The Baby Blizzard. Caroline Cross

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СКАЧАТЬ 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 СКАЧАТЬ