Dedicated to Deirdre

by Winston, Anne Marie

  “Yes.” He yanked open the snap and tugged down her zipper, then stripped the jeans away. As his hands went to the buttons of the sleeveless blouse she wore, he tried to hold on to his composure, not to let her see how shaken he was. He’d never seen anybody lose this much weight in...a a month? She made a single whimpering sound when he unfastened her bra, slipping it off with the blouse. Looking around, he saw a short sleep shirt hanging beside a robe on hooks on the back of the door. He snagged it and sat on the edge of the mattress to tug it over her head, and as she pulled her arms through the sleeves, the garment caught around her shoulders, hanging above her naked breasts as if to frame them. He couldn’t help looking, couldn’t have looked away if a husband with a shotgun had come into the room. In contrast to the rest of her too-slender frame, her breasts seemed even lusher and fuller than before; they rose from her slender torso like perfectly ripe melons, just waiting to be plucked.

  A sudden surge of desire rushed through him, making him so hard so fast he almost groaned aloud. Another time, she wouldn’t have known what was happening until he was inside her, dragging her legs up around him—He couldn’t stand, or she’d know what he’d been thinking. He reached out and put a hand to her forehead as she tugged the shirt down and lay back on the pillow.

  She rolled her head away. “Stop it.”

  “Petulance doesn’t become you.” But he was relieved; she didn’t seem abnormally hot. Still, she obviously wasn’t well. He put one hand down on the bed on each side of her shoulders, leaning over her. “I’m calling a doctor.”

  “I’m not sick.” Her eyes had been closed, but she opened them enough to glare at him. “I just need some rest.”

  “Uh-huh. I’m calling a doctor. Now you can tell me which one or I’ll open the phone book and dial the first number I see.”

  She was silent, staring up at him with huge eyes. She looked so stricken that he felt pity stir in his chest.

  “Baby,” he said, “We can sort out our problems later. You can hit me over the head for strong-arming you and never speak to me again, if that’s what you want. But please let me call a doctor.”

  Her green eyes were deep pools of doubt. Finally her frowning brows relaxed fractionally. So did he. She was going to let him call the doctor.

  “I don’t need a doctor,” she said. “I’m pregnant.”

  Eight

  I’m pregnant I’m pregnant I’m pregnant... The words ricocheted around the room like carelessly fired bullets, bouncing from surface to surface with the incessant energy of well-fed fleas. Deirdre closed her eyes, unwilling to let Ronan see the tears that fought to fall free.

  He hadn’t shown any shock, any emotion, not even the flicker of an eyelash, at her announcement. Now he turned away, picking up the clothing he’d discarded as he’d undressed her, hanging her things on the hook behind the door.

  Finally there was nothing left to hang. But still he stood with his back to her. Clearly too dismayed to face her, she thought.

  “What did the doctor say about your weight loss?”

  Now it was her turn to be silent for a moment. “I haven’t been to the doctor.”

  “What?” He spun back to her, anger etched on his features. “You’ve been this sick and you haven’t been to a doctor?”

  “I have an appointment scheduled for the end of next week,” she said defensively.

  “If you haven’t seen a doctor, how do you know you’re pregnant?”

  She glared at him. “I’ve done this twice before, remember?” She looked away toward the window so he wouldn’t see the tears that rose again. He sounded as if he hoped she was mistaken.

  “You still need to see a doctor right away,” he said. “I don’t have a lot of experience with pregnant women, but I know this isn’t normal.”

  “Morning sickness is quite common. It usually passes after the first three months or so. And I felt just like this with both of the boys.”

  “Yes, but you haven’t seen a doctor yet. You could be wrong—”

  “I took one of those do-it-yourself tests,” she said fiercely. “I’m not wrong.”

  “All right,” he said. “Just checking.” There was a silence. “You still need to go to a doctor. Is there one you want me to call?”

  “I don’t—”

  Ronan picked up the phone that sat in a cradle by her bed and started punching in numbers.

  “What are you doing?” she asked in alarm.

  “Calling information.” His voice was hard and clipped. “You’re going to the first obstetrician I can get hold of.”

  “Wait!” she said.

  He paused, and the coolness in his eyes when he looked at her made her want to shiver.

  “I use Dr. Payne. He delivered both boys.” Reluctantly she gave him the number.

  He pushed the buttons, but when she reached for the phone, he held it out of reach. “Nope. I’m doing the talking.”

  Annoyed, she huffed out a breath. He was acting like she’d committed a crime or something. Folding her arms, she rolled her eyes to the ceiling, letting him know what she thought of these caveman tactics as he spoke to the receptionist.

  “She has an appointment next week,” he said into the phone, “but she’s been terribly ill and I need to speak to the doctor.... Yes, that’s right...thank you. I’ll hold.”

  Her pique only increased as he covered the receiver with one hand. “I’m holding for the doctor,” he informed her. Then his attention returned to the conversation. “Hello, Dr. Payne. I’m calling for Deirdre Patten. She’s one of your—yes. Yes, she is, but she’s been very sick. She’s lost quite a bit of weight.”

  He listened again, then looked at Deirdre. “He wants to know if you’re throwing up regularly?”

  She nodded.

  “Yes,” he reported. Eyes on Deirdre, he said to her, “How often, and does it last all day or is it just at certain times?”

  “About ten times a day, probably,” she said, looking out the window. “And yes, it’s pretty constant.”

  She could feel his gaze boring into her, but she didn’t look his way. Finally he relayed the information to the doctor. When she glanced back at him, his jaw was set and his brows were drawn together in an ominous scowl. “He wants to know how much weight you’ve lost.”

  She was silent.

  Ronan raised his eyebrows.

  “Thirteen pounds,” she said reluctantly.

  “Thirteen—!” Ronan’s mouth tightened and she shrank from the flare of anger that blazed briefly in his eyes. “Thirteen pounds,” he said into the handset.

  “He wants to know if you’re as sick as you were last time.” His eyes promised there was going to be further discussion after he hung up.

  She nodded.

  “She says yes,” he reported to Dr. Payne. Then she listened to Ronan’s side of the conversation, trying to figure out what they were discussing. “No,” Ronan said. “She doesn’t, but I can certainly take care of that.... Of course she can. There’s no problem with that.... No, sir, I won’t. All right.” He held out the phone. “He wants to talk to you.”

  She eyed the instrument and then Ronan. Finally she took the receiver and held it to her ear. “Hello?”

  “Hello, Mrs. Patten. Your husband seems very concerned about your health.”

  She hesitated, trying to phrase an answer that explained her situation. There was no delicate way to say it.

  “Mrs. Patten? You need to take it very easy right now. I know you don’t want to endanger this baby.”

  “Oh, no! Of course not. But, Dr. Payne, I can’t just—”

  “Yes, you can.” The doctor’s tone was warm, but firm. “I’ve explained to Mr. Patten that you need bed rest for the next week or so until you come in. No getting up for any reason except to go to the bathroom or my office. He doesn’t seem to think that’s a problem.”

  He isn’t Mr. Patten! she wanted to shout. But her personal difficulties weren’t something to burden the doctor with. “It�
��s not,” she conceded reluctantly.

  “Good. Then I’ll see you next week. Call me if you don’t start to improve in, say, forty-eight hours, and we’ll get you into the hospital for a few days until we can control that nausea.”

  She said goodbye to Dr. Payne and handed the telephone to Ronan, who replaced it with a less-than-gentle slam.

  “Last time? You really got this sick before?”

  “Only with Tommy,” she said. “Well, with Lee, too, but then I had the luxury of lying down whenever I needed to and I was able to control it without being hospitalized.”

  “Hospitalized?” It was almost a roar. “Are you telling me that doctor I just spoke to has put you in the hospital for this—this—sickness, before?”

  She nodded, chagrined that she’d let that slip. “I’m great after the babies arrive, but I’m lousy at the incubating part.”

  Ronan’s expression didn’t respond to her attempt to lighten the tension in the room. “I take it your husband didn’t help?”

  She shrugged. “He was never around.”

  “So how did you manage before when you were feeling sick?”

  “My mother helped out. She came and got Lee every morning and brought him back just before dinner. And she kept him at her house while I was in the hospital.”

  “Why isn’t she helping this time?”

  She frowned at him. “Because I haven’t told her yet that I’m pregnant. It isn’t going to be the easiest thing in the world to explain.”

  “Since when did a girl have to explain the facts of life to her mother?”

  He was being deliberately obtuse, she was sure. “Since she’s essentially been single for almost three years. Teenagers don’t have a monopoly on shame, you know.”

  Ronan stuck his hands in the back pockets of his jeans. “Were you hoping you’d miscarry?”

  The question shocked her as much as the sudden change of topic. “Of course not! That’s a foul thing to suggest.”

  His face was set in hard lines. “A reasonable one, given the way you’ve let yourself get so run-down. Were you thinking of getting rid of it?”

  A hard knot of rage and despair rose, almost choking her. “If I was, why would I wait until I was already halfdead?” she said between her teeth. “And why would I tell you I was pregnant? Why would I have made an appointment for my first exam?” It hurt that Ronan could think her capable of something so callous, and she turned her head to the wall, swallowing the sobs that tried to escape her throat.

  “All right.” Ronan walked toward the door as the boys’ footsteps sounded on the stairs. “Until that appointment, you’re not getting out of this bed. I’ll take care of the boys.”

  “But you can’t—”

  “Wanna bet? I’ll move into the spare bedroom. We’ll talk about this more after we see the doctor.”

  Ronan was in the kitchen making a chicken casserole from one of Deirdre’s recipes for the evening meal. He checked out the window into the yard where he’d filled a tub of water for the boys to float toy boats in, while laughter and women’s chatter could be heard floating down the stairs. The boys were fine.

  Quickly he grabbed the tray he’d filled with drinks, cheese and crackers and local peaches he’d found and started up the stairs. He’d been unceremoniously kicked out of Deirdre’s bedroom by Jillian and Frannie, who had been visiting for the past hour, and he was anxious to see how Deirdre was doing. She was easily exhausted, and he wasn’t letting them tire her too much.

  He knocked at the open door, and Jillian appeared, pulling the door wider. Ronan immediately could feel the animosity that came from her, and he knew Deirdre had told them about her pregnancy. “I thought you might need some drinks,” he said, ignoring Jillian and crossing the room to hand Deirdre a glass. “And you should try to eat a few of those crackers.”

  “Yes, nurse,” Deirdre said, raising her eyebrows. “Any other orders?”

  “Now that you mention it,” he said, “there are. You look tired. I think it’s about time for a nap. Why don’t you wrap up the visitation hour for today?”

  Deirdre’s face was a perfect, still cameo, her expression giving him no clue as to what she was thinking. She’d been like this for five days now, since Monday, when he’d found out she was going to have his baby. He’d suggested she call her parents so they could break the news, but she’d refused.

  “I’ll take care of it myself,” she’d said.

  “I’d like to be with you,” he’d replied, irritated at the way she seemed determined to keep herself and her life totally separate from him. “I’m involved in this situation, too.”

  “I don’t need your help. In any case, they’re away until the end of next week, so I can’t invite them to come out. And I’m not telling them over the phone.”

  It was the same with her friends. “I want to be alone with them when I tell them,” she said, and no amount of arguing could sway her. When he saw her getting teary, he forced himself to stop snarling.

  “Fine. Have it your way.” He couldn’t be gracious, but he knew when to shut up.

  Now Deirdre and her friends were all looking at him as if he were a high school boy who’d wandered into the girls’ locker room. “They’re leaving soon, anyway,” she said. “But I know my limits. I can decide for myself when I’m tired.”

  “Right.” His tone was purposely sarcastic. He knew from the color that washed up her pale cheeks that she was thinking about how poorly she’d been making decisions when he’d finally learned she was pregnant.

  Jillian grabbed his arm. “I want to talk to you a minute,” she said aggressively. He allowed her to tow him out into the hall, realizing that Frannie had followed when she pulled the door shut behind them.

  “What’s up?” As if he didn’t already know what bee was under her shirt.

  As she led the way into a room at the far end of the hall, Jillian gave him a look designed to shrivel a man in his shoes. It damn near worked, he thought.

  “She’s pregnant!? What were you thinking?” she demanded. Then she held up a hand like a traffic cop. “Wait, don’t answer that. I know what you were thinking. Or should I say we know what part of your anatomy you were thinking with?”

  Frannie cast him a troubled glance, shaking her head. “This is terrible. Just terrible.”

  “It’s not the end of the world,” he said defensively. These two were acting like Deirdre had a terminal illness.

  Jillian’s blue eyes were very dark and very hostile. “It’s not far from it, for her. Are you insane? Or just monumentally stupid? This is the last thing Deirdre needed right now.”

  “I know that.” Ronan gritted his teeth and flexed his fingers, resisting the urge to put them around Jillian’s long, tanned throat. “It didn’t exactly feature in my plans, either, but I’ll deal with it. And so will she.”

  “Deal with it how?” Frannie’s face paled and she eyed Ronan with distaste. “Dee will never—”

  “She’s having the baby, all right? And I’m the father, and I’m not going to fade out of the picture.”

  “Well, let’s give the boy two points for the correct answer,” Jillian said.

  “Knock it off, Jill,” Frannie said. She looked back at Ronan. “When Dee called, she said she had two things she wanted to tell us. She says you’ll tell us the second one.”

  Ronan took a deep breath, taken aback. He’d expected Deirdre to tell them. “I’m not a freelance journalist. I write suspense novels.”

  Both women looked at him expectantly. He could see the moment the truth dawned on Frannie from the way her eyes widened and her brown eyebrows shot up. “Oh, my heavens. Are you telling us you’re R. J. Sullivan? The R. J. Sullivan?”

  He nodded.

  “Well, that’s nice,” Jillian said, not missing a beat. “At least we know you have intelligent genes to pass on to this baby.” She crossed her arms. “If you’re waiting for us to ask for autographs, you might want to order a few meals.”

 
; “Hold on,” said Frannie. “The first time we were introduced, Dee didn’t tell us who you were.” Her eyes narrowed. “She didn’t know, either, did she?”

  “No,” he admitted.

  Jillian was shaking her head. “All men are selfish, self-centered jerks.” She looked at Frannie. “Except for Jack on his good days.”

  “Dammit!” He’d had it with Deirdre’s friends and their self-righteous cross-examination. “I thought you two would be a source of comfort to Deirdre. If I didn’t still think that, I’d throw you out. Right now.”

  “Just try it.” He’d never seen a woman snarl before, but Jillian was doing a good imitation.

  “It must be nice to be perfect,” he said. “Since it’s obvious neither of you has ever made a mistake in a relationship.”

  There was a charged silence while the two women digested that. Jillian was the first to drop her gaze from his. “We’re far from perfect,” she said. “I wrote the book on broken relationships.” But she was still glowering. “So what happens now?”

  “What happens now,” he said slowly, “is that Deirdre stays in that bed until the doctor tells her she can get up. And then—” he shrugged “—we haven’t had a chance to work that out yet.”

  “Translation—Dee’s not talking to you,” Jillian said, and there was a note of glee in her tone.

  “Are you staying or going?” Frannie cut right to the heart of the matter. “What does ‘not fading out of the picture’ entail, exactly?”

  He took a deep breath, his eyes on the steady doe eyes of Dee’s friend, ignoring the hostile blonde. “It entails staying right here and helping to raise my child. Preferably married to the child’s mother.”

  Jillian snorted.

  Frannie said, “You’d be getting three children for the price of one. And two of the three are as lively as they come. Have you thought about that?”

  He couldn’t help it; he had to laugh. “I’ve thought about it,” he said. “I’ll probably be one step behind them all my life, but I think I can handle it.”

  As if talking about them had conjured them up, he heard the back door slam as the little boys came in. In the next instant, he realized one of the them was howling, and without even excusing himself, he bolted past the two women and ran down the stairs to the kitchen.