Sharon steeled herself to cope with his presence. He was filling the small house to bursting. He pressed in on her without touching her, depleting her already-low reserves of strength.
This was a moment she’d hoped and prayed would never come. She’d worked so hard, gone to such lengths to insure that he would never find her. He would want an explanation, but there was none she could give him that could approach the truth—the truth being that she had fallen in love with him.
He propped his elbows on the chair’s arms and steepled his fingers. “Why did you leave SwanSea without telling me?”
“Haven’t you figured it out yet? I left because I’m not a nice person. Did you have Winston Lawrence count the silver?”
He rubbed his temple thoughtfully. “Sit down, Sharon. You look like you’re about to fall.”
“I’m fine,” she said again, but dropped down onto the couch.
His heart went out to her. She looked so defensive and so defenseless. He ached to hold her, to comfort her, but it seemed to him she’d crumple if he hit her with emotions that held any force at all. And he had to remember, she had every reason to hate him. “Okay, let’s start again. Why didn’t you tell me you planned to disappear?”
“Because I knew the moment you found out I was pregnant, you’d come looking for me and would want the baby. And if I didn’t get pregnant, I didn’t feel I wanted to go on living in the same area of the country as you.” This had been the initial reason for her careful planning and move, but when she realized she loved him, her reasons had changed. After the intimacy they had shared at SwanSea, it would have been too painful to live so close to him, yet be so far away emotionally. It had been several weeks after she left SwanSea before the idea she might be pregnant had even occurred to her.
He closed his eyes until the hurt had washed through him. “But you sent me the medical report.”
She looked away. “I felt you deserved to know that you can father a child.”
Gazing steadily at her, he slowly sat forward and rested his arms on his knees. “Apologies don't mean a thing, but I have to give you one anyway. I'm sorry I didn’t believe you, Sharon. I am so very sorry.”
Her lips twisted with a brief smile of pain. “But you believe me now because you went straight to your doctor when you received the medical report. Am I right?”
“As soon as I read the doctor’s report I believed you. I didn’t need confirmation.”
Her expression was plainly disbelieving. "Did you or did you not go to the doctor?”
“Yes, I did. But only to find out what the hell happened ten years ago to screw up those tests.” He looked down at his hands. “It seems my sperm count has built back up over the years. Apparently it happens that way sometime.”
“And what did you find out about the tests taken ten years ago?”
“They were accurate. When the doctor told me I had a very slim chance of fathering a child, it devastated me. I walked out of his office in a daze and never gave a thought to the fact that I did have any chance at all. My only excuse is that when you hear there’s something like a ninety-five percent chance it's going to rain, you forget about the five percent chance it’s not.”
“Except, Conall, in this case the subject was a baby, not rain.”
“If you believe nothing else, believe that I will never forgive myself. There’s nothing I can do to make it up to you, Sharon. Nothing.”
“You’re wrong. You can leave.”
He straightened with a sigh. “That’s the one thing I can’t do.”
Sharon’s heart jumped with fear. “You can’t have this baby. You can’t!”
He lifted his hand, wanting to touch her but not daring to. “Calm down. I don’t want to take your baby from you. I wouldn’t do that.”
“I managed to lose myself for six months. Next time I’ll do a better job.”
“Sharon, stop it. You’re upsetting yourself.” She took a deep, shuddering breath. He was right. She had to get herself under control. But these last few months it had been so hard to discipline her emotions. Her hormones were running wild. One moment she would be happy and excited, the next, she would be crying. But the emotion that bothered her the most was the unreasoning and profound fear. It came upon her at the most unexpected times, wrapping around her, sapping her of spirit and courage, immobilizing her.
“Listen to me,” Conall was saying. “I won’t take your baby away from you, and to prove it, I’ll sign any kind of document you want me to.”
She put a hand to her head. He was confusing her. And to make her feel even worse, his effortless power, vitality, and energy was the exact opposite of what she was feeling.
“Sharon, why are there shadows under your eyes? Why are you so damned pale?"
His sudden questions took her by surprise. “I’ve been having a little trouble sleeping, that’s all.”
“What does the doctor say?”
“Get more rest.”
“And is it a problem for you to do that?”
“No, no problem. Conall, what is it exactly that you want from me?”
“Nothing except to take care of you.”
She was beginning to understand. “You feel guilty.”
“Yes.” Let her believe what she wanted. “I left you alone once before. I won’t this time.”
“It sounds like atonement.”
“Call it what you wish. I am going to see you through the birth of this child whether you want me to or not. I’m going to be there for you.”
She eyed him warily. As much as she loved him, she didn’t know if she could trust him. She had needed him so desperately ten years before and he had turned his back on her. There was a danger that she might grow to depend on him during the next few months, and then when the time came he would have changed his mind and wouldn’t be there.
She rose and walked to the mantel, giving herself a minute to decide what she should do. She’d gone to such lengths to get away from him, and the hardest part, the planning, the packing and the unpacking, was over.
She was settled. And she couldn’t see moving again, at least not until the baby had been bom. True, Conall knew where she was now. But his life, his family, and his business were clear across the country. What could he do? Don’t be stupid, Sharon. He can do anything he wants to do.
“I want to take you back to Boston with me,” he said. “You’ll get the best medical care there.”
“And afterward?”
He hesitated. Losing her again would just about destroy him. But her welfare and peace of mind would have to come first. “I'd like you to stay in Boston—”
“Because of the child?”
If he told her he loved her, she’d laugh at him and then she’d yell at him. She hated him and she had every reason. “Yes, because of the baby. But if you want to come back here after the baby is born, I can’t stop you.”
She made a scoffing sound. “You can’t? I thought a Deverell could do anything.”
He smiled sadly. “Well, now you know differently.”
“No, I don’t. Not really."
“Sharon, you shouldn’t be alone at a time like this. And if I have to move here to make sure you aren’t, then 1 will. But if you’ll come back to Boston with me, well leave all your things in place here and I’ll hire someone to keep a regular check on the place. That way, when or if you decide to return, you 11 know it will be here waiting for you. Or if you’d rather, well pack up everything and put it in storage. But the first thing we’re going to do is deposit your damned money in a bank. I can’t imagine what you were thinking of—certainly not your safety.”
“I was thinking of getting away from you.”
He recoiled as if she’d struck him, and immediately she regretted what she’d said.
She went on. “Anyway, I’ve already deposited the money. I got fake identification in Tijuana.”
“Oh, great,” he said wearily. “You went to Tijuana by yourself."
She pursed her lips, understan
ding there was no argument she could give him regarding Tijuana he would buy. “Where would I stay in Boston?”
“My house.”
She shook her head. “No, no . . .”
“I wouldn’t bother you. I promise."
She could hardly believe it, but her resolve was weakening. Being alone didn’t bother her; she was used to it. And she knew being a single parent would be hard, but in her mind she had accepted the additional responsibility of a baby long ago. She had even planned that after the baby was bom she would do a limited amount of accounting, making her office in her home, and taking on individuals and small businesses as clients.
Now, though, she was having to deal with fear, and she didn’t know whether she was strong enough to do so alone. Reluctant as she was to admit it, even to herself, his promise to be with her at the time of the baby’s birth reassured her.
Her last visit to the doctor had taught her that no matter how hard you try, you cannot figure everything out on paper. He had told her that because of a narrow pelvis, she might have trouble delivering the baby and they might have to perform a cesarean section.
She’d been in a hospital as a patient only once, and it was that memory, plus its attendant nightmares, that had been keeping her awake nights.
She vividly recalled the blood, the pain, the gut-wrenching feeling that there was no one in the world who cared if she lived or died. And now, no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t make her fear of going back into a hospital vanish.
“You won’t try to take my baby from me?” she asked, her voice shaky.
“I promise you that I won’t.”
“And afterward I can go anywhere I choose?”
“As soon as the doctor says you and the baby are in good shape.”
Which would be worse, she wondered, living with the man she loved, knowing he didn’t love her, and bearing his child with him by her side, knowing they would never be a family. Or facing alone her memories of that nightmare experience and the unknown of the reality.
Nine
Three months later, Sharon still didn't have an answer to her question.
Conall’s home was luxurious, spacious, and decorated with discriminating, exquisite taste. He had given her a suite down the hall from his. Over the months, she had added her own touches to the elegantly furnished rooms. Several newly purchased Hummel children graced the mantel. A stained glass bluebird hung in one of the windows. Pink and blue yam filled a wicker basket. Lately the blue yam had started to dominate. And in her bedroom, the cradle she had bought in San Diego had been assembled and stood waiting.
Though she was living in Conall’s house, she rarely saw him for any length of time. He left early in the morning and came home late at night.
But he made it a point to talk to her every day, either in person or by phone from his office. He always asked the same questions: How was she? Did she need anything? She always gave him the same reply. She was fine, and no, she didn’t need a thing.
Though on the surface it seemed they kept in close contact, the truth was they were never with each other.
It was for the best, she told herself. Less chance for her emotions to run away with her. Less chance that she might In some way reveal her love for him.
Besides which, her vanity was Involved. She was huge and clumsy and felt unattractive. She had forgotten what It was like to be able to see her toes, and these days It took her twice the time to do the simplest task. But she was managing as well as could be expected, she reflected. As well as could be expected, that is, for a two-ton elephant.
Either Conall’s housekeeper, cook, or his factotum, Robert—all three very nice people—were always in the house with her. And she kept occupied, reading, seeing movies, shopping, knitting, walking. And sometimes she would simply sit in the rocking chair by her bedroom window, stare out at the sky, and marvel over the life that was growing Inside her. Her most fervent wish was coming true. She was going to have a baby.
There was another wish, however, another yearning that troubled her greatly.
When she had first realized she still loved Conall, she had had to acknowledge that the love was an impossibility. And so she had made the painful decision to leave him and SwanSea and get on with her life. At the time she had thought she would be able to tuck her love for him away in some comer of her heart, rather like tucking a box of old letters in the top of a closet. She would know where it was and she could take the box down every so often to savor its contents, then return it to the shelf until the next time.
But once again a plan of hers wasn't working.
• * *
Sharon glanced at the clock on the table beside her. Midnight. She made a sound of disgust. She was really fighting the idea of going to bed tonight. But then, there was no use lying in bed, miserable, when she could be just as miserable sitting on the couch, reading.
Besides, as her pregnancy had advanced and the time drew nearer for her delivery, her nightmares about going to the hospital had become steadily worse. In the darkness of her sleep, the blood was a brilliant, vivid red color, and the pain like multiple stab wounds. It had reached the point where she'd rather stay awake than risk the mental suffering that would come with her dreams.
She made an attempt to settle herself more comfortably against the pillows that she’d arranged in a comer of the couch and went back to her book. Five minutes later, when she heard the knock at her door, she realized she was still on the same page.
“Come in,” she called, and waited expectantly for Conall to enter. Sometimes if he came home late and saw her light on beneath her door, he would stop to see how she was doing. And she had the sudden awful thought that maybe she had been subconsciously hoping to see him tonight and that was why she had delayed making her way to the bed.
The door opened, Conall walked in, and her heart leapt. Being nine months pregnant, she thought ruefully, didn’t keep her from responding with love and desire at the sight of him.
“Why aren’t you asleep?” he asked, crossing the room and sinking down into the opposite comer of the couch.
“I know it’s late, but I was really enjoying the book—” A tiny foot jabbed her In her stomach as If In rebuke for telling the white lie. Her hand dropped to the huge mound. “And,” she added, her tone wry as this time she told a portion of the truth, “I’m having trouble getting comfortable.”
“Is the baby more active than usual tonight?”
“Definitely. And his exercise periods seem to get longer and more strenuous with each passing day." She had noticed that Conall rarely referred directly to the baby, concentrating instead on her and her physical condition.
She had noticed something else too. The baby seemed to become unusually energetic whenever Conall was near, or sometimes even when he was just on the phone with her. Was it possible, she wondered, that the baby felt his father’s presence? No, she decided. More than likely the baby was simply responding to her accelerated pulse rate.
“Maybe he or she is getting eager to come out and see what the world is all about.”
“I think it’s going to be a he,” she said on impulse, and watched for a reaction. The polite, reserved mask he wore never slipped.
“Really? Why?"
“Just a feeling. When I talk to him, I seem to hear a little boy’s voice.”
“What does he say?”
She looked closely at him but could detect only casual interest. They were strangers, she thought. Strangers who had conceived a child—exactly as she had wanted. “Actually he reassures me a lot.”
“About what?”
She had said more than she should, had revealed too much. “Oh, things like hell never scare me with spiders or frogs. That sort of thing.”
He nodded as if he believed her. Or as if it weren't important to him whether or not she was telling the truth.
“Are you afraid of spiders and frogs?”
“I suppose I’ll learn to cope. Mothers do, I understand.”
>
“How much longer do you have? Two weeks?”
“About that. The doctor says you never know with first babies.”
“I’m sure you’re eager to have it all over with.”
“Yes. I'm excited about the baby, but ...” Her voice trailed off as suddenly the specter of the hospital appeared and froze her to the bone. “But what?”
“Nothing. Are you just getting home from work?”
“Yes. Now I’ve answered your question. You answer mine. What’s wrong?”
“I said nothing.”
Surprising her, he slid across the couch until he was closer to her. “Sharon, don’t you think I’ve noticed the shadows that have reappeared beneath your eyes? They’re exactly like the ones I saw when I found you in San Diego.”
“No—"
“Yes,” he said, gently contradicting her. “Now, I know you get up early and that you exercise. It seems to me you should be able to sleep, even with the discomfort of the baby.”
“Is that your diagnosis, doctor?” she asked, somewhat disconcerted to learn that he had been paying such close attention to her without her realizing it.
“All right, so I don't know what I’m talking about. But I do know what I can see with my own two eyes. You’re not sleeping. I don’t suppose you’d care to tell me why?”
“No.”
“Okay.” He stretched his arm along the back of the couch until it lay behind her.
The baby kicked. She eyed Conall nervously. “What are you doing?”
“I’m not sure. I guess I’m trying to figure out if you’re really all right."
She racked her brain for something she could tell him. “The doctor says—”
“I don’t want to hear what the doctor says. I want to hear what you say.”
She rubbed the side of her face, then dropped her hand back to her stomach. He wasn’t going to give up until she gave him a plausible explanation he would believe. She tried to think of one, but her mind was alarmingly blank. In the end she blurted out the truth. “I’ve been having nightmares. ”
“About what?” he asked, concern heavy in his voice.
“Going to the hospital. The idea terrifies me.”
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