"Not a word to anybody. You know me better than that." Kit frowned. "Tess, I'd do anything I could to help you. I hope you know you can depend on me."
"I do. You're the only friend I have."
'That works both ways. Keep in close touch, okay? And let me know what the doctor says."
"I will." Tess got into her small foreign car and waved as she started it and drove back to work. She felt unnerved, and she wondered if it was only because she'd unexpectedly seen Dane. She was uneasy for the rest of the day, without knowing why.
Chapter Nine
Tess was thirty minutes early for her appointment with Dr. Bos-wick. She hadn't slept or eaten much since the day before. The unexpected pains she'd had in the restaurant had frightened her. Dane had been beside her, holding her hand, and the pain had dissipated much sooner than usual. Mystical, she thought, as if the child had heard its father's voice and had felt compelled to survive. No doctor, she was sure, would subscribe to that theory.
Dr. Boswick was right on schedule, so she didn't have to wait long. But the tests he performed told him something she didn't want to hear. He called her into his office and sat down behind his desk, poring through test results, having had her come back after work to talk to him.
He laid down the open file folder and looked at her over his glasses. "How badly do you want this baby?" he asked abruptly. "I know you're single, and not well-to-do, so think carefully before you answer."
She didn't understand what her financial situation had to do with it, but the question was easily answered. "I want him more than Anything in the world," she said simply.
He smiled gently. "I'm glad you put it that way, because you've got some hard times ahead and no guarantees even then." He swung forward in the chair and leaned his hands on the desk, aware of her worried expression. "You have a rather rare condition—one sometimes see in the second or third trimester—where the placenta partially or completely covers the cervix. The placenta stretches, sometimes tears. There can be frequent bleeding and the danger of spontaneous abortion."
''Oh, no!" she ground out.
"It happens to some degree in only about one out of every two hundred pregnancies," he continued. "We found an abnormal placement of the placenta in the ultrasound we did earlier. It usually occurs in women who have had multiple pregnancies, and later than this. You're not that far along. Your case is unusual, but this does happen."
"Is there anything I can do?" she asked frantically. "Anything at all?"
"Yes. You can quit your job and stay home until your pregnancy advances sufficiently that we can ascertain whether or not the placenta is going to detach itself from the cervix. That will probably be until you deliver—a normal delivery, I hope, but sometimes a C-section is mandatory. In the meantime, you won't be able to do a lot of walking, and working at a job isn't advisable, either. For God's sake," he added, "don't take aspirin during your pregnancy."
"I'll remember that." Her face felt tight. She had very little in her savings account. She had monthly bills and she needed the job. But he was telling her that she might sacrifice her child if she didn't stay at home.
"As I said, there are no guarantees. You could still lose the child. There's another reason that you shouldn't be alone. Later on, there's a potential for massive bleeding with this condition. I don't want to frighten you, but you could hemorrhage. If there's any bleeding at all, I want to see you, night or day. That will mean complete bed rest until the bleeding stops. Perhaps hospitalization. You see what I meant when I asked how important this child was to you?"
She nodded, her fingers painfully entwined. "I live alone."
"There's no chance that the father might become involved in the pregnancy?"
She hesitated. Then she shook her head. "He doesn't know."
"He should be told."
"Yes, sir." She wasn't going to tell Dane, but it was easier to agree with the doctor than to argue.
"Good girl. You're going to need help. This won't be easy. Meanwhile, I'll have Bertha set up another appointment. You'll need to come fairly regularly. Don't worry about the bill," he added with a grin. "I trust you for it. We'll work something out. All right?"
"All right." She asked as many questions as she could, finding that knowledge was better than ignorance in such a situation. Then she went home and did what came naturally until her eyes were as red as her nose.
She laid her hand on the slight swell of her stomach and smiled through the tears. "Okay, buster, it's just you and me. I can't do it alone so you're going to have to help me. I want you, little one," she added with breathless tenderness. "You don't know how much! So will you try to stay alive, just for me?"
She laid her head back against the sofa and stared into space, her mind whirling with possibilities. No walking. No lifting. No strain of any kind. A quiet lifestyle, good food, no stress. That was pushing it for a single woman with no income, she mused. But she'd manage somehow. Women did, all over the world.
Telling Dane was out of the question, though. Even if he believed the baby was his, it would look as if she expected him to support her. It would mean living with him, letting him assume full responsibility for both of them. She couldn't do that to him. He didn't want commitment, he didn't want marriage. He'd said so forcefully when he'd thrown her out of his life, and she'd gone willingly. This was no time to open old wounds.
Someday, perhaps, she'd tell him, when she was back on her feet and no longer needed help. That way, she could go to him on an independent basis and let him decide if he wanted any part of the child's life.
That decided, she went and made herself a bowl of soup. There were all sorts of agencies to help expectant mothers, she knew. She'd just have to find one or two.
She quit her job the next day. Mr. Short was stunned. She explained that she had a bleeding ulcer—as good an excuse as any other lie, she thought miserably—and that her doctor had advised her to stop working for a couple of months. He was sympathetic and insisted on giving her two weeks severance pay, which was very good of him considering that she couldn't give notice and had left him shorthanded. She apologized profusely and went home to her apartment. She'd never felt so scared or alone in her life. Not that the baby wasn't going to be worth all the sacrifices, she assured herself. The baby would be her whole world!
She spent the next few days getting used to a new routine. She found a part-time job doing telephone sales from the apartment, which brought in a little income. She had enough money to pay the rent for three months, which she did to insure that she wouldn't get thrown out during the first part of her confinement. Since utilities were included in the rent, that was taken care of as well. One of the government agencies provided coupons for milk and cheese, to give the baby enough protein, and she arranged to make regular payments on Dr. Boswick's bill from what she brought in from telephone sales.
Meals were precarious. She made plenty of stews and casseroles to stretch her food budget, and took her prenatal vitamins regularly. The worst of it was being totally alone in the daytime. Her neighbors all worked, so there was no one she could call for help if she got into trouble.
She lost weight because of the strain and worry. There were still periods of spotting, when she had to call Dr. Boswick, and every episode meant days in bed until the bleeding stopped. She had to take extra iron tablets to compensate for the loss of blood. She was tired all the time.
Kit came to see her, bringing tasty things to tempt her appetite. Tess had sworn her to secrecy, and she stopped answering the phone so that nobody from Dane's office could reach her.
But if she thought those measures would discourage anyone from checking up on her sudden retirement from work, she was mistaken.
She woke to the sound of the doorbell being jabbed repeatedly early one rainy morning two weeks later. Morning sickness still plagued her. She'd just returned from the bathroom and another bout of nausea. She was bundled up in her thick red bathrobe over striped pajamas, her hair tousled and
needing cutting badly. She looked terrible. When she opened the door, annoyed at the repeated buzzing.
she came face to face with Dane. He was more startled than she was.
"My God!" he swore slowly, his breath catching as he looked at her.
"Thanks, you look wonderful, too," she muttered weakly. "You'll have to let yourself in. I have to get back to bed before I fall down."
"Wait. I'll carry you."
He closed the door and picked her up before she could protest, hefting her easily against his chest. He frowned as he carried her into the bedroom. His back protested for the first time in memory, but he didn't let on to the fact. "You've gained weight again, or is it swelling from the ulcer?" He laid her gently on the bed and started to remove the robe.
She couldn't risk having him see her body, so she caught his fingers. "I'm cold, leave it on," she said huskily.
"Okay." He pulled the covers over her and sat down beside her, his eyes dark with concern. "Short told me you'd quit. Are you getting treatment, for God's sake?"
She stared at him, feeling alone and frightened, a sense of hopelessness in her eyes. He looked very successful in his charcoal gray suit, with a red-and-black striped tie and a matching handkerchief in his watch pocket. By comparison, she looked like something the cat had brought in.
"Treatment?" she asked absently. She grimaced and tears gathered hotly in her eyes. "There is no treatment," she whispered huskily. "The doctor's already done all he can do."
He scowled. "For a bleeding ulcer?"
"It isn't a bleeding ulcer," she said dully, closing her eyes.
He stilled. "Then what is it?"
"Nothing that can be cured with a pill, I'm afraid," she said tiredly. "Dane, I'm so tired...!"
"What do you have?" he asked with concern he couldn't hide. He looked pale, she thought. Then she realized what he must be thinking.
"Oh," she said, her mind finally grasping what he thought. "No, it's not cancer. I'm not dying. Really I'm not. I don't have anything terminal."
He let out a heavy breath and fumbled in his pocket for a cigarette. "God, you scared me to death," he ground out. "If it's not that, and not a bleeding ulcer, what did you mean there's nothing they can do?"
She hesitated. Now that he was here, she wanted to tell him. She was afraid and alone, and she wanted to lean on him, to be taken care of, protected. She wanted him to know about the child. But would it be fair to tell him? Now, when she was so close to losing it?
He saw the tormented look in her eyes without understanding it. He touched her dull hair curiously. "You look terrible," he said. He studied her narrowly. "Are you going to tell me what's the matter with you, Tess?"
She nibbled on her lower lip. "I don't know if I should," she said honestly. "You may not believe me. Even if you do, I'm not sure it's fair."
He looked at her with quiet contentment. Even when she was half-dead with illness, he felt at home with her. At peace. He smoothed her hair away from her forehead. "All the color is gone, did you know?" he asked quietly. "I get up, I go to work, I go home and I lie awake at night. I don't care about the job, or much else. You took the joy out of living when you went away."
"You sent me away," she said softly.
He searched her pained eyes. "Yes. I didn't want anything permanent...."
"I haven't asked for anything permanent," she interrupted. "You don't have to worry that I would. I'm not asking for anything now, although it might sound like it, I guess."
He scowled. "Explain that."
She took a deep breath and met his eyes reluctantly. "Dane...I'm pregnant."
The look on his face might, in other circumstances have been comical. He stopped with the cigarette an inch from his mouth and stared at her like a man who'd been bashed in the head with a shovel.
He lowered the cigarette very slowly and without thinking dropped it into a glass of water on the bedside table. "You're what?" he asked in a choked tone.
“I’m going to have a baby."
Something in his expression made her nervous. He looked ill. His eyes glittered in a countenance that seemed carved out of stone. Slowly, slowly, his gaze moved down her body. He reached out, drawing the covers away. His hands found the tie of the robe and loosened it. He pulled the thick red fabric away from her body and unsnapped the catch of her pajama pants before she could protest. Then he peeled them back from the slight, swollen softness of her stomach and sat staring at it like a demented man.
“You didn't tell me," he said roughly.
"I didn't know how," she groaned. Her anguished eyes searched his face.
Slowly, he stretched both his lean, warm hands toward her belly and touched it. There was something reverent about the way he did it, about the hushed rasp of his breathing. He lifted his dark eyes to hers and his cheekbones flushed with building temper.
"I thought I couldn't father a child. You knew that. God in heaven, how could you have kept it from me?"
She hesitated. "I'm sorry," she said, too shaken by his reaction to try to explain her reasoning.
"Sorry...!" He bit off what he was going to say as the enormity of her condition got through to him. "When is he due?" he asked, glaring at her. "How soon?"
She managed to meet his stormy eyes. "Five months." She hesitated, indecision tearing her apart. His face was livid with his discovery, with the pleasure he couldn't hide of knowing that he'd fathered her child. How could she destroy his peace of mind, now? But she had to give some excuse for staying home, for her inactivity. She bit her lip. "Dane..." She swallowed. "I have to stay at home until I deliver. I can't work."
"Why?" he asked curtly.
She hesitated. Her eyes adored him involuntarily. She loved him far too much to tell him how dangerous the pregnancy was, how much risk was involved. Fear for the child would drive him mad.
"I'm having a lot of morning sickness," she hedged.
"I see." Obviously relieved, he let out a sigh.
He got up from the bed and turned away, running a restless hand around the back of his neck as he stared blindly at the wall.
"You don't have to feel responsible," she said helplessly.
"Don't be absurd. It's my baby." He turned, his face slowly changing with dawning wonder as he looked down at her. "My baby," he repeated slowly, his eyes on her stomach. He smiled faintly. Then his dark eyes cut at her. "And you weren't even going to tell me, damn you!"
She cringed at his tone. But it was either let him believe that, or force him to share her quiet terror. He'd been through so much in the past few years. His mother's death, his horrible injury in the shooting, the loss of his job. No, she thought with helpless compassion, no, not this, too. She lifted her face bravely. "You said you didn't want commitment, remember?" she asked coolly. "You wanted me out of your life. If I'd told you about the baby, you'd have thought I was trying to trap you," she said instead.
The accusation made him feel guilty. She didn't know how he really felt. She looked indifferent, and he wasn't confident about revealing his emotions right now. He'd told her he didn't want commitment, sure, but that was when he thought he couldn't give her a full marriage. Now he could, but she didn't seem to want him anymore.
He drew back into himself. It was the child he had to be concerned with now. Later, he and Tess could sort themselves out. First things first. "Things have changed," he said quietly.
"You mean you didn't want me, but the baby is another matter."
Her expression kindled his temper. "Of course," he said with a mocking smile, lashing out at her.
She stared at him with a breaking heart, but she didn't dare let him know how much that flat statement had hurt.
"Did you ever plan to tell me?" he persisted.
"Yes," she said. "Eventually."
"When?" he drawled, his black eyes accusing. "After he started school? Well, you don't need to tell me now. I know." He stuck a lean hand in his slacks pocket and stared at her, refusing to let his emotions show. Her treac
hery in hiding her condition from him, when she knew he thought he was sterile, was going to take some forgiveness, but that might come in time. “I’ll take you down to the ranch," he said, thinking out loud. "You'll have Beryl for company."
"No," she murmured, averting her eyes. "I—can't go there."
He frowned. Then he remembered what he'd told her about Beryl. They weren't married and she was pregnant.
Inside, he brightened. Now he had a concrete reason for marrying her, one that spared him from revealing his real feelings. Let her think it was only because of the child.
"We'll work out something." He flicked his cuff back and looked at his watch, his mind churning. "I'll be back in a few minutes."
"Dane, we have to talk," she began.
"Later."
He glanced at her again with quiet possessiveness, but he didn't speak. He left the apartment and Tess lay back, disturbed and saddened by the way he was acting. He'd admitted that the child was all he wanted. She'd hoped he might have missed her, wanted her back, but that was daydreaming.
If his appearance in her life had been a shock, what he came back with three hours later was devastating. He dragged a strange man into the room with him, handed her a pen and a sheet of paper and indicated where she was to sign it and how. He didn't even give her time to read it before he laid it on the table and sat down beside her, taking her hand in his.
"Go ahead," he told the man.
The man produced a small book, smiled, and proceeded to read a wedding service. Tess was so shocked that she was barely able to answer when called upon. Before she knew it, Dane was sliding a plain gold band—two sizes too big—on her finger, and she was married.
“Dane...!" she protested.
He got up and shook hands with the man, let him sign the paper, handed him a wad of bills and escorted him to the door with profuse thanks.
When he'd let him out, Dane moved back to the bed and looked
down at Tess. She was his wife now. She belonged to him—she and the baby. His baby. His chest swelled with raging pride.
Books By Diana Palmer Page 108