by Laura Wright
"That's convenient."
Laughing, she followed him through the jungle room, past a small dining room and then into a large, open-air kitchen with beamed ceilings.
Much like the other rooms in Michael's house, the kitchen boasted floor-to-ceiling windows that left you nose to nose with the hillside and snowy landscape, separated only by glass. All the appliances were black and very modern. No buttons or dials. And she couldn't help but wonder just how long it had taken his housekeeper to remember the vocal commands for everything.
But the most interesting thing in the room was happening on top of the center island. Under several glass domes and UV light, herbs grew hydroponically. The setup was incredibly progressive with a small computer attached to each dome. She could actually read the internal temperature and how many hours, minutes and seconds the herbs needed to mature.
It was little wonder that Michael was a millionaire, she thought as she sat down at a green glass table.
She was getting a little tired, and those pricking pains in her back were intensifying. But little twinges were expected in the last month of pregnancy. She just needed a good soak in the tub. Maybe after dinner.
"You know," she began, arching her back a few times, "that book I mentioned also states quite clearly that all pregnant women should receive chocolate-chip ice cream once a day followed by an hour-long foot massage."
He poured her a glass of milk and set it down in front of her. "And husbands actually buy this?"
Her heart tripped awkwardly. "The book or what's in it?"
"Either."
"If they love their wives enough, I guess," she said softly, taking a swallow of the cold milk.
Michael began to assemble a sandwich. "Did your husband own a copy of that book?"
A profound sadness poured through Isabella. Michael probably thought that she and Rick had had a great relationship, typical loving husband and wife. And why wouldn't he? She was pregnant, after all.
She glanced up at Michael. "I don't imagine he did."
"I wasn't thinking, Bella," he said, expelling a breath. "It's none of my business. I'm sorry."
"No, don't be sorry." She took another swallow of milk, trying to think what to say next. For so long, she'd had to pretend that her marriage was a loving union, that her husband was content and satisfied with his life and with her. But she just couldn't lie anymore. "Rick didn't really want to be a husband. I think I was a challenge to him. The last virgin in Minnesota or something. So once he had me, once that wedding night was over…" She shrugged, heat creeping up her neck and dispersing into her cheeks.
Michael's fierce stare was unyielding as he finished her sentence. "He forgot just how lucky he was?"
She smiled. "Something like that. I kept trying, though. You know, I came from a family that stuck together through thick and not-so-thick."
"Yeah, I know."
Beneath his words, Isabella detected a hint of longing, but she wouldn't press him. "Well, Rick wanted a reason to leave, and when I told him I was pregnant he had one."
"You weren't trying to have a baby?"
She shook her head. "It just happened." She smiled as she rubbed her stomach. "After he left, I felt so unbelievably angry. I held on to that anger for a while, then I realized that it wasn't healthy for me or the baby, so little by little I let it go. As easy as it would've been, I don't hate him for his weakness of character."
"Well, you're a better person than me." Michael brought her the turkey sandwich he'd made, but he didn't sit down, just stood against the counter. "I hate him and I never even met him. He left you, Bella."
"Yes. But look at what he left me with." Grinning, she touched her stomach.
He nodded, then looked away.
Isabella took a bite of the sandwich and switched gears. "Where did you go after you left Fielding? I always wanted to know."
He paused, and she wondered if he was going to open up to her the way she just had with him. After all, it was a safe subject. But he didn't reply. "Michael, if you don't—"
"Minneapolis," he said, opening a drawer on the outside of the fridge and grabbing a beer. "I went to Minneapolis."
"And what did you do there? I mean, you were only sixteen."
"I was old enough to take care of myself." He popped the top of the beer and took a swallow. "I used the skills your father taught me. You know, even though he worked on video games, the things he showed me opened my mind to what was possible. And opened doors for me in ways I couldn't have imagined." He paused to take another swallow of beer. "That's why I owe him."
She had to ask. "And why do you owe me?"
"Let's just say that you were my guardian angel, Bella."
Lord, she didn't want to be his angel. "Look, Michael, you don't owe either one of us anything. We both did what we did because we cared about you. Not because we were looking for a payoff later on."
"Everyone wants a payoff."
She shook her head. "You don't believe that."
"Yes, I do." He opened the fridge and started rifling through it. "Whether the payoff is emotional, physical or monetary, everybody expects one."
"Maybe that's true of some people, but…" Her words trailed off as the dull pain in her back suddenly shot down her hips. She sucked in a breath of air and let it out slowly as the pain eased. What she really needed to do was finish her sandwich and go take that bath.
"Well, you've done enough for me," she said finally. "And as soon as this storm clears, we'll call it even, all right?"
"We'll see."
She rolled her eyes as she scooped up her sandwich. "Michael, I swear if you say that one more time…"
Something was happening. It wasn't just eight-month pangs or Braxton Hicks contractions. Firecrackers were erupting in her abdomen, shooting what felt like shards of broken cut glass to every corner of her body. Her sandwich fell to the floor as she leaned over, gripping her belly as another spear of pain drove down her spine, through her hips and circled her belly.
Michael was at her side in seconds. "What's wrong? What is it?"
"I need to go—" She gasped.
"Where do you need to go? Back to bed?"
She shook her head. "No. To the hospital. I need to go to the hospital." She glanced up at him, her breath catching in her throat as she felt the pain rising again like a gigantic wave set to crash. "The baby's coming."
* * *
Chapter 3
« ^ »
The steadfast control that Michael prided himself on threatened to snap. Bella's water had broken and she was in labor. The phone lines had gone down sometime in the afternoon, and his long driveway was knee-deep with snow.
Everything he normally relied on was of no use to him. No cell-phone service—his satellite hookup was worthless in this type of weather—and as he'd designed his home for hibernation, he had no snowmobile.
Which meant there was no way to get her into town.
What they did have, however, were Bella's pregnancy book, Michael's encyclopedias and three backup generators.
For the first time in a long time, he had to rely on instinct, not technology, and it felt completely foreign. But he'd be damned if he was going to let Bella know that.
After several long and very tense minutes, he'd gotten her back in bed, lay several clean towels beneath her, then rounded up some cool water, hot water, scissors, string, washcloths, more clean towels and sheets. He read as much as he could between her contractions. And when the pain gripped her, and she cried out, he tried to comfort her. Never letting her know that the sight and sound of her labor shook him to his very core.
He was lighting a fire when her soft voice broke through his thoughts. "Michael?"
He crossed to the bed and knelt down beside her.
"There's no way to get me to the hospital, right?" she said, her eyes filled with unease.
"No. I'm sorry."
She turned away from him then. Her jaw was set, her eyes glazed as she looked straight ahea
d, apparently concentrating. On what, he wasn't sure. But he wasn't going to ask any stupid questions.
"Can I get you anything? Ice chips? Juice?"
She shook her head. "Don't go anywhere."
"I'm not going anywhere." Dammit, he had to pull this off, had to keep her safe.
Her eyes suddenly shut, and her hands fisted the sheet. Beads of sweat broke out on her forehead, and she gave a cry of agony that made him want to put his fist through a wall, feel a little of the pain she was feeling.
But instead, he did the practical thing. He rinsed out a washcloth and wiped her face and neck, whispering words of encouragement, assuring her that everything would be all right.
Finally she released an enormous breath and her head dropped to one side.
"How are you feeling?" It was one of those stupid questions he hadn't wanted to utter, but his worry superseded good sense.
She turned to look at him, her eyes large and heavy with fatigue. "Like someone's trying to drive a truck through my abdomen."
He smiled at her and she put on a brave smile of her own.
She was something else.
Back in the boys' home, he'd seen many kids get hurt, sometimes staffers too. Hell, the gardener had practically sliced off his finger cleaning the lawn mower. The man had cried for three hours.
And Bella was actually making jokes, fighting through every bolt of pain with all she had.
"I have to tell you something." She reached for his hand, and he grabbed hold.
"What is it?"
"I'm really scared, Michael."
Without thinking, he brought her hand to his mouth and kissed it lightly. "I know."
"The baby's a month early."
"The baby is going to be perfect." Never in his life had he felt so humbled—or so helpless. "We're going to do this together. Okay?"
"Okay." Her eyes drifted closed and her breathing slowed. "Distract me. Tell me something."
"Anything."
"Tell me about that day."
"What day, Bella?"
"When … when you first came to town. When you came to Fielding." She squeezed his hand. "The day you left that horrible place."
Michael hesitated. He'd disclosed the practicalities of his past to Bella and her father, but the details had been off-limits to everyone, including himself. The nightmare of the night he'd run away and the salvation he'd run to was something he'd vowed never to revisit. But right now, for Bella, he knew he'd recall both. He'd do anything to ease her mind and her fears.
His throat was dry as dust as he spoke. "I left Youngstown School at two o'clock on a Monday morning with fifty cents in my pocket and only the clothes on my back. I walked for about fifteen miles until I was too tired to go on. So I sat on the side of the road with my thumb out and waited."
Michael glanced down at her, saw that she was a little more relaxed than she'd been a moment ago and continued. "It was summer and hot—I'd sweated right through my T-shirt. And I remember being surprised that someone had actually stopped to pick me up."
Bella smiled and said softly, "With that sweaty T-shirt, I'll bet it was a girl, right?"
He chuckled. "It was a woman in her seventies."
"Seventy or seven—" her face tightened and she sucked in a breath "—teen?"
"Don't talk, Bella," he whispered. "Just breathe." She whimpered, writhing on the bed, clutching his hand as another contraction clamped her body. The power of it shocked him. "Everything's all right. You're going to be fine. You're going to be a mother soon."
At that, she opened her eyes and looked up at him. He felt his heart squeeze as an expression of pure pleasure radiated from her eyes.
"I can do this," she said, biting her lip.
He nodded. "Of course you can."
Within seconds, the storm cloud passed over her face and she let out a sigh. "So … the … woman picked you up, and … and then what?"
He wiped her face with the cool cloth. "I'd bought a bruised banana from the gas station and it was all I'd had for breakfast, so I was starving. The woman had these homemade biscuits in her air-conditioned car, and the smell nearly drove me insane. I remember she told me to take as many as I wanted." He smiled as he began to massage her shoulder with his free hand. "I ate the whole lot and felt guilty as hell. But she said she didn't mind."
"Is that when you knew?" Bella whispered.
"Knew what?"
"That your luck was about to change?"
He thought about that for a moment. Luck wasn't a word in his vocabulary—he'd never really believed in the concept of luck. But then again… "I think I knew that my luck had changed the moment I stepped foot in the Fielding dime store and those kids were calling me—" his throat almost closed "—a cripple and peg leg."
Only the sounds of their breathing and the crackle of the fire could be heard until Bella whispered. "And then I came by with my water gun."
Memories burned in his mind. "You sure did. Shot those boys dead center."
A weary laugh escaped her. "They all looked like they'd just wet their pants."
Michael smiled, remembering the look of horror on those cruel young faces—and the triumph on little Bella's as she'd held her water pistol aloft like a .57 magnum. Maybe she was right. Was it actually possible that luck existed and that it had reached him? "That was a good day."
"Yeah." The look she sent him was soul-searching. "I'm really glad you're here."
It was as if someone had shot an arrow through his chest, jabbing his heart. Bella was counting on him to deliver this baby safely and into her arms. He wasn't going to let her down. His life was built on conquering challenges. Tonight, he was moving from high-tech to human whether he liked it or not.
He watched as her face contorted with pain once again, then listened as she groaned and whimpered. He didn't know much, but he did know they were getting close.
The baby was coming soon.
And he hoped to God he could make both the child and its mother proud tonight.
*
Night faded into dawn.
The pain was almost unimaginable, and all the control that Isabella had willed herself to possess had faded away. She felt close to collapse. But she refused to give up or give in.
She felt this overwhelming sense of connection with her child. Different and farther-reaching than even the bond she'd felt in the last months of pregnancy. She and her little one were finally ready to meet.
"I need a good solid push, Bella."
Michael glanced up at her, his own brow wet with sweat, his eyes just as determined as she felt. He'd read her pregnancy book and his encyclopedia with diligence, emerging with strength and confidence. She felt no embarrassment with him. His willingness to do whatever it took to bring this baby, whatever it took to make Isabella feel comfortable, made her feel so close to him, so trusting.
"Take a deep breath, Bella," he said, his tone insistent, "and give me everything you got."
Isabella raised herself on her elbows, filled her lungs with air and pushed. A distressed scream escaped her, and she bit her lip, tasted blood. Her knees shook. She felt as if she was being ripped apart.
"That's good," Michael told her. "One more time. Breathe in deep and—"
"Michael, if something happens to me…" she gasped.
His tone was fierce. "Nothing's going to happen to you while I'm around, you understand?"
It was as if time hadn't passed. All Michael's anger had evaporated, and their connection, their reliance on each other, had returned. But this time, it was she who needed his strength.
"Push, Bella," he demanded. "Push hard."
Arching her back, she gulped air and bore down. Through the grunts, the struggle, the sweat, her mind thrashed with worry. Could she do this? The bolts of pain fought with her good sense. Did every woman feel this awful press of panic?
Her breath came out on a sigh just as Michael said, "Oh, God, Bella."
"What?" she cried. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong," Michael assured her. "I can see the head." Awe, pure reverence filled his voice. "Do you think you can give me one more push?"
All fear left her in that moment. And as the morning wind howled outside and the snow fell by the bucketful, Bella fought for her baby, running on pure adrenaline and anticipation. Gripping the towels in her fists, eyes clamped shut, she inhaled deeply and bore down.
"That's it. That's it, Bella."
Isabella cried out as her child came into the world, their wails intermingled. Collapsing back against the pillows, she smiled weakly, listening to the high-pitched squall of her baby—sweet, miracle-making music.
"Bella?"
She opened her eyes then and saw Michael, his eyes filled with happiness and amazement, holding her baby. "It's a girl."
A girl, Isabella silently repeated, her eyes filling with tears as she stared at the tiny infant that had come from her body and her soul.
Michael was stunned. Not just because he'd delivered this sweet little girl, but because he'd been here to see what a mother in love with her child looked like.
After he cut the cord and cleaned up the baby, he wrapped her in a towel until she looked like a big burrito. Then he handed the baby to her mother, who cooed and smiled and laughed, and cradled the tiny girl to her breast.
And Michael watched it all.
After a few minutes Bella met his gaze and smiled. "Thank you."
Thank you for letting me be a part of it, he wanted to say, but didn't. He was too filled with emotions he didn't recognize.
"You were amazing. Michael Wulf," she said.
"So were you," he said, his gaze fixed on hers.
"What are you going to name her?"
She glanced down at the little cherub face, "I was thinking about Emily."
"After your dad?" Emmett would've been so proud of her, he thought as he watched her cuddle her child.
She nodded. "What do you think?
The question startled him. It wasn't something that he had any right to think about.
She touched his hand. "I really want your opinion. You helped bring her into the world."
He shook his head. "This was all you, Bella."
"I don't buy that and neither does Emily," she said with a tired smile.