Fletcher's Baby Read online

  He wasn’t giving much away. “How far apart did you say they’ve been?”

  She ran her tongue over her lips. “Sometimes only a minute. Sometimes five.”

  “Since this afternoon?” He tapped his finger on the counter, looked at her, then down at his fingers again.

  “Am I having it?” she asked him when she could wait no longer.

  “I hope not. Get the father in here,” he said to the nurse.

  A second later Sam burst through the door. “Is she all right?”

  “She’s fine.”

  “And the baby? Is he coming? Now?”

  “I don’t know yet.”

  “Can’t you tell?” Sam asked urgently.

  “Eventually.”

  “But—”

  “We have to wait.” He gave them what Josie guessed was supposed to be a reassuring smile. “I think that if you just rest and take it easy, these contractions will stop. Early false contractions are more common in later pregnancies. I wouldn’t be as concerned if this was your third or fourth—or even second—child. I’d say it was just part of the process. But for a first pregnancy, I don’t know. Even if you do deliver now, the baby would have a pretty fair chance of surviving. Lots of babies born at seven months—and even earlier—do. But nature likes her full nine months. Fewer problems. Better odds. I’d like you to go as long as your can.” His gaze moved from Josie to Sam and back again.

  “So fine, I’ll slow down,” Josie said immediately. “That’s what I said all along.”

  “Slowing down isn’t going to do it,” Dr. Bastrop said. “You’re going to have to stop.”

  “Stop?”

  “Stop,” the doctor said firmly. “I don’t know if you’ve been over-exerting lately or not, but something’s definitely upsetting the applecart.”

  Josie felt Sam’s gaze turn on her at the word “over-exerting,” and the color surged in her cheeks. “I had work to do! I didn’t mean...” Her voice died. “I wasn’t trying...” She looked away, fighting tears.

  “No matter what you were doing, Josie, you can’t do it now. You have to take it easy,” the doctor said firmly. “And that means no rushing. No lifting. No stairs.”

  “I live on the second floor!”

  “We’ll move her down,” Sam said at the same time, and the look he gave her dared her to argue. “And she’ll stop. She’ll stay in bed for the rest of her pregnancy if that’s what you tell her to do.”

  Josie glared at his high-handedness.

  But Dr. Bastrop nodded, pleased. “Good. It’s about time you had someone take care of you,” he said to Josie.

  “I can take care of myself!” she protested, then winced as a particularly powerful contraction surged through her abdomen.

  Dr. Bastrop put his hand on her belly, leaving it there until the contraction began to ease.

  “I know you can take care of yourself, Josie,” he said when at last it had. “All along you’ve done what was right for this baby. I’m sure you’ll continue. Just be glad your man is willing to help you.”

  He’s not my man! Josie wanted to scream. He’s never been my man. He’s just the father of my child! She pressed her fists against her eyes and rocked back and forth.

  “Take her home and put her to bed,” Dr. Bastrop told Sam, man to man. “Pamper her.” There was a pause. “And keep your fingers crossed.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  “You can’t just evict them!” Josie said as Sam left her sitting on a chair in the kitchen and strode off toward the library where he had decided she was going to spend the night. “They’re our guests!”

  “They’ll understand.” Sam said over his shoulder.

  Josie started to rise to go after him, but at the sound of the chair’s legs scraping on the floor he turned around, the expression on his face sufficient to nail her right where she was. Slowly, warily, she sat back down.

  “That’s better. Now stay there. Don’t even think of moving until I get back. Watch her,” he said to Benjamin. Then, turning back to Josie, he said, “I’ll have a room for you in a few minutes.”

  She didn’t doubt it. He hadn’t said a word all the way home in the car, but she could almost hear the wheels spinning in his head. The minute he’d settled her in the kitchen, he’d headed for the library. That was when she’d realized what he intended to do—what he was at this very moment actually doing!

  She shut her eyes and groaned.

  Benjamin bent over her. “You got a pain? How come they didn’t keep you if you got a pain?”

  Josie managed a faint smile. “No pain. I’m just worried.”

  “About the baby?”

  “About what Sam’s doing.”

  “Doing what he should be doing,” Benjamin said firmly. “Taking care of things. Of you.”

  Was this some sort of masculine conspiracy? she wondered. Did every male within a hundred miles think that the minute she became pregnant she needed watching over?

  The door swung open. “They’re gone,” Sam said. “I’ll just change the sheets.”

  “You woke them up?” Josie was horrified.

  “I doubt if they were sleeping,” Sam said dryly. He gave a wry grin. “Anyway, they understood. I promised them a weekend on the house and moved them to another room for tonight.”

  “We don’t have any other rooms.”

  “I put them in yours.”

  “Mine?” She stared at him, aghast. Her quarters were plain and simple, austere almost, with none of the amenities that graced the guest rooms.

  “I couldn’t put them in Coleman’s Room. Not with wallpaper glop all over it.” Sam arched a brow at her. “I believe, Josie dear, that that’s what’s called being hoist by your own petard.”

  She felt like sticking her tongue out at him. Instead she let out an irritated sigh and turned her head away so she wouldn’t have to see his damnably superior smile.

  He didn’t waste much time bestowing it anyway. “I’ll be back for you in a few minutes.”

  “I don’t need you coming back for me,” she snapped. “I know where the library is.” It was all the acquiescence he was going to get from her. She sank back into the chair again, pressing her hands against her belly as another contraction hit.

  Sam saw it and got a pinched look around his mouth. “I’ll hurry.”

  Logically, sensibly, Sam supposed he ought to hope she’d lose the baby. It would forever cut the tie between them, solve their problems, simplify their lives.

  But the very thought sent a shaft of ice-cold panic right through him.

  He’d barely let himself think beyond the moment since he’d found out she was going to have his child. He’d not lain awake planning for the future. He had no concept of the baby he’d fathered.

  And yet, the moment he’d thought it might not live, he’d known he would move heaven and earth to make sure it did.

  Evicting guests was the least of his worries. He’d happily throw the whole damn bunch out if it would help Josie carry their child.

  It wouldn’t. In fact it would upset her more. She loved the inn—loved innkeeping. The Shields House, by rights, should have been hers.

  He’d make sure it was. But, right now, his first task was to make sure she stayed quiet and calm.

  He picked up the few things that lay scattered around her bedroom, making it presentable for the couple he’d tossed out of the library. Then he grabbed her nightgown and robe and ferreted through her drawers for clean underwear for tomorrow, feeling uncomfortably like a voyeur.

  Once he got the couple settled in Josie’s room, he went back and did the bed in the library. He’d never made a bed up so fast in his life. It wasn’t a great job. The corners weren’t tucked with military precision. The feather tick wasn’t fluffed to its full loft. He didn’t care if she found fault as long as she stayed there.

  He went back to the kitchen and was gratified to find her where he’d left her. “Bed’s ready,” he said. “How you doing?”

  “A
ll right.” But he still thought she looked pale. She started to lever herself out of the chair and he hurried to help her. He didn’t know whether to be glad or not when she didn’t shake him off.

  “Still having contractions?” he asked as he walked with her toward the library.

  She nodded, but didn’t speak. He could tell she was making an effort to walk at a normal pace, but there was a momentary hesitation in her step. When they got to the library, she stopped and turned. “Thank you.”

  It was a dismissal, and he knew it.

  “You’re welcome.” But he didn’t leave. Instead he moved toward her and all she could do was back up—until they were both in the library. He shut the door.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Staying.” The look she gave him over her shoulder was scathing. He ignored it. “I brought your nightgown down.” He held it out to her.

  She snatched it and started for the bathroom. He took a step after her and she turned. “Don’t come with me,” she said. “Don’t.”

  There was a thread of panic in her voice that stopped him. He wanted to tell her not to be stupid, that he’d seen her naked. He certainly wasn’t going to jump her bones tonight! But that was logical. Josie was beyond logic.

  He nodded. She disappeared around the corner into to bathroom. When the door shut, he went and stood outside it.

  He could hear the soft sounds of her moving around. Then, for a while, he didn’t hear anything. Are you all right? he wanted ask. He held his tongue. Five minutes later—which seemed more like five years to him—she opened the door.

  Mutely he took her arm and felt her stiffen. He steered her back to the bed, then turned down the duvet so she could get underneath it.

  When she was, she folded her hands together on top of it. “There,” she said. “Satisfied? I’m all tucked in. Now good night.”

  He shut off the lamp. The room went dark, the only light spilling in from the half-moon visible through the curtains. “Night, Josie,” he said quietly. Then instead of going out, he crossed the room and sat down in the rocking chair.

  She sat up. “Sam!”

  He cocked his head. “What?”

  “What do you think you’re doing?”

  He gave an experimental rock with one foot. The chair squeaked. “What’s it look like?”

  “You’re not staying!”

  “Make me leave,” he said equably.

  She made a furious sound. “You know I can’t.”

  “I know you can’t.”

  She pounded her fist on the feather tick. “Damn you, Sam Fletcher. Why are you doing this?” She sounded as if she was going to cry.

  He got up abruptly. “Oh, God, don’t cry.” It had almost killed him listening to her cry last time. And that had only been about Kurt.

  “I’m not crying,” she said fiercely. But her voice cracked as she said it, and on top of the duvet she pressed her hands tight against her belly.

  Sam went over and sat on the edge of the bed, reaching out and taking one of her hands in his. She tried to pull away, but he hung on. “Don’t, Josie. Please.” Her hand was cold. So cold. He chafed it with his fingers, rubbed his thumb over her knuckles. She stopped trying to pull away from him at last, and he curved his hand around hers.

  “I won’t sleep if I leave,” he told her. “I’ll be worried about you.”

  “I’ll be all right.”

  “I hope so. But I need to stay. To be sure.”

  She didn’t answer him. A soft sound of misery came from the back of her throat.

  “What about tomorrow?” she said plaintively after a moment. “I’ve got to fix breakfast at six.”

  “I’ll take care of it.”

  “You can’t cook breakfast for eighteen people.”

  “I can,” Sam said. “And there will be nineteen. I’ll bring you breakfast in bed.” He smiled at her in the dark.

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “I don’t think I’m the one who’s being ridiculous,” he said softly. His thumb continued to rub against her fingers. “Don’t worry about tomorrow, Josie. It’ll be all right. We’ll handle it.”

  “I can’t handle anything! The doctor said!” It was almost a wail.

  “You can tell me what to do,” he offered. Then he grinned. “You’ll like that.”

  She opened her mouth as if she was going to argue with him. But then she sighed and settled back against the pillows again. Beneath his hand he felt an odd tightening in her belly. Her whole body tensed then, and she drew a breath and held it, unmoving.

  Sam frowned. “Is that it? A contraction?” He’d never felt one, had only an academic notion of what it meant.

  Accustomed to always being able to control his own body, he had a hard time imagining what it must be like to have it subject to forces he had no power over. He wondered if Josie resented it. He wondered if she resented him.

  How could she not?

  In one night he had changed her life, ruined her engagement, destroyed her freedom. He had wanted her, needed her comfort, her touch, her loving. And in taking it he had sentenced her to an existence she could only regret.

  He sat now watching her in the moonlight, sat holding her hand in his, feeling the increasing tautness in her distended belly, and he wondered what he could do to make things right, what he could do to give her back at least a part of the life she had lost.

  She didn’t remember falling asleep. But when she woke up, she wasn’t in her own bed and it took a moment for her to recognize where she was—and why.

  The morning panic which said it was light and she was late and she had to be out of bed and fixing breakfast right now broke over her. But an even greater panic that said she had to lie still or lose the baby kept her right where she was.

  She was on her side in the middle of the queen-size bed, hugging a pillow. It was a practice she’d developed since the baby had got big enough that she felt as if her abdomen needed a little support. At least, she assured herself, that was the theory.

  Some nights she dreamed the pillow was Sam.

  Now she slid her hand between the pillow and her belly and rubbed it gently across her abdomen. The baby seemed to stir within at her touch, but no muscles contracted. Josie rubbed it again. She waited, barely daring to breathe. A minute. Two. She counted. She had fallen asleep counting, she remembered that now. Counting.

  And holding Sam’s hand.

  After five minutes of counting without any contractions, she breathed more deeply, felt the worry ease, rolled onto her back—and saw Sam sound asleep in the rocking chair next to the bed.

  He sprawled there, long jean-clad legs outstretched, shirttails dangling, one golden whisker-shadowed cheek pillowed against his hand. On the table next to the bed she saw a breakfast tray. Orange juice. Pancakes. Bacon. A fruit cup.

  “Oh, Sam.”

  She didn’t think she said the words aloud—only breathed them. But, however loudly she’d said them, it was enough that he blinked and his dark eyes came slowly open to settle right on her.

  He shoved himself up. “How you doing?”

  The gentle concern in his voice almost undid her. She cleared her throat, trying to sound as if she’d been awake and watching him for hours, wishing she had been, wishing he hadn’t seen her fast asleep. “I’m fine.” She started to ease herself to a sitting position. He almost leapt out of the chair.

  “Let me help you.”

  She shook her head quickly and backed up against the headboard, tugging the duvet with her. She needed to get out of bed and use the bathroom, but she wouldn’t as long as he was there. He’d seen entirely too much of her parading around in her nightgown!

  He stood beside the bed and shifted from one foot to the other, still looking down at her. “No more contractions?”

  She pressed her lips together and gave a tiny shake of her head. “No contractions.” She managed a smile. “The crisis is past.” She said the words lightly, hoping he would take the hint that s
he didn’t need him hovering anymore and would leave.

  He didn’t budge. “I brought you some breakfast earlier. Figured you’d be awake by the time I got back from feeding the hordes. Guess you must’ve been worn out.”

  “Guess so,” she said in a small voice. She was as surprised as he was that she had slept so long. It was past ten. She straightened. “Who’s on the desk? People will be checking out.”

  “Benjamin’s handling it. He came up early and gave me some help with breakfast, too. Cletus is coming in an hour. Don’t worry. Everything’s taken care of. These pancakes are cold and the bacon’s seen better days. I’ll bring you something else.”

  She hesitated, torn between letting him because she wanted him out of the room and not wanting him to do any more for her. “I can get up now,” she said. “If you leave.” she added pointedly.

  “I’ll leave,” he said. “But I’ll be right back.”

  “You don’t have to hover.”

  He didn’t reply, just looked at her. She raised her chin and tried to look brisk and competent Difficult since she was wearing a nightgown and her hair was a mess.

  “Five minutes.” he said, “and I’ll be back.”

  He was true to his word, giving her just enough time to use the bathroom and wash her face, brush her teeth and comb her hair, before he returned, bringing her a plate of scrambled eggs, toast, fruit and juice this time. He set the tray on the table next to the bed where she sat.

  “Thank you,” Josie said. She waited for him to leave again. He didn’t. “You don’t have to wait around.”

  “We need to talk.”

  She reached for a piece of the toast, taking a bite. “About what?”

  “About last night.”

  “Last night is over. I’m fine. I just overdid it yesterday. I won’t overdo it anymore.” she promised.

  “No,” he said gravely, “you won’t.” He was leaning against the bookcase now, not quite looming over her, but still high enough so that she had to look up to see his face. When she did, she found it was serious, unsmiling.