A Valentine from Harlequin

God…”
    “It’s all right, hon. It won’t hurt much longer,” Carl said.
    Panting, sobbing, she lifted her head when the pain eased. “I thought you loved me, Uncle Carl.”
    “I am a businessman,” he said, as if it were a full-blown explanation.
    “Can I at least sit down? By the fire? I’m chilled to the bone.”
    He grunted, but stepped out of the doorway, keeping his gun on her as she passed. He followed her into the living room. Charlotte sat on the sofa, pulling the blanket from the back of it over her shoulders, leaning back, putting her legs up. She dug beneath the cushion with one hand, her motions covered by the blanket, searching for the gun she’d tucked there earlier.
    “That’s right, get comfy. It’ll make this easier.”
    “You’re really going to shoot me?” she asked, her voice trembling.
    The door opened, and Michael stepped in with an armload of firewood, which he dropped to the floor as soon as he saw what was happening. His eyes met Charlotte’s, then shot to Carl.
    “Listen, I know what you think, but she doesn’t know anything. Nothing, Carl. It’s all me, okay?”
    “Of course it is.”
    “So let’s you and I go somewhere and work this out between us, hmm?” He was coming closer, his hands raised. “You do what you have to do, but leave her out of it.”
    “I’m sorry, Michael, but I have no choice.”
    “For the love of God, Carl, she’s pregnant.”
    “I really don’t care. I never liked kids, anyway.”
    He lifted his gun toward Michael. Charlotte aimed hers through the blanket and squeezed the trigger. But it wouldn’t move. Nothing happened.
    “Hey, Carl, uh, you don’t have the safety on, do you? I mean, I’d just as soon not have to go through this more than once.”
    Carl glanced at the gun, his finger sliding over the small catch above the trigger. Charlotte mimicked the move, finding the same catch on her own gun, and pushing it forward.
    “I’ve been doing this awhile, Michael,” Carl said. “No, the safety wasn’t on.”
    “That’s funny,” Charlotte said. “Mine was.” She squeezed the trigger just as Carl turned to gape at her. The shot exploded, and he flew backward as if he’d been hit in the chest with a sledge hammer. He landed on the floor, and he didn’t move again.
    Michael rushed to kick the gun away from him, then bent over him for a moment. Charlotte didn’t watch. She couldn’t—the pain was back and it was intense this time.
    “He’s dead,” Michael said. He moved to the sofa, sat on its edge, and pulled her into his arms. “It’s over. My God, it’s finally over.”
    She hugged him back. “Is it?”
    Sitting back he looked at her. “Only the bad parts, Charlotte. I promise you that. There won’t be any more pain, no more hurting for you.”
    “Actually, I think you’re mistaken there.”
    He searched her face. “Honey…?”
    “It’s labor. I’m sure now. We should probably head to the nearest hospital, okay?”
    He nodded, getting to his feet, scooping her up and carrying her out of the cabin, and down to the car.
    * * *
    He was with her throughout the labor, the delivery, and finally, that moment of moments, when her tiny, perfect baby daughter was placed in her arms.
    Charlotte couldn’t take her eyes off her child—at least not until she saw the look of utter rapture in Michael’s wet eyes. And then she couldn’t decide which was more beautiful.
    He looked at her, then kissed her tenderly. “I don’t know how, Charlotte, but I swear, I’m going to find a way to convince you how much I love you. If it takes me the rest of my life, I will.”
    She smiled, tears brimming in her eyes. “You already have,” she told him.
    His brows went up, eyes widening a little. “I have? But…when, how?”
    “I found your journal. I read what you wrote there after you left me.”
    He seemed blank for a moment, then realization dawned. “I hadn’t been back to the cabin since then. I didn’t even remember…”
    She slid the baby into his arms. He stared adoringly at the child, then at her. “I guess our daughter gets to come to the wedding this time, hmm?”
    “Just as long as the father shows up,” Charlotte whispered.
    “I’ll love you till I die, Charlotte. And as you pointed out, I’m still alive.”
    He kissed her again, and she knew that this time, there was nothing that could keep them apart.
    * * *
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Night