Preston walked quickly from the kitchen and that’s when I noticed the cracked back door and my heart plummeted.
In one instant, I was standing near the table and then I was at the open door, looking out into the backyard where my newly walking son was at the edge of the yard, toddling toward the rows of farmland, right into the direct path of a giant piece of equipment that looked as if it was spreading something. Whatever it was, Hudson was heading straight toward it and the machine wasn’t slowing down.
I didn’t remember going down the two outdoor steps, didn’t remember beginning to run, but suddenly the wind was whipping at my face and my chest was burning, and time slowed, as I waved my arms and yelled at the top of my lungs to the driver, who seemed to be looking at something on the floor of where he was sitting high up in the driver’s seat, the piece of equipment far too loud for him to hear anything else except the roar of the engine.
And Hudson was too close to it to hear me screaming either.
Dios Mío, dios Mío, mi hijo. It was going to run over my baby. It was going to hit him. Oh dear God, no, por favor. No, please, no please, dios Mío no.
I wasn’t going to make it. I wouldn’t reach him in time. My only chance was to plow into Hudson and throw him out of the way. It was my only chance, but I was still so far away. With one mighty burst of adrenalin, I shot onto the soft dirt of the farmland.
It happened in the space of three heartbeats. Hudson suddenly paused and reached his hand out, turned left, still in the path of the machine, but heading away from it now, just enough, just the two inches that gave me a burst of hope. My body slammed into his tiny one as I used my arms to push him with all my might right before I crashed to the ground hard and curled into a ball, rolling to the side as far as I could with the wind knocked from my lungs.
I waited for the crushing pressure of the wheels, but they moved right past me. I felt the heat from the huge machine as the brakes squeaked and shuddered and came to a stop next to where I lay on my side in the dirt.
I was crying and shaking and sucking in huge gulps of air. The driver had finally seen us.
Footsteps pounded the earth and someone was scooping me into his arms. “The baby,” I cried. “The baby.”
“Joaquin’s got him,” Preston said, his voice raspy and panicked. “He’s okay. He’s crying—a nice, strong cry. He sounds mad. Can you hear him?” Yes, I could. The cry that told me he’d been scared but not injured. I knew his every cry. I was his mother. I was his mother. “He sounds like the night he was born, doesn’t he? Doesn’t he, Lia? That strong, fierce wail. He’s okay. You saved his life. You saved him, Annalia.”
“Holy shit!” I heard as the driver of the truck rushed to where I lay in the dirt. “Man, I only looked down for a minute. The gas pedal was sticking and I . . . fuck, I didn’t even see them.” He sounded almost as panicked as Preston.
“We’re all right, Tom. Just leave the machine where it is for now, okay? You can finish up tomorrow. It’s okay. It wasn’t your fault.”
He paused for a second. “I’m real sorry, ma’am. God, I’m just . . . Are you sure you’re okay?”
I was still crying but I managed to nod my head and offer him a small smile, before I looked up at Preston. “I would have died for him,” I said, searching his eyes with mine. “I would have gladly died for my baby, Preston. I was ready to. I didn’t hesitate, not even for a second.”
Preston used his thumb to wipe something from my cheek, his brow furrowed and his eyes still holding the bright sheen of panic. I could feel his big body shaking beneath mine. “I know, Annalia. Did you doubt it?” His hands moved over me as if checking me for injuries. “Does anything hurt?”
I looked back over my shoulder to where Joaquin was holding Hudson, bouncing him on his hip while Tracie checked him over. Rosa and Alejandro were with them, too, Rosa murmuring soft words to Hudson, and Alejandro standing with his hand on Rosa’s shoulder.
I focused back on my own body, in order to answer Preston’s question. I felt a sharp throb in my ankle, but the rest of me seemed to be fine. “Just my ankle,” I said, straightening my leg out from under me. Preston picked me up and took me over to Hudson. Oh, how I needed to see for myself that he was okay.
I ran my hand over his head, leaning in and kissing his soft cheek, inhaling his scent and reassuring myself that he was okay. “Mama,” he said, and I burst into tears.
“Yes, baby. I’m your mama. I’m your mama, sweet boy.”
“Co!” Hudson said exuberantly. I smiled and looked up at Preston in confusion. He shrugged slightly, smiling down at me.
Hudson pointed his chubby finger to the left, in the direction he’d turned at the very last second, the two or three steps that had saved our lives. “Co,” he insisted again.
I tilted my head, a foggy feeling of wonder falling over me. “Are you saying, Cole, baby boy?”
I felt Preston’s arms tense under me, and Hudson grinned. “Co,” he affirmed. And seemingly satisfied, he pointed toward the house.
“Yes,” I murmured shakily. “Yes, I’d like to go home, too.”
**********
“Here you go, mija,” Rosa murmured, smoothing her hand over my hair as she handed me the cup of tea.
I smiled as I took a sip. “Thank you, Rosa.”
“How’s your ankle?”
I glanced at it where it rested, elevated on a pillow. It was red and slightly puffy, but the ice I’d applied had reduced most of the swelling, and the two Tylenol I’d taken had lessened the discomfort. I was almost certain it wasn’t broken, although if it got worse in the morning, I’d see a doctor. For now, I just wanted—needed—to be in the same house as Hudson. “It’s fine.”
Rosa sat on the edge of the bed, and we both looked up when my mama stopped in the doorway, standing there twisting her hands and looking as if she wasn’t sure she should be there or not. “Come in, Mama,” I said softly.
Mrs. Sawyer had left an hour before for San Francisco. She had wanted to cancel the trip after the traumatic events of the day, but Preston had assured her everything was fine and the time away would be good for her. I’d been relieved to have the house to ourselves.
My mama entered the room and sat at the end of the bed, and Rosa smiled at her and then turned her face to me, patting my leg gently. “Preston’s putting Hudson to bed. When I passed the nursery, Hudson was demanding another book. It seems he’s taking advantage of the extra attention.”
I smiled. “Preston’s a good dad.”
“Yes, he is. And you are a good mom.” Rosa glanced at my mama and looked back at me. “I heard what you said after the accident. Did you doubt yourself, cariño?” Her wise eyes watched me with so much tenderness that tears burned the backs of my lids.
I let out a breath. “Part of the reason I left was because I thought . . . I . . . I wasn’t a good mother.”
Rosa took my hand in hers. “Oh Annalia, why did you think that?”
I looked down, biting my lip. “I tried to nurse him, but it didn’t work. I couldn’t get him to latch on, and he would just cry and cry.” I took in a shuddery breath. “I finally gave up and put him on formula, but then . . .” I blinked up at her. God, it was still hard to talk about this, but I needed to say it. I glanced over at my mama and when I began speaking again, I spoke in Spanish so she understood what I was saying. “When Hudson was four months old, I started having these . . . visions of him being hurt.” A small shudder moved through me. “I’d see myself dropping him, or I’d put him in his bath and envision him sliding under the water.” I shook my head, wanting to blot out the memory, the fear, the horror of the strength of the things I saw in my mind’s eye, the pictures that filled me with terror and a clawing panic.
“Oh, Annalia, that’s not unusual,” Rosa said, speaking in Spanish now as well. “Was it like, when you were carrying him down the stairs, you envisioned dropping him over the railing and so you held him more tightly and took the stairs as slow as a turtl
e?”
I blinked at her, drawing in quick breath. “Yes,” I whispered. “Yes, that’s—”
“It’s normal, cariño. I think it’s the hormones running rampant through your system, but it’s really nature’s way of ensuring we protect our young. Those danger signals are particularly strong when we have infants, and they can be scary because the pictures we form in our mind are vivid. But they mean you’re a good mother. Oh, mi amor, you were so alone, weren’t you?”
I nodded, her words making me sad, but mostly, oh mostly, they filled me with relief so intense I gasped out. “Yes,” I said. “Yes, but . . .”
“We all need community. It is especially important for a new mother. There are so many questions, so many doubts.”
“Yes,” I said, glancing at my mama.
Rosa looked at my mama, too. “You haven’t had that either, have you, Gloria? Community?”
My mama looked surprised, but acknowledged what Rosa had said by shaking her head, her gaze lingering on me.
Rosa stretched her other hand out and grasped my mama’s hand. “It sounds like you had a very difficult time, too, Gloria. But you had Annalia. You were given an angel who worked hard and made sure you had everything you needed. An angel of a girl. How very, very blessed you are.”
My mama’s eyes lingered on Rosa for several moments and when her gaze moved to me, my breath came out in a soft gasping sound. I reached out my hand to my mama and she took it, forming a circle of the three of us. “Sí,” she said softly, a sound of confused wonder in her tone. Her expression was slightly stunned, and she looked at me for several long beats as if she was seeing me for the very first time. And perhaps she was.
“Un angel. Sí.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Annalia
I smiled tenderly at Preston when he entered the bedroom, sitting at my side where Rosa had sat a little while before. They had all packed up the coolers of food and loaded the cars just moments ago. Only a hundred tamales had been completed before the almost-accident with Hudson. It was less than they usually took to the event, but it was enough. Rosa assured me that being there, rather than in a hospital where we all might have been, was a cause for joy and celebration.
“Is he asleep?” I asked quietly.
“Sound asleep. Not a care in the world.”
I took in a deep breath and blew it out. “That was a close call, Preston.”
He ran a hand over my cheek, cupping it in his large, strong hand as I leaned into the comfort, the affection. “I know. I already called a couple of guys—we’re going to start building a fence tomorrow.”
I smiled on a breath, but nodded. “Apparently the little Viking slash Mayan warrior is going to need to be corralled more than we realized.”
He chuckled softly, leaning in and brushing his lips over mine, lingering for a moment.
When he pulled back, I met his eyes. “Preston, the way Hudson said Cole’s name . . . do you think . . . the way he reached out his hand and turned at that last moment? It was almost as if someone had . . . gotten his attention, had called him.”
He shook his head slowly. “I don’t know. He’s heard Cole’s name before. He might have just been repeating it for some reason that made sense in his baby mind that we’ll never understand.”
“Yes, maybe.” Somehow though . . . that didn’t feel exactly right. And by the hesitancy in Preston’s tone, I didn’t think that felt completely accurate to him either. I’d been right there . . . I’d sensed . . . something that I couldn’t explain, at least not in words.
Preston brushed a piece of hair away from my cheek. “My mother pulled me aside right before she left and told me to thank you. She said it again and again.” He tilted his head, looking thoughtful. “She seemed . . . shaken but so grateful. She lost her own son. And she watched you save her grandson’s life at the risk of your own. I think it shifted something inside of her. I hope it did.” He smiled a little bit wryly. “She said you should call her Camille.”
I let out a breath on a quiet laugh. Maybe I had made it into her good graces. I hoped so. I’d never wanted to have a stilted relationship with Mrs. Saw—, Camille.
Preston touched his forehead to mine, and we simply breathed together for a few minutes. “I love you,” he whispered.
“I love you, too.” I leaned back so I could look into his eyes. “Make love to me, Preston. I need to feel you.”
His eyes widened. “Are you sure? Have we dated enough—?”
I laughed. “You’re not going to stop dating me after we make love, are you?”
“No. God, no. Never.”
“Then, yes, I’m very sure.”
He brought his hands to my face and held me tenderly as he moved his lips to mine and kissed me, slowly and thoroughly. I pressed myself back against the pillows and wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him with me as I broke from his lips and tipped my head so he could move his mouth down my throat.
His lips whispered over my skin, causing me to moan and weave my fingers into his hair.
He brought his mouth to my ear and said quietly, hoarsely, “I burn for you, Annalia.”
“Preston,” I gasped as wetness gathered between my thighs at the feel of his warm breath at my ear and the words he’d uttered. I burn for you.
Preston stood and turned down the lamp, pulling the blinds closed though there was only farmland outside the window. I watched as he performed the functions slowly but deliberately, preparing the room for what was about to happen, and excitement lit inside me making me feel hot and slightly breathless. Oh, I burn for you, too.
He pulled his T-shirt off, and I took a moment to admire him, the deep, golden glow of his skin, the sleek muscles of a man who worked outside all day. A man who used his body to provide for his family, wiping sweat and dirt from his brow at the end of each long day.
Some primitive part of me found deep satisfaction in that. I wasn’t sure I’d share the thought with anyone, supposed it might be an antiquated idea in this day and age. But it wasn’t just a thought or an idea, it was a feeling residing deep in my bones, a rush of undeniable feminine pride for such uncomplicated masculinity. Other women who had men who used their bodies as well as their minds to put food on their dinner table would understand. This was the idyllic dream I’d never imagined possible. This wasn’t small. This was where my heart had always yearned to be.
“Come here, farm boy,” I whispered, a husky quality to my voice that spoke of my arousal, the deep abiding love in my heart for this man.
He glanced at my foot as he came toward the bed. “How’s your ankle?”
I looked down at it. I’d forgotten all about it. “It’s good.”
He rejoined me on the bed where we undressed each other slowly, Preston laughing with strain as his hands fumbled at the buttons of my shirt. “You’ve gotta stop wearing buttons.” He took in a big breath, slowing his fingers, apparently determined not to rip them off this time.
When he’d completed the task, I grinned and then sighed as he brought his mouth to the swells of my breasts and dragged his rough jaw over them. I groaned, clutching his hair at the goosebump-inducing sensation of his scratchy skin on my tender flesh.
Our eyes met as Preston reached behind me to unhook my bra and the dark look in his gaze made me shiver. The garment tossed aside, his eyes lingered on my naked breasts for a moment, and then he leaned back and dragged my underwear down my legs until I was completely naked. I stilled slightly, nervous at being completely exposed to him. But if he sensed my sudden reserve, he didn’t say anything. He moved slowly back up my body, stopping at my lower belly and using his tongue to trace the marks left by pregnancy.
Oh.
As he kissed that part of me I’d been hesitant for him to see, I felt his penis twitch and grow fuller where it lay against my thigh, only the thin cotton of his underwear between us. He let out a sound that resembled a low growl and I lifted my head slightly to watch him. “They turn you on?” I asked
in wonder.
“God, yes,” he said between kisses, moving upward until he held my face in his hands, his whole heart in his serious blue eyes. “We made a baby in love and you carried him inside your body. Those marks are the proof of that—the physical testament that you’re mine—and there’s nothing sexier to me. Nothing.”
I let out a breath of relief and welling emotion. He brought his lips to mine, kissing me deeply for several moments as my blood heated once more, desire blooming inside me.
After a minute, he leaned back and removed his underwear and I watched as his erection sprang free. He came back over me, positioning his knee between my thighs and forcing them apart slightly.
I gripped his shoulders as his face lowered to my breast, sucking one sensitive nipple into the wet warmth of his mouth. Oh. I arched my back and reveled in the delicious sensation that made me moan as sparks of electricity shot from my nipple straight between my legs. I writhed on his thigh and he groaned. “Annalia,” he said, sounding so tortured, it made my chest swell with love and a small bit of amusement.
“I want to touch you. Will you show me how?”
His answer was a groan as he brought my hand between his legs, turning over and lying on his back so I had access. So I could learn how he was made. “Oh,” I said in wonder as I leaned over him, gripping his solid length. “It’s so soft. Hard but . . . like velvet.” I ran one finger slowly up the underside and watched in fascination as wetness pooled at the tip. I used my thumb to spread the liquid over the purplish head of his erection and then took his heavy testicles in my palm, testing their weight, enjoying the soft feel of them in my hand.
“My goodness, if I’d have seen these things the first time, I’d have known to expect a pregnancy. They’re . . . impressive,” I teased, though only partially.
Preston laughed on a groan, throwing one arm over his eyes, his mouth twisted in an expression of both mirth and pain.