Читать онлайн книгу "The Baby Blizzard"
The Baby Blizzard
Caroline Cross
THE GRUMP AND THE SPECIAL DELIVERY His motto was Don't Get Involved. So why had rancher Jack Sheridan helped a stranger deliver her baby during the worst blizzard in history? Now the newborn had him wrapped around her little finger. And her beautiful, willful mama was trying to sweet-talk him into sharing more than just his home.Single and desperate Tess Danielson was thankful Jack had taken her in from the storm, even though he was just waiting for the chance to dump her on someone else's doorstep. But after weeks of heated glances and steamy kisses Tess was no longer fooled by his off-putting demeanor. She just had to make him realize that good lovin' could go a long way to thaw his cold, hard heart.
“No Way. You’re Not Having A Baby. Not Here. Not Now. Not With Me!” (#u3312d929-c728-5c55-83cf-ed04333bd48b)Letter to Reader (#u0e780eaa-2f5e-5ca8-ac2d-53677b3049e2)Title Page (#u4572ff71-7c27-5fde-82e7-61735ca2c912)About the Author (#u58d8d995-0054-5660-9010-7f5ccfbfa7eb)Chapter One (#u5314d439-1a33-5124-b3d5-730cae34a6fb)Chapter Two (#u094d69dc-a475-581c-bf11-0af5702b21fc)Chapter Three (#ub00d6b25-d62f-5362-90bc-fe726bc09eb0)Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
“No Way. You’re Not Having A Baby. Not Here. Not Now. Not With Me!”
For the space of one endless second she continued to look at him incredulously. Then she abruptly crossed her arms above her rounded middle. 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 Jack expected. “Good” was all he could say.
“Well, thanks for the ride.” She shoved open his car door and climbed out.
Jack gaped. “Where do you think you’re going?”
“To get someone else to help me.”
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!
Dear Reader,
A book from Joan Hohl is always a delight, so I’m thrilled that this month we have her latest MAN OF THE MONTH, A Memorable Man. Naturally, this story is chock-full of Joan’s trademark sensuality and it’s got some wonderful plot twists that are sure to please you!
Also this month, Cindy Gerard’s latest in her NORTHERN LIGHTS BRIDES series, A Bride for Crimson Falls, and Beverly Barton’s “Southern sizzle” is highlighted in A Child of Her Own. Anne Eames has the wonderful ability to combine sensuality and humor, and A Marriage Made in Joeville features this talent.
The Baby Blizzard by Caroline Cross is sure to melt your heart this month—it’s an extraordinary love story with a hero and heroine you’ll never forget! And the month is completed with a sexy romp by Diana Mars, Matchmaking Mona.
In months to come, look for spectacular Silhouette Desire books by Diana Palmer, Jennifer Greene, Lass Small and many other fantastic Desire stars! And I’m always here to listen to your thoughts and opinions about the books. You can write to me at the address below.
Enjoy! I wish you hours of happy reading!
Lucia Macro
Senior Editor
Please address questions and book requests to:
Silhouette Reader Service
U.S.: 3010 Walden Ave., P.O. Box 1325. Buffalo, NY 14269 Caoadian: P.O. Box 609. Fort Erie, Ont. L2A 5X3
The Baby Blizzard
Caroline Cross
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
CAROLINE CROSS
always loved to read, but it wasn’t until she discovered the romance genre that she felt compelled to write, fascinated by the chance to explore the positive power of love in people’s lives. Nominated for a number of awards, including the prestigious RITA, she’s been thrilled to win the Romantic Times Reviewer’s Choice Award for Best Desire, as well as a W.I.S.H. Award. She grew up in central Washington State, attended the University of Puget Sound and now lives outside Seattle, where she tries to work at home despite the chaos created by two telephone-addicted teenage daughters and a husband with a fondness for home-improvement projects. Caroline would love to hear from her readers. She can be reached at P.O. Box 5845, Bellevue, Washington, 98006.
One
By the time the pale blue Cadillac began its horrifying slide across the snow-shrouded road, Jack had been trailing behind it for several hours.
It had passed him first on the highway north of Casper. Although it was hard to believe now, when he had to fight the roaring wind and blowing snow to keep his big four-wheel-drive pickup on the road, Jack had been bored at the time. He’d been bored with the unchanging grayness of the sky, the unseasonably mild temperature, the desolate sameness of the surrounding plains.
It had seemed an oppressively dull January day.
It was that very dullness—and its failure to distract him from the black mood he’d been unable to shake since seeing Jared and Elise at the lawyer’s office—that had made him take note of the Cadillac.
Plain and simple, he’d been looking for a diversion.
What he’d received instead was a blow to the armor of his indifference.
He scowled, adjusted his grip on the steering wheel as the wind buffeted the truck, and admitted he just didn’t get it. So what if the Caddy’s driver was a woman? That didn’t explain why something as meaningless as the glance they’d exchanged the first time she passed him should affect him like a punch to the belly.
Hell, she wasn’t even pretty. Striking, maybe, with that mane of hair the exact same color as his favorite sorrel mare and the sort of lush, full mouth that put a man in mind of all sorts of sinful things.
But not pretty.
Except maybe... when she smiled.
Which she had, he recalled irritably. She’d smiled straight at him, all Mona Lisa-knowing, when he drove past the filling station in Kaycee where she’d stopped to gas, up. Just the memory set his teeth on edge. Clearly, she’d misunderstood his reason for slowing, assuming it was so he could take a second look at her. In truth, he’d merely been trying to get a bead on the weather, since it had started to snow.
Now, he narrowed his eyes against the river of white beating against the windshield. Grudgingly he conceded that—although his view of his fellow traveler had been partially blocked by an open car door—for once reality had lived up to the initial advertising. A man would have to be blind not to have noticed that her legs were long and slim, her arms and shoulders willowy, her provocative mouth balanced by a stubborn chin and dark, intelligent eyes. Just as he’d have to be obtuse not to conclude from the way the gas jockey had been scurrying around to do her bidding that the parts he couldn’t see were as compelling as those he could.
So okay. For a woman who wasn’t pretty, she’d been something to see with that soft, amused smile on her face and all that shiny hair blowing in the rising breeze.
Not that he cared, of course—except in the most elemental way.
Jared and Elise had seen to that. Between them, they’d cured him of caring about much of anything. Just as they’d relieved him of all his pretty ideals, his Pollyanna view of the world, his foolish hopes and secret dreams.
Maybe that was why the discovery that his libido wasn’t dead after all was such a shock. For three years, since the humiliating day in the judge’s chambers when he’d learned just how big a fool he really was, he’d divorced himself from intimacy. He’d banished want and need from his vocabulary. And he hadn’t felt a twinge of desire—for anything or anyone.
Until today.
Jack gave a snort of disgust and wondered what had come over him. There was a whale of difference between viable lust, where you had an actual acquaintance with the person you hankered to touch, and some pointless fantasy about a total stranger. That’s why it was so galling to have to admit that ever since the stranger in question had overtaken him again at Crazy Woman Creek—and had the salt to wave as she whipped past—he’d found himself wondering all sorts of things.
Such as whether that russet-colored hair was natural or not. And if her wide, full-lipped mouth would taste tart, like cherries, or as sweet as ripe berries. And how it would feel to have those long, luscious legs wrapped tightly around his waist.
And whether she made a habit of smiling at just anyone.
Foolish. Simply acknowledging such thoughts was enough to make the tops of his ears feel hot. Particularly when there were far more important matters to be pondered.
For example: Where exactly did she think she was going? He’d assumed she was headed for Gillette until an hour ago, when she’d gone north at Buffalo. Then he’d guessed she must have friends or family in the tiny town of Gweneth, until she drove straight past the turnoff. He’d been hanging back, puzzling over that, when she’d stunned him by slowing down and turning onto Johnson County Road Number 9.
That was when he’d decided she was either lost or crazy or both. Because other than the Double D, which they’d passed some twenty minutes back, the only ranch for the next forty miles was his. And he knew damn well she wasn’t coming to see him. Except for business, nobody came to see him anymore.
Not since he’d given away his son.
The familiar anguish splintered through him. Ruthlessly, he forced it away, reminding himself that it was over and done. It was then that the Cadillac began its inexorable slide across the road.
Jack watched in disbelief as the vehicle drifted sideways through the heavily blowing snow, spun slowly around in a heart-stopping three-hundred-and-sixty-degree turn, then disappeared from sight as if sucked into a black hole.
Instantly he eased up on the accelerator. There was no question of driving on. Jared had always claimed he was a Boy Scout at heart and, as Jack had been bitterly reminded in Casper again today, old habits died hard.
But he wasn’t going to think about that now. It was over, done; past. He was alone, irrevocably on his own. Or would be, as soon as he made sure the Cadillac’s driver was okay.
The thought brought him up short. Dismay splintered through him. Hell. He was actually going to have to meet this woman. Leave it to you, Sheridan. You can’t even enjoy a little red-blooded, from-a-safe-distance fantasy without reality screwing it up.
In the very next second, he clamped down on his wayward emotions. This wasn’t about him, he reminded himself harshly. This was about someone in trouble, someone in need of help. At the very best, she was going to be bruised and shaken, distraught about what had happened. And at the very worst—
Jack shoved the idea away. It was bad enough he had to get involved at all. No matter what condition this woman was in, he wasn’t going to let himself care on a personal level. He’d do what he could to help, one stranger helping another, but that was it.
That was how it had to be.
Keeping an eye on the dim outline of the fence that marched along the road to his left, he let the truck roll to a stop and took a long look around.
Nothing. He could see nothing but swirling sheets of snow reflected in the beams of his headlights. He let loose a single scathing curse. Shifting the transmission into park, he pulled on the emergency brake and doused the lights. He squeezed his eyes shut, allowed them a moment’s rest from the eerie onslaught of white, then slowly opened them and surveyed the area.
There. Ahead, and down a long, shallow slope to his right, was a gleam of red. He released a breath as he identified it as a taillight. Now that he knew where to look, he could see the rest of the Cadillac, too. It was barely visible, resting at an angle, with the wheels on the passenger side sunk into the shallow creekbed that paralleled the road. Snow, driven by the howling wind, was already starting to pile against the hood and windshield. The car’s pale blue paint blended perfectly with the monochromatic landscape.
His heart gave a twist. In another few minutes, with twilight graying swiftly to night, he never would have seen it.
He switched the headlights back on, then reached around and grabbed the coil of nylon rope and the heavy-duty flashlight he kept behind the seat. He shrugged into his sheepskin-lined coat, flipped up the collar and jammed his Stetson more securely on his head.
After a moment’s consideration, he elected to leave the truck running as a hedge against the cold. That decided, he hefted the flashlight, shoved open the door and plunged into the heart of the storm.
She was not going to panic, Tess Danielson told herself firmly.
Okay, so she’d had a little accident. On a remote, not-so-well-traveled road. In the middle of nowhere. During what was distinctly starting to look like a blizzard.
While she was willing to concede that the situation didn’t look good, she was not going to give in to the dread skating along her spine.
Although... a nice loud scream might make her feel better.
A smile curled through her. Slowly, she let loose the breath she hadn’t known she was holding and forced herself to breathe deeply and evenly. Things couldn’t be too bad if she still had a sense of humor. Well, they could; as a Wyoming native, she’d grown up on tales of hapless motorists who got caught in this kind of weather and weren’t found until the first spring thaw.
But that wasn’t going to happen to her.
She refused to let it. She hadn’t spent twenty-nine years bending the world to her will to give up now when it really mattered. Not when she’d only recently come to understand what was really important. Not when there were still so many things she wanted to experience. And not when she had someone else—she glanced protectively down at the ripe curve of her belly—depending on her.
She tugged on her seat belt, frowning when the buckle refused to budge. Stymied, she sat there and reconsidered that scream, but only for a second. The first thing she’d done once the car came to rest was turn off the engine. Already the air around her was starting to turn frosty. While that was better than risking carbon monoxide poisoning from a blocked or bent exhaust pipe, it was still far too cold for useless gestures.
She reached over, snagged her oversize down parka from the passenger seat and draped it around her.
And told herself—again—not to panic.
After all, she wasn’t going to freeze to death in the next few minutes. If worse came to worst, she’d simply find her handbag, grab her nail scissors and hack her way through the belt.
If the scissors were there to grab.
Tess resolutely raised her chin and told herself she was not going to worry about that, either. She had an ace in the hole, she reminded herself, recalling the big, fierce-looking cowboy with whom she’d been playing car tag for the past several hours. He hadn’t been that far behind her. He must have seen what had happened. More than likely, he was on his way to help her at this very moment.
Unless his heart turned out to be as black as his expression and he simply drove on.
Tess gave herself a shake. Knock it off. This is Wyoming, remember? Not LA. or New York. Around here, people look out for each other. He’ll stop. So he looks a tad forbidding. He’ll probably turn out to be reserved or shy, a real cupcake of a guy—
“Ma’am?” came a forceful baritone shout.
A light flashed through the window. Momentarily blinded, Tess brought up her hand as the car door was unceremoniously wrenched open.
“Are you okay?” Her rescuer had to holler to be heard over a sudden roar of wind. Even so, his voice was distinct—dark and demanding. A perfect match for his face, Tess decided, as she stared at him in the faint illumination of the dome light.
Forget shy. Forget reserved. Forget cupcake.
Think intense. Think guarded. Think formidable. From what she could see beneath his hat—shadowed eyes, a straight blade of a nose, a slash of cheekbones, an imperious mouth—he was even more forbidding up close than he’d been from a distance.
“Are you hurt? Answer me.”
Intimidating or not, she’d never been so glad to see anyone in her life. Relief slammed into her, making moisture sting her eyes and her voice catch in her throat. She swallowed hard, suspecting as she looked up at that uncompromising face that he’d hate it if she burst into tears. She knew for a fact she would. She swallowed again and tried gamely for a lightness she didn’t feel. “It’s about time you got here.”
He froze in the act of hunkering down. His eyes, pale green in the murky light, narrowed. “What?”
Forget a sense of humor, too. Tess raised her voice. “I’m fine.”
He continued to stare, as if he didn’t believe her. “Are you sure?”
She considered the dull ache in her lower back, concluded the pain scored no more than a two on a scale of one to ten, and opted to ignore it. “Yes.”
“All right, then.” Relief lightened his face, but did nothing to soften its angular planes. “Give me your hand and let’s get you out of there. This storm’s getting worse by the minute.”
She shook her head. “The seat belt is jammed. I can’t get it unfastened.”
His eyes flickered over her jacket-covered body. Inexplicably, his jaw bunched for an instant before his expression smoothed out. He hooked the flashlight to his belt, twisted sideways so that he faced her, leaned close and reached around her. His forearm, hard and warm even through the padding of his heavy coat, brushed against the mound of her belly. “What the—?” He went very still. “What is that?”
Tess stiffened. “What’s what?”
“That... lump.”
She stared at him in disbelief, oddly aware of the weight of his arm against her. “That’s not a lump,” she informed him. “That’s me. I’m pregnant.”
He gave her a long, blank look, then snatched away his hand and rocked back on his heels. “Well, hell,” he muttered, looking away. “It figures.”
The words, clearly not meant for her ears, carried with crystal clarity during a momentary lull in the wind. She raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”
For one long second, he remained silent, the hard line of his mouth even harder now. Then he shook his head and gave the slightest shrug. “Forget it,” he murmured. He leaned forward and once more reached around her, and an instant later the belt gave way. He ducked back as if he couldn’t get away fast enough. “Come on.” His voice gruff, he stood.
She stayed where she was. “But the car—”
“Isn’t going anywhere. Not now. Probably not for a while. Even if I could see to winch you out, the road’s too icy to get any traction. In case you haven’t noticed, it’s dark—and getting darker.”
Tess looked around in surprise. He was right. As incredible as it seemed, with the snow falling and the wind roaring, she’d been so intent on him, so totally taken with their exchange, she’d actually forgotten about the weather.
Which appeared to be getting worse. And still she hesitated. “I don’t even know your name.”
“Oh, for—” Annoyance flashed in those leaf-green eyes before he quickly got himself under control. “Jack,” he said flatly. “My name is Jack Sheridan, okay?”
“And I’m Tess—”
“Terrific. So listen, Tess. We need to get to my truck. Now. While we still can.”
He was right, of course. Annoyed at herself for behaving so foolishly, Tess swung her feet to the ground, trying to figure out why she felt compelled to challenge him.
The answer came a moment later, as she began the awkward process of extricating the rest of herself from the car. Without warning, Jack leaned in, grasped her firmly above each elbow and lifted her out. Then. in a few brusque, capable movements, he bundled her into her parka, zipped it, reached into the car and retrieved her car keys, pocketbook and overnight bag. “Here.” He handed her the first two items. “Put your keys away and sling the shoulder strap of your purse around your neck so your hands are free, okay?”
That’s when Tess knew. She’d never done very well with authority figures, and this guy was more than a little bossy. He was autocratic.
Which was a pretty petty concern, she chided herself a second later, when the wind nearly knocked her off her feet and he immediately leaped forward to steady her. Holding her firmly against his broad, hard chest, he turned to block her from the wind. “You okay?”
She lifted her chin and nodded, surprised to find that his face was several inches above hers. She was tall herself, and it wasn’t often she had to look up at anyone. For a heartbeat, they stared at each other. His eyes really were the most extraordinary color—
“Shoot.” He uttered the sibilant word with such disgust it sounded like an expletive. “What the hell is your husband thinking, letting you run around like this in your condition?”
It wasn’t a question, and Tess knew it. For some reason, she wanted to answer him, however. “I’m not married.” She had just enough presence of mind not to add that if she was, it wouldn’t be to anyone who thought in terms of “letting her” do anything.
“Forget it,” he replied, in what she was starting to recognize as his stock answer in awkward moments. “I’ve got a line running to the truck,” he went on, all business again. “All you need to do is stay close to me and we shouldn’t have any problems. When I turn around, I want you to put your hands under my coat and grab on to the back of my belt. Whatever you do, don’t let go. Understand?”
Tess didn’t need to be told twice. The driving snow stung her face and brought tears to her eyes, while the cold was so bitter it hurt to breathe. “Got it.”
He searched her face. Satisfied with whatever he saw there, he finally gave a curt nod. “Good.”
He turned and picked up her overnight bag as if it weighed nothing, then held his ground as she ran her hands up the backs of his denim-clad thighs and over the hard curve of his small masculine behind. Beneath the heavy coat, his cotton-clad back felt firm and solid. Heat rolled off him like a furnace. She took a half step closer and curled her fingers around his belt:
He set off, adjusting his step to her shorter stride. She held on tight, her universe condensed to the broad back in front of her, and concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. It was no mean feat, given the sloping, uneven ground and the clumps of frozen bunchgrass that kept trying to trip her up.
Although the entire trip probably didn’t last much more than a few minutes, to Tess it seemed to take forever. Accustomed to being fit, she’d found the change in her center of gravity in the past few months exasperating. Now, she gritted her teeth, frustrated by her own helplessness as she repeatedly stumbled and slipped. In several instances it was only her rescuer’s iron strength that kept her upright. By the time they reached the truck, her lungs burned, the pain in her back was a solid six, and her face felt frozen.
“You okay?” Jack asked as he tossed her bag into the pickup’s bed before he yanked open the door.
“Sure,” she lied, leaning wearily against the wheel well. Out of breath, she mentally apologized to him for her earlier intolerance.
“Good.”
He’d lost his hat. He looked younger without it. His windblown hair was dark and thick, as glossy as a child’s. For some reason, that bothered her. Before she could decide why, he stepped over and dusted the snow from her head and shoulders with his gloved hands. Then he lifted her up, swung her around and deposited her on the car seat, where he brushed off her pant legs, stripped off her snow-caked boots and tossed them, the rope and the flashlight into the narrow storage area behind the seat. “Scoot over,” he instructed. Stamping his own booted feet, he yanked off his gloves, shrugged out of his coat and climbed in beside her.
Tess slid over to give him more room, steeling herself against the pain squeezing her back. The well-insulated cab seemed hushed after the din outside. It was also pleasantly warm. In contrast, Tess felt chilled to the bone. She began to shiver, her teeth chattering like maracas.
Something that might have been compassion flared briefly in Jack’s pale eyes. He turned up the heater fan, retrieved his coat from the back of the seat and tucked it around her. “That better?”
She nodded, incapable of speech.
That appeared to suit him just fine. Mouth set once again in a grim line, he pulled her shoulder harness around her and buckled it. Then he secured his own, released the brake and put the truck in gear. It rolled forward, fishtailing a little before the tires caught.
Tess pulled his coat tighter around her, burying her face in the soft shearling collar. The distinctive scent of horses and damp leather, familiar from her childhood, tickled her nose. Oddly comforted, she leaned back and closed her eyes.
She wasn’t sure how much time passed, but eventually she began to feel less like a Popsicle and more like a person. She stretched, sighing with pleasure at the stream of hot air from the heater that blew over her stocking toes as she tried to find a position that would alleviate the persistent pain in her back.
She wound up canted sideways, toward her companion. Veiling her gaze with her lashes, she covertly studied him. She had to admit she was a little intimidated by his continuing silence. Her reaction surprised her. She’d grown up around cowboys, and she was no stranger to private, taciturn men.
Jack didn’t seem to be thinking so much as brooding, however. And that tight look on his face was hardly benign. In point of fact, he had the air of an individual who kept to himself not because he preferred his own company, but because he didn’t trust anyone else’s.
And yet...he had come to her rescue. And for all his brusque manner, his hard-fingered hands had been carefully gentle every single time he touched her.
More to the point, what did it matter? Soon they would both go their own ways, never to clap eyes on each other again—
“Didn’t anyone ever teach you it’s rude to stare?” Jack asked abruptly.
Tess started, then forced herself to relax, the willful part of her nature asserting itself. It was one thing to privately confess that she found him intimidating. Letting him know was something else entirely. “You’re right,” she said calmly. “Sorry.”
“You want to explain what you’re doing out here?”
Why, she wondered, did he have to be so abrupt? “Visiting my grandmother.”
“Ah.” He imbued the single syllable with a wealth of disdain. “But instead you got lost.”
“I wasn’t lost. I missed my turn.”
“Right.” He didn’t sound as if he thought much of that, either. “I don’t suppose it occurred to you when the snow started to fall that maybe you were out of your league?”
“I grew up here,” she said patiently. “I know about snow.”
“Huh. Could have fooled me.”
“For your information, the only reason I had a problem was because I slowed down to let you pass, so I could turn around.”
He snorted. “Because you were lost.”
If he was trying to annoy her, he was doing a good job. “What about you?”
“What about me?”
“I suppose it’s all right for you to be out in a blizzard?”
That granite face didn’t change. “Damn straight. I’ve got heavy-duty snow tires, four-wheel drive, and I know what I’m doing. Besides, I’ve got obligations. If I don’t get home, my stock won’t get fed.”
“Where’s home?” She was certain he hadn’t lived around here when she was a teenager. She’d remember.
“Cross Creek Ranch. We should be there in another few minutes.”
Tess made no effort to hide her surprise. “Oh. But—”
“Look,” he said sharply. “I’m not wild about taking you there, either. But we need to get in out of this storm while we still can, and mine’s the closest place for miles.”
Tess let a moment of silence pass. “Are you finished?” she asked finally.
His jaw bunched. “Yeah.”
“Good. For the record, going to your place is fine. It’s extremely nice of you to offer, and I appreciate it. I appreciate everything you’ve done.”
“But—?” He kept his gaze glued to the road as he carefully braked to make a wide left turn, the headlights flashing across a sign that bore the ranch’s name above a stylized carving of a rocking horse.
“When I lived here, this ranch was owned by some people named Langston.”
He shot her a sharp glance as they rumbled across a cattle guard marked at both sides with orange reflectors. Around them, the landscape was hard to make out. The few trees and low-rising hills were nothing more than a series of ebony shadows against a charcoal night shrouded with blowing snow.
He slowed even more as their ride grew bumpier over the graveled drive. “You really used to live around here?”
She sighed at his obvious skepticism. “Yes. At the Double D. Mary Danielson’s my grandmother.” That earned her a single sharp look. “I can’t figure out how I missed the turn for the driveway.”
He was silent. He shifted the automatic transmission into low as the truck slid on a shallow grade. “Maybe,” he said finally, “you weren’t looking in the right place.”
She waited for him to say more. When he didn’t, she had to swallow another sigh. “Do you think you could explain that?”
He shrugged. “Your grandma cut a new road a few years back, when she had to redrill the well at Shell Butte. That must’ve been right after I bought out Langston, and that’s been—” he shifted the truck back into regular drive “—seven years ago.”
“Oh.” Even though there was no way she could have known, she felt foolish. Perhaps that was why she was less than enthralled with his next, comment.
“Too bad you don’t bother to come home more often.”
She frowned,. taken aback by his obvious disapproval. “I don’t think that’s any of your business.”
“Yeah? Well, it is when I’m stuck with you.”
“Trust me. Just as soon as the storm passes, someone from the Double D will be over to get me.”
He gave her another narrow look. “Your grandma left three days ago for an extended vacation.”
“What?” She felt momentarily disoriented, the way she had when her car began to slide.
“It’s one of those things you’d know about if you kept in touch—or were here because you’d been invited.”
She bit off the instant retort that trembled on her lips. She’d be darned if she’d justify her behavior to him. She wasn’t about to explain that she’d both written and called ahead, stating her intention to visit and supplying the date of her arrival. Or that her grandmother’s departure was the older woman’s oblique reply, an apparent payback for Tess’s own decision to leave ten years ago.
For one thing, she didn’t go around explaining her behavior to rude, disapproving strangers—no matter how compelling they were.
For another, unless she was mistaken, she had a much more pressing problem.
“Damn,” Jack said abruptly.
“What’s the matter?”
“The power’s out.”
Following his gaze, she glanced around as they drove into the ranch yard. Although a pair of dogs had come to attention on the back porch, not a single light glowed in welcome. Not from the pitch-roofed barn with its adjacent corrals, or the covered arena, or the rambling two-story house that looked pretty much the way she remembered it from childhood.
Tess’s heart sank as she realized something more. She wasn’t in the city anymore. Way out here, when the power went, so did the phones, since the two lines shared the same poles.
The icing on the cake. She took a deep breath. “Jack?”
“What?”
“Do you have a wife?”
He stared straight ahead. “Not anymore. Why? You thinking of applying for the job?”
“No.” Tess shook her head, clenching her hands as the pain, previously limited to her lower back, snaked along her sides and wrapped around her middle like an invisible boa constrictor. She gave an involuntary gasp as the painful pressure increased. “I’m in labor.”
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.
Three
“What is it with you?” Jack demanded as the contraction finally eased and Tess loosened the punishing grip she had on his hand. He sat back, shifting to a more settled position on the edge of the bed. Despite his outer calm and the deliberate way he’d coached her along, his heart was still thundering from how close she’d come to falling flat on her face. “You take an oath against asking for help?”
Tess hitched herself up higher against the pile of pillows he’d placed at her back and sent him a reproachful glance. “Gosh, Jack. Don’t start being nice now or I’ll really lose it.”
The cheeky response tugged at him. All right. So he didn’t exactly like her. She was too willful, too smart, too here. That didn’t mean he couldn’t admire her grit. “You just don’t quit, do you?”
She shook her head. “No. But if it’s any consolation, this isn’t quite how I envisioned having this baby, either.”
Their eyes met, and something inside him stilled when he saw the look in hers a second before she glanced away. Hell. If it was anyone else, he’d swear that beneath that glib exterior, she was...scared.
The idea brought him up short. As did his sudden, unsettling realization that ever since he’d yanked open the Cadillac’s door all those hours ago, he’d been so provoked by her intrusion into his life and so preoccupied with how he felt about it, he’d taken her seemingly inexhaustible composure at face value. She’d acted as if she could handle anything, and he’d believed it.
Now, as if a blindfold had been ripped away, he could see the quiver at the corners of her mouth, the pulse pounding at the base of her throat, the effort behind her composure.
And he didn’t like it. He didn’t like it at all. “Hey,” he said, more sharply than he intended. “What’s the matter?” Nice. If they were giving prizes for stupid, you’d need a trophy case.
Thankfully, she was so busy studying the fire, she didn’t seem to notice. “Nothing. It just... hurts.”
He could see how much the admission cost her. “Oh.” Another intelligent response. Frustrated, he searched for something relevant to say. “Yeah, well...I think you’re through transition, so it shouldn’t take much longer.”
The instant the words left his mouth, he knew he’d made a mistake.
Her head came around. Questions suddenly crowded her eyes. How come he knew so much? Where had he come by such knowledge?
It was a measure of her ability to unsettle him that for an instant Jack was tempted to explain. Except...what the hell would he say? That once upon a time he’d had a pregnant wife? That in an effort to be a good husband, a good father, he’d learned everything he could about pregnancy and childbirth, postpartum care and infant development?
Yeah, right—and then what? You going to tell her how, in the end, none of it mattered? You going to cry on her shoudder, tell her how Elise left you, explain why you gave up your son?
No way.
“Jack—”
“What?” He braced, wondering what she’d ask first.
As if she sensed his imminent withdrawal, Tess reached out and entwined her fingers with his, as if to anchor some part of him in place. “Can I get that part about this...not taking much longer...in writing?”
For a moment he was sure he hadn’t heard her right. Then he assumed she must be toying with him. Anger flashed through him. He jerked his gaze to her face.
To his surprise, she wasn’t even looking at him, As a matter of fact, her eyes were shut, her lips pressed together. She clutched at his hand as the mound of her stomach began to tighten convulsively. “Oh!” she gasped, holding on to him for dear life. “Oh, Jack, it hurts—!”
Her trust, in the face of what he’d been thinking, brought the last line of his defenses crashing down. “Easy. It’s okay—”
But it wasn’t. The contraction bowed her back, brought her arching up off the bed. She opened her eyes, staring at him in helpless distress.
He felt an edge of panic, and struggled to get a grip on himself. God knew, there wasn’t a whole lot he could do for her except pretend to be calm. He caught her other hand, as if to lend her some of his strength by the contact. “Stop fighting it,” he said forcefully. “I know it hurts, but you’re doing fine. Just don’t forget to breathe.”
She nodded, the flesh across her nose and cheeks taut with strain.
Then there was no more time for conversation, as the contractions began to come one after another, faster and faster. Everything seemed to blur together, the labored sound of her breathing, the muscle-wrenching expenditure of effort, the unrelenting, escalating cycle of pain. Jack didn’t know how much time had passed when Tess suddenly gave a tremendous shudder. Her eyes widened. “Oh! I can’t—There’s something—It’s coming—”
Earlier, out in the barn, he’d imagined this moment with dread. Not the mechanics of it; he’d barely given that a second thought. Like every rancher, he’d helped deliver his fair share of calves and foals, and he was more than familiar with the nuts and bolts of birth.
But to share such extreme intimacy with a stranger, especially one he found so disturbing... He’d been sure it would be awkward, uncomfortable, embarrassing for them both.
Yet, sometime in the past hour, he’d ceased to think of Tess as a stranger. As a result, he didn’t even stop to think, much less hesitate. “Wait! Don’t push, not yet, let me check, make sure it’s all right—” Without quite knowing how he’d gotten there, he found himself kneeling in the center of the bed, his hands warm and steady against Tess’s cold, bare, shaking knees. As if it were the most natural thing in the world, he looked down, saw the top of the baby’s head emerging, and felt a mixture of awe and excitement spiral through him. Moisture, unexpected and mortifying, stung his eyes. He swallowed hard before he looked up at Tess. “So what are you waiting for? Push!”
From somewhere, she found the energy to roll her eyes before she pursed her lips, braced herself against the pillows and began to strain.
Once. Twice. A third time. Jack watched her struggle with a mixture of wonder and growing concern.
“Okay, okay... The head’s clear... There’s one shoulder... now the other... Come on...you can do it...”
“Ohhh...ohhhh...” She fell back against the pillows, breathing like a bellows. She was white-faced with exhaustion.
“Come on.” He was suddenly afraid that if she stopped now, she wouldn’t find the strength—or the courage—to resume. “Again.”
“I’m so tired—”
“I know.” As if his movements were dictated by some power outside himself, he found himself reaching up and gently brushing her hair off her face. “Listen. You can do this. But you have to concentrate.”
“Right.” Her mouth trembled as she tried to smile. “Wanna trade places... and see... if you still feel... the same way?”
Something alarmingly like tenderness curled through him. “No way. Now, shut up and push.”
She opened her mouth to protest, then changed her mind, apparently seeing something in his face that convinced her he wasn’t going to let up. Gritting her teeth, she dug down deep, and found some last little reserve of strength. Jaw clenched, she pushed.
Jack sat back. “That’s right, that’s it. Come on. You’re almost there—”
She strained again, calling out. For a moment, nothing happened.
And then her cry was answered by a high, wavering baby’s wail.
Stunned, Jack stared down at the squalling infant suddenly filling his hands. He felt an instant of unreality, a rush of astonishment. Swift on its heels came an explosion of elation, as bright and intoxicating as champagne. “Tess—” for some reason, his voice was shaking “—it’s a girl!”
For an instant she looked blank. “What? I thought—are you sure?”
He nodded. “Yes.”
Her lips began to tremble. “Is she okay?”
“She’s perfect.” Quickly he toweled off the baby, wrapped her in a blanket and handed her to her mother. “Honest. Ten fingers and ten toes.”
“Oh. Oh, my.” Tess looked down at the little red face and managed a shaky smile. “She’s...beautiful.”
“Yeah.” He swallowed. The damn moisture was filling his eyes again, and he seemed to have something stuck in his throat. Nevertheless, there was something he had to say. “You...you did great.”
She glanced up in surprise. For a long moment, their gazes met. Until, with no warning, her face crumpled and she began to cry, great wrenching sobs of exhaustion, relief and joy.
For the second time that night, Jack didn’t stop to think.
He simply moved up the bed and gathered her and the baby into his arms.
Jack awoke slowly the next morning.
He was conscious first of the light. It was silvery-white against his eyelids, indicating that it was well past dawn, his usual time for rising. Perplexed, he started to stretch, only to be further disconcerted when he felt the chair at his back. Hell. Why wasn’t he in bed? He rolled his head, winced at the crick in his neck—and froze as his cheek brushed against an impossibly silky little head. In nearly the same instant, he registered the soft, slight weight resting against his chest.
The baby. Memory rushed back. The storm, the accident, Tess... And then later, the accelerated labor, the incredible moment of birth...
He raised his head and opened his eyes, forgetting to breathe as he took in Tess’s daughter’s serene, sleepy little face, so close to his. His gaze traced the fan of spidery black lashes that brushed the rose-petal cheeks, took in the button nose and the Cupid’s-bow lips parted to form a perfect O. Beneath his hand, he could feel each delicate bump of her spine, the steady ebb and flow of her breathing, the rhythmic flutter of her heart.
An odd pain squeezed his heart. He hadn’t lied last night. She was perfect.
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/caroline-cross/the-baby-blizzard/) на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.
Если текст книги отсутствует, перейдите по ссылке
Возможные причины отсутствия книги:
1. Книга снята с продаж по просьбе правообладателя
2. Книга ещё не поступила в продажу и пока недоступна для чтения