Caroline Cross - The Baby Blizzard

“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—”