“Has she had breakfast? I could take her a tray.”
“You might lose your head. She’s already sick of staying down. She made Alyson drag that alpaca up to the window, right up on my front porch.”
He laughed picturing that in his mind. Alyson was about the prissiest female he’d ever met. If she and Andie didn’t look so much alike, he’d say there wasn’t any way they could be twins.
“She’ll be glad to see me.” He took the cup of coffee from Etta. “Do you think she wants anything?”
“No, she can’t have more coffee. One cup a day and she had eggs for breakfast.”
He nodded and walked down the hall to the living room. He knew this house as well as he knew his own and as a kid he’d probably spent more time here than at home. He peeked around the door of the living room and Andie smiled. She didn’t look mean. Or angry.
“Come in.” She grimaced and looked him over, top to bottom. “You look horrible.”
“Thanks.” He sat down in the rocking chair, still holding his cup of coffee.
“You’re wearing the same clothes you had on last night.”
“Yeah, I am.”
“And you haven’t shaved.”
He rubbed his hand across his cheek. It had been a couple of days since he’d shaved. “Andie, about the baby. What do you think we’ll name her?”
She smiled and curled back into the couch. “Name her? I don’t know. I mean, we don’t know if…if she’ll be a girl.”
“But she might be.”
“Yeah, she might be.” Her eyes softened and she looked out the window. “I like the name Maggie.”
“We could call her Magpie.”
“Yeah, we could. And buy her a pony when she’s three.”
Andie looked at him and her smile faded. “Ryder, I don’t want to do this.”
“What, have the baby?” He could barely get the words out, but she was shaking her head.
“I don’t want to plan. I don’t want to think about names when I might lose her.”
“That isn’t going to happen.” He wouldn’t let it happen. The idea of this kid had settled inside him. The idea of Andie as the mother of his child was settling inside him, taking root. He tried to smile, for Andie’s sake. “What happened to faith? What happened to trusting God?”
“I’m trying…I’m really trying, but I didn’t expect this to be so hard.” She bit down on her bottom lip and he’d never seen her like that—vulnerable. Her blue eyes were huge and her lips trembled.
Andie had always been the strongest woman he knew. She hadn’t ever really seemed to need him, or anyone else. He always said she rolled with the punches.
But a baby changed everything.
He left the rocking chair and went to her side. She looked up, blue eyes swimming in tears that didn’t fall. “I’ll have enough faith for both of us. I can do that for you. I can do that for her.”
And he meant it.
Step one in being a dad, trusting someone other than himself. Trusting God. He hoped God was still in the forgiving business because if Ryder was going to work on faith, he had a lot to confess to the Almighty. He had a lot of work to do on himself.
Andie leaned against a shoulder that was strong and wide and Ryder held her close. She sniffed into his shirt and pulled back.
“You really have to take a shower.”
“Sorry, I should have done that before I came over, but I had to know. Last night someone asked me what we were going to name her, and when she’d be born, and I didn’t know the answer.”
“Where were you last night?” Ick, was that jealousy? Andie shrugged it off. “I mean, you left here and…”
“I went to Tulsa to buy a few things for the house. And then I stayed up all night working.”
She ran her hand down his arm, touching small spatters of green paint. She didn’t want to take her hand off his arms. They were suntanned and strong. “Were you painting?”
“Yeah. You know, the girls are living at the house, and Wyatt.”
“Oh.” And it shouldn’t have hurt. She should have been glad that he was doing something for the girls.
“Hey, let me get you some books. Or lunch. Would you like some chocolate?”
“Ryder, I don’t need anything.” She glanced out the window. “Except up from here.”
“Yeah, I can’t do that for you. What about Dusty?”
“I miss him. He probably thinks I’ve abandoned him.” She wiped at her eyes. “Could you go out and check on him?”
“You know I will. But I wanted to check on you, first.”
His voice was gentle but deep and he was still sitting on the coffee table, facing her. She brushed at her eyes again.
“Ryder, I’m so afraid.”
“Why?”
She pulled back, looking at him, at a face she knew as well as she knew her own. She knew that dimple in his chin, the way his hair curled when it got a little too long, and the way his brown eyes danced when he was amused. And she thought he should know her, too.
“Because I don’t know what’s going to happen. I don’t want to lose this baby. It was the most unexpected thing in the world, but now…” She wiped at her eyes. “She’s a part of me. She’s a part of us. As afraid as I am of raising her, I’m afraid of losing her.”
“I’m not going to let you raise her alone.” He grinned. “Or him.”
That wasn’t what she wanted him to say. She wanted him to say that he was afraid. But telling her she wouldn’t be alone in this, maybe he was doing his best, the best a cowboy who had never planned on settling down could do.
It wasn’t like he was going to suddenly pledge his undying love to her. She was lucky he’d agreed to go to church. He had promised to have enough faith for both of them. That was good, because her faith was pretty shaky at the moment and at least he was strong.
“I know you won’t.” She looked out the window. A car drove down the road, a rare thing for their street at this time of day. It didn’t stop.
It went on down the road, the distraction ended. And her heart was still aching because she was going to have a baby and she wanted more than anything to hear Ryder say he loved her.
“You should go. I know you have a lot to do today.” She didn’t want him to feel like he had to stay and take care of her.
She wanted to get up and take care of herself. She’d thought about it earlier, before anyone was up. She’d considered sneaking out of the house and going outside to check on her horse and see the alpaca. And small twinges of pain had convinced her otherwise.
As hard as it was to stay in bed, she didn’t want to take chances.
“I don’t have a lot to do, Andie. I’ve been getting things taken care of. Today I’m here to take care of you.”
She squirmed a little. “I really don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Why?”
“Because that isn’t us.”
“It’s the new us.” He sniffed his own shirt. “But I do need a shower.”
“Ryder, really, you don’t have to stay here and take care of me. I have Etta and Alyson. They’ll take care of me.”
Ryder stood up. “This isn’t just about you, Andie, this is about our baby. I’m taking care of you and our baby.”
“I don’t need to be taken care of.”
“Of course you don’t, you stubborn female.” He walked to the door. “I’ll be back in an hour.”
The front door slammed and then she heard him backing out of the driveway and then shifting as he headed back down the road. She picked up one of the wedding magazines that Alyson had been looking at.
White and frilly. Couldn’t a wedding be practical? She was practical. She wouldn’t want a dress she couldn’t wear again. She wouldn’t want cake that looked beautiful but tasted like dust.
If she was to get married she’d want daisies and denim. She’d want to ride off into the sunset on her horse and camp in the mountains for her honeymoon. With her baby next to her.
But who was the groom in this little dream? The guy who wanted to take care of her?
Her hand went to her belly and she whispered, wondering if it was true that babies could hear from inside the womb. But a baby the size of a shrimp? She really didn’t like that image.
She preferred picturing the full-sized baby, with brown hair and brown eyes. Her imagination fast-forwarded her ten years and she was still living with Etta, raising her daughter. But in the dream, Ryder was a visitor and a woman waited in his truck as he picked up his daughter for the weekend.
That wouldn’t do. But neither did the other version of the dream, the one where she and Ryder were together but he resented her, resented their child because the ring on his finger kept him tied to them.
As she drifted on the edge of sleep she told herself that wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair to Ryder that she was putting him in the role of villain. Ryder had always been honorable. He had always been there for her.
But having a baby, neither of them knew how to approach this mountain. She had made mistakes in her life, mistakes that she knew God had gotten her through, helped her to overcome. As she laid there she thought about her baby and she couldn’t call a child a mistake.
The baby was a choice they had made. It might not have been the right choice, but it was one they would work through. And it would never be the baby’s fault. She would never let that happen.
A truck door slammed and she jumped but then settled back onto the couch. She listened to boots on the wood front steps, a rap on the door and then Ryder walked into the living room. He had shaved and his hair was damp and curled a little.
“Wake up, sweetheart, you’re going outside.”
“What?” She sat up, but she didn’t reach for the flip flops on the floor next to the sofa.
“I’m going to work Dusty, but I thought you’d like to go. You can sit on a lawn chair out there.”
“You think that would be okay?” She reached for her shoes.
“Don’t stand up.”
“What?” She held her shoes and then he was standing in front of her, leaning to pick her up.
“I’m going to carry you.” He scooped her up and she grabbed quick, wrapping her arms around his neck.
“I’m too heavy.”
“You’re not heavy.” He laughed and jostled her, shifting her. “No, you’re not heavy. I’ve picked up bales of hay that weigh more.”
“Thanks, I’m a bale of hay.” She leaned and he did smell better. Soap, aftershave and the minty smell of toothpaste. He turned a little and they were face-to-face, practically nose to nose.
“You’re not hay,” he whispered. He touched his forehead to hers and then looked away, his arms tensing, holding her close.
What was she to him? Okay, she got it, she wasn’t hay. But if she asked, what would he say? Best friend, pain in the neck, or was she now just extra baggage that he wasn’t sure how to handle?
Andie wasn’t heavy. She held him tight, her arms around his neck, and her head close to his. He carried her down the hall and into the kitchen. Etta was sitting at the table with a basket of yarn, knitting needles in her hand and something partially made. She looked up as they walked into the room.
She set the knitting needles and yarn on the table and stared for a moment before shaking her head. “What do you think you’re up to?”
“Going outside.” He stopped at the screen door and waited for Etta to tell him he was crazy and why he shouldn’t do this. But the more he thought about Andie stuck in the house, the more he knew he had to get her outside.
“She has to stay down,” Etta warned.
“I’m not going to let her walk, just letting her get fresh air. We can’t keep her locked in the house for nine months.”
Andie moved in his arms. “I don’t think I’ll be on bed rest for seven months.”
“Well, probably not, I’m just saying that you could use some fresh air.”
Etta shook her head again. “I think the two of you were meant for each other.”
Meant for each other.
Ryder couldn’t respond to that. He pushed the screen door open with his hip and slid through. Andie pushed to keep the door from hitting them on their way out. She was easy in his arms, and he’d never thought of the two of them as a couple. As “meant for each other.”
Or maybe he had. Maybe he’d pushed it from his mind because it was easy to be her friend and the idea of breaking her heart had been the thing that scared him the most. He’d never let himself think about the two of them together. She had always been his best friend.
He’d picked safe.
“What?” She quizzed as he sat her down in the lawn chair, cradling her close as he settled her in the seat.
“Nothing.”
“Whatever. I think I’ve known you long enough to know when nothing is really something. You’re jaw is clenching because you’re grinding your teeth. You do that when you’re mad about something.”
“I’m not mad.”
“Are too.”
“Not right now, Andie. I can’t have this conversation with you right now.”
“Yeah, I guess we’re talked out.”
No, he thought they probably had plenty to talk about, just nothing they wanted to talk about. “When’s your next doctor’s appointment?”
“Next week.” Her hand went to her belly and she looked away from him.
“Are you,” he squatted next to her, “are you having pains?”
She drew in a deep breath. “Some twinges, but nothing too bad. Sometimes I’m afraid…”
He’d never heard her admit that before. “I know, me, too. But I’m praying.”
“You’re praying?”
“Every time I take a breath.” He couldn’t stop looking at her belly, because his baby was in there. He’d never thought it could change him like this, that child and Andie needing him.
“One of us has to be strong, Ryder.”
“You can count on me.” He stood and she was staring up at him. “What do you need me to do with Dusty?”
He backed away, hoping she’d let the conversation end.
“I think lunge him in the arena. He doesn’t like it when you ride him.” She pulled her sweater closer around herself.
“Yeah, I seem to remember the last time I rode him. I think I still have the scar on my arm where he dumped me.”
She smiled at that and picked up the cat that had left the barn and was circling her chair. When her smile faded and her eyes clouded over, he knew he should have left when he had the chance.
“Ryder, what if I lose the baby?”
How was he supposed to answer that? Two months ago having a baby was the farthest thing from his mind. And now she wanted to know what they’d do if she lost it? Having that baby meant changing his life in ways he hadn’t planned.
Now, not having it felt like the change he didn’t want to face.
“We’re not going to lose the baby.” He bent and kissed the top of her head. “I’m going to catch Dusty.”
She might have whispered “chicken” as he walked off. He couldn’t be sure of that, and he wasn’t positive it wasn’t just his own thoughts calling him names.
But yeah, he was a chicken. That was something he was just now figuring out about himself. He was a big old chicken. He was afraid of conversations with obstetricians. He was afraid to talk about having kids with Andie.
He was not afraid of a horse. He whistled and Dusty didn’t even lift his head. That horse was not going to make him walk out into the field and catch him.
Chapter Twelve
The house was quiet. Andie hated the quiet. She hated being inside. She hadn’t been out since the day Ryder had carried her outside to watch while he worked Dusty. He’d meant it to be a good thing, but instead it had ached inside her, watching him work her horse.
At least she’d gotten to go out.
Since then it had been daily visits. He showed up with food from the Mad Cow or movies for her
to watch. He’d sat with her while she dozed. He constantly asked how she was and if she needed anything. Her heart was getting way to used to him being around.
Today it was raining, a cold rain that blew leaves against the windows while thunder rumbled in the clouds. And everyone was gone. Alyson was in Tulsa with Etta, getting the finishing touches on her dress. Ryder was selling off a herd of year-old steers. She’d promised she would stay on the couch. She had food. She had a thermos of cold water.
She had cabin fever like nobody’s business.
Somewhere in the distance a dog barked, the sound getting swallowed up by thunder and rain beating on the roof of the porch. Andie strained to listen. She heard it again and then a cow.
Normal farm sounds, she told herself. Dogs barked and cows mooed. The only thing that wasn’t normal was her, and the fact that she couldn’t go check and see what was going on.
The barking got louder, more frantic.
“Okay, I can’t sit here.” Andie picked up her cell phone and slipped her feet in tennis shoes by the door. She grabbed a jacket off the hook on the wall and walked outside. For a moment she stood on the front porch, protected from the rain. Of course the dog stopped barking when she walked outside.
Andie walked off the porch and headed across the yard, in the direction of the most pitiful mooing she’d ever heard. Her stomach twisted, because she didn’t know what she’d find, and because she shouldn’t be up.
But she hadn’t had pains for two days. That had to be a sign that things were getting better. She was close to finishing her first trimester.
She scanned the fence, looking for the cow and the dog. They were quiet for a minute and then it started again. The dog barked an excited bark, not angry. Picking up her pace she headed for the clump of brush and stand of trees near the corner of the fence. The dog barked again. And then she saw the cow on the ground. It bellowed, low and pitiful, sides heaving. The dog was crouched on the ground, tail wagging. It turned to look at her, tongue hanging out. It didn’t leave the cow.
Now what?
Andie slid between two rows of barbed wire and approached the cow, talking quietly to calm the poor heifer. “I know, it’s scary, isn’t it? Poor thing, you don’t know what’s happening to you.”
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