The Pregnancy Test

by Susan Gable

  In desperation, he climbed the snow-covered outside staircase, gripping the banister. On her deck, he tapped on the sliding glass door. Princess nosed aside the curtain to bark at him, her plumed tail wagging when she recognized him.

  But no Jenna.

  She must really be pissed at him. Not that he blamed her after his little rant. He went home, hoping in time she’d forgive him. He’d try again tomorrow.

  Family Fun Night had been canceled due to a decided lack of family fun at the moment. Still, the routine of getting dinner, helping Ashley—who’d noticed the increased tension in the house and kept asking questions he wasn’t ready to answer for her—practice her reading, even listening to the pounding thud of Brook’s music from her room gave him some comfort. The world might be somewhat upside down at the moment, but life went on. He’d learned that lesson through all the tough times.

  Shortly after he’d tucked Ashley in for the night, the phone rang. And rang. And rang. Without Brook answering it. He darted into the kitchen and grabbed it. “Hello?”

  “Sloan?”

  “Yes. Jenna? Is that you?”

  “I need help,” she whispered, voice hoarse.

  The hair stood up on his arms. “What’s wrong?”

  “I need help,” she repeated.

  “Jenna, you’re scaring the crap out of me. What’s going on?”

  “Brook has a key. Please…” Her voice faded away.

  “I’ll be right there.” He slammed the phone down and took the stairs two at a time. Brook looked up, shocked, when he burst into her bedroom. “I need your key to Jenna’s place. Something’s wrong over there.”

  “On the top of my dresser.” Brook pushed back the chair from her desk. “Do you want me to come, too?”

  “No. I have no clue what’s going on. Besides, someone has to stay here with Ash.” He grabbed the key and headed back down the stairs, jumping into his boots. On the way out the door, he shrugged into his coat and ran to her place. His fingers fumbled with the lock. In the stairwell, his military training kicked back in as though he hadn’t been discharged a day, and he climbed stealthily, ears straining to hear anything going on in her apartment. He paused at the top, ear pressed to the door.

  Nothing.

  He eased it open and slipped inside. The living area was illuminated only by the glow from the television set. The low murmur of an old movie came from it.

  Princess yapped at him from the open bathroom doorway.

  “Jenna?” he called, moving in the direction of the dog.

  The spaniel barked again and vanished behind the door.

  “Pulling a Lassie, Princess?” Reaching the room, Sloan flipped on a light, eliciting a weak groan from Jenna, who lay on the floor between the huge tub and the sink. The dog lapped her owner’s face.

  Sloan knelt beside her, pushing a portable phone out of his way. “Jenna? What happened?”

  “Sick. Can’t keep anything down,” she whispered. “Sorry. Didn’t know who else to call. Margo’s away. Never felt like this.”

  “How the hell long have you been like this?”

  Her shoulder twitched. “Day or so.”

  He scooped her into his arms, concerned at the lack of muscle tone she displayed. Her head lolled against his chest; her limbs flopped. “I think we need to get you to a doctor. Which, at this hour, means the emergency room.” He placed her on the sofa, pulling a blanket off the back and tucking it around her. “I’m gonna go get my truck. I’ll be right back.”

  Fifteen minutes later, he carried her through the emergency entrance of St. Joseph’s Hospital. The waiting room was blessedly empty save for one woman. A triage nurse took one look at Jenna in Sloan’s arms and led them to a private exam room.

  He eased her down onto the gurney. The nurse picked up Jenna’s wrist, checking her pulse. “What seems to be the problem?” she asked Jenna, jotting the information on a chart.

  “She’s been vomiting,” Sloan supplied when Jenna didn’t answer. “Can’t keep anything down.”

  “How many times?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Sweetheart, how many times did you throw up?” the nurse asked Jenna, pinching a bit of skin on her forearm. “She’s definitely dehydrated.”

  “Dunno. Lost count.”

  “Probably that horrible stomach virus that’s been going around. We’ve had a lot of folks in with that. In fact, tonight’s been our slowest night in the past two weeks, lucky for you.” The nurse bustled around the room, taking Jenna’s blood pressure and temperature. “You’re going to need to see the receptionist out front,” she told Sloan. “Fill out the paperwork and such.”

  “Uh… I don’t know if I can do that. I doubt I know all the answers.”

  “Isn’t this your wife?”

  “No. She’s—” He fumbled for a second. “My girlfriend.” Lover sounded so… California-ish. And he wasn’t sure what they were anymore, but she was a girl, and hopefully still his friend, so girlfriend would do. She hadn’t protested the label.

  “Well, then away you go anyway. See the receptionist, fill in what you can for her. Someone will be out later to let you know how she’s doing.”

  “Okay.” He brushed Jenna’s hair back from her face. “I’ll be nearby in the waiting room, all right? If you need me, just have someone get me.”

  Her eyes fluttered open, and she offered him a feeble nod.

  “Rest,” he told her. “And don’t give the doctor a hard time.” He eased through the door, then followed the corridor back to the emergency room waiting area. A quick call home reassured Brook that everything was under control—no intruders, just a very sick Jenna.

  After getting a clipboard and a stack of papers from the receptionist, he sat down in the standard uncomfortable chair. Pen poised, he filled out what he could, disconcerted by how much about Jenna he didn’t know. They’d been sleeping together for several months, and while he knew exactly what could make her moan with passion, he didn’t know basic things. Like her birthday. Did she have a middle name? What about allergies?

  Okay, he scored points for knowing she used a birth-control patch. Of course, that shouldn’t count, because it related to the sex issue.

  The forms didn’t ask things like hobbies, which he could have answered, or if the person had a killer smile that made everyone around her feel like the sun had come out after a week of rainy days.

  When he’d completed all he could, he took the clipboard back to the front desk and settled in to wait. The low drone of CNN came from a television bolted to the ceiling in the corner.

  But after watching the same blasted headlines for about the gazillionth time, he got up. The woman at the front desk didn’t have—or wouldn’t share—any information on Jenna’s condition. Two hours seemed a long time for a stomach bug. Without seeking permission, he snuck back down the corridor to the exam room. Inside, Jenna still lay on the gurney, but now an IV dripped fluids into her arm. He crossed the room quietly to stand at her side.

  A barely perceptible splash of color graced her cheeks again. That had to be a good sign. He skimmed his fingertips over the faint pink.

  She opened her eyes, shifted her head to look at him. “Hey.”

  “Hey, yourself. How you feeling? Any better?”

  She nodded. “The IV is helping.”

  “Good. Any idea how much longer we might be? I should probably call Brook and give her an update.”

  “No.”

  “Okay.” He headed for the door.

  “Sloan?”

  He turned. “What?”

  “Please stay.” She held out her hand. “I don’t like being alone here.”

  He took her still-cold fingers in his, rubbing them. “Sure, I’ll stay. And listen, while we’ve got the time, there are some things I need to say to you. I’m real sorry for the way I treated you last weekend. I know you were just trying to help Brook. I’m sure you can understand that I was pretty freaked out over everything and—”


  “Sloan—”

  “No, let me finish.”

  “But, Sloan—”

  “Shh. Jeez, give the woman a little IV fluid and she’s ready to talk your ear off again instead of listening.” He pressed his fingertip to her lips. “I shouldn’t have pushed you away. I don’t want you out of my life, Jenna. In fact, right now, you’re the brightest spot in my life, and I don’t know if I can face going through this with Brook without your sunniness to help.”

  Her mouth quivered beneath his fingers. She looked at him with soft eyes. He lowered his hand. “You’re not gonna cry, are you?”

  She shook her head. “Can’t. Don’t have enough fluids yet.” She choked on a chuckle. “Oh, Sloan, I’m so glad. Because there’s something I have to tell you.”

  “Okay.”

  The door to the exam room burst open, and a lab-coated doctor, who looked too young to drive let alone practice medicine, rushed into the room.

  Damn, I’m gettin’ old. Sloan shook his head at the thought. Old enough to be a grandfather. He sighed.

  “Well, Ms. Quinn, no wonder you’re feeling so sick. Your HCG levels are through the roof! You know what that could mean, right?”

  Both Jenna and Sloan stared at him.

  “Twins! Of course, that’s not certain. It’s only one possibility, so we’ll have to do an ultrasound to see—”

  “T-twins? Did you just say twins?” Sloan asked. His stomach twisted itself into an intricate slipknot as he turned back to Jenna, unraveling the implications. “Y-you’re pregnant?”

  She nodded. “That’s what I needed to tell you.”

  A Texas heat wave stormed over him. His face flushed, and the room seemed too hot to tolerate. His legs shook and he groped for the chair. “With twins? Oh good grief.”

  “Sir? Sir?” The kid doc rushed forward as Sloan sank down, just managing to make it into the orange plastic seat alongside the exam table. “Put your head between your knees, sir.” The physician shoved his head down. “Try to relax. I need some smelling salts in here!” he bellowed.

  “I don’t need that crap. I just need a minute,” Sloan muttered. Pregnant. Jenna was pregnant. Maybe with twins. Several beads of sweat popped across his forehead, and the room threatened to spin.

  “Sloan?”

  He looked up. And as if the note of concern in her voice wasn’t enough, the fear in her eyes, the same fear he’d seen in his teenage daughter’s eyes—completely undid him. He took her hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “It’s gonna be all right, sugar. I’m just…”

  Shocked. Worried. Freaked-the-hell out!

  Holy shit. He was going to be grandfather and a father. At the same time.

  Jenna searched his face, which had gone slack again. At least he hadn’t run screaming from the emergency room. This wasn’t exactly the way she’d hoped to break the news to him. “Surprised?”

  “Yeah, you could say that.”

  The bigmouthed doctor eyed them. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you both. Hey, maybe it’s not twins,” he offered.

  “You said something about an ultrasound?” Sloan asked.

  A few minutes later, a nurse helped Jenna into a wheelchair, which made her stomach pitch and roll as though she were on the deck of the Brig Niagara in the middle of a horrible storm. Jenna clamped her mouth into a tight line and willed the feeling to go away as Sloan followed her, holding a just-in-case plastic pan in one hand and guiding her IV pole with the other.

  While he waited in the hall, she got settled on yet another gurney. Once they had her all situated, with her pajama bottoms slipped low and some goopy stuff on her stomach, they let Sloan back in. He took up a position behind the other two men.

  “Now, what are we looking for?” the technician asked.

  “Multiple pregnancy,” the doctor, whom Jenna had mentally nicknamed Doogie, replied. “She’s only five weeks, but her HCG levels are really high.”

  The only thing Jenna could make out on the screen was static. “Looks like we’re off the air,” she said to Sloan.

  He gave her a quick glance, no humor in his blue eyes. Stung by his silent rebuff, she turned her head toward the wall.

  “Well?” Sloan asked. “How about interpreting this for me?”

  “So far, I only see one heart.”

  “You can see the heart?”

  “Sure. Look right here. See this? That’s the baby’s heart, beating.”

  “Wow. That’s amazing.” The note of awe in Sloan’s voice zinged her straight in the chest. “Look, Jenna, you can see the baby’s heart.” He cleared his throat. “Uh, there is only one baby, right?”

  The technician moved the little sonar thing around her stomach some more. “Looks that way.”

  Sloan exhaled with a rumble, and she turned to look at him. His still-stunned expression perked up a bit. “One. Well, good.”

  “Okay, we’re done.” The technician wiped the goopy stuff off her skin, then pulled down her T-shirt. Jenna wiggled her pj bottoms into a more respectable position.

  “Here you go, Dad. Baby’s first video.” The doctor popped a tape from the machine, handing it to Sloan. The nurse came back and helped Jenna into the wheelchair.

  Sloan fell into step beside her as they returned down the corridor. “How are you feeling?”

  “Moving. Not good.”

  Back in the exam room, Jenna curled on her side, hoping the waves of nausea would once more subside if she stayed still.

  “Okay, so what now?” Sloan demanded of the physician. “It’s not twins. Why is she so sick, and why are her…whatever levels so damn high?”

  “Could be hyperemesis gravidarum.”

  “And in English, that means?”

  “That means it’s going to be a very rough start to this pregnancy. At least the first trimester. In most cases, it eases up around the twelfth week.”

  Oh, wonderful. Only seven weeks to go. Jenna kept her eyes shut, grateful for Sloan’s take-charge attitude with the doctor. Right now, she just wanted to concentrate on not heaving again. Eventually, she drifted off to sleep.

  She woke to the painful sensation of the hair on her arm being tugged as a nurse removed the IV. “I’m done?”

  “You’re done, hon. We’re going to let you go home, and hopefully we won’t have to see you again. Try ice pops, flat soda, bland crackers. You’ve got to keep something down to nourish yourself and that baby. No more getting dehydrated.”

  Jenna nodded. “Where’s Sloan?”

  “He went outside to make a phone call and warm up the truck for you.” The nurse smiled. “That’s a good man you’ve got there.”

  “Yeah, I think so.” The proof, though, would be in how he reacted after he got her out of the hospital. So far, she didn’t have a clue what the man really thought about her being pregnant with his baby. After signing numerous release forms, instruction forms, and who-the-heck-is-going-to-pay-for-this forms, she sat in the wheelchair near the wide electronic doors. Sloan’s black pickup rumbled to a stop just outside. He jumped out and came around the front of the truck as she tottered out. The blast of frigid air made her feel more alert. He helped her up into the seat and handed her a plastic bucket. “Just in case. No throwing up in my truck, right?”

  “I’ll do my best.” She held the pail on her lap. The motion of the pickup wasn’t quite as bad as the wobbly wheelchair’s had been, but still, it wasn’t smooth sailing. They rode most of the way in total silence, only the fan on the heater filling the gap.

  Finally, Sloan blew out a long breath. “How did this happen?”

  “The usual way, I guess. Although maybe not. Could be it was that time I was on top. Or the time we did it on the stool. Or the time in the tub.” Oh, yeah. The night they’d made love in the tub had been magical, surrounded by candlelight, taking turns washing each other…phew. Maybe they didn’t need the heater on at all. Her stomach clenched. And maybe she shouldn’t be thinking about things like that right now, damn him.

&
nbsp; “That’s not what I meant, and you know it. I meant, what happened with your patch? Did you forget it one week or something?”

  “No.” Jenna cleared her throat. “Margo’s really sorry.”

  “What the hell does Margo have to do with the fact that you’re pregnant?”

  “She did some research after I told her. Seems that Saint-John’s-wort may interfere with hormonal forms of birth control. She didn’t know that when she told me to take it.”

  “Wonderful. Freakin’ wonderful. She couldn’t have done that research before this happened?”

  Jenna’s chest tightened. Her nose tingled, and a slight haze filled her eyes. She blinked it back. “I’m sorry.”

  “When were you planning on telling me?” Sloan gripped the steering wheel so hard his knuckles creaked. How could she have kept this from him?

  “When I figured out what I wanted to do.”

  “Do? What do you mean, do?” A cold chill crept down his spine, and he shuddered. “Whoa, Jenna, I hope that doesn’t mean what I think it does. Are you thinking about not having this baby?”

  “You said the other night you didn’t want any more kids.”

  He swore softly. “Sugar, that was hypothetical. But now we’re talking about reality. Did I want to have more kids? No. But now that there’s one on the way, that’s a whole nother thing.” The videotape from the sonogram lay on the seat between them. He shoved it closer to her. “I saw the little heart beating. You can’t want to stop that.”

  “I don’t know what I want.”

  “You’re scared.” He could hear it in her voice and had seen it in her eyes at the hospital.

  “T-terrified. I don’t do kids. I don’t know anything about taking care of a baby.”

  “Well, you’re in luck, because I do.” He reached for her hand. “You’ll be a good mother, Jenna, because you have a very loving heart. You reached Brook when no one else could.”

  They fell back into silence.

  The truck’s tires kicked up slush as they turned off the main road. He passed her place and pulled into his driveway.