One to Take (One to Hold 8)

In a flash Stuart William Junior is in the world, and he’s raging. His cries are strong and angry, and Mariska bursts into teary laughter. He’s swept to a little side area where he’s weighed, measured, and wiped down—yelling his head off the entire time.

I lean down to kiss Mariska’s lips. “He sounds strong.”

“He sounds like his daddy!” she laughs, her face beaming. “He doesn’t like being pushed around.”

The little guy is wrapped in a blanket, and the nurse hands him to Mariska. As soon as she gets him, he nuzzles into her breast. It takes a few moments. He’s rooting and grunting like a newborn puppy. The same nurse steps up to help him find what he’s looking for, and the room falls silent.

Mariska cuddles him closer as he nurses. “He’s so beautiful.”

“He’s dark,” I say, cupping my hand over his dark brown hair. His head is so small it fits in the palm of my hand. “And tiny.”

She leans forward and runs her nose along his little forehead. “He’s perfect.”

“He seems to be.” I touch his little head again gently. “The doc would tell us if anything was wrong.”

Her slim brows pull together, and our eyes meet. “What would be wrong?”

“Just him coming so early.”

“Oh,” she smiles, leaning her head down again. “He’s not early.”

“You said that before. How do you know?”

She sighs, kissing our now-sleeping infant. “I didn’t want to say anything because I wasn’t sure, but I started having dizzy spells and bouts of low blood sugar about a month after we moved back here. Around when we saw Jessie that first time on our way to the cabin.”

Sitting beside her on the narrow bed, I smooth her hair off her forehead. “That would mean he’s—”

“Right on time.” She lifts her chin and kisses my neck. “We must’ve got lucky the night of our honeymoon.”

I breathe a laugh. “It was a good night.”

“It was a great night.” Her cheek rests on my arm, which is around her shoulders.

* * *

By the time June rolls around, the ranch is busier than it’s ever been. The additional four horses fill all ten stalls in the barn for the first time ever, and we alternate two days a week working with autistic children and with recovering adults.

Mariska is putting her graduate degree to work, the baby strapped to her body like a little kangaroo in one of those carriers. He’s an easy baby. He doesn’t cry much, and he sleeps through most of her work.

Bill returns for a visit, and as I walk him through the barn, he beams with pride at what we’ve done with the place.

“A therapy ranch.” He shakes his head, grinning under that heavy mustache. “Why didn’t I think of this?”

Will is asleep on my shoulder. A cute little brown sock hat with “Cowboy in Training” printed on it covers his head, and his tiny body is tucked in the crook of my arm. We stop at the paddock door and watch as Mariska works with three autistic children and their parents alongside Cheyenne, Dakota, and Jessie.

One of the children is blind, and as he touches Dakota’s soft mane, extending his clumsy fingers and grabbing at the soft fur, a look of rapture settles over his face.

My grip on my own little son tightens. “Mariska’s department chair is excited to develop this program. Mariska expanded her art therapy to include horses and handicapped children.”

Bill is quiet, his eyes fixed on my wife as she shows the parents how to guid

e their children through touching and interacting with the large, gentle animals.

“She really belongs here,” he says. “You all do.”

Will stirs on my shoulder, scrubbing his little face against the crook of my neck. I can’t help a smile. “You gave me the best advice of my life when you told me to take back what was mine.”

“I only know what I saw. Mariska loves you. You love her. Life is hard, and it dealt you a tough blow. But you’re strong. You’ve always been stronger than whatever life threw at you.”