1225 Christmas Tree Lane - Debbie Macomber [45]
“I feel wonderful. I always do when I’m pregnant.”
Seth closed his eyes. “I don’t know how we let this happen,” he said as he feathered kisses down the side of her neck.
Justine giggled and put her arms around her husband’s neck. “You’d think by now we’d know how babies are made.”
“If it was up to you, we’d live in a shoe and have a dozen children.”
“Three suits me just fine,” she assured him, although she’d be the first to admit she loved being a mother. She could hardly believe that at one time she’d been willing to give all of this up without even knowing what she’d be missing.
The pregnancy would be this year’s Christmas surprise for her family. Keeping it secret had been far more difficult than she’d expected. At least a dozen times she’d been tempted to tell her mother and her grandmother. Both would be thrilled.
“Can I help with anything?” Seth asked.
“You could check Livvy’s diaper,” she said.
Seth swept his daughter into his arms and carried her to her room. When he returned a few minutes later, Livvy’s head lolled against his shoulder.
“Did you have a chance to get the mail?” he asked.
“Not yet.”
“I’ll do it.” Seth set Livvy down on the carpet. She leaned her head against the sofa cushion. She’d woken late that morning and hadn’t been interested in a nap. Now her eyes drooped as her thumb found its way into her mouth.
Justine had sucked her thumb, too; so had Jordan. After washing her hands, Justine picked up her sweet baby girl and brought her back to her crib. She gently placed her inside and covered her with the blanket Charlotte had knit for her.
Seth came into their daughter’s bedroom as she sat beside the crib, watching Livvy’s deep, even breaths.
He stood beside her. “It’s difficult to fathom how much love we can have for children, isn’t it?” he whispered.
“Impossible to believe until we become parents ourselves,” she whispered back.
They left the bedroom and Seth closed the door.
“Anything interesting in the mail?” Justine asked as he sat down, flipping through the envelopes. She poured her husband a cup of tea and joined him at the kitchen table.
“The usual Christmas cards—and one rather interesting letter.”
“Oh? Who from?”
Seth leafed through the holiday cards until he came across a plain, business-size white envelope. He glanced at it again, then handed it to her.
Justine saw that the envelope held her name—and only hers. The return address made her catch her breath. After taking a moment to compose herself, she raised her eyes to meet Seth’s. “It’s stamped prison mail. The postmark is Shelton, Washington—that’s where the state prison is. One of them, anyway.”
“I noticed that, too.”
“There’s only one person who could be writing me from there.” The paper seemed to grow hot in her hands.
“Warren Saget,” Seth muttered.
Justine dropped the letter on the table and avoided looking at it.
“Aren’t you going to open it?” her husband asked.
“I…I don’t know.” She’d once had a deep affection for Warren, a successful local builder, although he was old enough to be her father. They’d dated for a while. He’d liked having a tall, beautiful woman on his arm, and she’d liked the fact that he was rich and powerful and made no physical demands on her.
He couldn’t. That was their little secret. With Warren she was safe from emotional—and physical—entanglements. Safe, until she’d agreed to work on the class reunion project and Seth had shown up. Justine hadn’t wanted to become involved with Seth, yet he was all she thought about. Warren had offered her a huge diamond engagement ring. He was willing to do anything not to lose her. But even that diamond hadn’t enticed her. All she wanted, all she needed, was Seth.
“I wonder if Warren has any idea of everything he did for us,” Seth commented.
Her husband’s words jarred Justine from her reverie. “You mean what he did to us, don’t you?” Warren had tried to destroy them.
“But in the end that’s what saved our marriage.”
“You’re right,” she said slowly. “Ironic, isn’t it?”
“We were killing ourselves with the restaurant, working all hours