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Her cries were always like music to his ears. Strong lungs, loud, and resonant. He'd memorized her cries just as much as Annie did, so when he heard her begin to fuss from a few feet away, he lifted from the bed, groggy but ready. His eyes traveled over to the bassinet. It was a worn old thing he'd patched up with his own hands, and there she was, their baby girl, fists balled tight and face scrunched in frustration.
"Hey now, little bit," Smoke murmured, voice low and rough from sleep. He swung his legs over the side of the mattress, the wood floor cool against his feet. He shuffled over, careful not to make too much noise, though it hardly mattered. Annie stirred behind him, but she didn’t wake. She trusted him to take care of it. Smoke reached down and scooped the baby up, holding her close against his chest. She was still small but strong, always fighting, always kicking.
"You got me wrapped 'round your little finger already," he whispered, kissing the crown of her head. Her cries softened to whimpers, little hiccupping sobs that shook her tiny body.
Smoke rocked her gently, his calloused hand cupping the back of her head, fingers splayed wide to support her.
The shack creaked around them. Wind pushing against the old boards, a reminder of how little they had. But holding her, feeling her against his chest, none of it seemed to matter.
"You don't know it yet, baby girl," Smoke said, pacing slowly. "But you're everything. You and your mama. You're all I ever needed."
The baby sighed against him, her little fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. He walked toward the door, opening it to sit inside the open doorway, knowing how the sounds of nature always seemed to soothe her.
Smoke sat in the threshold, the baby held securely against him, and stared at the night. She cooed against him, her feet kicking gently against his belly, as she rested against the opening of his shirt. They were skin to skin , his daughter listening to his heart, the rhythm that matched her own.
"I'm gonna be honest, little bit. I didn't plan for this," he said, keeping his voice low and his movements steady. "But I wouldn't trade you for anything. And I swear, if anybody comes after you, after your mama, I'm gonna tear them limb from limb. "
"Not a good bedtime story," Annie said, shuffling toward the door. Smoke turned his head just enough to catch a glimpse of her, hair messy, one of his old shirts swallowing her frame. She leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed loosely over her chest, watching them.
"Just tellin’ her the truth," Smoke said, his voice softer now. He glanced down at their daughter, who was starting to drift back into sleep, tiny breath warm against his skin.
"She gone catch cold," Annie warned him. Smoke hummed softly, leaning down and kissing his daughter's forehead before carefully moving her to his shoulder. He rose to his feet, Annie stepping back to allow him room.
"Can't have that," Smoke replied, a crooked smile spreading across his face.
Annie smiled back, and the sight sent his heart racing again. The way she looked at him, even after all these years. She followed him to the bedroom again. It was really all one room, and she watched as he carefully placed the baby back into her bassinet. He turned to reach for her hand and tugged her back to bed. It creaked beneath them as they lay down together.
"What're you going to do when she starts walkin'?" Annie asked, her voice a little above a whisper.
"Probably cry," Smoke responded honestly, wrapping an arm around her waist. He felt her chuckle, a soft vibration against him.
"That makes two of us," she said.
He was content to lay there like that, feeling the rise and fall of her chest, the warmth of her pressed . "I want five more."
"You're crazy," Annie rolled onto her side to face him, resting her head on his bicep.
"You're right," Smoke agreed, smiling, "but I mean it. I wanna see what we can do."
"You really wanna keep having babies in this hovel?" Annie raised a brow.
"No, no. We're moving somewhere bigger," he said. "Maybe up north. Chicago or something."
Annie wrinkled her nose. "Chicago's cold," she said, but there was no real protest in her voice, more like she was testing the dream, seeing how it fit in her mouth.
Smoke grinned, leaning in to nuzzle her temple. "We'll get you one of them big coats. One of them ones that make you look like a marshmallow."
Annie laughed softly. "Real romantic."
"That's me," he murmured. "Mr. Romance."
She went quiet for a moment, just breathing him in, listening to the crickets and the soft sighs of their daughter. When she spoke again, her voice was smaller, almost shy. "You really think we could do it? Build something better?"
Smoke tightened his hold on her, like he could anchor all of them just by holding on hard enough. "We already started, baby. We just gotta keep walkin'. One foot in front of the other."
Annie nodded against him, closing her eyes. "Alright then," she said, her words thick with sleep and something sweeter. "Let's walk."