Stars Fall From the Sky (Reigning Hearts Book 2) Page 2

  “Here.” Rusty offered her a towel he snatched from the master bathroom. He slipped on his boxers as Ginger lay there in a soggy heap.

  “It’s no use,” she muttered, sitting up. Too embarrassed to look him in the eye, she took the towel from his hands and pressed it against her chest.

  Rusty sat next to her on the bed and gently lifted her chin to meet his gaze. “Hey. You are amazing. And I love you.”

  “I love you too,” she squeaked, as Daisy’s screaming continued.

  “We’ll try this again later, okay?”

  Ginger nodded and offered him a small smile.

  “I’ll get Baby Girl changed and bring her to you. You stay put.”

  In awe, she watched the subtle bend and flex of his muscles as he shrugged on a fire station t-shirt. When he exited their bedroom, she pulled the ruined nightgown up and over her head and stared down at her engorged tits. Most of the baby weight she had put on easily came off while breastfeeding for the past three months. It was a miracle because she’d eaten them out of house and home during her third trimester. Still, her body wasn’t the same, and her ample bosom was something she still hadn’t gotten used to. Her boobs seemed to have a life of their own, one that she had no control over. That they got in the way of yet another intimate encounter with her husband made her start to rethink weaning Daisy to formula.

  Propping the pillows behind her, she glanced at the baby monitor and couldn’t help but smile as Rusty changed her diaper while humming a familiar song from their high school days. He was such a good daddy and never complained about the sleepless nights, high-pitched crying, or diaper duty. They were thrilled to be first-time parents after trying for so long, and they were a team. She thanked her lucky stars every single day that they were doing life together and that he was Daisy’s daddy.

  “Here she is, Mama. Fresh as a Daisy.”

  Rusty came into the bedroom, gently carrying their daughter in a football-hold and handed her off to Ginger. She couldn’t help but breathe in her fresh baby-scent as she adjusted her boob for the tiny tot to latch on. Rusty stood towering over them with his hands on his hips that peeked out of his boxers.

  “You girls good? I need to get a move on and hit the shower.”

  Ginger couldn’t help it that she was mesmerized staring into the innocent face of her daughter and smiled. “Yes, we’re good. Thank you, Daddy. Do you think it will be a wash-out today with the rain and you can come home early for once?” Her comment sounded whiney, but she couldn’t help it that she missed him when he was gone all the time.

  Rusty pilfered through a drawer and grabbed some clothes. “I don’t know yet. I’ll give you a call later. I’d love to be home early.” He turned to the pair on the bed and kissed them both on the tops of their heads before he went into the bathroom and started the shower. When he began randomly singing, September by Earth, Wind & Fire, Ginger giggled and shook her head. Daisy’s eyes were fixated on her as she sucked.

  “Your daddy is a rock-star,” she whispered, stroking her soft baby cheek.

  Daisy innocently blinked back at her as if in agreement.

  ***

  Ginger eyed the clock on the microwave while she kneaded the ball of bread dough she was preparing to bake. Cooking for her little family was the highlight of her day, and she always made sure she had something delicious and substantial for her hard-working, firefighter husband. Tonight, she was making a linguini dish with fresh clams she and Daisy stumbled upon at the local fish market earlier that afternoon. When the morning rain moved out and the summer heat moved in with a vengeance, she thought it might be a nice dish paired with a crisp side salad and homemade bread. Giving the sourdough one final punch, she plopped it into the greased pan and shoved it into the oven to bake for the next forty-five minutes.

  Daisy was taking her afternoon nap, which gave Ginger some uninterrupted time to tend to her many chores. Wiping her hands on the colorful apron she wore when she baked, she started to clean up the floury mess. Since leaving her diner job after Daisy was born, she had made a few specialty cakes and breads for some of her close friends and neighbors who had asked. Over the years, she had become popular among the locals for her award-winning pies and cakes she often entered in the Sandersville Beach Fall Festival Bake-Off. She had a hard time refusing her friends’ requests, and they usually paid for her ingredients and often tipped her with a sweet baby toy or a nice bottle of wine for her and Rusty to share.

  Sandersville Beach was a small town, and through word-of-mouth, she started to have “regulars” who requested cookies, pies or cupcakes for events and started paying cash for them. She was careful not to take on too many baking projects since the baby was born and thankful Rusty encouraged her with this new endeavor. He even suggested she think about starting her own business when Daisy got a little older. Ginger couldn’t fathom being the owner of her own business. She was just glad to be contributing to her small family and doing something she enjoyed.

  Her most significant project to date was on the horizon—Emeline and Thomas’s wedding cake. Even though the wedding wasn’t for a few more months, she still made sample cakes for the couple to taste until they decided on precisely what they wanted. Emeline was adamant about the cake being a beach-theme, complete with a mermaid and merman adorning the top tier. Ginger was excited about the project, sure she could come up with something creative for her artistic friend’s special day.

  A knock on the door interrupted her kitchen clean-up, and she absent-mindedly looked at the clock again. She wasn’t expecting anyone this late in the day and hoped it wasn’t a solicitor.

  “I’m coming,” she hummed, tucking a loose strand of hair over her ear.

  When she opened the door, she was shocked to see the Sandersville Beach fire chief and his captain standing on her front porch. Chief Rutland had his hat off and was holding it in his hands as beads of sweat dribbled from his temples down his cheeks. The chief had been over to their house a handful of times, including three months ago when little Daisy came home from the hospital. The stuffed black and white dalmatian toy he gave her was one of her daughter’s favorite things.

  Ginger swallowed hard as she stared back at the men with wide eyes, words of greeting paralyzed in her throat from fear.

  “Hi, Ginger. May we come in?” The look on Chief Rutland’s face didn’t give anything away.

  Ginger nodded and opened the door wide allowing the two large men to step inside. A current of masculine, salty air followed them in as she shut the door and willed herself to turn around. Plastering a sunny smile on her lips, she faced the men and spoke.

  “Can I offer y’all something to drink? It’s so humid today.” Her voice warbled, and her Southern accent seemed more pronounced.

  “No thank you, Ginger. Why don’t you sit down?”

  She couldn’t help but notice the chief’s misty eyes and the way the captain shuffled from one foot to another, not able to look at her.

  Ginger backed up flush against the door and held tightly to the knob, gripping it with everything she had. With her chest held high, she resolutely jutted her chin into the air and shook her head. “I’m fine right here. What is it? What’s going on?”

  Chief Rutland looked at the floor momentarily before he took in a long breath and spoke, his speech gravelly with emotion. “Ginger, honey… there’s been a terrible accident.”

  Chapter Three

  Meg, Jo, Beth, and Amy March—collectible Little Women dolls—sat propped on the homemade shelving Ginger’s daddy had assembled for Daisy’s little girl bedroom. The once adored Madame Alexander dolls were perched in a way where they looked like they were in mid-conversation, Jo’s arm extended toward sweet Beth, and Amy’s tiny head perched on Meg’s shoulder. Ginger blinked several times as she stared at the dolls while lying in the daybed next to her daughter’s crib. Randomly, she wondered what the character Jo, might be saying to her sisters. She would probably act out a scene from a good Dickens or Shakespeare
play, the ambitious tomboy entertaining her nineteenth-century family with brash gumption. Ginger shook her head filled with irrational thoughts and wished she had some of that gumption at the moment. All she wanted to do was curl up and fall into a deep sleep.

  It had been one month since Rusty died. One month of living in a bubble of numbed disbelief. She couldn’t bear to sleep alone in her master bedroom, preferring the frilly daybed in Daisy’s room where she was near her daughter during the long, agonizing nights that seemed to go on forever. With a little coaxing, she talked her mama into staying in the master space instead of Daisy’s room while she stayed and helped indefinitely. The unbearable summer heat only added to her grief as she remained holed up in her home, too overcome with shock and denial to go out in public.

  The high pitch of Daisy’s crying permeated the silence through the thin walls and interrupted her thoughts. Slowly rolling over onto her side with her back toward the door, she closed her eyes, thankful that her mama would see to her daughter’s needs. Exhausted, she couldn’t help but change positions on the lumpy mattress as the familiar ache in her heart swelled, making her wince in physical pain. Overwhelmed with the notion that her life had careened off course, she could barely get out of bed most days. Thank god for her mama and daddy. If it hadn’t been for them coming to her rescue on the most agonizing day of her life, she would have surely died too.

  The wrenching agony and shock she felt were foreign to her, and she wallowed in her self-imposed seclusion to protect her emotions. Her parents left her alone, for the most part, bringing her sustenance and helping with Daisy. Before her daddy left to go back to tend to his business in Dixie, Georgia while her mother stayed on, he suggested she see a grief counselor to which she adamantly refused, insisting she just needed some time. But how much time? How long would it take until the throbbing in her heart subsided, until she could go into her bedroom and not feel her knees buckle from taking in a subtle whiff of Rusty’s lingering essence? Who could ever even remotely explain to her why her daughter was now fatherless—how she would never honestly know the incomparable man that was her daddy? No. Ginger was not about to see a damn counselor and talk about the way she felt. They would never, ever understand.

  The days turned into weeks, and the only ray of light since Rusty’s passing were the moments she spent with her daughter. Physically and emotionally drained, she slept most of the day fitfully, and fretted wide awake through the nighttime hours as happy memories flooded her mind like a film reel. Wrestling between the emotional roller coaster of shock and disbelief, she felt trapped in a rip current being dragged out to the sea, the ripple of time since she last saw her husband lengthening each day.

  For the past few days, she started to feel physically ill. Her skin was feverish, and she had no appetite. Her concerned mother wanted to take her into town and have her assessed by the local doctor, but she just wasn’t up for it. And now she had missed a full day of breastfeeding, too weak to hold her baby in her arms. At first, she chalked it up to full-on depression and thought maybe her daddy was right—that she needed to at least see a doctor and get on anti-depression medication. But as her breasts became engorged and tender to the touch, she knew something else was terribly wrong.

  The door squeaked open, and she could feel the cool palm of her mama’s hand as she pressed it against her forehead.

  “Honey? Are you awake? You’re burning up. I’ve called Dr. Walden.”

  It took every ounce of strength Ginger had to shift and look up at her. “Who?” her voice warbled. Her tongue was dry, and she was extremely thirsty. Was this what it felt like to die a slow death? Was her broken heart finally giving up?

  Her mama sat on the edge of the bed and smoothed a frizzy curl back from Ginger’s face. “Dr. Walden. Emeline gave me his number—said his practice is near the gallery in town. Hopefully, he can come right away.” The concerned look on her face enhanced the wrinkles in her creamy complexion. “Can I get you anything? You haven’t eaten since yesterday.” Her Southern drawl was comforting as she eyed the nightstand that held a stale sandwich and cup of cold soup.

  “Water,” Ginger muttered. Her arms felt limp as she tried to sit up on her elbows. Her mama held a glass to her lips, and she sipped with parched lips, the minimal effort taking a toll. The room seemed to spin as she flopped her head back on the pillow.

  “I’m just so worried about you, darlin’. You must have picked up a summer cold or virus. I sure hope Dr. Walden can give you something to make you feel better.” The sound of her mother’s voice faded as the blackness took over and she fell into a fitful, fevered sleep.

  *

  Ginger awoke with a start to someone gently pressing their fingers against her neck. Blinking slowly, she managed to open her heavy eyelids and tried to make out the fuzzy image of a person shadowed by the lamplight directly behind them. Night had fallen, and she couldn’t remember where she was. When the masculine features of the person came into focus, she was startled.

  “Rusty?” Her heart surged with recognition for a split second, the adrenaline rush causing her to bolt upright in the bed. That was when she noticed black-rimmed glasses perched on his face. Rusty never wore glasses unless they were sunglasses. She immediately recoiled into the covers.

  “Shhh…. It’s okay, Mrs. McCormick. I’m a doctor. Your mother called and I came as soon as I could.”

  Ginger grimaced, not quite understanding. “A doctor?” Her tongue felt thick and heavy in her mouth, and she felt weak from the exertion of speaking just a few words.

  “Yes,” he comforted. The man sat on the edge of the bed and brought the tips of a stethoscope to his ears before tenderly pressing the diaphragm of the instrument against her chest. The slightest touch near her bosom induced terrible pain. “I’m sorry. That hurts, doesn’t it?” He frowned and stared back at her with concern etched across his shadowed features.

  Uncomfortable, she nodded and could feel the immediate onset of tears well in her eyes. What had become of her? Was she dying of a broken heart? Why was her body betraying her? The man’s bedside manner was gentle, and the uncanny likeness to Rusty had her reeling.

  “Mrs. Garnet?” he turned toward her quiet mother who stood in the corner.

  “Yes, Doctor?” She took a few steps closer.

  “You said she’s been breastfeeding, correct?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Who are you again?” Ginger mumbled, shrinking into the divot of the worn mattress.

  The handsome stranger shifted his focus back to her as he adjusted the stethoscope to hang around his neck. “I’m Dr. Walden. I took over Doctor Preston’s practice in town near Pineapple Grove when he retired six months ago.”

  “Oh.” she managed to utter. She vaguely remembered the going-away-party the staff threw for Dr. Preston, the carrot cake cupcakes she delivered, a huge hit.

  “You have a high fever, and your mother told me you haven’t had anything substantial to eat in the past day or so, and haven’t been able to breastfeed your daughter either. I have a feeling I know what’s going on. Have you experienced tenderness or swelling in your breasts?”

  Ginger nodded with wide eyes, and she couldn’t help but clutch the nightgown she wore near her neck, her swollen chest radiating heat through the thin fabric.

  “May I take a look?”

  His eyes were hazel, and his hair was cropped short, just like Rusty’s. The similarities between the two men were uncanny and caused her to experience an overwhelming sense of déjà vu. “Umm… I don’t know.” She could feel her heart racing beneath the layer of silk as she looked over at her mama for reassurance.

  “Ginger, honey. He’s a doctor. Let him take care of you.” The worried tone of her mama’s voice was insistent as she stood behind the doctor’s shoulder and nervously wrung her hands together. The dark circles under her eyes caused Ginger to tinge with guilt.

  Exhaling with nerves, she closed her eyes and dug deep before she slid her hands a
way from her neck and offered a slight nod. Dr. Walden gently helped her pull the gown up to her chin, exposing her engorged breasts for them both to see. She gripped the sheets at her side as he creased his brow and leaned closer. Focused on her chest, he lightly touched and examined her inflamed skin. It was only a matter of seconds before he gently pulled the gown back down to cover her up.

  “Just as I suspected. You have mastitis.” He nodded.

  “Wh…what is, ‘mastitis’?” she croaked. The very thought of not being able to breastfeed Daisy anymore caused her emotions to titter close to the edge again. The only pleasure left in her life was taking care of her daughter. Was this about to be taken away from her too?

  Dr. Walden tugged a small pad of paper and a pen out of his shirt pocket and scribbled something on it. It was then that she noticed his conservative tie. A tie? In the middle of summer at the beach?

  “Mastitis is an infection in the breast,” he explained. “The culprit is bacteria from your baby’s mouth that has infected your milk duct. It’s fairly common among first-time, breastfeeding mothers.”

  Woozy with fatigue and fever, Ginger tried to sit up. “Do I need to stop?”

  The doctor ripped off the sheet of paper and handed it to her mama. “No. As excruciating as the pain is until the antibiotic kicks in, I want you to continue to breastfeed as much as you can. The baby’s sucking can help with the healing and don’t worry, your milk is absolutely fine while you’re on the medication.”

  He stood and turned to her mother with instructions. “This prescription needs to be filled as soon as possible. She can take ibuprofen too. Her flu-like symptoms should start to improve in the next couple of days.”

  “Thank you, Doctor.”