. And since learning he was a Fortune a few months ago, Nash had inherited even more family.
Every time he thought about the entire Fortune clan welcoming him at his grandfather’s bedside, his heart warmed. The bond between the Fortunes had made his decision easier to change his name from Windham to Fortune, though he would do anything to please his mom.
But he didn’t have a wife. And he could have had one if he had allowed himself to fall for the only woman who had kept his interest past three weeks. Imani Porter. Just thinking about her made his insides quiver. He had met her outside an ice-cream shop when he lived in Cactus Grove, not too long after his father’s death.
Their chemistry had been instant. With her smooth sepia skin, her generous lips and those ridiculous curves, Nash had wanted a taste of that more than the butter pecan in his hand.
Before he knew it, Nash and Imani were talking nonstop for hours and he had spent every free minute he had with her soaking in her sharp wit, her feisty spirit, her spunk. Nash remembered moments in bed where he would just watch her sleep, or stare into those dark chocolate orbs while she talked about her day. Just as Imani and Nash had reached the three-month mark, Nash’s mother, Wendy, mentioned maybe it was time to start wedding planning.
Those words, spoken in jest, had scared him like nobody’s business, but then when he broached the topic with Imani, expecting her to laugh along, she had grown serious and pinned that gaze on him. Like she had…expectations. Expectations of being a wife, a mother—she wanted five children, had even picked out names, he had learned. Expectations he hadn’t shared. Nash had called it quits, though his heart had protested. And while he still missed that woman something fierce, Imani was the kind of woman someone settled down and started a family with. And Nash wasn’t doing none of that.
Nope. Not him.
His own father had pretty much cut him off, like he was one of his employees at Windham Plastics, and Nash had that man’s blood in his veins. He couldn’t chance messing up an innocent child’s life, like Casper Windham had done to him. His father had been cold and distant all because neither Nash nor his siblings had been interested in working at the family business. He would never forget the disdain on Casper’s face when they had expressed an interest in ranching.
“Ranching,” Casper had yelled, “is beneath a Windham.”
Nash had no idea how his parents had remained married for thirty-three years. He ran a hand through his hair and expelled Imani from his mind. The only reason he was even thinking about Imani and all of this was because of Stanley and his family.
Liar.
The truth was, that woman intruded in his thoughts more than he cared to admit. He had peeped her Instagram a few times, but Imani hadn’t posted in months. In fact, her last post had been her dinner plate from their last date.
It had been a dinner they had shared because he hadn’t liked what he had ordered. So she had given him some of hers. He had taken one last glimpse of their joined hands—his white, hers brown, resting at the edge of the table—and vowed to stay away from her Insta page.
Nash’s new cowboy boots—a gift from his twin sister, Jade—crunched on the gravel as he made his way to his truck. The Lucchese Baron boots, made of cherry alligator-skin leather, cost about ten thousand dollars, and even though he was a Fortune, with more money than he could ever spend over centuries, Nash would never have bought himself a pair. He had to admit, though, that they kept his feet comfortable, especially after a long day at the ranch.
He toyed with the idea of manufacturing his own high-end boots with cork leather or some other alternative—and add to the many businesses the Fortunes had in the town—but he would tackle one business at a time, or hand off the idea to one of his siblings. Speaking of which, he had scheduled a family meeting on the eighth to discuss several ventures they were going into—the dairy farm, the petting zoo and fiber arts—where he planned to share his three-year strategic plan. Thankfully, his younger brother, Arlo, aka the ranch whisperer, was helping him looking over the plans.
After jumping into his silver Range Rover, Nash put on Taylor Swift’s “Back to December”—all Jade’s fault—and began his trek home. His sister had dedicated that song to him when she heard about his breakup with Imani. She had done it as a spoof but the stupid song stayed in his mind and he tended to play it when he thought about Imani.
So, yeah, this had to be the thousandth time. Pitiful.
So many times, Nash had picked up his cell phone to call or had thought about paying Imani a visit, but he would keep telling himself he had made the right decision. She was better off without him and his messed-up genes.
Since it was a beautiful autumn evening, he decided to take the scenic route on the back roads and enjoy the colorful hues along the skyline. He had just finished the second replay of that darn song when he shot past a Jeep Wrangler pulled over on the other side of the road. It was angled so that its rear end jutted into the street. Adjusting his rear window, he peeked behind him. The hazard lights weren’t even on. With the sun dipping low, that person was asking to get hit by a speeding truck or another passerby. A car shot by and honked its horn.
Nash didn’t remember seeing anyone sitting in the driver’s seat. Maybe the owner had had car trouble and left the car there. Yes, that made sense. He began to accelerate. But what if the driver was sick or something and he could have helped?
On impulse, he executed a U-turn and parked behind the vehicle, making sure he was a good distance from the curb. Nash hopped out of the Range Rover, went to his trunk to retrieve his jumper cables and then walked up toward the Jeep on the passenger side. He could hear a woman howling in pain and quickened his steps.
Tapping on the window, he yelled, “Do you need help?” making sure to keep both hands in sight. Because of the shadow, he couldn’t make out the woman’s face but he could hear her cries. She was sprawled across the back of the car. One leg was on the back headrest and other was on the floor. He averted his gaze.
“Y-yes,” she called out, in distress.
Nash stiffened. There was something about that voice…
But then she said something that made Nash panic. “I’m in l-labor and it’s t-too early,” she said, hiccupping. “I was tr-trying to get to a h-hospital, b-but the baby is comi-i-in-ng.” She dissolved into fresh tears. “I d-don’t know wh-what to d-do.” She tilted her head back and wailed. “My ph-phone d-died.”
Nash had delivered a calf for the first time about three weeks ago, but he was ill-equipped to assist with bringing this woman’s baby into the world. He yanked his cell phone out of his pocket, then called 9-1-1 and gave them his name, and a quick rundown of what was happening, turning his back to give the lady privacy.
He heard the clacking of keys before the operator said, “My name is Anna. The ambulance is on its way.”
A loud groan came from behind him. “Hurry,” he said, tamping down the sudden fear that he might actually have to deliver this baby out here in these back roads.
“I’ll stay on the phone with you until the EMTs arrive. Can you tell me how far apart are her contractions?” Anna asked.
Nash opened the door and hunched his lanky frame inside, making sure not to bump his head. “How far apart are—” He felt his eyes go wide when he saw the woman, whose face was wet with perspiration. “Imani?” His mind raced.
Imani was here.
Imani was pregnant.
Imani was…in labor?
She lifted her head, her mouth popping open. “Nash? What are y-you—” A fresh contraction hit, cutting off her words. She closed her eyes and leaned deeper into the back seat. “I—I can’t do this,” she sobbed. Imani’s eyebrows bunched together, and her lips pinched tight.
His heart hammered while his mind tried to grapple with what he was witnessing. Imani was pregnant…about to deliver a baby by the side of the road. How was any of this real?
“Sir? Hello? Are you there?” the voice on the phone asked. But all Nash could do was shake his head, his feet shackled to the ground. He was too overwhelmed to formulate words. To process what was happening.
Nash began to do the actual math in his head. Is it possible that…? No, no, it couldn’t be.
“Help me-e-e-ee,” Imani wailed, interrupting his flow of thoughts. “The baby is coming.”
“Oh, God. The baby isn’t waiting,” he boomed into the phone, cupping his head with his free hand. “What do I do?”
“Okay, I’ll walk you through all the steps but I need you to stay calm.”
“Stay calm? Stay calm when a child is coming?” he yelled out. Imani was now crying. Seeing her body convulse alarmed him.
“Mom is already scared. You don’t want her panicking,” the operator said, the voice of reason. How could she sound so blasé when the most scary, miraculous thing was about to happen before his eyes? She urged him to inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale.
To his surprise, that even, steady tone relaxed him. Somewhat. He followed her lead, then drew in a long, deep breath and squared his shoulders. “Okay. Okay. I’ll try.”
“Good—now, do you have a blanket or anything?”
Blanket! “Y-yes, I’ve got one in the back of my truck.”
“Great, go get it. Put the phone on speaker so Mom can hear while you go get the blanket.”
“I’ll be right back,” he said, doing as the operator asked.
“N-no, don’t leave me again,” Imani begged, eyes welling.
That face gutted his heart. “I’m not leaving you,” he assured her quietly, “I’m just getting a blanket.” She pierced him with a gaze before giving him a jerky nod. He dashed to get it, his heart thumping along the way.
He returned in time hear her scream. Oh, Lord, if she kept crying like that, he was going to fall apart. He couldn’t stand her being in pain.
“Owww,” Imani moaned, then panted, her eyes closed, her head moving back and forth. “I’ve got to push.”
“I know you do,” the operator said. “But I’ll tell you when.”
Nash swallowed and cleared his throat. He could hear the faint sounds of the ambulance but there was no telling how far away it was. Anna directed Nash to place the blanket under her legs—which was a monumental feat between contractions—and then he was holding one of her hands. Well, more like she was squeezing his hand like it was a sponge, while he was yelling her at to push.
The ambulance in the distance was getting louder and louder. Closer and closer.
“Push, Imani! That’s it. That’s it. You got this.”
She released his hand and gripped the edge of the seat. Finally, after one final strong grunt, a baby boy entered the world.
In his hands.
Whoa.
Body shaking, this time with a mingling of laughter and tears, Imani stretched her hands toward Nash. He placed the precious package in her arms, through his own wall of tears, while she hugged and kissed her baby. Somehow, Nash remembered to record the moment and snapped a picture of Imani and the newborn.
He heard the operator asking if the newborn had cried, but then the EMTs arrived and worked on clamping the umbilical cord. Nash fought back more tears when they extended the offer to him to cut the cord. What an honor.
Moving quickly, they wrapped the baby in a blanket. Then Imani’s son opened his mouth and let out a piercing bellow.
The EMT worker was about to hand Imani the baby, but she gestured for him to give her son to Nash and asked for his phone.
Squaring his shoulders, he scooped the infant that already had a hold on his heart close to his chest. The emotional weight of the moment was his undoing. He could hear Imani’s sniffles as his gaze pinned on the tiny curious eyes looking back at him, as he took in the fingers, the toes, the perfection. He patted the small head filled with light brown curls.
The next thing Nash knew, the baby was being gently extricated out of his tight grasp by the EMT, who was telling him they needed to get mother and child to the hospital. He registered the other paramedic helping Imani out of the rear of the Jeep and rushed to assist. She tossed Nash his phone, then yelled for him to grab two bags out of her trunk and to get her keys out of the ignition. One was a baby bag, she said, and one was her “motherhood” satchel, which she had kept stowed there. There were also a couple shopping bags and a huge weekender that she said she didn’t need.
Right before they placed her on the gurney, Imani gripped his hand. He snatched her close, needing the connection. She snuggled into him as they embraced, rocking back and forth, crying tears of joy and relief.
“You did good,” he whispered, then took a picture of Imani and the baby, even as he heard the EMTs saying once more that they had to get to the hospital.
Imani nodded, then cupped his head and whispered, “And, you just delivered your son.”
Chapter Three
Rarely was he ever without words. But when Imani whispered that sentiment to him, confirming what he’d known in heart to be true, Nash lost his breath.
He had a son.
One whom he had helped find his way into this world.
And his life would never be the same.
That stunning revelation buzzed around his mind as he watched the ambulance depart. Without him. He kept his eyes peeled until the vehicle was out of sight. Nash ached to get over to the hospital, but he knew he couldn’t leave without securing Imani’s vehicle. Rushing into action, he called for a tow truck. He’d have them drop the Jeep at his place for now.
All throughout the call, he thought of Imani’s face as the ambulance doors closed. She had those brown eyes trained on him, their child in her arms. She had waved, like she was saying goodbye, like she had no expectations she would see him again.
His gut twisted. Was that what Imani wanted why she had kept her pregnancy a secret from him? To raise her child alone? As soon as the thought occurred, he chastised himself. She was probably honoring his wishes. Imani was an independent, proud woman and his desire never to be a father had created the rift between them that had ended their relationship. Of course, she wouldn’t reach out.
Though he understood her reasoning, his heart hurt and his conscience churned.
How could he have known that the few seconds of holding such precious cargo would cause such a life-altering shift?
Regret whipped at him. He had missed seeing Imani’s tummy grow round with their child. Had missed hospital visits—seeing his son’s development in the womb, hearing his heartbeat. He gripped the back of his head and bunched his lips as he faced the knowledge that he could never get those moments back.
What if he hadn’t driven this path this evening? He released a guttural groan. Would he have ever known? Would she have ever told him?
He could have gone on with his life, unaware, while there would have been a child yearning for him. A child with a cavity in his heart because of an absentee father. Nash clenched his fists. He couldn’t let that happen.
But did he have the skills? That fear gnawed at him. Casper Windham hadn’t. It wasn’t far-fetched to believe Nash didn’t, either.
Maybe he should stay far away from Imani.
Then his thoughts flipflopped. But his son’s piercing eyes served as a siren for his soul. Nash couldn’t keep his distance just yet. He would at least check on the baby and Imani at the hospital.
Nash placed another call, this time to his brother Arlo, who answered on the second ring. “Hey, bro. Something came up—Something came up? How distinctly vague. It was more like a meteorite had crashed into his life, obliterating his status quo. But mentally, he wasn’t at the place where he could share the truth just yet. Nash snaked a hand through his hair. “I won’t make it back to the ranch in time for the feed delivery. Miss Phyllis said she would call the ranch office when it was on its way. Do you think you can cover for me?”
“Yeah, right,” Arlo snorted. “You just don’t want to deal with Miss Phyllis. Everybody knows she’s sweet on you.”
Picturing the older woman with poufy blond hair that they believed to be in her seventies, and who ran the register at the Longhorn Feed Store, Nash gave a little laugh. “Stop it. She messes with everybody that goes in there. Not just me.”
“Yeah, but you’re the one she says has the—” his voice took on a high pitch “—movie-star looks.”
This was what he didn’t like about having siblings. A little extra attention from an older, slightly eccentric woman was fodder for some good old-fashioned ribbing.
Nash rolled his eyes, then said, “No, this has nothing to do with Miss Phyllis” in a much more serious tone.
“Wait…are you okay?”
The concern in his brother’s voice threatened to snap the small thread of his control. “I hope to be,” Nash answered, his tone grave.
The line was quiet for a second. Nash imagined his brother was telling himself not to pry. After a beat, Arlo cleared his throat and said, “I’ll take care of the feed. Handle your business and I’m here if you need.”
“Thank you.” As soon as the call ended, the tow truck came. Once he had Imani’s vehicle squared away, he jumped in his SUV to make his way back to the hospital. The trip had his heart pounding just like before, but this time the reason was much more palpable.
He was on his way to see his child.
Surreal.
That knowledge made him grip the wheel tightly. Nash used the voice-calling app and got his mother on the phone. Since she currently lived alone, he and his siblings made a point of calling or visiting with her once a week. But today wouldn’t be just a random conversation. Today, he was reaching out because he had a dire need.
Wendy answered, sounding oddly cheerful, more than she had been in months. Normally, he would have questioned his mother about her uncharacteristically chipper behavior, but she didn’t give him an opening to respond as she yammered on about some sewing or knitting something special. He wasn’t processing all she was saying, but to be fair, but he had big news filling his brain.
“Mom.” She kept talking.
A little louder. “Mom.” She still didn’t hear him. Nash interrupted Wendy in midsentence with a firmer tone, to drop his news bomb. “Mom, I just delivered my baby.”
A harsh intake of breath. Then silence for a beat before she breathed out, “Say what?”
“You heard right. I have a son,” he croaked out, grappling with the unbelievability of those words. As of less than an hour ago, Nash was living a new reality.
“Son, if you’re pulling my leg right now, this isn’t funny.”
“I’m not joking.”
“You mean I’m a grandmother again?” she boomed. Oh, she was definitely listening to him now. Nash used the button on his steering wheel to lower the volume. “This is one hot season for my kids falling in love, having babies or finding babies.”
She sure was right. One of his younger sisters, Sabrina, was now five months pregnant with twins she called Peach and Plum, and Ridge had indeed found a three-month-old baby, Evie, in a haystack, right along with her mother, whom Ridge called Hope since she didn’t remember who she was. Nash could hardly keep up.
“Nash, did you hear me?” Wendy asked.
“I’m sorry, Mom. Did you say something?”
“I asked if you’d fill in details for me, son. Like, who is this mystery woman? And did you know about the pregnancy?”
“It’s Imani.” He waited for that bit of news to settle.
“Imani?” she screeched a few seconds later. “As in Imani Porter? Man, you’re just laying it on me, right now. You know how much I loved Imani. I thought she was perfect for you. Remember?” Her voice escalated as she rattled on. “Wait. She’s here in Chatelaine? What’s she doing all the way out here? Hang on, did she move here from Cactus Grove? What are the odds? But what about her company? Oh, my goodness. Imani!”
Nash lifted a hand even though his mother wouldn’t be able to see his gesture. “Mom, you have to slow down so I can answer even one of your questions,” he chuckled.
“Oh. Okay…good point. You caught me off guard. Whew, let me take a sip of this lemonade and then I’ll let you talk.”
“Sounds good.” When Nash heard a refreshing sigh, he smiled and began. “I was on my way back from the hospital after checking in on Stanley, when I decided to take the back roads. And I spotted this Jeep on the side of the road at an odd angle. I don’t know why but something made me turn around, and I’m glad I did because there was this woman hollering that she was in labor. So I called 9-1-1 and when I stuck my head inside, I saw Imani. Imani.” Even talking about it aloud, Nash still couldn’t believe it. “The funny thing is, she had been pressed on my mind and the next thing I knew, I was helping her deliver our child. My son.”
“Wow…. Just wow.” She didn’t say anything for several beats. “Imagine that.” The fact that his mom appeared awed and at a loss for words was rare.
“Yeah, with everything going on, I didn’t get a chance to ask her any questions, like what she was doing here.” A thought struck. “Unless she was on her way to find me?” Hope sprung wide like a flower in bloom. Maybe Imani had intended to tell him that she was having his child, but had gone into labor along the way.
“Whatever the reason, you were meant to be there at that precise time,” his mother said. “You were meant to see your child enter this world, and you’re destined to be in his life. What’s his name?”
The fact that he had no idea made Nash once again question his place in his offspring’s life. “I don’t know, Mom.”
“Oh.”
Inadequacy lashed his heart. What kind of father didn’t ask the basic question, like his child’s name?
“With everything going on, I didn’t think to ask. I was just relieved that Imani was alright and that little man was crying—man, do his lungs work…”
“Don’t go reading anything into that,” Wendy cautioned. Dang, his mother was a mind reader. As usual. She continued, “For all you know, Imani may not have picked out a name yet. I know Casper and I had no idea what to call baby number six. I still don’t know how we came up with Ridge, but it fits.”
When he remained quiet, she added, “Shake it off, son. It sounds as if this baby made a surprise appearance. What matters is that he’s healthy.”
Trust his mom to defend his oversight and offer up a rational excuse. Nash swerved off the road and onto the curb. He cupped his head and admitted, “I don’t know if I can do this, Mom. I don’t know if I can be a father. It’s not like I had an exemplary role model.”
“Son, you can and you have to. You’re too hard on yourself and I blame Casper for that. Nothing you did was good enough. You don’t even see your awesome accomplishment today. Lots of new fathers pass out or lose control during childbirth. Your own father threw up in the delivery room when you and Jade were born. I applaud you for your courage and for being there when Imani needed you most.”
His lips quirked as he pulled back onto the road. “This is the first I’m hearing that about my father.” He refused to refer to Casper as Dad anymore.
“Well, Casper was a proud man and he was all about appearances. He felt showing weakness was unmanly. Which was plain dumb. No nicer way to say that.” His mother released a long plume of air. He could imagine her pacing back and forth as she emphasized her point. “Look, I know your father did his share of damage but you are one-half me as well and I’d like to think I was a good mother.”
“Not just good, Mom. You were—are—the best. You singlehandedly raised six of us, practically on your own. We are all thriving because of you.”
“Oh, thank you for that.” Her voice hitched. “Someday in the future, your child will say the same about you. Trust me on that.”
Wendy’s quiet certainty pierced through his doubts, and he exhaled. “Okay, Mom. I’ll start by establishing visitation with Imani and I’ll put in an ad for a nanny—
“No. No, nanny, son. You need to be hands-on,” Wendy insisted. “How else are you going to know for sure if fatherhood is for you?”
“Okay, Mom. I will do my best.”
That was the best response he could give without lying to his mom. Nash wasn’t as convinced as Wendy seemed to be in his potential parenting skills. The fact was that he was a product of Casper Windham as well—an absentee father—which couldn’t be so easily discounted.
“Have you told your sisters and brothers yet?” Wendy asked, once again jutting into his thoughts.
“Not yet. I’m very much still trying to wrap my mind around all this.”
“This is not the time to isolate yourself, son,” his mother warned. “This is the time to embrace us, to allow us to be your strength and to celebrate with you.”
Nash relaxed his shoulders and leaned back into the seat. “Once again, you’re right, Mom. This is why I had to talk to you first. You help me get my head right. As soon as I’ve visited with Imani, I’ll let everyone know.”
“Alright. I’ll await your call to come see my grandchild.”
“You got it.”
After hanging up, Nash turned into the parking lot of the hospital and scanned the lot for a spot. He found one near the entrance and pulled in. Somewhere in that building was the mother of his son and his child.
That knowledge humbled and grounded him. Nash opened the door and ventured out, then strolled across the lot. Snapping his fingers, he decided to make a stop at the gift shop. There was no way he was going to enter that hospital room with Imani and his future heir empty-handed. After all, he was a Fortune now, and so was his son—he hoped to give his progeny his last name—and what was the point in having money if he didn’t splurge when it counted?
But as it turns out, his last name had drawn a small group of onlookers including the press. Well, press was too generous a word for the two reporters in their town. He had provided his name to the 9-1-1 operator and somehow, the staff at The Chatelaine Daily News must have learned that Nash Fortune had helped a pregnant woman and were labeling him a hero. Ever since Sabrina talked him into plastering his face on that billboard across from the GreatStore in town as the face of the Fortune Family Ranch, he couldn’t do anything without being recognized.
It was a daggone nuisance.
The reporters peppered Nash with questions—this was definitely juicier than cattle ranching—but he declined to provide a statement and made his way to the gift shop. However, they got their money shot of him carrying an oversize teddy bear and a gift basket.
Great. That picture would be front-page news in Chatelaine Hills. Thank goodness, they didn’t know it was his son. Yet. When the elevator doors closed, Nash knew he had to get ahead of the gossip mill. The last thing he wanted was for his siblings to learn about the newest addition to the family from anybody but him. Nash sent a text to the group chat.
Guess who became a father today?
Then he shut down his phone.
From Harlequin Fortunes of Texas:
Book 1: Fortune's Secret Marriage by Jo McNally
Book 2: Nine Months to a Fortune by Elizabeth Bevarly
Book 3: Fortune's Faux Engagement by Carrie Nichols
Book 4: A Fortune Thanksgiving by Michelle Lindo-Rice
Book 5: Fortune's Holiday Surprise by Jennifer Wilck
Book 6: Fortune's Mystery Woman by Allison Leigh
No comments:
Post a Comment