Читать книгу The Baby Blizzard - Caroline Cross - Страница 8

Two

Jack didn’t think. He reacted. “No.” He swiveled toward Tess and shook his head. “Absolutely not.”

Her eyes, big and velvety like winter pansies, widened in astonishment. “What?”

“No way.” He shook his head again, adamant. “You’re not having a baby. Not here. Not now. Not with me.”

For the space of one endless, protracted second, she continued to send him that same incredulous look. Then she abruptly crossed her arms above her rounded middle and shifted her gaze to the darkness beyond the windshield. Her mouth—soft, lush, with an undeniable carnality that was all wrong on an expectant mother—flattened dangerously. “All right.”

It was the very last thing he expected. Primed for an argument, he stared blankly at her, struggling to get himself under control. “Good.” He knew he was behaving badly. He told himself he didn’t care. It was better than having her suspect the anxiety her announcement had brought him.

“Here.” She laid his coat down on the section of seat between them. “Thanks for the loan.” She shoved open the door and climbed out.

Jack gaped. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“To the house. There must be someone there who’ll help.” She slammed the door.

Stunned, he sat frozen in place, his thoughts churning. Hell! What had he ever done to deserve this? One small good deed, one humanitarian be-a-good-citizen gesture, and suddenly he was stuck with a stubborn, unreasonable, overly independent woman who didn’t have the sense to stay out of a snowstorm. A woman who, if she really was in labor, was going to have to rely on him to deliver her baby.

Just the idea made his throat tighten. Memories, ruthlessly suppressed for the past three years, flashed through his mind. He recalled how happy he’d been when Elise told him she was pregnant. It had been enough to make him ignore his uneasiness when she asked him to move into a spare room so that he wouldn’t disturb her rest. It had sustained him through his loneliness when she insisted on moving into Gweneth her last trimester to be closer to the doctor. It had even made it possible for him to swallow his desperate disappointment when he arrived too late for the birth because someone had forgotten to call him. It had all seemed worth it when he finally held his small, precious, perfect son.

Unbidden, an arrow of longing pierced him. The boy would be almost three and a half now, walking, talking, his big green eyes full of questions—

All of sudden Jack realized what he was doing. This wasn’t going to help anyone, he thought savagely, slamming a door on the past. He could rail against fate, he could rehash history, he could sit around feeling sorry for himself indefinitely, but the end result would be the same. The child was gone, forever beyond his reach... and Tess had no one to rely on but him.

He took a calming breath and forced himself to look at the situation dispassionately. Tess’s labor had just started. Chances were, her baby wouldn’t be born for hours, possibly not even until sometime tomorrow. Hell, by the time she was actually ready to deliver, the weather might well have improved, the phone lines might be restored and he could call for help. Once he did, she would no longer be his problem.

In the meantime, all he had to do was provide shelter and a cursory moral support. As long as they both remained calm, there was no reason why they couldn’t get through this like the pair of adults they were. Unless something happened to her, he thought suddenly, as a particularly vicious gust of wind rattled the truck. For example, if she were to slip and fall...

He twisted around to grab his hat, forgetting he’d lost it, and that was when he noticed Tess’s damp boots, lying exactly were he’d tossed them earlier.

Damn, damn, domn. The little fool was out there without any shoes! His newfound calm evaporated in a flash. He shoved open his door and scrambled out of the truck. Heedless of the fact that he’d forgotten his coat, he stormed across the yard, catching up with her in a few furious strides. Ignoring her cry of surprise, he scooped her into his arms. “You just don’t learn, do you?” he shouted over the shriek of the wind.

“Learn what?” she replied, her voice muffled as she buried her face against the warmth of his thinly covered shoulder.

“To get the lay of the land before you go hightailing off.” He marched up the three wide, shallow steps and across the wraparound porch, skirting a trio of wooden rockers that swayed in the breeze as if filled with invisible occupants.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean there’s nobody here but me and you!” With a curt command to the dogs to stay down, he thrust open the back door, strode across the mudroom and opened the second door into the big country kitchen.

“What?” For the first time, she sounded uncertain. “What are you talking about? This is a big ranch. You can’t possibly...” Her voice trailed off. She cleared her throat “You can’t possibly run it by yourself.”

“The hell I can’t,” he said curdy. “I got rid of my herd a few years ago.” His voice, though hardly more than a murmur, sounded harsh and loud in the pitch-dark quiet, but at least he’d managed to state the facts with none of the furious anguish he’d felt at the time. “Now I’ve just got horses.”

Tess, still clutched in his arms, shifted. “Oh,” she said in surprise.

Her scent came up at him, delicate, mysterious, feminine. He had a sudden, vivid recollection of how it felt to lie naked with a woman, to touch her in all her soft, silky places—

What was he thinking? She was about to have a baby. Disgusted with himself, he set her on her feel “Stay here while I get a light. I don’t want you banging into something.” Despite his terse tone, he took an extra second to steady her, then strode to the big walk-in pantry, grateful for the privacy.

He halted before the shelves where the emergency supplies were kept, wondering what was the matter with him. Three years of living like a monk, and the first time he felt so much as an itch for a woman, she happened to be pregnant by somebody else.

The irony of it sent a bitter smile twisting across his lips—and cooled his treacherous hormones like a plunge into a snowbank. With an impatient jerk, he lifted down two of the half-dozen battery-operated lanterns and thumbed on the switches. There was a dim glow and then a flash as the fluorescent bulbs came on.

He walked back into the kitchen to find Tess standing rigidly, her face pale, her mouth taut with pain. It didn’t take a genius to figure out she was having a contraction. He slapped the lanterns on the kitchen table with a clatter, yanked out a chair and strode to her side. “Come on,” he said gruffly. “You’d better sit down.” He slung an arm around her and tried to usher her toward the chair.

“No.” Stubbornly, she held her ground. “Standing... standing is better than sitting and this is... the pain is starting to fade.” Another few seconds passed, and then she abruptly relaxed. Her breath sighed out and she leaned against him. After a moment, she straightened. “Thanks. I’m okay now.”

Jack was damn glad somebody was. To his disgust, his heart was pounding.

He willed it to slow, watching as she took a quick look around, her eyes widening with surprise when she saw the ultra-modern kitchen with its pale birch cabinets and new appliances. An open counter was all that separated it from the family room, which was dominated by a big flagstone fireplace. The service stairs climbed the far wall, while straight ahead was the hallway that led to the living room, dining room, bathroom and den, and the more formal main staircase.

In the family room, there was a couch and a pair of overstuffed chairs atop a dark area rug, the varying gray, green and cream fabrics bled of color by the room’s deep shadows. A built-in entertainment center occupied the wall to the right of the fireplace, notable for the large empty space where the TV should have been.

Jack wondered what his guest would say if he told her he’d smashed it into a thousand pieces the night his wife announced she was leaving him.

Not that it was any of her business. “How far apart are the pains?”

“I’m not sure,” she said unsteadily. “Maybe...four minutes?”

“Four minutes?” He loosened his grip and stepped back as if she’d goosed him. “What are you talking about? I thought they just started.”

She shrugged. “Actually, my back has hurt off and on since this morning. I just didn’t realize what it was.”

So much for calling for help tomorrow. He took a hard, critical look at her midsection. Elise, though a full head shorter, had been twice that size when she delivered. “How far along are you?”

“Eight and a half months.”

Part of him relaxed; the baby should be all right. But part of him was unexpectedly furious, stunned by her irresponsibility. “What the hell were you thinking, running around the countryside when you’re this far along?” he demanded.

A wash of color rose in her chill-pinkened cheeks. “Listen, Jack. I didn’t do this just to ruin your day. And despite what you seem to think, I’m not some reckless airhead. I saw my doctor yesterday. She didn’t see anything to indicate I was about to deliver, and I didn’t expect to get caught in a blizzard. Why should I? It wasn’t predicted, and until today, this has been the mildest winter on record. How-ever—” she took a deep breath as she struggled to control her temper “—it’s also not your problem. So if you could just spare me a room, I promise not to bother you.”

“Don’t tempt me.” Despite his words, he felt an unwanted twinge of admiration for her nerve—until he remembered how far her labor had progressed. Four minutes! Hell, she was going to need all the nerve she could scrape together and then some. He picked up the lamp and thrust it at her. “Here. Hold this.”

“Why?” she started to ask, only to give a startled yelp as he swept her up in his arms.

“Because I’ve only got two hands.” He headed for the service stairs that spanned the interior wall. “And you’re not exactly a fragile flower.”

“Put me down,” she ordered, clutching his neck for balance.

He gave an involuntary grunt as she jabbed him in the chest with her elbow. “Forget it. Apparently you haven’t noticed, but your socks are covered with snow, which means your feet are probably half-frozen. All I need to round out my day is for you to slip and fall. Now hold still before I lose my balance and break both our necks.”

She gave a little huff, but quit squirming. After a moment’s silence, she asked, “Where are we going?”

Didn’t she ever quit talking? “Upstairs.”

“way?”

“Because it’s cold. Because even with the emergency generator, it’s going to take hours to get this place warmed up. Because the only room in the house with a bed, a bathroom and a fireplace—all of which you’re going to need—is upstairs. Okay? Satisfied?” He gave her a quick, impatient glance. “Or is there something else you have to know? My social security number? My shirt size?”

“Look. I’m sorry—”

“Yeah, right.” She couldn’t be half as sorry as he was, he reflected, angling sideways to avoid knocking her into the walls that enclosed the steep, narrow risers.

But then, he’d cut out his tongue before he admitted that he hadn’t set foot on the second floor more than a half dozen times in the past trio of years. Or that when he had, it had been only briefly, to fetch and haul for his mother who showed up periodically to fuss at him about getting on with his life. It was certainly none of Ms. Danielson’s business that for him the upper reaches of the house teemed with memories he preferred to ignore.

It was nobody’s business but his own.

He rounded the corner at the top of the stairs and made his way down the long halt to the closed double doors that marked the master suite, where he deposited Tess on her feet. Face set, he hesitated for the barest instant, then reached for the polished brass handles.

“Jack—”

Sunk in thought, he jerked his head around in surprise as she laid her hand on his shoulder. “What?”

“You don’t have to give up your bedroom for me,” she said softly. “I’ll be fine somewhere else—”

Her sudden concern was worse than her questions. Alarmed at what she might have seen in his face to prompt such an offer, he shrugged off her hand and thrust open the door. “I sleep downstairs.” He strode to the fireplace, hunkered down and opened the fire screen. “Hold the lamp steady, will you?”

He wondered what she’d make of the room. It was decorated in what Elise had claimed was pseudo-Victorian, but what he’d privately always termed Neo-Pretentious. A thick white rug, totally impractical for a working ranch, covered the wood floor. Lace swags hid the more practical window shades. The queen-size bed had a fussy floral bedspread and canopy, while the chairs that faced the fireplace were slipcovered in a contrasting geometric pattern. As for the rest...well, anything that didn’t have a ruffle or a flounce had a fringe or a bow. The overall effect made his teeth ache.

He checked the damper, then lit the kindling beneath the logs already laid on the grate. To his relief, the fire caught immediately. He closed the. screen, glanced pointedly at Tess and jerked his head toward the bed. “Sit down so I can have a look at your feet.”

For a moment she didn’t move, but then she walked over, set the lantern on the nightstand and sat on the mattress edge.

He knelt and peeled off her socks. Her icy feet were long and slim,. “They look all right,” he said after a careful inspection, relieved to find none of the telltale white spots that would indicate frostbite. “How do they feel?”

“Cold.” He glanced up, surprised to see the corners of her mouth curve up in a tentative smile. “But otherwise okay. Thanks.”

He shrugged. “Forget it.” Her eyes weren’t really blue at all, he saw, but closer to the purple color of the gentian violent he used to treat minor cuts on the livestock.

“Jack?”

“What?”

“Did you and your wife.... Do you have any children?”

He couldn’t believe his ears. He stood. “That’s none of your business.”

“You’re right,” she said immediately. “I’m sorry. I just thought it might help if one of us knew what they were doing—”

“The bathroom’s through there.” He indicated the door set into the wall at her right. “I need to move the truck and get the generator started and check on my horses, but I’ll bring you your bag, some dry socks and some extra blankets before I go.”

“All right.”

“Do you have a watch?”

She shook her head. “No, I’m afraid I—”

“Here.” Cutting across her explanation, he stripped off his and handed it to her.

She clutched it in her hand. “Thank you.”

“I’ll see you in a little while.” Face set, he strode from the room.

Tess was blessed with an iron constitution. She rarely got sick, but when she did she always bounced back in record time. She was also lucky; despite being both adventurous and athletic, and having tried everything from hang gliding to parasailing, she’d never broken a bone or suffered a serious injury.

That was probably why she was so scared now.

Standing with her hands braced against the mantelpiece, she prayed for the current contraction to ease. As silly as it seemed, she was shocked by how much being in labor hurt—and how quickly that pain was wearing her down. She couldn’t seem to rise above it, or outsmart it, or brazen it out, the way she had so many other obstacles in her life. Given that things would likely get worse before they got better, she was starting to suspect that she wasn’t going to make it through the next few hours with any dignity whatsoever.

It was a humbling admission. Tess considered her strength, both mental and physical, to be as much a part of her as her utterly straight hair, her too-wide mouth, her tendency to do what she felt was right, regardless of the consequences. But now, when she needed it most, her strength seemed to have deserted her. It had gone missing along with her nerve and her luck—

Stop it. Stop feeling sorry for yourself and think about something else.

Okay. How about that this wasn’t even close to what she’d pictured when she envisioned giving birth? She’d wanted her and Gray’s child, conceived out of such incredible sadness, to be born in tranquil, joyous circumstances. She’d even had a plan: Beethoven on the CD player in the birthing room at Eastside Hospital; her friend and obstetrician, Joanne Fetzer, in attendance; herself, in control, her life in order, ready to welcome the future after having made peace with her past.

Instead, that past, in the form of her grandmother, had lit out for God knew where. The baby was early. And she didn’t have the calm, ultracompetent Dr. Fetzer to depend on. Instead, her designated stork was the ultimate charm school dropout—and an undependable one, at that. True, he’d brought her the things he’d promised. But that had been more than forty minutes ago. While Tess could practically hear her childbirth instructor prattling on about how first births usually took forever, that obviously wasn’t the case here. If Jack didn’t show up soon, he was going to miss the main event.

Not, she chided herself, that she was counting on him to be much help. He’d made it clear he’d prefer not to be part of the delivery. And as much as she’d have liked to hold it against him, she couldn’t—not when her own mind shut down every time she tried to visualize the two of them sharing such intimacy. It would be daunting enough with someone she already knew, or with someone older or kinder or more approachable. But to even consider it with Jack... Well, the idea was simply impossible.

Although she supposed that anything would be better than being alone...

The contraction began to ease. She waited until she was sure it was over before she released her stranglehold on the mantel, and even then she didn’t lift her head until she heard a faint, unfamiliar rumble. She glanced around, then realized the noise was the sound of the furnace coming on. Her heart started to pound. Moving carefully, she walked to the door and looked down the hall, and was rewarded when a light bloomed on at the base of the stairs. A moment later Jack appeared, a stack of supplies in his arms.

Finally. For the second time that night, tears of relief welled in Tess’s eyes. Only this time, she was unable to will them away, and they spilled down her cheeks. Mortified, she ducked back inside and shuffled toward the fireplace, praying he hadn’t seen her. Her back to the door, she barely managed to strike a casual pose when she heard him stride into the room.

His footsteps ceased. “What are you doing up?” She could hear the surprise in his voice.

Apparently his time at the barn hadn’t done a thing to improve his manner. She swallowed. “I was cold,” she murmured, her voice raw.

Thankfully, he didn’t seem to notice. “So why aren’t you in bed, under the covers?”

“My back hurts. I don’t want to lie down.” She certainly didn’t feel compelled to explain that being upright gave her an illusion of control she wasn’t ready to surrender.

“Huh.”

She could feel him studying her. She pretended absorption in the fire, grateful for the flickering shadows.

“How far apart are the pains?”

“Two minutes.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” She cleared her throat again. “What took you so long?”

“I had to feed the horses.”

“Ah.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him head toward the dresser.

“I brought some things. Towels. More sheets and blankets. Some scissors and string.” Light flooded the room as he switched on a lamp.

“Ah,” she said again. She wondered what he planned to do with the string. She’d just decided she didn’t want to know when the familiar tightening began to spread across her middle. She bit her lip and pressed a hand to the small of her back, making a wordless little murmur of protest as the contraction rolled through her like a wave. She reached blindly for the back of the chair to one side of her, her fingers digging into the plush-covered frame until the pain began to ebb.

Gradually she grew aware of the awkward quality of the silence, unbroken except for the crackle of the wood in the fireplace and the steady wail of the wind whistling around the house. She swiped at her damp face, feeling foolish when she realized her hand was shaking.

Jack cleared his throat. “You okay?”

“Yes.” She straightened and turned slowly in his direction. To her surprise, he was only a few feet away, as if he’d started toward her, then changed his mind. For a moment, their eyes met. The line of his mouth tightened, and she realized-how she must look, her cheeks shiny, her nose red, her eyes puffy. She looked away.

“I brought a tarp for the mattress,” he said gruffly. He took a step toward the bed, then stopped and gestured toward the thermos sharing space on the dresser with the other things he’d brought. He gestured toward the dresser. “Are you thirsty? I made some coffee.”

Just the thought made her stomach roll. She shook her head. “No thanks.”

“Okay.” He moved to the far side of the bed, peeled back the covers and unfolded a rectangle of canvas. Determined not to dwell on the panic that threatened to overwhelm her, she focused on his hands. They were large, with long, elegant fingers, their every gesture deft, sure and competent. She supposed she ought to feel reassured.

She didn’t.

As if he felt her watching him, he looked up. His gaze flickered over her. “Interesting outfit.”

She fingered the sheet, folded in half and wrapped around her waist, that she was wearing in lieu of her pants. “My water broke.” She couldn’t resist the little devil that made her add, “Be glad you weren’t here. It wasn’t pretty.”

He gave her a sharp glance, his hands stilling briefly before he resumed smoothing out the sheet he’d stretched over the tarp. He shook his head. “I bet you were a real pain in the butt as a kid.”

She couldn’t contain a slight smile. “Still am.”

He flashed her another look, and she thought she detected a flicker of surprise in his leaf-green eyes. He pulled the covers back into place. “Yeah, well... I suppose you come by it honestly.”

“How do you mean?”

He shrugged. “I’ve done business with your grandmother. She can be a little...difficult.”

Tess made an unladylike sound. “Impossible is more like it. Where Gram’s concerned, there’s only one way to do anything—hers.”

He came around the bed. She tensed as he closed the distance between them, then felt foolish as he reached past her for the poker, squatted down and attended to the fire. “Is that why you left? You couldn’t get your own way?”

She looked down at his dark head, taking note of the way the hair feathered over his shirt collar. “I suppose you could say that. I wanted to go to college, see more of the world than northern Wyoming. Gram wouldn’t hear of it. As far as she was concerned, the Double D was the world.”

Jack tossed another log on the fire. “But you went anyway, right?” His voice had an edge she didn’t understand.

“That’s right.” She was darned if she’d explain that she’d written regularly, concerned that her grandmother might worry. Or that every letter had been returned, bearing the single word Refused penned in Mary’s decisive handwriting. He’d obviously already reached some sort of conclusion about her character—and it wasn’t pretty.

He climbed to his feet. He was so close she could see the faint, silvery line of a scar high on his right cheekbone. “So why show up now? Or—” he glanced pointedly down at the taut bulge of her belly “—do I need to ask?”

She wondered again why he seemed so determined to assume the worst. “Look. I’m not indigent, and I didn’t come here for a handout or to beg a roof over my head. I came because I thought my grandmother ought to know she was about to have a great-grandchild.”

“Yeah? I bet the kid’s father is thrilled about that,” he muttered.

It was the second time that night he’d brought up the baby’s father, and Tess had enough. “Save your sympathy,” she said tersely, “at least for Gray. He’s dead.”

If she meant to surprise him, she’d succeeded. Although his expression didn’t change, she could see the shock in his glorious green eyes—and an unmistakable flash of regret for what he’d said.

All of a sudden, she felt exhausted, and more than a little ashamed herself. She turned away, back toward the fire. “Please. Just go away—Oh!” She gasped as a bolt of pain lanced through her, doubling her over.

She forgot her anger at Jack as she realized that this contraction already felt far worse than the preceding ones. She gritted her teeth so hard her jaw ached, but it didn’t help. Instead, the pain increased, winding tighter and tighter. Tess began to panic. She couldn’t do this, she thought frantically, little black dots dancing behind her eyelids as she squeezed her eyes shut. She could handle an accident, a blizzard, Gram’s rejection, Gray’s loss, a hostile stranger—but not this excruciating, overwhelming, unrelenting pain, too. She swayed, biting her lip to keep from crying out, afraid that if she started, she wouldn’t be able to stop.

Suddenly a hard, steely arm came around her. “Breathe,” Jack ordered, his deep, impatient voice close to her ear.

Disoriented, she forced her eyes open. “What?”

He stared down at her, his expression grim. “I said breathe. In through your nose and out through your mouth. Like this.” He demonstrated.

Gasping fitfully, she shook her head. “I—I—can’t.”

True to form, he disagreed. “You can. Look at me and concentrate.”

His certainty—and some last little remnant of bravado—brought her chin up. Clutching his arm, she ignored the tears blurring her vision and attempted to pattern her breathing after his. It wasn’t easy. At first she felt so frantic and light-headed that with every breath she was sure she was going to hyperventilate.

Jack wasn’t having it, however. Through the sheer force of his will, he kept her focused until she was gradually able to inhale and exhale more and more deeply. At some point, the pain seemed to lessen a fraction.

Even so, an eternity seemed to pass before the contraction finally ended. Dazed, every muscle in her body quivering, Tess sagged against Jack. He felt wonderful, lean, hard, warm and solid, and she was suddenly too grateful for his presence to be concerned with anything else. “Thanks,” she said when she finally found her voice.

He tensed, but didn’t move away. “Why the hell didn’t you take a childbirth class?”

She swallowed a sigh. Forget cupcake—remember? “I did. I’ve just never been very good at following directions.”

Silence. And then a grunt. “Huh. I never would’ve guessed.”

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Do you practice being rude?” she asked mildly, finally looking up at him. “Or is it a natural talent?”

Their gazes met for a long, measuring moment. Whatever he felt was impossible to decipher, but for once he was the first to look away. “Can you walk?”

“Yes. Can you?”

He shook his head. “What I meant,” he said caustically, “was do you think you can make it to the bed?”

She considered. Her lower body felt leaden, the muscles weighted. “I don’t know. Why?”

“Because you need to lie down before the baby shows up and drops out on its head.”

She sighed, this time loudly and on purpose. “You know, Jack, you really have a way with words.”

“Can you walk or not?”

It was only five feet. How hard could it be? “Sure.” She let loose of him and took a step.

A second later, a new contraction struck her, and her knees gave out.