Prince Charming in Dress Blues
Maureen Child
If someone had told her only yesterday that a perfect– in every way!– stranger would be delivering her baby, Annie Foster would never have believed it. But here she was, stranded on top of a mountain, with gorgeous Gunnery Sergeant John Paretti holding her newborn daughter in the crook of his powerful arm…. And the more time the single mom spent gazing into John' s pale blue eyes, the harder it became to ignore needs that had been neglected far too long. Needs that only the right man could satisfy– or the right marine… .
“Congratulations, Annie, It’s A Girl!”
She looked at John, and he held her baby up like a prize won at a county fair.
“She’s gorgeous,” he said. “Just like her mother.”
“A girl,” Annie crooned. She’d given birth, and now she’d never be alone again. She had a family. A daughter.
It all felt so wonderful. So…right. Yesterday she hadn’t even known this man existed. And now…oh, she couldn’t imagine not knowing him.
“You’re amazing,” he said, and she saw admiration and wonder in his eyes. “She’s amazing.”
Annie reached up and caught his hand with hers and said quietly, “Thank you.” She wanted to tell him so much. To let him know what it had meant to her that he was there. “Thank you.”
He shook his head, bent down, kissed her forehead, then kissed the baby. Smiling at Annie, he said, “Annie, I wouldn’t have missed this for anything. Thank you for letting me witness a miracle.”
Dear Reader,
Welcome to the world of Silhouette Desire, where you can indulge yourself every month with romances that can only be described as passionate, powerful and provocative!
The always fabulous Elizabeth Bevarly offers you May’s MAN OF THE MONTH, so get ready for The Temptation of Rory Monahan. Enjoy reading about a gorgeous professor who falls for a librarian busy reading up on how to catch a man!
The tantalizing Desire miniseries TEXAS CATTLEMAN’S CLUB: LONE STAR JEWELS concludes with Tycoon Warrior by Sheri WhiteFeather. A Native American ex-military man reunites with his estranged wife on a secret mission that renews their love.
Popular Peggy Moreland returns to Desire with a romance about a plain-Jane secretary who is in love with her Millionaire Boss. The hero-focused miniseries BACHELOR BATTALION by Maureen Child continues with Prince Charming in Dress Blues, who’s snowbound in a cabin with an unmarried woman about to give birth! Baby at His Door by Katherine Garbera features a small-town sheriff, a beautiful stranger and the bundle of love who unites them. And Sara Orwig writes a lovely tale about a couple entering a marriage of convenience in Cowboy’s Secret Child.
This month, Silhouette is proud to announce we’ve joined the national campaign “Get Caught Reading” in order to promote reading in the United States. So set a good example, and get caught reading all six of these exhilarating Desire titles!
Enjoy!
Joan Marlow Golan
Senior Editor, Silhouette Desire
Prince Charming in Dress Blues
Maureen Child
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
MAUREEN CHILD
was born and raised in Southern California and is the only person she knows who longs for an occasional change of season. She is delighted to be writing for Silhouette Books and is especially excited to be a part of the Desire line.
An avid reader, Maureen looks forward to those rare rainy California days when she can curl up and sink into a good book. Or two. When she isn’t busy writing, she and her husband of twenty-five years like to travel, leaving their two grown children in charge of the neurotic golden retriever who is the real head of the household. Maureen is also an award-winning historical writer under the names of Kathleen Kane and Ann Carberry.
To My Own Prince Charming, my husband Mark.
Thanks for nearly thirty wonderful years.
I love you more today than I did in ’71.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Epilogue
One
“Okay,” Annie Foster said aloud, “maybe this wasn’t such a great idea after all.”
The wind snatched her words and threw them off into the surrounding forest. Snow flurries fluttered in that same wind and pelted her face with icy fingers. She blinked and tipped her head back to look at the sky. But there were no stars. Just a wide canvas of black from which more and more snow was falling.
A curl of anxiety unwound in the pit of her stomach and, as if in reaction, the baby in her womb gave her a hard kick.
“Hey,” she said, stopping long enough to pat her tummy. “I’m on your side, remember?”
A gust of frigid air shot past her, shoving her toward the cabin, and Annie stumbled along with it, trying to keep her footing. All she’d need would be to fall in the snow. With her center of gravity so far off, she’d lie there like an overturned turtle, unable to right herself. Come springtime, some unsuspecting hiker would find her frozen body and she’d make headlines. Hugely Pregnant Woman Fell and Couldn’t Get Up.
She laughed shortly at the thought, then continued on toward the cabin. All she could think about now was the warmth inside. Escape from the cold wind and the snow flurries that had been getting steadily thicker for the past hour. Who would have guessed that it would snow so hard in southern California? Well, all right, the mountains of southern California. But still. Who worries about snowstorms in a state where a sweatshirt is considered a winter coat?
At the foot of the steps leading to the porch she stopped and cocked her head, listening. A steady, rhythmic pounding carried just under the howl of the wind. Like the heartbeat of some giant snow monster, it seemed to be coming from everywhere and nowhere. It surrounded her, and Annie turned in a slow circle, letting her gaze sweep the edge of the treeline, searching. But there was nothing. Just the swirling snow and the shadowy forest beyond.
She shivered and hunched deeper into her down jacket as she grabbed hold of the banister with one hand and her suitcase with the other. A twinge of discomfort rippled along her back as she climbed the steps slowly, and she hardly winced. After all, she’d been pregnant for eight months now. She was an old hand at this. Used to the occasional spasm or stitch in her side. The infrequent jolt of pain that shot down from her hips all the way to the soles of her feet.
“Pregnancy’s not for sissies,” she muttered.
Plus, the baby seemed so much bigger in the last few days. Her belly had taken on a life of its own. Heck, it felt as if she was lugging around a small planet. Annie paused halfway up the stairs to take a breath and arch her back, stretching out whatever muscle was kinking. Then, before she could chicken out and just set up camp on the steps, she plodded on, unconsciously keeping time with the eerie pounding still reverberating in the air.
She crossed the porch, opened the door and stepped into a welcoming warmth that almost had her weeping with pleasure.
“Thanks, Lisa,” she said in a whispered prayer of gratitude to the friend who had loaned her the cabin for the weekend. Lisa must have called someone and had them turn on the heat so the place would be warm for Annie’s arrival. “A true friend,” she said as she trudged across the room, still carrying her suitcase.
She could have dropped it in the living room, but Annie was a firm believer in “a place for everything and everything in its place.” Besides, she’d only have to move it again later. Might as well get it over with.
When she was halfway down the hall, that twinge in her back came again, only this time it was just a bit stronger. Annie winced, stretched and as she stepped into the bedroom, glanced longingly at the quilt covered king-size bed. A veritable ocean of mattress called to her, silently offering a comfy spot for a nap. Dozens of plump pillows in varied shapes and colors were strewn against the headboard, and suddenly all Annie could think of was sinking down into them.
She’d wanted this weekend to be a quiet time. Two days all to herself. To think. To work. To mentally prepare for the coming birth.
Every muscle in her body screamed with fatigue. She’d spent the past six months working herself into a frenzy, trying to prepare for her coming baby. Trying to get ready to be a single mom. Trying to, she told herself tiredly, put the baby’s father behind her and think of him only as a kindly sperm donor.
For that’s all he really was, anyway. Mike Sinclair. A man of a million promises and a million and a half excuses for breaking them. But she hadn’t seen him for what he was. She’d had stars in her eyes that had blinded her to reality. She’d thought he was The One. The love of her life. The man she would marry. So she’d turned in her membership card to Virgins Anonymous and slept with him. A few weeks later she’d discovered she was pregnant. When she told Mike…she’d discovered just how fast a human male could really run.
“So he was a mistake,” she said, pushing thoughts of the handsome charmer out of her mind as she talked to the mound that was her baby. “At least he gave me you,” she said, “and for that I’ll always be grateful.
“However,” she continued with a sigh, “you do make Mommy tired.” Annie set her suitcase down beside the old, hand-carved mahogany dresser, then moved to the bed. Sitting on the edge of the mattress, she clumsily leaned forward and tried to take her shoes off. She managed the right one but gave up on the left. Leaning back, she lifted her feet onto the bed and promised herself she’d wash Lisa’s quilt before leaving. Then she eased into those pillows, closed her eyes and drifted off, despite the nagging pain in her back. Twenty-seven years old and she felt like ninety.
Gunnery Sergeant John Paretti swung the ax high and brought it down with a thud into the log standing upright on an old tree stump. The ax blade bit deeply into the wood, and he pried the two halves apart with gloved hands. Then he split the halves again and again, before gathering up the kindling and tossing it onto the pile he’d already chopped.
By the look of the coming storm, he was going to need all the firewood he could get his hands on. Tipping his head back, he stared up into the wash of white that was now blanketing the sky and the surrounding trees. It had blown up fast, this storm. Rushing across the mountaintop on a freight train of frigid air that stole his breath then turned it into fog in front of his face.
He should have known better, he told himself in disgust as he reached for another log and set it into place on the stump. Should have gone to a beach house to do his thinking. Somewhere down the mountain the February sun was shining, and tourists and locals alike were strolling along the beach walk wearing shorts and sandals. Instead he was dressed like Nanook of the North and frantically chopping firewood to stave off a surprise blizzard.
“Only in California,” he muttered and slammed the ax down again.
He’d been working on the woodpile for the last hour, though to be fair, he probably wouldn’t need all of the extra wood. First Sergeant Pete Jackson had promised him when he’d loaned John the cabin that there was a pyramid of firewood ready and waiting. And there was. But between the coming storm and John’s own need to work off some of the frustration nearly choking him, he’d decided to chop more.
It was the most recent phone call from his father that had sent him looking for a retreat. As he splintered the wood with sure, strong strokes, he replayed that conversation in his mind.
“Your brothers are married,” Dominick Paretti said flatly. “They’re settled. They’re not going to be leaving the Corps, so it’s up to you.”
John shook his head and tightened his grip on the receiver. They’d been through this dozens of times. Ever since the old man had resigned from the Corps to start up a small business that had grown into Paretti Computer Corporation, he’d been after his sons to join him. But unlike the old man, his sons were Marines to the bone. And not one of them wanted to give up the Corps to ride a desk and attend board—or as they thought of them, bored—meetings.
“Dad,” John started, but his father interrupted him quickly.
“Look, John, I’m not getting any younger, you know?” The old man’s voice roughened up like sandpaper across a stone. “I want my family to run this business. It’s Paretti Computers and a Paretti should be in charge when I die.”
“You’re not gonna die tomorrow, Dad, and—”
“Think about it,” his father said, cutting off a possible refusal. “That’s all I ask.”
But, John thought now as he gathered up the firewood and carried it to the porch that ran along the back of the cabin, that wasn’t all his dad asked. It never was. He wanted at least one of his three sons to leave the Marines and take over the family business. And he wasn’t above using guilt to get his way. The old man, despite his words to the contrary, would go on forever. This had nothing to do with his age or infirm health—the man was healthy as two mules and just as stubborn—this came down to one thing.
Family Comes First.
The Paretti family motto. He and his brothers had been raised to believe that nothing was more important than family. And now Dominick Paretti was counting on his youngest son to live up to what he’d been taught.
Which was why John had borrowed the cabin from Pete for the weekend. He’d needed a place to think. Some quiet time to himself to decide which direction his life should take. Did he go with his heart and stay with the Corps? Or did he go with his head and be the son his father needed?
Wind shrieked across the clearing and shoved him into the log wall behind him. Ducking his head to avoid most of the flying snow, John stared out at the still-whitening world and wondered how the weathermen had missed predicting this storm. He’d been in blizzards before and he recognized the signs. In the last hour, enough snow had fallen to block the driveway and probably the road down the mountain, as well. And it was only going to get worse. Trees bent nearly in half as they surrendered to the wind. Windowpanes rattled behind him, and the lamplight flickered uncertainly. Power lines would be going down next, he told himself and grabbed up an armful of wood before turning for the door.
He stomped into the mudroom, shaking most of the snow off his boots before entering the tiny room off the kitchen. Then, walking straight through the cabin to the living room, he went down on one knee and dropped the load of wood onto the river stone hearth.
“Who’s there?” A distinctly female voice called out.
John swiveled on the ball of his foot and shot a glance at the darkened hall and the bedroom beyond. Who the heck? He stood up and crossed the room, tugging at the zipper of his jacket as he went. The heater in the small cabin was still on high, and he felt as if he’d parachuted out of the North Pole into the mouth of hell.
“Who is it?” she yelled again, and this time he heard a thread of panic in her voice.
Well, she had a right to be worried. Setting up camp in someone else’s cabin. What? Did she think he was running a motel?
Of course, a cynical voice within warned, it could be a trap. Some woman sounding scared to lure him in so her boyfriend could beat him to a pulp and rob him. As that thought settled in, he told himself he’d watched too many movies. Still, it paid to be careful.
Stalking down the short hall, he stopped outside the open bedroom door and carefully poked his head around the corner. He had just enough time to duck as one of the bedside lamps sailed across the room at him.
“Hey!” he shouted above the crash of breaking glass as it hit the wall.
“Stay back!” she ordered. “I have a gun!”
“Then why’d you throw a lamp?”
“I don’t want to hurt you if I don’t have to.”
Real comforting, he thought, with a glance at the shards of broken glass on the floor behind him. Keeping his voice low, calm, he said, “Lady, I don’t know what you’re doing here, but you’d better go now.”
“I should go?” she echoed, astonishment evident in her tone. “You’re the intruder here and—”
Her voice broke off on a gasp and John risked sticking his head back into the danger zone to see what the trouble was. One look was all it took.
“Oh, hell,” he muttered grimly.
Two
“Are you alone?” he asked.
“I was,” she said, then winced. Stupid. She never should have told him that. Should have said her big, burly, football-playing husband and eight of his biggest friends were in the next room. Too late now.
“You’re pregnant,” he said.
“You’re a genius,” she muttered, and reached toward the table. Keeping one eye on him, she fumbled for something else to throw at him.
She’d come out of a fretful sleep to the sounds of someone crashing around in the living room. Fear had shot through her but was quickly swamped by an almost overpowering sense of protectiveness. She would defend herself—and her baby—with everything she had. Even if that was only—she spared a glance at her arsenal—a paperback novel, a pad of paper and a cordless phone.
Oh, God.
Pitiful.
Annie snatched up the phone, reared her arm back to throw it and stopped when he held up both hands, palms out, toward her.
“Cease fire,” he told her.
“Why should I?”
“Because you might hit me.”
“That’s the point.” Really, she’d never expected a burglar to be so chatty. Or so handsome. She mentally erased that thought. His looks had nothing to do with his personality. Weren’t there mobsters once known as Pretty Boy Floyd and Baby Face Nelson?
“Look, lady,” he said, slowly dropping his arms.
She lifted the phone higher, and his arms shot right back up.
“Okay, okay.” He shook his head. “Relax, all right? I’m not going to hurt you.”
“If you were going to hurt me, would you admit it?” she asked.
“I guess not,” he admitted. “But that doesn’t change the truth.”
She hoped he was telling the truth, because frankly, she just couldn’t see herself holding him off much longer. The pains in her back were quickening, and she was fast running out of ammunition, anyway. But how to know whether to trust him or not? How could she be sure that he wouldn’t hurt her and her baby?
His eyes, she thought, studying those pale-blue depths that held neither threat nor shadows. She’d always prided herself on being a good judge of character. And those were good eyes. Not necessarily kind, but definitely good.
But even as she thought about lowering her weapon, she reminded herself that she’d once looked into Mike Sinclair’s eyes and hadn’t seen him for the rat he was.
“I don’t know what you’re doing here,” he was saying, “but the guy who owns this place is a friend of mine and—”
Aha! she thought, ignoring the flash of pain down low in her back. Now she had him. “What’s his name?” she asked, her gaze narrowing in suspicion.
“Whose name?”
“The owner.” Annie scooted back farther against the headboard, knocking a tumble of pillows to the floor. “You see, I happen to know the owner, so I’ll know if you’re lying.”
Slowly, carefully, John lowered his hands to his sides, and when she didn’t threaten him, he drew a deep breath. Tilting his head to one side, he looked at her and asked, “And how do I know that? If I tell you his name, you’ll just say you knew it, anyway.”
“Unless you’re lying.”
“I don’t lie,” he said, and leaned one shoulder against the doorjamb.
A Boy Scout intruder. Though he looked incredibly relaxed and calm for a burglar. And that fact irritated Annie more than she could say. Frowning, she said, “Fine. We’ll each say the owner’s name at the same time.”
A short laugh shot from his throat. “What is this? Second grade?”
She ignored that. “On the count of three. One…two…three.”
“Peter.”
“Lisa.”
They stared at each other. As the reality of what must have happened sunk in, Annie asked, “Peter loaned you the cabin?”
“Yep,” he said, nodding. “And Lisa did the same for you?”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake.”
Another, sharper pain poked at her spine, and Annie winced as she sat up and swung her legs off the edge of the bed. Shooting him a long look, she said, “Well, Peter obviously made a mistake, and you should go.”
“I was here first.”
“Now who’s in second grade?” she demanded.
“Lady…”
“And stop calling me lady in that tone.”
“What tone?”
One blond eyebrow lifted into a high arch. “That tone that says, ‘calm down crazy person.’”
He frowned and straightened away from the door. “That’s not what I meant.”
She winced as another ripple of pain unwound inside her, this time rolling from the base of her spine all the way around her immense belly and back again. Not now, she silently pleaded with the baby. For pity’s sake, give Mommy a break.
John took half a step forward and stopped dead. She still didn’t trust him, he knew, so she wouldn’t want him offering to catch her when she fainted.
And she was going to faint, he thought. Or worse. His mouth dried up and his throat tightened. He’d watched a wave of pain overtake her. Could actually see it grabbing her, tensing her body. Her small, oval-shaped face went so white her pale-blond eyebrows actually stood out in sharp relief against their colorless background.
His gaze dropped briefly to her swollen belly, and John frantically wished himself into the middle of a firefight somewhere. Hell, he’d take flying bullets, exploding mortars and hand grenades anyday…anything had to be better than being stuck in a tiny cabin with a woman about to go into labor.
Just thinking the word labor sent his stomach on a sharp plunge to his feet. At last he understood the expression a sinking feeling. It was kind of like stepping unknowingly into the La Brea Tar Pits. Every move you made only sucked you in deeper. There was no escape. Just the inevitable. The only question was, how long would it take you to go down?
“Are you all right?” he asked, hoping to God she’d say, Sure. Just a little toothache.
“Do I look all right?” she asked, lifting her head long enough to slide him a glare that should have toasted him on the spot.
“Actually,” he said, with an inward sigh, “no.”
Her lips twisted into a mocking smile. “Gee, thanks.”
Then she groaned and clapped one hand to her middle.
All the air left John’s lungs.
“C’mon, sweetie,” she murmured, smoothing one hand up and down over her stomach, “not now, okay?”
“It’s labor, isn’t it?” he asked when he’d managed to suck more air into his body.
She laughed shortly. “Well, I’ve never done this before, so I can’t be sure, but yeah. That’s my guess. I’ve been having a backache all day but the pain seems to be coming every few minutes now.”
“Swell.”
The little blonde shot him a bland look. “Gee, I’m sorry to inconvenience you.”
Shame swamped him. Here he was thinking about himself, when this woman was about to make a new human being. Well, hell, you couldn’t blame a guy, could you? He’d come to this cabin for a little peace and quiet. Not to be the first Marine midwife in history.
“I think you should take me to the closest hospital,” she said, scooting carefully off the bed.
If only he could. “There’s a problem.”
“Problem?” she echoed as she tried to slip her right foot back into a sadly misshapen loafer.
“We’re not going anywhere,” he said and watched realization dawn on her face with each of his words. Damn, it cost him to break this to her, but better she know straight-out that he was as close to a doctor as she’d be seeing tonight. God help her.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, the storm has turned into a blizzard. There are drifts of snow blocking the driveway, and I’m pretty sure the roads are in no better shape.”
Her blue eyes widened, and she shot a quick look at the nearest window. Outside, the wind hammered at the glass like an angry old man demanding entry.
“Well, find a snowplow.”
“I don’t have one.”
“What kind of mountain cabin doesn’t have a snow plow?”
Pointless to wish for things they didn’t have, he thought. “I’ll mention it to Pete next time I see him.” Along with a few other things, like making sure the cabin was unoccupied before you lent it out.
“There can’t be a blizzard,” she said, interrupting his thoughts and swinging her gaze back to him. “I’m having a baby.”
Oh, man. He forced a smile he didn’t feel and told himself she didn’t need to see just how nervous she was making him. The thought of becoming an instant obstetrician didn’t exactly electrify him. But what choice did he have? Hell, what choice did either of them have? That baby was coming whether they liked it or not.
And in this situation the baby had the last word.
“Maybe we could call for help,” she said, waving the phone she still held in one hand.
“Good idea,” he said and cursed silently for not thinking of it himself.
“I’ll call 911,” she said to herself as she turned the phone on and dialed. “This is an emergency, right?”
“Oh, yeah, I’d say so,” he told her. Heck, if he had any rocket flares, he’d be firing them about now.
She held the phone up to her ear, and he watched eagerness fade into disbelief and then fear.
“What?” he asked, not really wanting to hear her answer.
“It’s not working.”
“What do you mean it’s not working?” he asked, reaching for the phone.
“It’s not dialing.”
He took it, listened for a long minute, hoping the situation would change, then gave it up. That sinking sensation crawled back into his guts and he wondered if it was going to become a permanent part of him. “The phone’s dead.”
“Oh, God.”
“Don’t worry,” he said, and instantly told himself how stupid that was. Of course she’d worry. She was probably terrified. Having a baby during a blizzard, with the only help available a complete stranger? Those wide blue eyes of hers shone with a glimmer of unshed tears and just a trace of dread. Hell, he was just short of panicking himself. But even as that thought registered, he put it aside. Marines don’t panic, for God’s sake. Marines fight battles. And Marines win, by damn.
She licked dry lips and gave him a quick, frantic glance. “Maybe it’s not labor. Maybe it’s gas.”
“You really think so?”
“No,” she said, shaking her head and rubbing her mouth with her fingertips. “Just wishful thinking. Oh, God,” she added in a soft, panic filled murmur, “what am I going to do?”
“We can do this,” he said, making sure his voice sounded firm but comforting.
“We can?” she asked, grabbing the phone from him and shaking it as if she could bring it back to life.
“I’ll help any way I can.”
She kept shaking the phone.
He took it from her and set it back into the cradle. “Shaking it won’t help. The line must have gone down.”
“The power line?” she asked.
“No,” he said with a grateful look at the lamplight, “power’s still on. I don’t know for how long, though.”
“This is not happening,” she whispered, and sank down onto the edge of the bed.
“Yeah,” John said quietly, “it is.” Though he wished to hell it wasn’t.
She shot him a quick look. “I had this planned, you know.”
“You planned this?” He took a seat beside her.
Unbelievably enough, a short laugh shot from her throat. “No, I didn’t plan this. I planned how it would be when the baby came.”
John just looked at her. “You can plan that stuff?”
She nodded, more to herself than to him. “You just have to be organized, is all.” She glanced at him and went on. “At home, I have the doctor’s number by the phone, my packed suitcase by the front door and the baby’s layette all pressed and ready.”
“That’s a plan,” he said, and told himself she’d make a halfway decent General.
She folded her hands in what was left of her lap and entwined her fingers. “This isn’t how I thought it would be. I thought I’d be in the hospital. With nurses. With doctors. With medication.”
Her voice notched up a bit higher with every word, and he felt the tension inside her escalate. He had to keep her calm. Hysteria wasn’t going to help either of them through this.
“But I’m stuck here. In a cabin. With—” she looked at him. “I don’t even know your name.”
“John,” he told her, offering his right hand. “John Paretti.”
Her bottom lip trembled a bit, and that hit him harder than he would have expected.
She took his hand and said, “Annie. Annie Foster.”
“Nice to meet you.”
“Yeah,” she said, and her mouth quirked into a mocking smile. “I’ll bet. You’re probably wishing you were out in that blizzard somewhere.”
“Nope,” he said, and surprised himself by meaning it. If he wasn’t here, she’d be alone. And he didn’t like the thought of that at all. Better that he was here. Not that he knew what the hell to do, but at least she wasn’t alone. At least he could be another heartbeat in the cabin. “There’s nowhere else I’d rather be at this moment.”
“Really?” she asked, and this time she gave him a genuine smile that hit him like a hard fist to his midsection. “I can think of at least a dozen places I’d rather be.”
“Can’t say as I blame you any,” John said, “but try not to worry.”
“Don’t worry?”
“Well, okay,” he said, keeping his voice low and soft, “I guess you’ll worry, anyway. But the point is, at least you’re not alone. We’ll get through this.”
She reached up and pushed one hand through her short cap of blond curls, “We will, huh?”
John gave her another smile he hoped looked more convincing than it felt and reached for her hand. “Sure. How hard can it be? People have been having babies for centuries.”
“Yeah,” she murmured, “and I wish some of them were here right now.” He smiled, appreciating a woman who could make jokes when things looked black. “Oh, no…here’s another one….” Then she grabbed at him, curling her fingers into his forearm until each one of her nails dug through the fabric of his jacket and the shirt beneath, to bite into his skin. Man, she had a helluva grip.
Misery shimmered across her features. Her lips clamped tightly shut, she breathed quickly, deeply through her nose and closed her eyes as she rode the wave of pain gripping her.
John had never felt so helpless in his life.
Not knowing what else to do, he smoothed his free hand up and down her back in long, comforting strokes. And even through the thick, blue cable-knit sweater she wore, he felt her muscles tighten convulsively.
“Are you okay?” Dumb question, Paretti, he told himself as her fingernails slowly eased back out of his skin. She trembled, and he wanted to pick her up and carry her bodily through the snow. Find a hospital. Find a doctor who could give her something to ease the pain. A doctor who could take care of her and her baby.
And he couldn’t do it. All he could offer her was a shoulder to cry on and the promise that he wouldn’t leave her.
A long, deep breath shuddered into her lungs before she looked up at him. An invisible fist clutched at his heart, squeezing painfully. Sapphire-blue eyes stared back at him, and John saw fear and hope, and unbelievably enough, excitement shining in those vivid depths.
“That one was much stronger,” she told him. “I think the baby’s going to be here soon.”
He buried the knot of panic swelling inside him and said only, “Then let’s get ready to greet it.”
Three
The night crawled on.
She’d been wrong. The baby hadn’t been as close as she’d thought. Minutes were measured in soft moans that tore at John even as he admired the woman who refused to cry out despite the pain that kept blossoming inside her. He knew it was far worse now. He saw the advancement of the pain on her face. Her features tightened, draining her of color. Her blond hair lay damp against her forehead, and those lake-blue eyes of hers were glassy with concentration and agony.
And there wasn’t a damn thing he could do to help her.
Helplessness was not something he was used to feeling. Until tonight there’d never been a problem he couldn’t solve. A situation he couldn’t take charge of. As a man—a Marine—he’d prided himself on being able to handle whatever came his way. It was second nature to him to offer help. To fix whatever was broken.
But now, despite his training, despite wishing things were different, he was nothing more than a bystander. All he could do was watch as Mother Nature did what she did best.
And damned if he wasn’t humbled.
As the latest pain faded away, John watched her breathe easier, saw the tension leave her body and was probably more grateful than she for the respite.
“Oh, my,” she whispered and swallowed hard. “That was a hard one.”
He was suddenly aware that his hands were curled into tight fists. Deliberately he relaxed them and walked to her side. Picking up a damp washcloth, he wiped her forehead, smoothing her soft blond hair back and accepting her smile with all the pride he would have a medal.
“Thanks,” she said and pulled in one or two deep breaths. “This is a heck of a first impression I make, don’t you think?”
John smiled down at her. “It’s not a night I’m likely to forget.”
“Me, neither,” she assured him and rubbed one hand across the mound of her child. “But then, when this is over, I’ll have my baby.”
He watched her hand move slowly, tenderly, and not for the first time he noticed the lack of a wedding ring. Did that mean she wasn’t married? Or that her rings didn’t fit anymore? Hadn’t he heard his own mother complain about being pregnant with him and his brothers and how she hadn’t been able to wear her wedding rings for the swelling?
Probably shouldn’t say anything, he thought, but at the same time, if she was his wife, he’d be terrified at the thought of her stuck in a blizzard. Of course, if she had been his wife, she wouldn’t have been traveling alone so close to the birth of their baby.
Taking a seat beside her on the mattress, he asked, “Is there anyone who’s going to be worried about you?” And even as the words left his mouth, he thought, Oh, nice job, Paretti. Could you make her sound more alone?
She pushed herself a little higher against the pillows and shook her head. “If you mean, do I have a husband somewhere pacing the floor, the answer is no.”
“I didn’t mean to—”
“Pry?” she finished for him, and gave him a tired smile. “John, you undressed me and put me to bed. Before the night’s over, you’re going to deliver my baby. I don’t think a question is out of line.”
He still felt like an idiot.
“And, as I said, the answer is no,” she said in a voice pitched so low he had to strain to hear it. “No husband. No anxious father. It’s just me. And the baby.”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s none of my business.”
“Probably not,” she agreed, “but don’t be sorry for me. It’s an old story, certainly not a new one. I picked a lemon in the garden of love.” Her hand on her belly paused, as if she were trying to keep the baby from hearing what she was about to say. “When he found out I was pregnant, he left.”
Okay, now he knew who the real idiot was. “Stupid of him,” he said.
Annie smiled at the compliment. “Thanks. I thought so.” Really, as “burglars” went, he was a very nice man. And she was more grateful than she could say that he was there. She didn’t even want to imagine what it would have been like to be stranded, alone and giving birth. She squirmed a bit on the bed, feeling the pad of towels John had folded and slipped beneath the sheet. She just couldn’t get comfortable, she thought, and briefly longed again for that fabulous epidural she’d heard other women talking about. Funny how this had worked out. She’d never had any intention of having a natural childbirth. Annie was a big believer in taking advantage of medical science. After all, a hundred years ago women were putting knives under the bed to “cut the pain.” Who was she to go without medication when people had worked for years to make childbirth easier, safer and pain free?
Something inside her began the slow, unmistakable tightening that by now she recognized all too well. Another contraction was coming. Her body readied for that slow climb to agony. And since there was no anesthetist around to give her a hand, she settled for something else.
“Talk to me,” she whispered as her insides tightened and her back arched as she moved into the pain.
His eyes widened. “About what?”
“Anything,” she assured him. She just wanted something else to concentrate on besides her own discomfort. “Tell me about your family. Are you married?”
He laughed shortly and shook his head. “Me? No. I figure I’ll stay single and save some poor woman a lot of headaches.”
Oh, it was a big one. She tried to ride the wave, told herself that with each pain, her baby was that much closer. Keep talking, she thought. “Scared, huh?”
John’s head jerked back, and he looked at her. “Scared? Who said anything about scared?”
Despite her distress she laughed at his offended tone, then gasped and reached for his hands. Holding on tightly, she only said, “Talk, John. Talk to me.”
“Uh,” he said, letting his gaze sweep over her before settling back on her face, “I have two brothers. They’ve both gotten married recently. Nice women,” he muttered, words tumbling out of his mouth, and she clung to each one as if it were a tiny life raft. “Can’t figure out why they’d want to be married to Nick or Sam, but, hey, I never did understand women.”
A twist of her lips was the best smile she could give him. “So few do,” she said, and panted for air. “Tell me about them. About you.”
“We’re Marines,” he said, throwing the words out quickly. “All of us.”
Not a Boy Scout after all, she told herself, but close.
“More,” she said through gritted teeth, seeing the pain as a red haze that settled over her eyes, blurring the rest of the world until only his voice kept her anchored.
“My brother Sam is stationed in South Carolina. He just married a woman named Karen. She’s a real estate agent. Nice lady. Keeps Sam hopping, I can tell you.”
Her hands tightened on his.
John spoke quickly, keeping the words flowing.
“Nick, he’s stationed here. At Camp Pendleton, like me. He’s married to Gina.” John laughed shortly, and she clung to the sound of it. “She’s Italian, too, so the two of them together get pretty loud when there’s a difference of opinion. But Nick—hell, he’s a marshmallow when it comes to her.”
Calm, deliberate, he kept talking, telling her about his family, drawing her into his life. And as he talked, she listened, getting to know him not just through his words but through the gentle touch of his hands and the quiet timbre of his voice. While the wind howled outside and her body screamed inside, her mind reached out for him and held on.
“Okay,” John told her from his position at the foot of the bed, “I think this is it.”
He’d drawn on every bit of medical training he’d ever received in the Corps to help him out during the last several hours. And, God knew, it hadn’t been much. Knowing how to tie a bandage or temporarily set a broken bone wasn’t going to get him far tonight. But at least he felt somewhat prepared for what was coming.
John only hoped he wouldn’t screw this up. Let her down. He was all she had to count on now. All the baby had to count on.
His heart ached to watch her writhing in a pain she refused to acknowledge. She was either the bravest or the stubbornest woman he’d ever known. He knew damn well she was in agony, yet she’d hardly made a peep all night. Hell, he’d seen Marines wailing over a flesh wound. But Annie had simply gritted her teeth, steeled her will and ridden the pain out.
Through it all, she’d amazed him with her courage.
And now that the payoff was here…the birth imminent…he only hoped he measured up to her.
“Get set, Annie. Next time you feel like it, you give this baby a big push into the world.”
Annie nodded, propped herself up onto her elbows, took a deep breath and clenched her jaw. Every muscle in her body tightened, preparing for battle. When an overwhelming compulsion took hold, she pushed with everything she had, concentrating on moving her baby from her womb into her waiting arms.
“’Atta girl,” John said, and she heard him as if from a distance. “Keep going, don’t stop now. It’s coming. I can see its head.”
A smile bubbled up inside her, despite the pain roaring through her body. Almost, she told herself. Almost. After all these months, the moment was finally here.
“Breathe, Annie,” he ordered, “you’ve got to breathe. Take a breath for God’s sake.”
She sucked in air, used it for ammunition and bore down again. How many times, she wondered, her mind racing at a wild speed, had she seen this scene on television? Or in the movies? Push, push, someone was always shouting, and the poor beleaguered woman always ended up crying out, “I can’t.”
Well, not Annie. She felt as though she couldn’t stop pushing. Her body had a mind of its own now. She was just along for the ride. Nature had stepped in and there was no stopping it. And as suddenly as that thought came, John called out, “Okay, ease back a little now. Stop pushing for a minute.”
“No way,” she muttered. Her eyes flew open, and she looked at him where he knelt between her up-drawn legs. No modesty left, she thought idly, not caring right now who saw her in the most humiliating position a woman could find herself in. All she wanted now was to get this baby out.
The urge to push clawed at her. “Have to,” she said between gasps for air, “have to push. Have to do it now.”
“I know, honey,” he said, his voice soft, his hands against her body gentle. Then he met her gaze and gave her a smile. “The baby’s head’s out and it’s turning, so just hold back a minute or two more. It knows what to do, all we have to do is give it time to do it.”
She blew air out in short, sharp puffs and told herself to hang on. Just another minute. And finally, when she thought she couldn’t stand it a second longer, she heard him say, “All right Annie, let’s meet this baby.”
“Thank God,” she moaned and put everything she had into one last, colossal effort to push her child from her body.
“Scream if you want to, honey,” he told her in a loud, clear voice. “No one’s around to hear you.”
She didn’t want to scream. Didn’t want to waste that much breath. But as she felt her body give and stretch and pull taut, Annie heard a high, keening wail splinter the air and it wasn’t until much later that she realized the sound had come from her.
The baby cried and Annie laughed, falling back against the pillows like a runner exhausted after a marathon.
John’s voice, so familiar, so comforting, carried above the infant’s outraged screech. “It’s a girl, Annie,” he said, pleasure and awe coloring his tone.
She looked at him and he held her baby up like a prize won in a county fair.
“She’s gorgeous,” he said. “Just like her mother.”
“A girl,” Annie crooned, lifting her arms out for the messy, squalling baby whose tiny arms and legs kicked furiously.
“Let me just clean her up a little,” he said with a wink.
So tired, Annie thought as she nodded and closed her eyes. She’d never been more tired. Or more fulfilled. She’d done it. She’d given birth and now she’d never be alone again. She had a family. A daughter.
One part of her mind listened as John moved around the room, tending to the baby, talking to her.
“You caused quite a stir, young lady,” he was saying, and the baby’s cries quieted, matching his soft tone. “Your mommy’s tired now, and I’m going to be a little busy seeing to her, so I want you to just take it easy and let her rest for a bit, all right?”
Annie chuckled under her breath. It all felt so wonderful. So…right. Yesterday she hadn’t even known this man existed. And now…oh, she thought as he came toward her and laid her brand-new baby in her arms, now she couldn’t imagine not knowing him.
As she tucked the squirming bundle of her daughter close to her side, Annie felt John’s fingers trace delicately across her forehead. She tore her gaze from the beautiful sight of her daughter’s face to look up at him.
“You’re amazing,” he said and she saw admiration and wonder in his eyes. “She’s amazing.”
Annie reached up and caught his hand with hers. Unexpected tears filled her eyes as she met his gaze and said quietly, “Thank you.”
“You don’t have to—”
“No,” she said, cutting him off and staring deeply into his eyes. She wanted to tell him so much. To let him know what it had meant to her that he was there. That he was kind. And calm. And gentle. But all she could say was the same two words. “Thank you.”
He shook his head, bent down, kissed her forehead, then kissed the baby for good measure. Smiling at Annie, he said, “Annie, I wouldn’t have missed this for anything. Thank you for letting me witness a miracle.”
Four
John leaned one shoulder against the doorjamb and stared at the sleeping woman across the room from him. She looked so small in the big bed, half-buried under a blue-and-white quilt and surrounded by a mountain of pillows.
But he wasn’t fooled by her size. He knew firsthand just how tough this woman was.
His insides flipped once, hard. Now that the emergency was over, he could take a minute to fully appreciate just how lucky they’d both been. The baby was a month early, but she was big and healthy. No complications during delivery. No problems at all, really. And as that thought fluttered through his mind, he sent up a quick, heartfelt prayer of gratitude.
The baby, lying in the crook of Annie’s arm, stirred and whimpered. John pushed away from the wall and walked quickly, soundlessly to the side of the bed. Shadows of exhaustion lay beneath Annie’s eyes, but the baby looked wide-eyed and ready for trouble.
A pair of hazy blue eyes looked up at him, and despite knowing that he probably looked like a big blur to her, John told himself that the tiny girl was staring right at him. One impossibly small hand lifted and long, fragile fingers reached for him. He sucked in a gulp of air and actually felt it when the baby’s fist closed around his heart.
“A heartbreaker,” he whispered, and carefully lifted the baby, still wrapped in her bath-towel blanket, from the circle of Annie’s arm. “That’s what you are. A heartbreaker.”
She only stared at him owlishly.
“Come on, now, let’s give your mom some sleep time,” he said, his voice taking on an instinctive, singsong rhythm. Cuddling her into his chest, John headed for the main room and surprised himself by just how much he enjoyed the feel of that new life in his arms.
He’d never imagined himself as a father—despite the fact that he’d had a damn near perfect childhood, raised by parents who loved each other. Fatherhood just wasn’t something that had appealed to him. Maybe it was the whole idea of being responsible for another human being. Maybe it was fear of screwing up an innocent kid by making stupid parenting mistakes.
But whatever the reason, he’d avoided all chances at a serious relationship that might have led to parenthood. He’d always told himself that he was perfectly happy in his life. Answering to no one but the Corps. Going his own way. Doing his own thing.
But now, he thought as he took a seat on the floor near the fireplace and leaned back against the sofa, he had to wonder. The small, sturdy weight on his arm felt good. Right, somehow. And looking down into a pair of eyes that had seen nothing of the world made him want to show her everything.
She waved her little hand at him again, and this time he caught her fist with his fingertips. Smoothing the pad of his thumb into her closed fist, he felt those little fingers, sensed the strength inside and was humbled all over again.
“You’re a booby trap, aren’t you?” he asked quietly, and she tilted her head as if trying to understand him. “Yep,” he went on, smiling now at the frowns and grimaces tightening her little features. “You look all innocent and everything. But once a person gets close, you suck ‘em in and take ‘em out.”
She stretched and yawned, obviously bored with the conversation. John chuckled and tucked the towel more closely around her little body. Amazing, really, he thought. Only a few hours ago she wasn’t here. And now she was breathing and fussing and making herself known in no uncertain terms. An entire, new person.
And he already loved her with a fierceness he wouldn’t have believed possible.
Annie stood in the doorway, watching the two of them. Her heartbeat staggered slightly at the simple beauty of that gorgeous man tenderly holding the baby. Laying one hand against the doorjamb, she steadied her shaky knees and took a long minute to just enjoy the picture in front of her.
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