Caroline Cross - The Baby Blizzard

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.