Expecting Lonergan’s Baby

by Maureen Child

  And this time when the end came hurtling toward them, they reached it together and clung to each other like survivors of a storm.

  Time drifted by, and Maggie wasn’t sure if minutes or hours had passed when she finally drew a deep breath and lifted her head from his shoulder. “I think that paralysis may be permanent this time.”

  “Better not be,” he said, his voice muffled with his mouth against the base of her neck. “It gets cold out here in the middle of the night. Even in summer. We could freeze.”

  “Well,” Maggie said, laughing slightly, “that would be embarrassing, wouldn’t it? Naked ice statues discovered by some poor rancher.”

  He didn’t respond and Maggie’s smile slowly faded. Carefully he lifted her off him and she sighed with loss as his body slipped from hers. Without the sexual heat surrounding them, the kiss of the wind felt icy on her sweat-dampened skin and she shivered.

  He noticed and leaned to one side, grabbed up the summer dress she’d worn over her swimsuit and handed it to her. “You should get dressed.”

  She frowned a little as she pulled her dress over her head and wiggled into it. Her gaze followed him as he snatched up his jeans and stepped into them, tugging them up his long, muscled legs. He buttoned them up, then turned to look down at her.

  “I’m sensing the magic is over,” she said and held out one hand toward him. He took it and pulled her to her feet in one smooth move.

  “Maggie…” Scrubbing one hand across his face, he shook his head, bent and scooped up his T-shirt from the grass. Fisting it in one hand, he looked at her and said, “I don’t want you to think that—”

  “Hold that thought,” she said, lifting one hand for silence and was almost surprised when she got it. “If you’re going to start telling me that this—” she waved one hand at the now-flattened patch of grass “—doesn’t mean anything, don’t worry. I’m not expecting a proposal or something.”

  Her heart twisted a little. She didn’t do this kind of thing lightly. She’d been with exactly one other man in her life, and then it was because she’d thought she was in love. And really, wasn’t thinking you were in love the same as being in love? But even then she hadn’t felt the same…need, that she’d felt for Sam from the beginning. Tonight had been inevitable. Where it went from here was still in question.

  “Yeah, but—”

  Maggie cut him off, speaking up quickly. “And you know, I don’t usually sleep with a man I’ve known less than a week.” Before he could open his mouth again, she said, “It was just…”

  “I know,” he said quietly. “You kind of hit me hard, too.”

  “Really?”

  He gave her a brief one-sided smile. “You’ve been making me nuts for days.”

  “You, too,” she admitted with a sigh, then clarified, “I mean, you’ve been getting to me, too.”

  “You should know,” he said tightly as he pulled his T-shirt on, shoving his arms through the sleeves, “I didn’t come down here tonight for this—” he paused. “I mean, that wasn’t the plan.”

  “What was the plan then?”

  “Damned if I know.” He shrugged, frowned into the distance, then shifted his gaze back to hers. “Guess I wanted to see you.”

  “I’m glad you did.”

  “Me, too, but—”

  “But…?”

  “It’s a little late to be asking,” he said, “and as a doctor, I sure as hell should have known better…” He shook his head and stabbed both hands through his hair impatiently. “Can’t believe I didn’t think. Didn’t consider—”

  “What?”

  He turned a flat, emotionless stare on her. “I didn’t use anything.” When she didn’t say anything, he added, “A condom?”

  “Oh.” She thought about it for a second, then realization dawned like a hammer to the head. “Oooh.”

  “Crap.” He closed his eyes, sighed heavily, then opened them again to look at her. “I’m guessing from your reaction that you’re not on the Pill.”

  “No reason to be,” she said and slapped one hand to her abdomen as if she could somehow protect it belatedly. “I mean, until you—tonight—well, it’s been…a long time.”

  Oh, she really had been way too wrapped up in the heat of the moment. Her stomach did a slow swirl and dip as the ramifications of what they’d done hit home. They might have made a baby tonight.

  “Damn it.” He leaned over, grabbed his boots and straightened up again, his features tight, his eyes shuttered. “Stupid. I was stupid. Sorry doesn’t seem like enough.”

  “We were both stupid,” she reminded him. “I was there, too, so you don’t get to take the whole blame. It’s not as if you took advantage of me or something. I’m a grown-up and I make my own choices.”

  “Somehow that doesn’t make this any easier.”

  “Maybe not,” she said, “but this is just as much my fault as yours, so no point in wasting a perfectly good apology.”

  She tried to think. Tried to figure out where she was in her cycle. Then she gave it up because she’d never been good with math anyway. She crossed her fingers for luck and said, “I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

  His eyes narrowed. “You’re sure.”

  “It was only the once.”

  “Twice.”

  “Right.” She blew out a breath and told herself not to panic. No point in panicking yet. She swallowed hard and nodded as if convincing herself as well as him. “It’ll be fine. You’ll see.”

  “I hope you’re right,” he said, his gaze still narrowed and thoughtful on her. “But you’ll tell me. Either way.”

  “Of course,” she said. “There won’t be anything to tell, but if there is, I’ll tell you everything.”

  “Good. Good.” He nodded firmly, as if that settled the matter. “And just so you know, I’m healthy.”

  “Oh, I am, too,” she assured him and wished that sex in the twenty-first century could be a little less clinical and a little more fun. Although, they’d had fun and now look where they were.

  After that an awkward silence stretched out between them. An owl hooted in the distance, and with a push from the wind the lake lapped at the shoreline. Leaves rustled overhead, and from the next ranch came the sound of a barking dog, eerie in the darkness.

  “I don’t want to hurt you, Maggie,” he said suddenly, his voice hardly louder than the soft, papery rustle of the leaves.

  Her heart fisted in her chest and Maggie sensed him pulling even further away from her. There was misery in his eyes and a loneliness in his voice that tore at her.

  “What makes you think you will?”

  He shifted his gaze from her to the dark surface of the lake. He stared hard, and Maggie had the distinct impression that he was looking at the lake not as it was now but as it had been on a long-ago summer day. And almost to himself he said, “There’s just no other way.”

  Seven

  Over the next week Jeremiah sensed a change between Sam and Maggie. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but he was pretty sure there was more going on between them than they were saying. Every time one of them came into the room, the other one started getting jumpy.

  He was old.

  Not stupid.

  When his bedroom door opened, Jeremiah lay back against his pillows weakly, just in case. Sunlight lay across him in a slice of gold. He opened one eye, spotted his friend Bert and sat straight up. “About time you got here. Did you bring it?”

  Bert winced and closed the bedroom door with a quiet snick. “For God’s sake, keep it down. Yes, I brought it—and it’s the last time,” he added as he stalked toward the bed.

  Bert’s face was flushed, and guilt shone in his pale blue eyes so clearly it was easily readable even from behind the thick glasses he wore.

  “Now, Bert,” Jeremiah said, swinging his legs off the bed, “no reason to start losing your nerve now.”

  The other man set his black leather medical bag on the edge of the bed and gave the tarnished bronz
e clasp a quick twist. Then he delved one handed into the bag and pulled out a bottle of single-malt scotch. Scowling fiercely, he handed it over. “It isn’t about nerve, Jeremiah. It’s about what’s right. I don’t like lying to Sam.”

  Frowning himself, Jeremiah studied the bottle of scotch. “Well, come to it, neither do I. But I had to get them all home somehow.”

  “Yes, but he’s here now. Tell him the truth.”

  “Not yet.” Jeremiah shook his head and fought his own feelings of guilt. He didn’t like worrying his grandsons, but once they were all here, back where they belonged, he’d tell them the truth together. Resolve strengthened, he nodded firmly and asked, “Say, Bert, when you were downstairs, did you happen to notice anything between Sam and Maggie?”

  At the abrupt change of subject, Bert blinked, then thought about it for a long minute. “Nope. Can’t say that I did. Though Maggie wasn’t in the house. Sam let me in.” Giving his head a slow shake, he said, “Tried to talk to him about sticking around. Buying my practice.”

  Jeremiah perked up at that. “What’d he say?”

  “Same as always,” Bert said on a sigh and sat down on the edge of the mattress beside his friend. Tiny dust mites danced in the sunlight, tossed by the brush of wind slipping under the partially opened sash. “He’s not staying. Not interested in sticking around. Wants to practice medicine on his terms.”

  “Disappointing,” Jeremiah said on a matching sigh as he twisted the cap on the scotch bottle, breaking the seal. He lifted the bottle, took a sip, then handed it off to Bert. “The boy’s a hardhead, no doubt about it.”

  Bert snorted, took a quick pull on the scotch and said, “Wonder where he got that trait?”

  Maggie walked along the line, pulling the wooden clothespins free and taking down the now-dry sheets and pillowcases. Carefully she folded each item as she went and set it in the basket at her feet. When she’d finished one item, she kicked the basket along and moved on to the next.

  Sam stood on the back porch, one shoulder leaning against the newel post as he watched her. With Bert upstairs keeping Jeremiah occupied, he’d followed his instincts—which had brought him here.

  To Maggie.

  He didn’t like admitting that, even to himself, but there it was. Without really wanting to or even trying, he’d found a connection with this woman. He was already used to seeing her every day. To hearing her sing to herself when she thought no one was around. To seeing the way she cared for his grandfather and this place.

  God, he’d missed the ranch. When he was a kid, the summers he’d spent here had meant more to him than anything. This place, this ranch, had been more home to him than any of the military bases he’d grown up on. His parents had always been too wrapped up in each other to take much notice of him—so the summers with his grandparents and cousins had shone golden in his mind. He’d always known that this place was here for him. This town. This ranch.

  His gaze shifted briefly away from Maggie to encompass the ranch yard. The barn/stable needed a good coat of paint, and there were a few weeds sprouting up at the edges of the building and along the fence line. In the old days, weeds had never had a chance. But times had changed.

  Too much had changed.

  At the thought, his gaze drifted back to Maggie. Completely oblivious to him, she kept moving along the line of clean clothes she’d pegged out to dry hours ago. She wore white shorts that hit her midthigh and a tiny yellow tank top. Her white sneakers were old and worn, and her shoulder-length dark hair was drawn back into a ponytail that swayed with her movements like a metronome.

  When he found himself smiling at the picture she made, he worried.

  “If you’re going to stand out here anyway,” she called out, never turning her head, “the least you could do is help fold.”

  He straightened up and blew out a disgusted breath. So much for being the stealthy type. Taking the steps to the grass, he wandered over to her side. “How’d you know I was there?”

  She swiveled her head to glance at him. “I could feel you watching me.”

  He quirked one eyebrow at her.

  She grinned briefly. “Okay, and I heard you come outside. The screen on the kitchen door still squeaks.” Shrugging, she added, “Then there was the sound of your boot heels on the porch—not to mention that tired-old-man sigh I heard just a minute or two ago.”

  Her fingers never stopped. She plucked off clothespins, dropped them into a canvas sack hanging from the line and then folded the next item.

  “You’re too observant for your own good,” he said, taking the edge of the sheet when she held it out to him.

  “Oh, I am,” she agreed, folding one edge of the sheet over the other, then walking toward him to make the ends meet. “Just like I’ve observed that you’ve been avoiding me all week.”

  Sunlight played on her hair, dazzling the streaks of blond intermingled with the darker strands. She squinted up at him, and he noticed for the first time that she had freckles sprinkled across the bridge of her nose. Not many. Just a few. Just enough to make a man want to count them with kisses.

  Which was, he told himself, exactly why he’d been avoiding her all week.

  Because that night with her was never far from his mind. Because with every breath he wanted her again. And again. And again.

  Shaking his head, he blew out a breath. Damn it. Having her should have taken the edge off the hunger. Instead he now knew just what he could find in her arms and it was taking everything he had to keep from trying to have it again. “Like I said. Observant.”

  Silently he took the gathered edges of the sheet, folded them neatly and dropped them onto the stack already in the basket. When he was finished, Maggie handed him a pillowcase and took one for herself.

  “Hmm,” she quipped with a glance at him, “not even going to try to deny it?”

  “Not much point in that, is there?”

  “So want to tell me why you’ve been avoiding me?”

  “Not particularly,” he admitted and took the pillowcase she handed him.

  “Okay, then why don’t I tell you?”

  “Maggie…” He dropped the pillowcase onto the stack of clean laundry.

  “See,” she said, cutting him off neatly, “I think you don’t want to talk about that night because it meant something to you. And that bothers you.”

  He stiffened, narrowed his gaze on her and watched as she quickly plucked two more clothespins off the line, gathering up a sheet as she went. “I already told you, I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “Yes,” she said, nodding, “we’ve already covered that.”

  “So why don’t we just leave it alone?”

  “Can’t,” she said, turning to face him.

  “Why am I not surprised?”

  She gave him a sad smile. “Is it really so hard for you to admit that what we had that night was special?”

  “No.” He huffed out a breath. “It was. I can admit that. But I can’t give you anything else.”

  “I didn’t ask for anything else,” she reminded him with a patient sigh.

  “Yeah, but you will,” he said, meeting her dark gaze with his own. “It’s in your nature.”

  She laughed and the music of it slammed into him, rocking him on his heels.

  “My nature,” she repeated. “And you know this how?”

  He waved one hand, encompassing the ranch yard, the house and her. “You’re a nester, Maggie. Look at you. I can see the curtains you hung in the guesthouse from here. You’ve burrowed your way into the very place that I’ve been steering clear of for fifteen years.”

  “But you’re here now.”

  “For the summer,” he clarified, in case she’d missed him saying it in the last week. “Then I’m gone again.”

  “Just like that?” she asked. “You can leave again, even knowing how much your grandfather needs you? Loves you?”

  Sam shifted uncomfortably. Guilt pinged around inside him like a marble in the bottom of a
n empty coffee can. “I can’t stay,” he said finally through gritted teeth.

  She shook her head slowly and he followed the motion of her ponytail swinging from side to side behind her head. “Not can’t,” she said, “won’t.”

  “Whichever.” He sounded as irritable as he felt, but apparently the tone of his voice had no effect on her. Because she only looked at him with that same sad smile, half disappointment, half regret.

  “Fine. But even if you’re leaving at the end of summer, you’re here now,” she reminded him.

  Yeah, he was. And he wanted her. Bad. For one brief instant his body tightened and his breath staggered in his lungs. Then he came back to his senses. “You’re not a ‘right now’ kind of woman, Maggie. And I can’t make you promises.”

  “You keep forgetting that I didn’t ask for anything from you.” She stepped toward him, cupped his cheek in her palm and stared directly into his eyes. “What? Only men are allowed brief, red-hot affairs?”

  He caught her hand in his, stilling the feel of her fingertips against his skin. “What about the other?”

  “Hmm?”

  “The chance of pregnancy?” Couldn’t believe he had to remind her about that.

  Realization dawned on her features, but she said, “I don’t know yet. But since there’s nothing we can do about it at the moment, no point in worrying about that until we know for sure, is there?”

  “Guess not.” Though he knew damn well a corner of his mind would be worrying about that small chance nonstop until he knew one way or the other.

  “And we could be careful.”

  Her voice brought him back from his thoughts, and as he looked down into her eyes, he felt his resolution to keep his distance fading into nothingness. If they were careful, if she didn’t expect more from him than he could give…

  It would be crazy.

  Stupid.

  Great.

  When he didn’t speak, she shrugged. “Either way,” she mused, still giving him that half smile, “still got to get the laundry in.”