The Passions of Chelsea Kane

by Barbara Delinsky

  Chelsea felt weak. When Judd opened his eyes and saw that, he said, “I’ll be fine,” but she wasn’t sure. She knew that if there was severe damage to the muscles and it wasn’t repaired properly, he might be permanently disabled.

  Neil took a look at the shoulder and whistled. “You did it good this time, ole buddy,” he said, and reached for a vial.

  “What are you doing?” Chelsea asked.

  “I’m going to shoot him full of anesthetic, then stitch up this mama.” He sent her a humorous glance. “That okay with you?”

  “Can you make the arm perfect?”

  “No more than it was before.” When she wasn’t convinced, he smiled and said, “Hey, would I do anything to risk the future of the star of my own basketball team? I’m the manager. Bet you didn’t know that, did you?”

  “Ole buddy,” Judd called hoarsely, “want to stop foolin’ with the lady and do something about this goddamned arm? It’s hurtin’ like hell.”

  “It’ll hurt more before we’re through,” Neil warned good-naturedly, and prepared the injection.

  That was only the first of many. Judd winced with each, even swore at a few, and by the time the sewing began, his body was damp with sweat.

  Unable to bear doing nothing, Chelsea took his free hand and held it tightly. Unfortunately, from that position she had a better view of what Neil was doing.

  She had never thought herself the squeamish type, but her own skin grew damp at the same time that the room turned brighter. When Judd looked at her and spoke, his voice seemed far away.

  “She’s passing out, Hunter. Grab her.”

  She never knew whether Hunter did or didn’t. Her world went totally blank.

  “I DIDN’T MEAN TO DO THAT,” SHE SAID A SHORT TIME LATER.

  Hunter made the kind of facetious sound he was good at.

  The nurse moved a cool, damp cloth over her forehead. “Some people have trouble with the sight of blood.”

  “I don’t usually. But there was so much. I swear I saw bone.” Her voice wobbled. She swallowed hard. Just thinking about what she’d been watching made her feel dizzy again. She pressed a hand over the cloth and took several deep breaths.

  “How’s she doing?” Neil asked as he slipped past the curtain that separated Chelsea’s cubicle from Judd’s.

  “I’m fine,” Chelsea said.

  “She’s pregnant,” Hunter told the doctor.

  “I know. Do me a favor.” He shooed him out of the cubicle. “Make sure the big guy doesn’t leave. I’m not done with him yet.”

  Chelsea tried to sit, up but Neil pressed her back. “Take care of Judd first,” she pleaded. “I’m fine. Really.”

  “Shhhh.” He put his fingers on the pulse at her wrist. By the time he was satisfied with the count, Chelsea was feeling foolish.

  “I’m okay,” she insisted.

  “You’re pregnant,” he said, but with a hint of a smile. He put a hand on her stomach. “How far along?”

  “Five months.”

  “I want to take a listen,” he said.

  “We’re fine, Neil. Judd needs you more.”

  But Neil had already put the stethoscope to his ears. In an instant he had her clothing moved aside and was listening. Chelsea held her breath.

  “Strong kid,” he said at last.

  “Let me hear,” she whispered because she couldn’t resist. He transferred the stethoscope. The sound brought tears to her eyes. Reluctantly she removed the instrument and righted her clothes.

  Neil helped her sit up. In a low voice he said, “Are you having the baby here or in Baltimore?”

  “Here. At Boulderbrook.”

  “Then you’ll want to meet our midwife. She’s been delivering babies since she was sixteen, which was nearly forty years ago. She’s the best.”

  Had Neil been taking her pulse just then, Chelsea would have had a hard time explaining its sudden jump. Yes indeed, she wanted to meet the midwife. She wanted that very much. There were a slew of questions she wanted to ask, not all having to do with the birth of her own child.

  For now, though, she wanted Judd stitched.

  Seventeen

  Chelsea met Leo Streeter when she brought Judd home from the hospital later that day. Given Judd’s size, she had expected a larger man, and in his heyday Leo may well have been. But he was no more than five nine now, and a frail five nine at that. On the other hand, a sweeter face she had never seen in her life. Though framed by hair that was more gray than brown, it was the face of a child, innocent and without malice.

  He and Judd lived in a house that Chelsea had made a point to pass many times but had never entered before. It was a small frame cottage at the end of a street dotted with small frame cottages in a modest part of town. Although some of the cottages looked slightly worse for the wear, the Streeters’ was in perfect order. In the not too distant past its clapboards had been painted, its roof shingled, its shutters straightened, its screens replaced. Running around its perimeter was a low stone wall that had been artfully crafted years before by Leo himself.

  He was sitting on a chair on the porch when they arrived, bundled in a Red Sox warm-up jacket, with a blanket over his legs and Buck by his side. His sitter, a woman named Gretchen Swiller, was the one who jumped up in concern when she saw Judd ease himself gingerly from the passenger’s seat of the Pathfinder.

  After assuring her that he was fine, he squatted down beside his father and managed a smile that belied he’d suffered so much as a scratch. “How’re you doin’, Dad?”

  Leo regarded him quizzically.

  “It’s Judd,” Judd said gently, while Buck nudged his side.

  “Judd,” Leo repeated. His eyes seemed to light just a bit. He put a thin hand on Judd’s shoulder.

  Chelsea held her breath. It was Judd’s injured shoulder, albeit heavily bandaged, but if there was any pain, he didn’t let on. “Have you had a good day?” he asked.

  Leo raised puzzled eyes to Gretchen. They shifted to Chelsea. By the time his attention returned to Judd, he seemed more puzzled than ever. It was as though in the process of finding an answer for Judd, he’d forgotten the question.

  “Have you had a good day?” Judd repeated as gently as before.

  Leo smiled then. “Went for a walk in the woods.”

  “With Gretchen? That’s nice. You always like walks in the woods with Gretchen,” Judd said, but he might as well have saved his breath. Halfway through, Leo forgot him. He was looking expectantly at Chelsea.

  “Emma?”

  “No, Dad. That’s Chelsea.” He motioned her over with his head, which was the only way he could do it. His left arm was immobilized inside an old cardigan of Neil’s. His free hand was braced on the arm of the chair.

  Chelsea thought he looked none too steady and joined him willingly. She bent forward and squeezed one of Leo’s hands as it lay in his lap. “I’m pleased to meet you, Mr. Streeter.”

  “Is Emma coming?” Leo asked, still expectant.

  “Not today,” Judd said.

  Leo looked crestfallen. “Then who is this?”

  “Chelsea’s a friend of mine. Remember, I told you about her? She’s living at Boulderbrook.”

  “Boulderbrook,” Leo repeated, then brightened. “When is Emma coming?”

  Whatever source of strength had been holding Judd up seemed to leave him then. “She’ll be here another time, Dad.” He patted his father’s arm with his good hand. “I’m going inside for a while.”

  It was all Chelsea could do not to help him to his feet, but she didn’t know if he would welcome that. She did know that unless he asked her to leave outright, she planned to hang around for a while. Neil had worked on him for more than an hour, not including the time he’d spent on her. He had taken multiple layers of stitches, the gouge had been that deep. Judd had to be in pain. She wanted to be there for him if he needed anything.

  He entered the house with Buck at his heels, went straight through a small living room, down a h
all, and into the second of two bedrooms. Chelsea followed silently but paused at the door. The room was spartan, its walls wheat-colored and unadorned, its floor space filled with a tall dresser, an old leather chair, and a bed. The bed dominated the room for practical reasons; a large man needed a large bed, and the room was small.

  Judd stretched out on the quilted spread with a moan and threw his good arm over his eyes. She watched to see what he’d do next. So did Buck, who came up and nuzzled her hand when it became clear Judd wasn’t playing. When several minutes passed and he hadn’t moved, she went over and touched his arm.

  “Judd?” she asked softly.

  He lifted the arm and opened his eyes with a start. When he saw that it was her, he dropped the arm back into place.

  “Can I get you anything?”

  “No thanks.”

  “Maybe something to eat?”

  “Later.”

  “A pain pill?”

  “Later.”

  Chelsea imagined that the local anesthetic was starting to wear off. If it were her, she’d have tried to keep ahead of the pain. But it wasn’t her. It was Judd. And Judd apparently took an hour’s worth of stitches as nothing more than a day’s work.

  “Won’t you at least take your boots off?”

  He started to sit up, but she pressed him back. She unlaced the heavy boots and set them, one by one, on the floor by the bed. He hadn’t been wearing a jacket—she kept wondering if that would have made a difference—and, since his shirt had been torn beyond repair, he wore only Neil’s sweater. Buttoned and none too big, it served as a makeshift sling. She imagined that it was scratchy against his skin. “Want this off?”

  “Not now. Let me rest.”

  She stood over him for another few minutes, and not once did he move. So she went to the old leather chair, settled into a corner, and tucked in her legs. Buck curled up nearby.

  She had assumed Judd was sleeping or, if not that, had forgotten about her, when he said quietly, “Don’t you have something better to do?”

  “No.”

  “How long are you planning to sit there?”

  “Until I do have something better to do.”

  “You may get bored.”

  “I won’t. I have plenty to think about while I’m sitting here.”

  He was quiet for a time before asking, “Like what ?”

  Like what Judd’s childhood in this house had been like. Like who Leo had been then. Like what had happened to Emma, whether Chelsea looked like her, and if either of those had anything to do with why Judd resisted Chelsea so.

  She sighed. “Like whether Wendell’s okay.”

  “You could drive to Concord and find out.”

  “Hunter’s gone there. He’ll come by later to let me know.”

  Another silence fell between them. Chelsea studied the braided rug on the floor between her and the bed. It was faded. She wondered how long he’d had it, wondered if it held sentimental value for him the way things like that did for her. After her last trip to Baltimore, when she’d had the boxes from the house transferred to her condo for storage, she had returned to Norwich Notch with several small Oriental rugs that she had loved growing up. They were in honored places at Boulderbrook—one in the living room before the fireplace, one in her bedroom, one in the room that she used as a studio. She took comfort in having the old and familiar around her. It was another instance of putting down roots where there had been none before.

  “What else are you thinking about?” Judd asked.

  Her eyes met his. His voice had that element of the old and familiar. She didn’t know why—or why she kept wanting him, but she did. Night after night she lay in bed telling herself that she had plenty to do without Judd, yet she still missed him. She missed the solidity of his body, his weight, his warmth, his scent.

  Her eyes slipped away. “I’m thinking about the accident. It was awful seeing the two of you on the ground that way.”

  “You shouldn’t have followed me down.”

  “I wanted to see what was going on. I feel so removed from it all. Judd,” she asked before she lost the courage, “did I have anything to do with causing it?”

  “The dog holes were wrong.”

  “Did I distract someone? When I came down the ladder, did someone look at me who shouldn’t have looked away from what he was doing?” She was haunted by the thought.

  “The dog holes were too close together. If they hadn’t been, the hooks would have held.”

  “Then it wasn’t me?”

  “Accidents happen. Quarrying’s dangerous.”

  “How is he?” came a voice from the door.

  Chelsea sat up immediately. The owner of the voice was Murphy, who oversaw work at Moss Ridge when neither Judd nor Hunter was there.

  “I’ll live,” Judd said.

  “Doc stitched you good?”

  “You could say that. Any word on Wendell?”

  “Not yet. When will you be able to play?”

  Chelsea, who would have thought Murphy’s first concern would be work, sputtered out a disbelieving laugh.

  Judd turned his head on the pillow and looked at her. “It’s important.”

  “I know. I know.”

  To Murphy Judd said, “Maybe in a month or two.”

  “I’ll tell the guys,” Murphy said, and, raising a hand in a half salute, was gone as suddenly as he’d come.

  Judd turned his head on the pillow again, resting his arm on his forehead when he looked at Chelsea this time. “He’ll also tell the guys you were here. By morning the whole town will think it’s my baby.”

  She couldn’t tell if he was angry. His look was as dispassionate as his voice. To protect herself from that coolness, as well as any anger that might lurk beneath it, she grew defiant.

  “Not the whole town. Donna knows it’s not yours. So does Hunter, and I’ll tell anyone else I talk with. You won’t be blamed for long.”

  He lay there looking at her. She refused to look away, because she fully meant what she’d said. She had no intention of pinning her baby on Judd.

  “It’s actually flattering,” he said.

  This, from the man who had once asked in a fury whether she had indeed planned to tell him that her baby wasn’t his? “Excuse me?”

  “Being thought so virile as to bed you and impregnate you within days of your moving here.”

  She couldn’t argue with the virility part. It was blatant even now—in the stubble on his jaw, the dark hair at the V of his sweater, the firmness of flesh where that sweater failed to meet his low-slung jeans, the shape of those jeans in the region of his fly. Her very first impression of him hadn’t changed a bit. He was still the most attractive man she had ever seen.

  Her reaction to him hadn’t changed much, either. Oh, she tried to ignore it for everything she was worth, since clearly there wouldn’t be any completion. But there was the same catch in her throat, the same tingling in her belly, the same heat between her legs—and it wasn’t abnormal, she knew now. Her OB man in Baltimore had told her that. So had the books she’d read. Some women experienced heightened sexual awareness through their pregnancies.

  She was cursed to be one.

  Imagining that Judd looked smug, she said, “You didn’t impregnate me.”

  “I bedded you.”

  Her cheeks warmed. “Yeah, well.”

  He gave her a dry look before he closed his eyes, leaving her to think about how he’d bedded her, from the first time to the last, how exciting it had been, how good it had felt. When the yearning became too great, she buried her face against her knees. She was her own worst enemy. She had to get control of herself.

  “How are you feeling?” Judd asked.

  “Fine,” she bit out, though her voice was muffled.

  “Why did you faint?”

  “The blood.”

  “Why did you look?”

  “I couldn’t help it.”

  “You didn’t have to stand there watching.” />
  “I couldn’t not stand there.”

  “You didn’t have to hold my hand. I’m a big boy.”

  “I held it for me,” she said, and, taking a breath, raised her head. “It’s no big thing. I’m fine.”

  “Overall. Have you been okay?”

  She knew he was talking about the baby and felt a softening inside. “Very okay.”

  “Tired?”

  “Not unusually.”

  He focused on her stomach, and for a minute that was all he did. Then he said, “Let me see.”

  She felt the catch inside and ignored it. Obliging him as innocently as she could, she unfolded her legs and smoothed the sweater over her stomach. “There’s not much to see.”

  “Are those special pants?”

  “Not yet. Soon.”

  After another pause, during which his eyes didn’t once leave her stomach, he asked, “Does it move?”

  “Vaguely.” It was more a fluttering than anything else, but it came with reassuring frequency. Chelsea fancied the baby was tickling her on the inside just to let her know it was there. She smiled at the thought. She was still smiling when she met Judd’s gaze. “The most incredible thing is hearing the heartbeat,” she found herself saying, because she so wanted to share the excitement with him. “I mean, your mind knows that you’re pregnant. Your body even knows it, because there are subtle changes, and you’re nauseated all the time. Then the nausea passes, and you get used to the subtle changes, and it’s hard to believe anything’s happening inside at all. Then”—she caught in a little breath—“you hear a fast little patter—ba-bump-ba-bump-ba-bump-ba-bump—and it hits you that there’s a real human being growing in there.”

  Judd’s eyes darkened. “You sound like you like being pregnant.”

  “Very much. I told you so in August. This is the first time in my life I’ve had anything of my own flesh and blood. I can’t wait until it’s born.”