Читать книгу The Texan's Convenient Marriage - Peggy Moreland, Peggy Moreland - Страница 8

Addy pressed the heel of her hand against the ache building between her eyes. Another five minutes on the phone with her mother and it would surpass the one that had throbbed low in her back all day.

Drawing in a deep breath, she searched for patience.

“I know you don’t like to talk about my father,” she began, choosing her words carefully. “But this is important. A lady called. Stephanie Parker. She said her father served with mine in Vietnam.”

“So what if he did?” her mother snapped. “Thousands of American soldiers went to Vietnam.”

Ignoring her mother’s bitterness, Addy forged on, determined to get through this conversation without screaming. “Stephanie told me that her father sent her mother a letter from Vietnam with a torn piece of paper inside. She thinks Tony might have had a similar piece and sent it to you.”

“The only thing Antonio Rocci ever gave me was you and that was an accident.”

Addy didn’t flinch at the jab at her illegitimacy. She’d had the circumstances surrounding her birth thrown in her face so often over the years that hearing it no longer had the power to sting.

“This paper may be valuable,” she persisted. “Do you remember Tony sending you anything like that?”

“That was over thirty years ago! How am I supposed to remember something that happened that long ago? I don’t even remember what was in yesterday’s mail.”

“A torn piece of paper, Mom. That’s odd enough that you should remember.”

“If you called to talk about him, I’m hanging up. I’m missing my shows.”

Before Addy could say anything more, the dial tone buzzed in her ear.

“The baby and I are doing fine, but thanks for asking.”

Scowling, she slammed down the phone, furious with herself for letting her mother’s lack of concern get to her. Mary Claire Richards-Smith-Carlton-Sullivan was a neurotic, self-centered woman who raced from one bad marriage to the next, fueled by a bitterness she’d clung to for more than thirty years and oblivious to anyone else’s needs, including her daughter’s.

With a sigh Addy swept a stray lock of hair from her face and told herself it didn’t matter. She’d survived thirty-three years of her mother’s disregard. Why should she expect her to show any concern now?

She stooped to untie her shoelaces but froze when she caught a glimpse of her reflection on the patio door. Straightening slowly, she stared, barely recognizing the woman who stared back. Her stomach looked as if she’d swallowed a soccer ball, her feet and ankles so swollen they looked like an elephant’s, and her long, black hair—which she usually considered her best feature—was wadded up in a frizzy knot on top of her head. Add to that lovely image nurses’ scrubs in a putrid shade of green and a well-worn pair of Reeboks and she was almost glad Ty wasn’t around to see her now.

Grimacing, she reached to untie her shoelaces again. “As if I’d let him past the front door,” she muttered under her breath. Ty Bodean was a lying snake and she was better off without him, even if it did mean she’d be raising her baby alone.

She caught her lower lip between her teeth as she eased the shoe off her swollen foot, thinking what all that meant, what lay ahead of her. Money was going to be a problem. Eighteen months ago, she’d bought the house, which had depleted her savings and shackled her to a mortgage payment that already stretched her monthly budget to the limit. At the time she’d made the purchase, it had seemed a wise investment. She’d always wanted to have her own home, and the previous owner had offered it to her at a ridiculously low price. Of course, when she’d agreed to buy the property, she hadn’t been pregnant and had no plans of becoming pregnant in the near future. An unforgettable—albeit brief—affair with Ty Bodean had changed all that.

The second problem—which was tied directly to the first—was child care. She hated the thought of her baby being raised by strangers, but as the major and only breadwinner in the family, there was no way she could quit her job and stay at home with her baby.

The third problem was raising a child in a single-parent home. Again she had no other option, but she was determined to do a better job of it than her own mother had done in raising her.

The reminder of her mother sent her thoughts segueing to the father she’d never known and the phone call she’d received concerning him. She frowned thoughtfully as she considered the torn piece of paper Stephanie Parker had mentioned.

Could it really be valuable? she asked herself, then sputtered a laugh. Even if it was, which she seriously doubted, she couldn’t cash in on something she couldn’t find. She supposed she could paw her way through the trunk her mother had left in her garage for safekeeping. If it was anywhere, it would be there.

But not tonight, she thought, heaving a weary sigh. She’d put in a long, back-breaking eight-hour shift in Emergency, and she wasn’t doing anything more strenuous that evening than propping up her feet and watching TV.

Bracing a hand against the counter for support, she lifted her foot to tug off her remaining shoe. As she did, a pain knifed through her midsection, stealing her breath. Eyes wide, she hugged an arm around her middle and sank slowly to her knees. With a hand propped on the floor to keep herself upright, she forced herself to take slow, even breaths, and tried to think of a logical explanation for the pain. It couldn’t be labor, she told herself. Her due date was still almost two months away. It had to be Braxton Hicks, she decided. False labor. She’d experienced similar pains before. None as severe as this, but she knew it would soon pass, just as the others had.

But as she knelt, waiting for the pain to lessen, it grew stronger, more intense, as if a vise had been clamped around her middle and cinched up tight. Sweat broke out on her brow, beading her upper lip. She couldn’t move, could barely breathe. She glanced up at the counter and the phone just out of reach, and gulped back the nausea, the fear, knowing she had to call for help. But who? She hated to call 911, if this turned out to be false labor. She worked in Emergency. She knew how much manpower and time was wasted on expectant mothers who were convinced they were in labor.

She’d call her neighbor, she decided. Mrs. Baker would stay with her until she could determine that this was the real thing and not a false alarm.

As she lifted a hand to the counter to pull herself up, another pain, nearly blinding in its intensity, dragged her back down to her knees. Moaning, she curled into a ball, trying to smother the pain. She felt a gush of moisture between her legs and watched in horror as a dark stain spread from the crotch of her scrub pants, soaking her to the knees.

She squeezed her eyes shut against the sight, knowing all too well what this meant.

“Oh, God, please,” she prayed tearfully. “Don’t let me lose my baby.”

Mack climbed from his car and checked the number on the house against the return address on the envelope he held, then tucked it into his shirt pocket and studied the house. Its modest appearance and old-fashioned charm surprised him. Similar trips in the past had taken him to ultramodern condominiums in singles’ neighborhoods and upscale apartment high-rises, but nothing even close to this. This house seemed almost…well, homey. From the border of impatiens that lined the sidewalk, to the baskets of ferns that swung lazily from hooks on the porch eaves, it looked like a place where a family might live.

Reminded that it was his own family who was responsible for him being here, he swore under his breath and started up the walk, anxious to get the unsavory task over with. Reaching the door, he rapped his knuckles against wood painted a warm, cheerful red, then rocked back on his boot heels and waited.

After a full minute passed without a response, he lifted a hand and knocked again. Frowning, he strained to listen for any sound coming from inside that would indicate that someone was home. He heard a female voice call out, but wasn’t sure what was said. An invitation to come in, he wondered, or simply a signal to let him know she was on her way to the door?

Figuring it was the latter, he waited, listening for the sound of footsteps from inside. When he heard nothing but silence, he tried the door and found it locked. Frowning, he glanced to his left and noticed a set of windows. Though covered by blinds, he crossed to peer through them, hoping they would offer him a peek inside. A narrow gap between the slats provided him with a slim view of the living room. Finding no sign of life, he shifted his gaze to a hallway beyond that led toward the rear of the house. A flutter of movement on the floor caught his attention and he pressed his nose against the glass for a better look.

“What the hell,” he murmured, as he stared at what appeared to be an outstretched hand, its fingers clawing against the hardwood floor. Was the woman drunk and had fallen? he wondered. Had she OD’d? Either possibility wouldn’t surprise him, considering the crowd Ty ran with. But it was the other possibilities that came to mind—attempted burglary, possible rape victim—that had him leaping off the porch and running around to the rear of the house. His heart thumping wildly, he cleared the back porch steps in one leap and shoved open the door.

Braced for a possible attack, he stepped cautiously inside. “Ma’am?” he called. “Are you okay?”

“Help me…please.”

The voice, weak and thready, came from the opposite side of the room.

He quickly rounded the island that separated the room and found the woman lying on the floor, her back to him. From her sprawled position, it appeared she had heard his knock and had tried to drag herself to the front door.

He dropped to a knee behind her and laid a hand on her arm. “Are you hurt?”

“I—”

Moaning, she curled tighter into herself.

“My…water…broke,” she managed to gasp out between breaths.

A chill skated down Mack’s spine. He had known the woman was pregnant but hadn’t realized she was that far along. “How far apart are the contractions?”

She dragged in a breath, slowly released it, then rolled to her back and looked up at him.

“Continuous.” She wet her lips. “Please…help me.” Tears welled up in her eyes and spilled over dark lashes. “I don’t want to lose my baby.”

He set his jaw against the fear in her eyes, the desperation in her voice. He didn’t need this nightmare, he told himself. He could walk out the door right now, tear up the check he’d brought along to end whatever responsibility the woman felt his family owed her, and no one would ever be the wiser.

Her hand closed over his, her fingers digging deeply into his skin. “Please,” she begged. “You’ve got to help me.”

He hesitated a moment, then swore under his breath and pushed to his feet. With his mouth slanted in a scowl, he snatched the phone from its base and punched in 911.

Mack paced the waiting area of the Emergency Room, his stomach in knots, his palms slick with sweat. His uneasiness wasn’t due to his concern for the woman who had been wheeled away by EMS thirty minutes earlier. It was the hospital. He hated them. The antiseptic smell. The sterile decor. The constant pages over the PA system for doctors and nurses and the dreaded words “code blue.” He didn’t know what had possessed him to come here. He’d done what the woman had asked of him. He’d called 911, then stayed with her until the ambulance arrived. He’d done his duty. If she lost her baby, it was no skin off his nose. It wasn’t his kid.

He dropped his head back with a groan, unable to believe that he would even think such a thing. He didn’t wish the woman ill. And he sure as hell didn’t want her to lose her baby. He knew what it was like to lose a child. The grief, the guilt, the hole it left in your heart, in your life.

“Mr. McGruder?”

He whirled at the sound of his name and found a nurse standing in the doorway. “Yes?”

“Ms. Rocci is asking for you.” She opened the door wider. “If you’ll follow me, I’ll show you the way.”

He hesitated, knowing it was a mistake to see the woman again, to get involved any deeper than he already was. He should leave. Go back home where he belonged. Forget about Adrianna Rocci and her unborn child.

Instead he found himself following the nurse down a long hall.

She glanced over her shoulder. “You’re a bit of a hero around here, you know.”

He frowned, uncomfortable at being tagged as such. “I’m no hero.”

“You are to us. You came to the aid of one of our own.” At his confused looked, she explained. “Addy works here. If you hadn’t happened along when you did, there’s a chance she would’ve lost her baby. Maybe even her life.”

Before he could think of a response, she stopped before one of the curtained-off cubicles, pushed back the drape and held it aside.

When he hesitated, she gave him a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry,” she whispered. “She’s resting more comfortably now.”

Taking a deep breath, he stepped inside. The room was so small the curtain brushed the backs of his legs when the nurse dropped it into place. The woman— Addy, he remembered the nurse calling her—lay on a gurney parked no more than a foot from where he stood, a sheet draping her from chin to toes. A white identification bracelet circled her left wrist and an IV needle was taped to the back of her hand. He followed the tube to a bottle hooked to a stainless steel pole wheeled close to the bed, then shifted his gaze to her face.

With her eyes closed and her hands folded over her swollen stomach, she looked serene, peaceful. Thinking she was asleep, he eased closer to the bed and was relieved to find that there was more color in her face than there had been when the attendants had loaded her into the ambulance.

She wasn’t beautiful, he thought as he studied her, but she wasn’t homely, either. Her complexion was dark, as was her hair, a testament to her Italian surname, he supposed. Her cheekbones were high ridges, her neck long and graceful.

As he stared, trying to remember the color of her eyes, her lashes fluttered up. Brown, he noted. Her eyes were brown.

She smiled softly and reached for his hand. “I can’t believe you’re really here. I was sure that I had imagined you.”

Her voice was husky, barely more than a whisper, but he heard the wonder in it. “The nurse said you wanted to see me.”

She gave his hand a grateful squeeze. “To thank you.” She closed her eyes, gulped. When she opened them again, a single tear slipped from the corner and slid down her temple to disappear into her hair. “I don’t know what would’ve happened to me and my baby if you hadn’t come along when you did.”

He averted his gaze, unsure what to say. When he glanced back, she was studying him curiously, as if only just now wondering at his identity and why he was at her house.

“Do I know you?”

He hesitated a moment, then figured she’d never make the connection. “John McGruder, though most folks call me Mack.”

“Mack,” she repeated, as if testing the sound of the name, then smiled. “That’s a good, strong name. It suits you.”

Before he could think of a response, her eyes slammed shut and she arched up high off the bed, her fingers digging into the mattress.

Panicking, he glanced around for a call button. “Should I get the nurse?”

She released a long breath, then opened her eyes and forced a reassuring smile. “No. I’m okay. The doctor was able to stop the labor, but he said I should expect a few more pains.”

He blew out a long breath of his own, relieved that it hadn’t lasted any longer than it had. “Does that mean you get to go home?”

“No. In fact, an orderly is on his way right now to take me up to Labor and Delivery.”

“But I thought you said the doctor was able to stop your labor?”

“He was…for the time being. But I have to stay in the hospital. They need to be able to monitor the baby’s vital signs, plus keep me off my feet.”

“How long will you have to stay?”

She lifted a shoulder. “Until the baby’s born. My actual due date isn’t until July 15, but Dr. Wharton says he doubts I’ll make it that long.”

He did the math in his head and shuddered, knowing he’d go nuts if he had to stay in a hospital bed for six weeks. “Is there anyone I can call for you? Family you want notified?”

She shook her head. “The only family I have is my mother, and she lives in Hawaii.”

He pulled a pen from his pocket. “Give me her number, and I’ll give her a call. She’ll probably want to catch the next plane out.”

“You’re sweet to offer, but it isn’t necessary. She wasn’t planning on coming for the baby’s birth. Me going into labor early won’t change her mind.”

He pressed the pen against the paper. “Why don’t you let her decide that?”

She hesitated a moment, then sighed. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt to let her know what’s going on. Her name is Mary Claire Sullivan and her number is—”

Mack jotted down the number she rattled off, then slipped the paper and pen back into his pocket. He glanced uncertainly around. “Well, I guess I better get out of here before they run me off. Is there anything I can get for you before I leave?”

She lifted a brow. “About six more weeks of pregnancy?” Smiling, she flapped a hand. “Just kidding. I’ll be fine.”

He shifted uneasily from foot to foot, anxious to go, but reluctant to leave her alone. “You take care of yourself, okay?”

She reached for his hand and gave it another grateful squeeze. “Thanks, Mack. For everything. I owe you one.”

As Mack stepped through the Emergency Room doors, he pulled his cell phone from the holster clipped at his waist and punched in the number Addy had given him, wanting to make the call to her mother before he hit the road.

When a woman answered, he asked, “Is this Mary Claire Sullivan?”

“Who wants to know?”

Mack scowled at the woman’s suspicious tone.

“Mack McGruder. I’m calling for your daughter. Addy,” he added, thinking she might have more than one. “She went into labor earlier this evening and was rushed to the hospital. The doctor was able to stop the labor, but she’s going to have to remain in the hospital until the baby is born.”

“Are you the one who got her pregnant?”

Startled by the unexpected question, he gaped, then scowled again. “No. I’m just passing on information. Figured you’d want to make arrangements to come and stay with her.”

“If she thinks I’m going to fly all the way to Dallas to hold her hand, she’s got another think coming! Nobody sat by my side while I was giving birth to her. No siree. I sweated out twelve hours of labor all by myself. Twelve long hours,” she added. “And even if I wanted to come, which I don’t, I’ve got a husband to see after. I can’t go flying off and leave him to fend for himself. You tell Addy that she’s the one who got herself into this mess, and she’ll have to see it to its end. I’ve got troubles enough of my own to deal with, without taking on hers.”

Stunned, Mack stood slack-jawed. How could a mother be so callous about her own child? So uncaring? “If it’s the cost you’re worried about, I’ll arrange for your flight.”

“A man who’d offer to do that either has a guilty conscience or money to burn.”

Mack ground his teeth. “I’m just trying to be helpful. I’d think you’d want to be with your daughter at a time like this.”

“She got pregnant without my help. She can deliver without it, too.”

“But she’s your daughter!” he shouted, unable to contain his frustration any longer. “She needs you.”

“I did my duty by Addy. I raised her, didn’t I? And without any help from the sorry SOB who fathered her.”

Mack wanted to curse at the woman, strangle something, preferably her. How could anyone, much less a mother, be so cold-blooded?

“I’m sorry I bothered you,” he muttered, and disconnected the call before he gave in to the urge to tell the woman exactly what he thought of her. Scowling, he stuffed his cell phone back into its holster at his waist, then dragged his hands over his hair. Lacing his fingers behind his head, he glanced over his shoulder at the Emergency Room door and envisioned Addy lying on the gurney, probably worried out of her mind about her baby, and without a soul to lean on for support.

Dropping his arms, he headed for the parking lot, telling himself it wasn’t his problem. He’d done his duty. He’d called the ambulance for her, made sure that she’d arrived safely at the hospital. He’d even called her mother for her.

He did an abrupt about-face and marched back to the Emergency entrance. Once inside, he quickly spotted the nurse who had taken him back to see Addy and motioned her toward him.

“Leaving us?” she asked, smiling.

“Yes, ma’am. I’ve got a good four-hour drive home.” He fished a business card from his wallet and handed it to her. “I’d appreciate it if you’d give me a call if there’s a change in Addy’s condition. My cell number is there at the bottom. Call day or night. Doesn’t matter. I’ll answer.”

She hid a smile. “And you claimed you’re not a hero,” she scolded.

“More like a janitor,” he grumbled, and turned for the door.

“Janitor?” she repeated in confusion.

He paused in the open doorway and glanced back. “Yeah. Seems I’ve made a career of cleaning up other people’s messes.”