Suddenly Daddy and Suddenly Mommy

by Loree Lough

  One bright splotch of red bled through the white foam, then another, as his quaking hand dragged the blade over his skin. Mitch barely noticed. The stinging, biting sensation of the tiny razor cuts was nothing compared to the ache in his heart.

  Chapter Six

  The golden-haired retriever scooted back and forth across the linoleum like a pendulum counting the happy seconds until Mitch managed to attach the leash to the dog’s collar. “C’mon, fella,” he said, ruffling Chester’s thick coat, “let’s go get Mom.”

  Chester whimpered.

  “I know, I know,” Mitch said, unlocking the car door, “I miss her, too.”

  And he did. He’d decided on the way to the veterinary clinic that it must have been a horrible coincidence that Chet Bradley’s brand of aftershave had ended up in his medicine cabinet. Maybe Ciara got a free sample in the mail, he thought. Wrinkling his nose, he thought of its odor, which reminded him of rearview-mirror air freshener and horseradish. He could only hope if the freebie had come with a coupon for a bigger bottle, Ciara hadn’t saved it.

  By the time he had parked in the hospital parking lot and passed through the main entrance, Mitch believed his head was in the right place. At least he hoped it was. It had better be, he warned himself, or this next month is going to be miserable, for both of you.

  As he strolled down the hall toward her room, he heard the melodic notes of Ciara’s girlish laughter. The lilting sound of it thrilled him…until the grating tones of a man’s chortle joined it, sending waves of heated jealousy coursing through him. “If your husband ever gets bored with you,” the young man was saying when Mitch entered the room, “give me a call, ‘cause women like you don’t grow on trees.” He spotted Mitch, leaning on the door frame, one foot crossed over the other, hands in his pockets. “You Mr. Mahoney?”

  A tight-lipped grin on his face, Mitch nodded.

  The blood technician scribbled Ciara’s name on two white labels. “Lucky man,” he said. “Where’s a woman like this when I’m in the market for a relationship?” He stuck the labels to the vials containing her blood samples, lifted his case and walked toward the door. “The lady I’m dating now thinks man and diamonds are synonymous,” he said from the hallway. And with a quick glance back at Ciara, he repeated, “Lucky man,” and headed for his next patient.

  Not once in the months he’d been gone had Mitch considered the possibility that she’d violate their marriage vows. One lousy bottle of stinking cologne, he told himself, is no cause for mistrust now. He had no reason to be jealous of Ciara, because she’d given him no reason to be.

  The image of that cologne, standing on the glass shelf in the medicine cabinet as if it belonged, flashed in his mind. And right on its heels, the blatantly flirtatious comments of the good-looking young man who’d just left her room. So he told himself: you’d better get used to guys flirting with your wife; it’s what you did, first time you saw her. Besides, what did you expect when you married a knockout? Mitch grinned despite himself, and looked at his wife. Yeah, she sure was a knockout.

  Despite a night’s sleep, Ciara still looked pale and drawn, but she was smiling and seemed happy to see him. “Good morning,” she said brightly, her eyes still puffy, her voice early-morning raspy. “Did you sleep well?”

  “Like a baby,” he answered, the memory of her scent, clinging to the pillowcase, hovering in his mind.

  Ciara raised a brow. “Are you aware that babies wake up every two hours?”

  Mitch chuckled. “You trying to scare me? ’Cause if you are, you’ll have to try harder.”

  She sent him a knowing grin that was both motherly and wifely. “I’m glad you slept well.” The grin became a soft, sweet smile as she leaned back against her pillows. “I remember the way you always prepared for bed. I used to think if it wouldn’t mar the woodwork, you’d have cross-barred every opening with two-by-fours and ten-penny nails. It’s a wonder you get any sleep at all, worrying the way you do.”

  Some might call his before-bed ritual eccentric to the point of psychotic. Not Ciara. Even the first time she’d witnessed it, she had treated his fussiness matter-of-factly, as if all the men in America bolted every door, locked each window, pulled the blinds…and checked twice to make sure he hadn’t overlooked anything. He’d never explained it, and Ciara had never asked him to. But Mitch had been out there, had seen the vile and vicious things human beings could do to one another. He wasn’t about to take any chances. Not with his wife’s safety.

  She’d viewed it as routine, like showering and shaving. Which amazed him, considering his recurrent nightmare.

  It had disturbed his sleep almost hourly those first months after he’d been kidnapped. Gradually it plagued him less often. By the time he met Ciara, the horrid images only came to him when he’d skipped a night’s sleep or went to bed more tired than usual.

  They’d been married exactly two days, and he’d gone to bed that second night of their honeymoon. The excitement of the wedding, all that dancing at the reception, the long drive to Martha’s Vineyard…Mitch should have expected it, should have warned her. But he’d been so happy, so content with his new life that he hadn’t even thought to bring it up.

  When she’d roused him, he’d almost slugged her, because in that instant between sleeping and waking, he’d mistaken her for the unseen enemy of his nightmare.

  He’d felt a deep, burning shame when she’d seen him that way, trembling, breathing like he’d just run a mile, on the verge of tears like a small helpless boy. The man of the family was supposed to protect his wife, he’d chided himself as the tremors racked his perspiration-slicked limbs; the husband was supposed to comfort and reassure the wife after a nightmare, not the other way around.

  But her strong yet delicate hand, gently shaking his shoulder, had brought him to, and her soft, sweet voice, had pulled him from the nightmarish haze. Ciara had snuggled close, her cool fingertips smoothing the sweat-dampened hair back from his forehead. “You were having a bad dream,” she’d whispered, “but it’s all right now. Everything is all right.”

  Amazingly, it had been. Relieved to be in her arms, he clutched her to him and moaned into the crook of her neck. “Thank God,” he’d rasped. “Praise Almighty God.”

  And she’d rocked him, kissing his tightly-shut eyes. “Shhh. It’s all right,” she’d crooned. “It’s all right.”

  He remembered thinking at the time that she’d be a terrific mother someday, because she was certainly good at this comforting stuff.

  Until she’d begun kissing away his tears, he hadn’t been aware he’d started to sob. Her soft touches, her tender kisses, her soothing words of love rained upon him and slowly washed the agony away. The festering sore of his fear healed that night; he hadn’t had the dream since. God in Heaven, he prayed, I love her…love her like crazy.

  It had been on the morning after she’d witnessed the aftereffects of his nightmare, as she drew lazy circles in his chest hair, that Ciara had discovered the gunshot wound on his rib cage and he’d told her the story of how it had happened. She’d been shocked, horrified. “It’s such a dangerous job, Mitch,” she’d said, on the verge of tears. Between that and what had happened to Abe Carlson, the idea of his leaving the Bureau was never far from her mind after that.

  The sound of her voice reached his ears, bringing him back to the present, and Mitch wondered how long she’d been happily chattering there in the hospital bed, while his mind had been wandering.

  “And I don’t suppose you got one decent night’s sleep the whole time you were gone,” she was saying in that affectionate, scolding way that made him feel loved and protected and wanted, all rolled into one. She shrugged, then aimed the finger at him again. “How could you, when the job required that you sleep with one ear perked and one eye open the whole time?”

  Mitch chuckled. “You make it sound like I was fighting a war.”

  She wasn’t smiling when she said, “You were.”

  This was the Ciara
he had thought about day and night, the Ciara he’d dreamed of while he’d been away. This was the Ciara he’d fallen in love with…caring about his every need, even in her very delicate condition. How could you have even suspected her of being unfaithful? he asked himself.

  She’s as innocent as that baby she’s carrying; either that or she missed her calling as an actress.

  The dark thought hovered there in his mind for a moment, blotting out the joy the bright one had given him. Her innocence, her sweetness…could it be nothing but an act?

  “I’ve taken care of the paperwork,” he heard her say, “so you wouldn’t have to bother when you got here.” Ciara sighed, and smiling, a hand on her big tummy.

  “Thanks,” he said, forcing a grin. “You’re too good to me.”

  “I hate to admit it,” she said, her eyes alight with mischief, “but I didn’t do it for you.” She patted her tummy. “I just can’t wait to get us home!”

  “I have a surprise for you…in the car,” Mitch said, and pictured Chester, who was no doubt slathering the rear windows of the Mustang with what Ciara lovingly referred to as “joy juice.”

  “I don’t know if I can handle any more surprises,” she said, a half smile on her face.

  He sat beside her on the edge of the bed, a hand atop her stomach. “I did this while you were sleeping last night,” he said, “and this kid of ours did quite a dance for me. Any chance I’ll get a repeat performance?”

  She patted his hand. “The little imp wakes me up every morning between five and six. Sorry, but you missed the first show.”

  Unable to hide his disappointment, Mitch screwed up one corner of his mouth.

  “Don’t pout, Mahoney. There’s usually a matinee right around lunchtime.” She tilted her head, studied his face for a quiet moment. “Free admission for dads only,” she added, winking.

  “I’ll be there, front row center,” he said, looking into her beautiful, exhausted face. “Now what say we get you dressed and go home?”

  Ciara nodded and threw back the covers.

  “You were dressed under there?”

  “I’ve been ready since dawn.” Then, sending a glance toward the door, she whispered, “They must set the thermostat at ten above freezing. I was shivering in that flimsy T-shirt and stretch pants!”

  He tucked a tendril of hair behind her ear. “Then you’ll be happy to know it’s still a pleasant seventy-five degrees at home,” he said. “Now you sit tight, while I scrounge up a wheelchair.”

  Ciara rolled her eyes and harrumphed. “Wheelchair? I’m going to hate this.”

  He held up a silencing hand. “I know that lying around for a whole month is going to be tough on a go-get-’em gal like you, but you’ll do it…for the baby’s sake.” He drew her to him in a sideways hug. “Why not look at these ‘lady of leisure’ weeks as a gift from heaven?”

  Ciara leaned her head on his shoulder and nodded. “I suppose you’re right. I’ll be getting all kinds of exercise once the baby is born, won’t I?”

  Suddenly she bracketed his face with both hands. “No matter what I say, you stick to your guns, you hear? Keep a tight rein on me, even if I give you a hard time…and I think we both know that’s possible.”

  “Possible!” he said, laughing softly, then kissing her temple. “You may as well say ‘It’s possible the sun will rise in the east. It’s possible spring will follow winter, it’s possible—’”

  “I’ll try to be a good patient, Mitch.”

  He rested his chin on top of her head. “’Course you will. And I’ll be the best doctor standin you ever saw.” He wagged a finger under her nose. “But I feel it’s only fair to warn you…I’m going to be a tough taskmaster where your health is concerned.”

  She nodded. Sighed. “So go get the wheelchair, Doctor Killjoy,” she said, grinning. “I want to go home.”

  Mitch carried her into the family room and gently deposited her on the sofa bed, got onto his knees and began untying her white sneakers. Their trip home had been swift and Ciara’s reunion with Chester had been well worth the trouble of bringing the big guy along.

  She grabbed his wrists. “Mitch, you don’t have to—”

  He sent her a silent warning that silenced her.

  Ciara rolled her eyes. “I never thought I’d see the day when I’d be so helpless I couldn’t even take off my own shoes,” she complained.

  “Look at it this way—once they’re off, you won’t be putting them on again, so you were only ‘this helpless’ once.”

  She grinned. “When did you start seeing the silver lining? I thought you were the type who just saw dark clouds?”

  Mitch shrugged. “Things aren’t always what they seem. You know what happens when you judge a book by its cover?” he smirked good-naturedly. “You bite the hand that feeds you, that’s what.”

  “Please—” she laughed, hands up in surrender “—one more bad cliché, and I’m liable to explode.”

  He patted her tummy and twisted his face into a pleading frown. “Please, don’t. At least not till the equipment arrives.”

  “Equipment? What equipment?”

  “Didn’t Peterson tell you? He put in an order for a home monitor. You’re gonna be on TV, pretty lady!”

  Ciara frowned. “What in the world are you talking about? Dr. Peterson didn’t say anything to me about—”

  “The machinery will be delivered today. Way I understand it, we’re to plug you in to the monitor, then plug the monitor into the phone and the TV, so Peterson can read the printout that’ll come out at his office.”

  “A fetal heart monitor?”

  He shrugged. “Guess so. I never thought to ask what kind.” He plunged on. “Plus a nurse will be stopping by every other day to do a blood count—” he winked “—make sure you’re not melting or anything. You’ll get used to it. Maybe you’ll even grow to like it.”

  She’d harrumphed. “‘Fetal’ attraction, huh?”

  “There’s more than one way to kill a rabbit.” He held up a hand to forestall another cliché warning. “Sorry,” he said. “But technically, that was a pun, not a cliché.”

  Ciara rolled her eyes. “It’s going to be a long, long month….”

  “No way, honey. Time always flies when you’re having fun. And I’m going to see to it you have plenty of fun. Now sit still so I can get your shoes off. You’re supposed to keep your feet elevated as much as possible.” He tugged at the snow-white shoelace. “First chance I get, I’m gonna write a letter and complain about the condition of the roads in this county. There are more potholes between here and the hospital than a zebra has stripes. That trip home is likely to have—”

  She laid a hand alongside his cheek. “No need to waste a stamp on my account. I’m fine. Tired, but fine.”

  She must have read his mind again, and knowing he was about to say she didn’t look fine, Ciara glanced around her.

  “When did you find time to do all this?” she asked. “You must have been up all night. The bed’s made up all nice as you please, and you’ve moved the end table forward so I can reach it, even while I’m lying flat on my back,” she said. “You’ve thought of everything…tissues, books, magazines, the remote.”

  She met his eyes, her own wide with surprise. “Wait just a minute, here…you’re giving me control of the clicker?” Ciara tilted her head and propped a fist on a hip. “Why, Mitchell Riley Mahoney, are you flirting with me?”

  The way you flirted with Bradley while I was away?

  Mitch shook his head, cleared his throat. Where did that come from? he wondered, surprised by the sudden intrusion of the suspicious thought. He forced a smile. “I was hoping you’d be sleeping a lot, and I could slip it out from under your hand now and then.”

  He pointed at the summer-weight gown and matching robe he’d laid out for her. “Let’s get you into your pajamas, and once you’re all tucked in, I’ll see what I can rustle us up for lunch.”

  When Ciara glanced at the nightclot
hes, Mitch noticed the slight flush that pinked her cheeks. They hadn’t had much time together as man and wife, but he’d seen her in a nightie before. Surely she wasn’t still feeling timid and shy, as she had on their wedding night. I’ll bet you weren’t this modest with— He stopped himself, wondering where on earth those thoughts were coming from.

  “How ’bout I start lunch, let you slip into these…by yourself.”

  She bit her lower lip. Rolled her eyes. “You must think I’m the silliest thing on two feet.” Hiding behind her hands, she mumbled, “It’s just— I’m…I’m so huge, Mitch. Last time you saw me, I had an hourglass figure, and now I look like a—”

  “You’ve never been more beautiful. Don’t you say one negative word about my gorgeous, very pregnant wife,” he scolded, “or I’ll have to arrest you.”

  They hadn’t been together long, but had managed to develop a private joke or two. Ciara had always known that despite outward appearances—tough-cop sternness, badge and gun, the sometimes violent things he’d been forced to do in the line of duty—Mitch was nothing but a big softie.

  Ciara leaned her cheek against his upheld palm, nuzzled against it, like a house cat in search of a good ear scratching. He’d been sitting on his heels and rose to his knees now. “If you don’t stop looking at me with those big, blue eyes…” Those big blue loving eyes….

  “Can’t help myself,” she sighed. “I’m just so glad to be home.” Ciara hesitated, then added, “I’m glad you’re back, Mitch.”

  His arms went around her, as naturally as if he’d been doing it dozens of times daily for the past seven months, and hers slipped around him just as easily. Their lips met, softly at first, and what began as a gentle kiss intensified.

  Oh, but it felt good to be with her this way, as man and wife again. He’d missed her while he’d been away, but until this moment—now that her condition had stabilized and she was out of danger—he hadn’t realized exactly how much.