Caroline Cross - The Baby Blizzard

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.