Читать книгу All That Remains - Janice Johnson Kay - Страница 9

WREN KNEW SHE OUGHT TO BE really, really scared. She had never in a million years imagined having her baby on the floor of an old attic in a house being swallowed by a flood. She hadn’t even wanted to go the at-home-with-a-midwife route. She’d planned on a hospital, a fetal monitor strapped across her belly, a surgical suite down the hall if necessary. She’d had every intention of being surrounded by all the technology possible—not to mention obstetricians and nurses.

Yet here she was, and although fear did tiptoe through her consciousness now and again, mostly she was okay. The surprising sense of security was entirely thanks to Alec, who had, without hesitation and with considerable risk to himself, climbed into the attic and stranded himself along with her. All because she needed him.

She remembered that terrifying moment when his hands had slipped and she’d been sure he was going to fall. All in a flash, she’d seen it in Technicolor—the splash, then the sight of his head bobbing as he was swept away until he disappeared in the eternal rain, leaving her utterly alone again. More alone, because he’d briefly given her hope that she wouldn’t be.

Somehow, with superhuman strength, he’d hauled himself upward and made it through the window. If she could have chosen anyone in the world—well, except for an obstetrician, maybe—it would have been him. He’d had enough training to give her confidence, and he’d actually delivered a baby before. He was calm, and so kind. After hours and hours of either kneeling or sitting on the floor beside her, his back probably ached as much as hers did, and the way she’d been squeezing his hand, it had probably gone numb. She hoped it had gone numb so it didn’t hurt.

He encouraged her to talk, and he listened. Really listened, she could tell, unlike James, who had only pretended. Alec had talked to her, too, as if they were best friends. There were parts of himself he didn’t offer, of course. Flashing yellow caution lights clearly marked those areas, but that was okay. There were things she didn’t talk about, too. People.

She was glad he didn’t ask any more about James. She didn’t want him here even in spirit when her baby was born. He hadn’t wanted Cupcake, and now she was glad. Glad!

Wren couldn’t help having the sneaking wish that Detective Alec Harper was Cupcake’s biological father instead. It was wrong of her to even think that, sort of like having a sudden and inappropriate crush on your obstetrician. Women probably fell for their doctors often; after all, they projected a calm air of confidence and knowledge that no rattled husband could possibly match. But Wren bet Alec would project it, even if it was his baby being born. And he’d never know she was wishing, would he? So what did it hurt to dream a little?

Deciding she’d squelch all these surprising emotions later, she let herself enjoy his care, and even feel entitled to it. Except when he rolled her over so that he could give her the best back rub she’d ever had, Wren hardly looked away from him. She probably wouldn’t have anyway, because he’d become her lodestar. And the truth was she liked looking at him.

She often felt dwarfed by men, but Alec’s size along with everything else about him made her feel safe instead of small and insignificant. Probably a woman in labor shouldn’t notice things such as the way his jeans pulled taut over the hard muscles in his thighs. Or the thickness of his wrists, and the dusting of hair on powerful forearms, but she did. Usually she didn’t like the unshaved look on men, but dark stubble emphasized the hollows beneath his cheekbones and enhanced the air he had of being pure male.

He had a habit of shoving a hand through dark, unruly hair. And his wonderful mouth seemed to be made for smiling, even though he’d looked surprised the first few times he did smile and laugh. Maybe that was just because of everything he’d seen these past two days. He’d told her about some of it: the dead animals floating past, the scared children, the despairing adults sitting in emergency shelters knowing everything they owned was gone. People had died, too. He was one of the rescue workers who had pulled two people out of a submerged car, and known even as they worked that they were too late. Wren had seen the dark flash of emotion on Alec’s face.

She had a feeling, though, that he didn’t do much smiling these days. At least, not heartfelt smiles or real belly laughs. He was so very guarded, she knew there had to be a reason.

Once she asked if he was married, and his response was a terse, “No. Divorced.” She hadn’t dared ask more.

As appealing and sexy as he was, his eyes were what drew her most. As dark as his hair was, his eyes should have been brown like hers, but they weren’t. They were a pure, rich blue, much deeper than the summer-sky blue that blonds often had. The color alone made his eyes riveting, but beyond that they expressed an intensity that she guessed was just him. And even when his face stayed impassive, his eyes betrayed emotions Wren wished she could better read. His clear irises were often darkened by shadows. But his eyes smiled, too, sometimes even when his mouth didn’t. She loved the glints of humor and, yes, the kindness.

The contractions were closer together now, barely giving her any rest between. They came like ocean waves, rolling over her, ebbing slowly even as the next built. The whole “pant, pant, blow” thing had helped, but it wasn’t so much anymore. She kept losing track, crying out, her entire body arching in agony. She quit noticing how sexy Alec was, and cared only that he was here.

Finally, one of those waves was stronger than the others, and she crushed his big hand. “I need to push.”

“Not yet.” He bent close over her, compelling her by sheer force of personality. “Breathe.”

She groaned as the wave receded. “Why can’t I?”

He pried his hand from hers. “I think it’s time I take a look, Wren. I want to make sure you’re completely dilated.”

She didn’t ask how he’d know, because she preferred to believe completely in his ability to deliver her baby.

An hour ago she would have been self-conscious when he lifted the blankets, pushed up the flannel shirt and gently spread her knees. Now, with another wave lifting her, cresting, she couldn’t afford any emotion so petty.

“Breathe.”

She tried. Oh, God, she tried, but she’d never felt anything like this, a compulsion so powerful it gripped every cell of her body. Strange, guttural sounds came from her and her hips rose.

The contraction eased and she sagged back down, although already she felt the next gathering force. “Please,” she whispered.

Alec’s hands squeezed her thighs and he said, “Okay. I think we’re ready.”

He moved away from her briefly, and she felt him lifting her, putting some of the clothes she’d dragged up under her hips. Because this would be messy, Wren realized, in a corner of her brain not quite overridden by pain.

Then he knelt again between her thighs. “This time push.”

She couldn’t have done anything but. Her mind blanked of everything but this huge, overwhelming need—and the sight of Alec’s face, his rumbles of encouragement.

“I see Cupcake’s head. That’s it. I know you’re tired, but…you’re amazing.” He flashed her a huge grin. “I’ve got her head, honey. A little more.”

There was a brief pause, just enough for Wren to gather strength, and then she heard herself screaming as she pushed with everything she had. She felt her baby slip from her. Satisfaction roared in her ears, but already she was levering herself to her elbows.

“Is she all right? Why isn’t she crying?”

He was utterly preoccupied, there between her knees. “Give her a second. I’m wiping her face.”

Then it came, a thin wail, and he laughed, exultation in those blue, blue eyes as they met hers.

“Let me wrap her up.” And finally he lifted a flannel bundle and laid it on Wren’s stomach. She could see his delight. “Meet Cupcake.”

Wren looked disbelievingly at the small, scrunched face of her daughter. She didn’t look anything like television-commercial babies. She was beet-red, and her eyes were squeezed shut as if she was absolutely refusing to see this cold, scary world. She was smeared with blood and slimy stuff, but all the same Wren had never seen anything so beautiful.

“Oh, sweetheart,” she whispered, and smoothed a hand over a head damply fuzzed with a shade of brown the same as her own hair. And she was filled with joy, because at first glance there was nothing whatsoever of James in her baby.

“I need to cut the cord,” Alec said.

Wren lifted her gaze from Cupcake. “I didn’t even think of that. What can you… Oh! I brought a knife up from the kitchen.”

He laughed. “I have scissors from the first-aid kit, thankfully sterile.” He brandished them as he ripped off the packaging. “And I found some twine I think will work.”

That hadn’t come from the first-aid kit, which made Wren realize it must have been one of the things he’d been looking for earlier, when he’d been opening boxes. She remembered once hearing a grunt of satisfaction.

She watched anxiously as he tied the still pulsing umbilical cord. Then the scissors flashed, and without hesitation he cut the cord.

“She’s her own person now,” he murmured, and Wren realized her face was wet with tears.

She looked and touched and marveled, hardly aware that she had more contractions and that Alec was still occupied. Eventually he said, “I’m going to clean you up as well as I can without water, and then we’d better figure out something for a pad.”

A pad? Oh.

“Um…” She turned her head. “There are some pajama bottoms here somewhere. I couldn’t have gotten them on before, but maybe now…”

“All right. Why don’t you try putting her to your breast? Even if you weren’t planning to breast-feed, you have to for now.”

“I was.” She undid a couple of buttons and lifted Cupcake—who needed a real name now. As she did, her daughter opened her eyes and, in the gray light through the window, Wren saw that they were a murky blue, which likely meant they were going to turn brown like hers. She felt another moment of fierce delight. Her own mother might have been disappointed when she’d first seen Wren, tiny and wizened and not very pretty at all as babies went, but Wren was glad Cupcake had gotten nothing from her father.

It took some doing to figure out what angle worked best, and to coax the baby to begin nuzzling for her breast. But finally she latched on and began to suckle as though she knew exactly what to do.

“Like a pro,” Alec murmured, and their eyes met over Wren’s knees.

“Isn’t she amazing?”

“So are you.” He was stuffing her into those pajamas as he spoke, although he laughed and paused to roll the hems up. And up. Then, sounding awkward for the first time, he said, “I’ve, er, folded a T-shirt in there to be a menstrual pad. It’s not ideal, but as long as you’re not moving around a lot, it ought to do.”

His momentary discomfiture made her feel embarrassed for the first time, too. She couldn’t believe she hadn’t given a second thought to letting a man who was a virtual stranger do such intimate things for her.

“Thank you,” she said stiffly.

He nodded. “Is the baby asleep?”

Filled with tenderness, Wren glanced down to see that Cupcake’s mouth had slipped from her tingling breast. “Yes.”

“You need to have something to eat and drink now.”

She thought about it, and realized she was hungry. And her mouth felt…gritty. “Do we have anything?”

“Bottled water and energy bars. Not very exciting.”

“You’re apologizing?” She stared incredulously at him. “What, because you didn’t bring big juicy hamburgers and fries with you?”

There was that grin she already loved. “No, I’m apologizing because we’re going to have to ration what we do have. We could be stuck here for another day or more, you know.”

That momentarily dimmed her delight. “Is it going to get cold once night falls?”

“Afraid so.” He set a big plastic water bottle beside her, watching as she eased the soundly sleeping baby onto the pallet. Then he slid an arm around behind Wren and helped her to a sitting position.

She winced. Her stomach muscles seemed to be shot, and she was definitely sore. Instead of sitting cross-legged as she would normally have done, she tucked both feet to one side of her and reached for the water.

“Is this all we have?”

“Yes, but we can catch some rainwater. Drink what you need.”

She guzzled enthusiastically. It was probably plain tap water, but it tasted like ambrosia. So did the peanut butter-flavored bar he peeled open for her.

“Want another one?”

“How many do we have?”

He counted. “Ten. You haven’t eaten since…?”

Wren had to think back. “It’s been…two days. And I was feeling unsettled then. My back was starting to hurt, and my stomach felt weird. So I ate only half the BLT I bought at a restaurant.”

“Then you’re definitely having another one.” He pulled an array of them out of the zippered bag he’d thrown through the window. “You have a choice of more peanut butter, apple and cinnamon or…” He squinted at one. “Chocolate.”

She sat up straighter. “Chocolate?”

“We have a winner.” Looking amused, he handed one to her. “Do all women love chocolate?”

Wren gaped at him. “Don’t you?”

“Not particularly. I don’t much care about candy.”

“Chocolate isn’t candy,” she assured him. “It’s a basic food.”

“Dairy, grains, fruits and vegetables, meats…and chocolate.”

She grinned. “Right.”

“I’ll remember that.”

Wren ate this bar more slowly, drawing out the pleasure. A cramping in her stomach made her really, really wish she had something with more substance to eat. Or maybe more comforting. Thick, steaming split-pea soup with bits of salty ham. Or a stew filled with chunks of potato and carrots and tender meat.

Her sigh was unconscious. She only became aware of it when she saw Alec raise his eyebrows.

“Oh…I was planning a menu for after we get out of here.”

“Ah.”

Wren frowned. “You haven’t eaten anything.”

“Unlike you, I’ve been getting regular meals. And I didn’t go through labor. I’ll wait until later.”

That gave her pause. He really was afraid they might be trapped here for days. If she didn’t get enough to eat, would her body fail to produce the milk her baby needed?

Again, he seemed to read her mind. Maybe it was easy, given the scared look she flashed at Cupcake.

“She’s going to be fine.” He gave a rueful grin. “Our biggest challenge may be finding enough cloth to keep her in some sort of diaper. Doing laundry isn’t exactly an option.”

“No. I didn’t think of that.” Wren studied the sleeping baby again. For the first time, she noticed that Alec had bundled her oddly, with a sleeve of the flannel shirt doubled over between her legs, while the other sleeve wrapped around holding the whole arrangement in place. He’d been remarkably clever.

Cupcake scrunched up her face, made a grunting sound, then gradually relaxed again. She had a surprising amount of hair, which clustered in stiff tufts. Wren wished she had one of those small knitted caps that babies always seemed to wear in hospital nurseries.

“I’m most worried about keeping her warm,” Alec said quietly, as if once again he was reading her mind. “I think that when night falls we’ll need to keep her between us. I don’t want to scare you, but I’m going to lie down next to you.”

Wren shivered, but she wasn’t cold. It was… She didn’t know. She was suffering from nerves, she guessed. And something that felt oddly like excitement. She liked the idea of lying stretched out beside him. Which, she supposed, shouldn’t be such a surprise, given how attracted to him she’d been from the minute he’d shoved back the hood of his rain slicker and looked up at her window, like the prince there to rescue Rapunzel.

The ridiculousness of that would have made her laugh under other circumstances.

Wow. Call me shallow.

Apparently her body was on board with the whole concept of offering herself to any guy who rescued her. She’d escaped from James only four days ago, and here she was eyeing another man.

Yes, but she hadn’t had sex in something like six months. No, more than that. James had been repulsed by her body once Cupcake’s presence showed in a slight thickening around Wren’s waist and then a bump below her belly button.

He had been furious from the moment she told him she was pregnant. In those first weeks, she’d still been delusional enough to imagine that he’d come around. That soon he would rejoice, too, in the life quickening inside her.

Instead, as the depths of his need to have her belong to him and him alone had become apparent, she’d finally seen how dumb she’d been. How blind.

The thought was enough to make her shudder.

Alec’s sharp eyes saw that, too. “You’re getting cold.”

“No, I’m okay. Just…feeling a little scared,” she admitted. “Not of what’s going to happen, but of what could have happened.” She tried to smile, but her lips trembled. “I haven’t said thank you yet, but… Thank you. From the bottom of my heart.”

“You’re very welcome,” he told her, with equal formality. “I should probably thank you. I’ll think of this at Christmas. If only we had a manger for a cradle and a heap of straw to keep Cupcake cozy.”

Blinking, Wren had to admit that their current conditions were every bit as primitive as that long-ago stable. Well, except for the energy bars and the scissors Alec had triumphantly torn from their sterile packaging.

Cupcake would have died if anything had gone wrong. Terror poured through Wren as she gazed at her daughter and let herself acknowledge a truth she’d managed to block out all day. She and Cupcake—mother and child—were incredibly lucky.

Blessed.

She very gently cupped her daughter’s head and waited for the fear to ebb, as the labor pains had. She closed her eyes and thought…thank you. God or whoever was listening, thank you.

A lump of emotion seemed to be caught in her throat. What was it Alec had said to set her off? I’ll think of this at Christmas. Where would he be at Christmas? With his sister and her family?

On another tremor of uncertainty that wasn’t so different from the earlier fear, Wren wondered where she would be at Christmas. Would she have found Molly by then? Or…or perhaps a motel room? Except, she didn’t have a cent. This was one time she would have to ask her mother for help. After that, if Wren couldn’t find Molly, maybe she could rent a room, if there were such things as boarding houses anymore. She would have to look for a job, too, of course. Finding one where she was allowed to bring a baby wasn’t going to be easy. Day care. There must be day-care centers around. Or maybe she could be a night janitor. No one would be around to be bothered when Cupcake got hungry or unhappy because her diaper was wet and cried.

The terror was surging again, building in power, because now she didn’t have to worry only about herself, but about another entire person. And she knew she was woefully unprepared to take care of her daughter. Especially knowing James would try to find them. She wished Alec was right and James wouldn’t bother, but Wren didn’t believe it. He hadn’t let her go the first time she’d tried to leave him, a month ago. If anything, he’d gotten more obsessed since then. She couldn’t imagine that he would be able to shrug and decide to let her go. And…she’d seen his violent side.

Don’t think about it, she decided. Not now. Not yet.

Here and now, she and Cupcake were safe. They might get chilly, and hungry, but they weren’t alone, and they were safe. She’d never in her life trusted anyone completely, but there was always a first, and this was it. Alec wouldn’t let anything bad happen to her or her baby, as long as they were with him.

“I think I need that applesauce jar again.”

With a low, deep chuckle, he rose to his feet and held out his hands to help her up. “Is that what it was for?”

“Well, some kind of preserves. In the old days, they canned green beans and things like that, too. The jar’s too big for jam.”

He hoisted her up, frowning when her face changed. “What is it?”

“I wonder if, um, I need to replace the T-shirt. Or refold it or something.”

“Ah.”

She loved the way he said that. Acknowledgement, understanding, no need to comment. He bent and produced another item of clothing from the shrinking stack. Boxer shorts? Oh, heavens, had she grabbed the former resident’s underwear?

“We might have to do some washing. I mean, between me and Cupcake. Maybe we could rinse things out in the rain….”

Alec shook his dark head. “I don’t think they’d dry.”

Worrying over the problem, she retired to the end of the attic, aware that Alec had politely turned his back again. Flushing with embarrassment, she used the jar, dumped the contents out the window he’d already opened and let the rain rinse it. Then, before she could struggle to close the window, he reached around her and did it. She felt the heat of his body behind her, the strength of the arms that momentarily caged her, and her stomach did a dip and roll.

Stepping back, he said in a curiously gentle voice, “All right?”

She bobbed her head and, without looking at him, retreated to her pallet. Her throat had formed another of those impossible-to-swallow lumps. Cupcake was so tiny, and Wren realized suddenly that she was exhausted. It had to be hormones that were causing her mood swings. Joy to fear to gratitude to lust and back to fear again in mere minutes. Realizing that she wasn’t altogether sure she could lower herself to a sitting position gracefully and without pain was enough to make her eyes burn. Had she torn? Alec hadn’t said, and why would he when he couldn’t do anything about it?

Before she could begin any kind of undignified maneuvering, Alec lifted her up and laid her down. She squeaked, and he smiled.

“You were giving the problem more thought than it deserved.”

“My body is holding a major protest.”

He crouched over the first-aid kit. “It hadn’t occurred to me, but—” He made a pleased sound. “Here we go. Aspirin or ibuprofen?”

“Really?” Wren struggled up to her elbow, careful not to shift Cupcake, who she’d snuggled against her.

“Yeah, I thought about it earlier, when you were in labor, but I wasn’t sure what was safe for you to take.” He grimaced. “Or how much good either would do. Sorry that I’m only now remembering it’s here.”

“I haven’t hurt that bad. But I won’t say no to some ibuprofen.” She took the two capsules, popped them in her mouth, then swallowed them with a sip of water. “Thank you,” she murmured, settling back down.

“Hey, these dressings should work as menstrual pads for at least a few changes.” He sounded pleased. “I should have thought of it.”

Paper rustled as he laid out a small pile of sterile dressings then closed the velcro fasteners on the case, and stood. “I’m sorry, but I need to…” He gestured toward the window.

“Feel free.” Wren curled more comfortably around Cupcake and tugged the blankets higher over them. One of them was particularly scratchy wool, but it was warm. She tried not to listen to the sound of Alec lowering his zipper and then, a moment later, pulling it up again, and was grateful she couldn’t hear what he did in between.

The window grated as he shoved it down, and then his footsteps neared.

“The sun is going down, isn’t it?” Wren whispered.

“Yeah.”

She’d hardly noticed the deepening of the gray light.

“Is it still raining?”

“Yeah,” he said again.

“If we’re going to be biblical, it’s poor Noah we ought to be identifying with. And his wife. Doesn’t it figure that nobody can remember her name? She probably took care of all the animals and still put dinner on the table every night for him, and all anyone remembers is her husband because he built the boat.”

Alec knelt beside her. “I suspect he’s remembered because the vision was his.” Amusement roughened his voice.

“Who says? Maybe it was her idea. Wouldn’t it figure he took the credit?”

He sat and untied his boots. “As it happens, I know her name. Emzara.” He tugged off the first boot and set it aside. “Don’t ask me why that stuck from Sunday school.” In the act of pulling off the second boot, he paused. “Come to think of it, I know why. It was Mom. She said something pretty similar to what you did.”

“Smart woman.” Wren was beginning to feel drowsy, even though she wished there was a whole lot more padding between her and the floor.

Jeez. Talk about ungrateful.

Alec dropped the second boot, then in a quick move lifted the blanket and stretched out beside Wren, sandwiching Cupcake between their chests.

“She won’t smother under there, will she?”

“No. These blankets feel like wool. Wool breathes. And warm air would be better for her.”

“Okay.” She couldn’t help being disconcerted by how close his face was to hers.

“I’m using the first-aid kit for a pillow,” he said unnecessarily. “Why don’t I stretch my arm out, and you can pillow your head on it?”

She noticed the careful way he spoke. Just as politely, she said, “Oh, but it’ll go numb.”

“I’ll retrieve it if it does.” She couldn’t tell if that was amusement again in his voice, or something else.

But she lifted her head as he slid his arm beneath it. After a few wriggles, she settled far more comfortably onto his bicep. As if doing so was entirely natural, he curled his arm around her and she felt his big hand clasp her shoulder.

“Let me know if you get cold,” he said. “I’ve got on a heavier shirt than you do. I can give you the vest. Or we can find some other things for you to wear.”

Although she had no intention of taking his down vest, she said, “Okay.”

He squeezed her shoulder. “Go to sleep, Wren. I’ll watch out for Cupcake.”

She snuggled into him and let her eyes drift closed. She could smell male sweat overlying soap and a hint of forest. She liked how he smelled. “Okay,” she heard herself murmur again, drowsily.

Falling asleep hadn’t been so easy in a long, long time.