"A hand?" he murmured, grinning wickedly against her soft mouth. "I thought it was that other part of my anatomy that did the trick."
Mariah rolled her eyes, and he chuckled.
A few minutes later a nurse returned with their squalling daughter. To Grey's chagrin, she unceremoniously plopped her into his arms. Kayla, as he and Mariah had decided to call her, had a healthy pair of lungs and had no problem voicing her displeasure. Her face was beet red, and her little hands curled into angry, flailing fists.
Shaken by Kayla's distress, Grey looked to Mariah for help. He'd been poised and controlled all through the birth. Now he felt nervous and uncertain. His daughter depended on him, and he hadn't a clue as to how to soothe her.
"What do I do?" he asked anxiously.
Mariah gently touched the baby's head, stroking the soft, dark tuft of hair there. "You hold her close and you love her," she said simply.
As he cuddled his daughter securely and gently rocked her, Kayla's cries settled and she stared up at him, listening to his deep voice as he crooned to her. She was beautiful, he thought with pride as tears stung the backs of his eyes. He fitted his finger into her little palm, and his heart gave a funny tug as she latched on, trusting him, counting on him to be there for her. And he would be. Always.
In that instant, the precious bond between father and daughter formed. He lifted his gaze to Mariah and smiled, feeling like the luckiest man in the world.
Hold her close and love her. Grey didn't think that was going to be a problem. Not when she already had him wrapped around her little finger.
Janelle Denison
