SHELTER {Romantic Suspense}

.50.

Sometimes when I'm all alone and unable to believe my luck, I pinch myself. Just to be sure my life isn't a dream.

I hoisted the sleeping body of my soon-to-be adopted daughter in my arms and giggled when Mickie's pintsized snores hitched at the jolty movement.

With a bit of a struggle, I plopped her on her twin bed and sighed happily at my slow but successful trip up the stairs.

Steps were especially hard for me. My new hip made any sort of extreme activity outside of walking, difficult (and technically, I wasn't supposed to lift anything over 25 pounds), but I was just as stubborn as always.

It didn't help that I was still in my wedding reception dress, either.

"Did you just carry Mickie up here by yourself?" Noah whispered from the doorway. "You really are a Bionic Woman, aren't you?"

"Nope, just a regular old glutton for punishment," I turned to smile adoringly at my gorgeous new husband. "I don't know how much longer I'm going to be able to pick her up, and I want to do it as much as humanly possible before she's too darn big."

"Come here," he chuckled in his deliciously low voice. "You are amazing, Mrs. Taylor."

I walked into his open arms and nestled into the warmth of Noah's strength, laying my ear over his heart to enjoy its steady drum. 

"I had a wonderful day, Mr. Taylor," I tipped my chin up and up to look into his soulful eyes.

His angular jawline was softened in the loved-up glow he exuded.

"I'm just lucky you agreed to marry me, Wildflower," Noah whispered to bathe me in the cinnamony afternotes of his intoxicating breath.

His full lips brushed mine in a sweet kiss that sent shivers down my spine and into my pelvis.

My bionic pelvis, more like.

Allen really tried to make good on his promise of killing me, and he nearly did. If it weren't for Noah's quick thinking, I would have been yet another victim of my ex-husband's vicious rage.  

He shot me once in the hip and once in the stomach. The second bullet went straight through my arm but missed any major organs or arteries. The first bullet, on the other hand, shattered part of my pelvis into an irreparable mess.

And to add insult to injury, my doctors told me that carrying a child to term would be impossible.

In spite of my upbringing, I always wanted to be a mother. I wanted to do better than my parents and break the cycle of abuse.

Clearly, I'd failed on every front, but Noah and I adopting Mickie gave me a second chance at a family I never thought I would get.

Mickie and I discovered that we loved a lot of the same things such as crafting, singing, and pretty much anything to do with baking, and, of course, Noah. 

I spent months in rehabilitation learning how to walk again (which wasn't nearly as bad as Allen made it out to sound the night of the attack).

I spent even longer reclaiming my life and my identity after my ex-husband did his best to almost erase my existence altogether.

The news of Allen's homicidal rampage and arrest echoed across the globe, while my brutal attack and survival were merely a footnote to the story. Not that I minded. I wasn't going to let any part of my past define who I was or any part of my future.

Noah and I continued to date, but he got to know me as Scarlett.

Our love blossomed quickly, nurtured by his steadfast patience and his heart of pure gold (not to mention, the best sex of my life after about six months of healing).

I moved in with Noah's mom and took over his downstairs bedroom while he finalized the purchase of a house on the same street.

Very slowly over the next year, I got better.

I wasn't going to be running a marathon or line-dancing with Monica anytime soon, but I was getting stronger day by day. Mickie even helped me with my strength training by taking me through the monkey bar course at the park at least four days a week (if not more).

As soon as he was settled in his new house, Mickie and I moved in with Noah. She spent every other week at her Grandmother's, however, to give her uncle and me some privacy.

Then, one icy fall evening, Noah got down on one knee and asked me to marry him.

Our snow-covered New Year's wedding in Lindsey Taylor's backyard was small and sweet and utterly perfect (right down to the crown of winter wildflowers in my hair).

Monica served as my maid of honor and Bill gave me away while Mickie was the flower girl and Collin was our ring bearer. And, of course, Pastor Steve, from Mrs. Wallace's church, officiated.

We invited all of our friends and family from Shelter Bay, which ended up being a lot of people!

Cathy and Raymond Van got an invite along with all my former colleagues at The Brick, and, of course, we couldn't forget Noah and Bill's deputies. Jeffery Wallace's digital invitation must have gotten lost in the mail, but I know someone opened it.

No one brought presents, but instead, they provided a festive feast of potluck items for us to enjoy. The only gifts allowed at all were donations to Mickie's college fund or the women's shelter in Mount Vernon.

Even better, we hustled everyone out of there by Mickie's bedtime. That way people could continue their New Year's Eve celebrations elsewhere, and I could have a short and intensely passionate honeymoon with my handsome new hubby.

Even there, in the arms of the man who hours ago promised to love and cherish me for the rest of our lives, I could hardly believe my good fortune.

Noah was my shelter, my salvation, and my soulmate.

The road to each other was full of pain and heartache, but against all odds, we were getting our chance at our own version of happily ever after.