Nate (The Rock Creek Six)

by Handeland, Lori

Rico mopped glass and whiskey from the floor while Sullivan washed the wall and Reese the bar.

  Nate grabbed another bottle, another glass, then sat back down. But he didn't pour himself a drink. Instead he held the whiskey up to the light.

  "It's brown," he said to no one in particular. "Nothing special here at all."

  "What's special in this world comes from inside."

  Nate lifted his gaze to Reese. "The baby?"

  "Love, you idiot. She loves you."

  "She's mistaken. What on earth could she find to love in me?"

  "Imbecile," Reese muttered.

  "Idiota."

  "Fool," Sullivan chimed in.

  "You think that young girl should waste her love on me?"

  "I didn't think Mary should waste hers on me, but that didn't stop her."

  "Or Eden."

  "Or Lily. Women love who they love, and we are lucky when they do."

  Nate didn't feel lucky. He still felt cursed, and so very, very afraid.

  "I don't know if I can love her back, and she deserves better than that."

  "She's having your child. Jo is your wife, regardless of your everlasting love for a dead woman."

  When Reese put it that way, Nate did appear an imbecilic, idiotic fool.

  "I'm afraid," he admitted.

  "You?" Rico asked. "You have never been afraid of anyone or anything. You have always charged into every battle without a care."

  "Because I didn't care. I wanted to die."

  "Really?" Reese's voice dripped with sarcasm as he sat at the table next to Nate. "That's news to us."

  "But since you have returned from Soledad you have been different." Rico sat on his other side. Sullivan leaned against the bar. "You would have something to live for if you would only let the past stay in the past."

  "I swore I would never stop loving my wife, that I would never forget our son, or all the children we lost before him."

  "Jo is your wife now," Reese repeated. "And soon you'll have a new child to worry about. Do you think your first wife would have wanted you to live like this, to give up a second chance because of a graveside promise? Would she want you to turn your back on a child who needs you while you continue to mourn one who doesn't?"

  Nate considered his friend's words. Angela had loved him as deeply as he'd loved her. If he had died in the war he would have wanted her to go on and find happiness. But he did not know if he could.

  "Every time I look at Jo, I remember Angela. She suffered and she died because of me. The same thing could happen to Jo."

  "I could walk outside and get hit by the stage tomorrow," Reese said. "But that isn't going to stop me from living and loving today."

  "Jo's right. The child would be better off without any father than one who isn't capable of loving it. I'm afraid that every time I see this child's face I'll remember the ones who died."

  "You probably will, and maybe that's not so bad. It doesn't mean you can't love this one. Maybe every child you lost will live on in the children to come."

  "I don't know if I can love any more. It hurts too much."

  Reese appeared saddened by the admission. "I never figured you for a coward."

  That hurt, but the truth usually did.

  "I guess we both figured wrong."

  * * *

  By the time Jo was halfway home, she was holding her side and breathing heavily. Her throat was choked with tears, and anger pulsed to the beat of her heart.

  She'd just told Nate they didn't need him, and while she should be upset, even terrified, she wasn't. She was through catering to his past. She was his wife now. This was his child. If he couldn't understand that, to hell with him.

  She had done nothing but love him too much. He had no right to accuse her of manipulation. He had no call to refer to their child as a curse and a trap. Just thinking about it made her pulse pound harder, and suddenly she could not breathe for the pain beneath her ribcage. Jo leaned against the step rail of the schoolhouse and tried to catch some air.

  The day was warm for November, but she still shouldn't be so out of breath. The pain in her side slid all the way around to her back and settled in for a good long stay.

  "Damnation," she muttered. "This is all his fault too."

  Gritting her teeth, she forced herself to walk the rest of the way to the rectory. By the time she got there, she was feeling better, although her back still ached. She must have slept on it wrong, although she had not slept much last night. Perhaps that was the reason for the nagging pain.

  Though she should rest, Jo found herself compelled to straighten the house. She tossed all of Nate's things into the street and slammed the door.

  "Nothing like a clean house." She brushed her hands together and went looking for a broom.

  But when she attempted to sweep, her backache returned, worse than before, and she had to sit before she fell. "Must have pulled something when I threw his bags outside."

  Jo leaned her head against the broom handle and tried not to panic as the pain increased. Just when she was getting ready to shout for help, the affliction went away as quickly as it had come.

  "Strange," she muttered, and began to dust.

  An hour later she wished she'd called for help when she had the chance, because the pain was so bad she could only writhe on the floor and mewl like a newborn kitten.

  * * *

  Jo drifted in and out of consciousness. Pain would wake her; the ebbing of it would allow her to rest.

  She couldn't be having the baby. It was too early, and the flood of water that had signaled Mary's labor had not occurred. Besides, Mary always said the pain was in the belly, not the back. She had hurt herself, that was all, and if she rested a while, she'd be able to go about her business.

  As the sun drifted toward dusk, three sharp knocks dragged her from blessed, painless sleep. She opened her mouth to call out and her back cramped. She drew in upon herself and rocked, moaning.

  "Jo?" Mary opened the door. "I heard what happened. Jo?"

  She couldn't answer as the pain made every part of her ache, even her teeth.

  Mary was at her side in an instant, touching her face, cursing beneath her breath. "How long has this been going on?"

  The pain released Jo from its grip. "I'm all right. It comes and goes. I think I hurt my back while I was cleaning this morning."

  "Comes and goes since this morning?" Mary groaned. "You're in labor, sweetie. We need to get you into bed. Quick before the next pain comes."

  "It's too soon."

  "Tell it to the baby. Let's go." Mary tugged on her hands.

  Jo managed to get to her feet, but once there she swayed. Mary dragged her upright with an arm around her waist. "But my water didn't break. My belly doesn't hurt."

  Panic flared. Just as she'd feared, something was wrong. Jo trembled harder.

  "Labor's different for every woman. Sometimes different for every baby." They hitched into the bedroom, and Mary deposited Jo on the side of the bed. "Believe me, it's time. That baby is certainly big enough. Should I get Nate?"

  "No!"

  Mary frowned. "I thought you wanted him with you."

  "And I thought you said you heard what happened. He and I are finished."

  Mary took off Jo's shoes and socks then started on her dress. "You don't mean that. You love him."

  "It doesn't matter." Jo lifted her arms like a child and allowed Mary to strip her down to her chemise.

  "Love is the only thing that does matter, Jo."

  "Not to him." Jo climbed into bed. "Promise you'll stay with me."

  "Of course I will, and Eden will be here soon. She heard what happened too."

  Another pain ripped through Jo, and she gritted her teeth and pressed her face into the pillow to keep from crying out. The fear that had haunted her since she'd watched her friends give birth returned full force, seeming to increase with every pain that wracked her body. Something that hurt this much could not be right.

  A feeling
of doom settled into her heart, and she grabbed Mary's hand in desperation. "Promise me you won't let Nate in here." Mary frowned. "Promise. No matter what I say later, I don't want him to see me like this."

  Though she'd said she did not need him, Jo was afraid she might beg for him anyway. Because even though the marriage was over, her love for him would never die. The thought of him watching her writhe as Angela had, perhaps watching her die... Jo could not do that to him, even if it meant dying alone.

  "Promise me!" Jo sat up, grimacing as the movement shot agony all the way to her toes.

  "All right. Fine." Mary pushed her back on the pillows. "Calm down. Men are only a problem at times like this anyway."

  Jo relaxed, and the pain eased a bit. She was able to get her breath before the next one hit.

  "Again?" Mary murmured. "You're going at this awful fast, Jo."

  "Good." Jo panted a few times then managed to catch her breath. "I hate this."

  "Everyone does, sweetie. But once you see what you get out of it, you'll forget the pain."

  Jo glared at Mary as the agony seemed to shoot out the top of her head. "Somehow I doubt that."

  Chapter 20

  Reese went to school and Sullivan to the jail. Rico trotted upstairs to get his children ready for their day. Nate remained at the table staring at the full bottle of whiskey and his empty glass. He had no desire to drink.

  Why now, when he had every reason to finish this bottle and wallow in another, did the thought of tilting the whiskey to his lips nauseate him?

  Perhaps because that empty place inside was still empty, despite too many whiskeys too early in the day. The only thing that had assuaged his emptiness since Angela had died was Jo.

  He sat in the same chair the entire day and contemplated the bottle. Three Queens remained as quiet as the church. Folks drifted in; Rico gave them a drink. They left. Sullivan wandered over, whispered to Rico, and the two of them stared at him. He glowered back and Sullivan left. Rico went upstairs, and Nate was once again alone.

  He was at a loss for what to do. For the first time since he'd returned to Rock Creek with Jo, Nate had nothing to occupy his day, nowhere to spend his night, and he did not like it. Once there had been days upon weeks without anything to do but drink, and that had been fine with him, but no longer.

  Lily came downstairs, appearing freshly tumbled. The woman sure was a looker. Of course, she had nothing on Jo.

  Nate frowned. Where had that thought come from? Jo was not stunning like Lily. She was... Just Jo. Stunning in her own quiet way—except when she was throwing glass. Then she was magnificent.

  "I hear you have ruined your life, cheri."

  Nate scowled. The kid never could keep his mouth shut. "I don't see it that way."

  "You would not." She threw her mane of black curls over her shoulder. "But I have a soft spot for fools. You may stay in Yvonne's room."

  "Who said I needed a place to stay?"

  "Unca Nate?" Fiona ran in dragging one of his shirts and several pairs of pants through the dust. Georgie was right on her heels with his socks.

  "We found this stuff in the street by your house." Carrie came through the door with his saddlebags. "It was gettin' stepped on somethin' awful."

  Carrie didn't look the same without a lizard on her shoulder. Since Nate had buried Gizzard the third, there had been no Gizzard the fourth. Gossip said she'd brought home a snake instead, and her father had made her take it right back out. He'd offered her a puppy, but Carrie preferred pets with scales.

  "As I said, you can have Yvonne's old room." Lily raised a perfectly arched eyebrow at Nate and sashayed into the kitchen.

  Fiona climbed into Nate's lap. "How come Jo doesn't like you no more?"

  "Don't you have to get home?"

  "Eventu-ey." She sniffed. "You smell funny again, Unca Nate."

  "Maybe that's why Jo threw him out," Carrie said.

  "Who told you that?"

  "Everyone in town."

  "Shit."

  Fiona gasped. "Soap for your mouth."

  "Sorry," he mumbled.

  "Come on, Fiona." Carrie rolled her eyes just like Lily always did. "The sheriff will come searching for you in a minute, and then soap will be the least of it."

  The three girls skipped out, leaving Nate's possessions in a heap on the floor behind them.

  Lily returned from the kitchen with two cups of coffee. She sat one on the table and scooped up the untouched bottle and glass with a murmured, "Hmm."

  Nate stared at his clothes. "Looks like she was serious."

  "Did you think she wasn't?"

  From the disappointment and the sadness filling him now, he realized he had. "She said they don't need me, and she's right. Jo's the least needy woman I've ever known."

  "Perhaps."

  "Perhaps?" Nate straightened at her tone. "What's that supposed to mean?"

  "There is need and there is need, no? I'm sure Jo can take care of herself and anyone else who comes along. She always has before. But I am also sure she needs you in ways she does not even know of yet."

  "There's nothing I have that she might need."

  Footsteps pounded on the boardwalk. Mary burst into Three Queens. "It's Jo," she gasped. "She needs you, Nate."

  "No, she doesn't."

  Mary continued to speak as if Nate had not. "She made me promise I wouldn't let you see her like this. But she can hate me later. There's something wrong."

  "Wrong?" His heart began to pound with dread. "What are you talking about?"

  Mary glanced at Lily. "Didn't anyone tell him?"

  Lily shrugged. "We decided not to, since she didn't want him there."

  "Where?"

  "Jo's been in labor since this morning."

  "And no one told me?" he shouted.

  "Be quiet," Mary ordered as if he were a recalcitrant student. "She's in more pain than anyone I've ever seen. And the baby should have come by now. Her pains were close when I found her."

  "Found her?" Nate didn't like the sound of that.

  "Huddled on the floor for Lord knows how long." Mary wrinkled her nose in Nate's direction.

  He was finding it hard to breathe, so he barely noticed.

  "Now the pains are farther apart and her water hasn't broken. She needs to relax, but she won't." Mary's mouth trembled. "She keeps fighting against the birth, and she won't stop talking about dying. She's so exhausted I don't know how she'll have the energy to push. You'd better get—"

  Nate didn't hear the rest. He was already out the door.

  He ran down the boardwalk, but there were too many people in his way, so he jumped off the edge and sprinted through the street to the rectory. Rushing inside, he heard her crying. He froze as his mind fled back thirteen years.

  He burst into the house. He could hear Angela crying from upstairs, but the sound was weak, too weak.

  Her father rose from the couch where he'd been sitting, head in his hands. "You bastard! You've killed her this time."

  Nate didn't wait to hear the rest. He ran up the stairs and into their bedroom. Her mother had been trying to help; all the doctors were gone to war.

  He could smell the blood. He would see it forever in his dreams.

  "Get out!" Terror made his words sharp and his voice hoarse.

  She fled, no doubt unable to bear watching her daughter die any longer. Then Nate walked slowly toward the bed and stared at Angela's white, white face.

  "Nate? Nate!" Mary shook him. "Jo needs you."

  Still he could not move, so she shoved, then dragged him into the room. Eden sat at the side of the bed, holding Jo's hand. She moved out of his way.

  Nate took one look at Jo and froze again. The huge mound of the child heaved with her every breath. She was drenched in sweat and far too pale. Her gasps sounded like the cries of a kitten, yet she appeared unconscious, or at the least turned inward, unaware of anyone else in the room. Angela had not known he was there, either. Not even when he'd kissed her good-
bye.

  But at least there was no blood. That was something.

  Mary slapped him. "Wake up!"

  He did.

  "Do something. I don't care what happened between the two of you. I don't give a shit if you ride out of this town and you never come back, but before you go, you will save her, do you hear me?"

  "Mary, I can't promise—"

  "You did this, Nate Lang. You fix it or you won't need to drink yourself to death this time around."

  She was right. He had to focus on Jo. He had to leave the past behind. Jo wasn't Angela. She might be afraid she was going to die, and he might fear it, as well, but that didn't mean she would. If he'd gotten to Angela sooner, he might have saved her too.

  That thought drove him to action. "Hot water," he snapped. "And towels. Lots of them."

  Both Mary and Eden bustled off, calmer with something to do.

  "Patient," he murmured. "She's a patient; she's not your wife. This isn't your child. What would you do if she was any other woman?"

  Nate washed his hands in the basin of cold water. Then moved to the foot of the bed and lifted the sheet. Expecting catastrophe, he was pleased to discover things weren't as bad as they could be on this end.

  Mary and Eden returned and Nate got busy. "Undress her completely," he ordered.

  While they did, he soaked some towels in hot water then wrung them out. Positioning the sheet at Jo's waist, he covered her chest with a dry towel, followed that with several hot, wet towels and covered everything with another dry one.

  "What are you doing?" Mary asked.

  "I've heard this can make the labor progress, and the warmth should calm her."

  Silence filled the room as they stared at Jo. She did seem calmer, less in agony, and Nate began to breathe more easily himself.

  "Now what?" Eden murmured.

  "Now I wait, and you two go home."

  "Uh-uh," Mary said.

  At the same time Eden said, "Not me."

  "I'll take care of her."

  "She didn't want you here," Mary reminded him.

  "But I am here, and I'm not leaving, so you two can. Go home, feed your families, come back in a few hours. I'll need your help then."

  Eden and Mary hesitated. "Well, I suppose we could just feed the kids and come back," Eden ventured.