Night, Sea, And Stars

by Heather Graham

  Kyle smoothed her hair and whispered softly in her hair, “Tomorrow, darling, we’ll apply for our license.”

  Skye drew away from him and grimaced. “I'm not so sure about tomorrow, Kyle. We may have to wait.”

  He frowned, encircling her shoulder with his arm as he led her into the drawing room. “Why should we wait?”

  “Because I think another Jagger might be making an appearance today.”

  Kyle came to a dead halt. He whirled her around and narrowed his eyes as he demanded, “The baby? Today? Are you sure? It’s early yet?”

  Skye laughed. “Well I’ve never done this before, you know, but I think I’m sure.”

  He held her close. “I wanted us to be married…”

  “Oh, Kyle, it really doesn't matter.”

  He drew back abruptly. “Yes, it does matter. When did you start thinking you might be in labor?”

  Skye frowned, perplexed by his anxiety. “Not long ago. Half an hour at best.”

  Kyle was suddenly propelling her onto the sofa. “Just sit tight, Ms. Delaney. You are going to be Mrs. Jagger before the baby is born!”

  “You’re crazy, Kyle!” Skye told him. halt' laughing and half frowning, “It's impossible, there are laws in California—”

  Kyle was headed for the phone. "But not in Nevada. Let’s see. we have at least six to eight hours. Time to fly, acquire a license, step into a notary’s, make it back…”

  “Oh, no, you don’t!” Skye flew to her feet in alarm. “Kyle, I don’t think you understand! I’m in labor.”

  “No problem. I’ll fly us right out of here—”

  “The hell you will! I’m not sitting in the back of one of your planes by myself, wondering if I’m going to deliver in a Lear!”

  “Skye”—Kyle covered the mouthpiece of the phone with his hand and spoke patiently—“I have been through this before. You aren't going to deliver for quite some time. It's your first child—” He broke off as someone answered on the other end of the line. “Jagger, here. I want a plane cleared to Las Vegas in fifteen minutes. Yes. Thanks.” He hung up and dialed again.

  “Kyle!” Skye persisted. “You’re crazy! Who are you calling now?”

  “Dr. Hammond. He can check you out, and then I'm sure he won’t mind a little flight, a little diversion from the day-to-day routine.”

  “Kyle, I’m nervous! I’m not sitting alone, even with the doctor, while you fly—”

  “I’ll fly!” a voice from the doorway interrupted.

  Skye spun around to see Michael leaning in the doorway, a mischievous grin planted on his features.

  “Michael!” Skye wailed. “Help me talk him out of this harebrained scheme. Don't sit there aiding and abetting him!”

  “What’s going on?” Virginia suddenly appeared, slipping her arms around her husband’s waist. Skye could already hear Kyle joking with the doctor on the phone.

  “Virginia, they are both nuts. I think I’m in labor and they want to fly to Las Vegas so that Kyle and I can be married.”

  Virginia’s pretty eyes widened and she smiled. “That’s not nuts, Skye. It's wonderfully romantic!”

  “Oh, Lord!” Skye moaned, sinking back to the sofa. “Isn’t anyone here sane?”

  Kyle hung up the phone. “Dr. Hammond’s on his way. If he says it’s okay, Skye, are you game?”

  Skye stared at him a long time, shook her head incredulously, and finally smiled. “All right, Jagger. It will serve you right if your child is born in the back of damned plane!”

  Dr. Hammond, an old Air Force friend of Kyle’s, assured them both that yes, Skye was definitely in labor, but in the very early stages. “If you stayed home, Skye, I’d have you walking for more than half the day anyway.” He grinned. “I rather like this idea. I’ll be with you all the way.”

  And so they were shortly flying to Nevada, Michael at the controls, Kyle holding Skye's hand, Virginia, Dr. Hammond, and Chris, whom they had picked up at the airport, all chattering away in the passenger seats. Then Kyle and Skye acquired a wedding license and then they were before a notary.

  I must be the only bride in history to have to gasp out a yes, Skye thought as a vicious pain assailed her right in the middle of the ceremony.

  But then it was over, and she realized with a bit of awe as Kyle kissed her that she was finally, actually, Mrs. Kyle Jagger.

  The pains grew intense as they flew home. Kyle tried to keep her mind occupied; he firmly instructed her in correct breathing. “Come on, Mrs. Jagger,” he soothed, allowing her to grip his hand with deathly pressure, “It isn't that bad!”

  “Of course it isn’t!” Skye snapped sourly. “Not for you anyway, I’m the one having the baby!”

  Kyle chuckled. In fact, he was finding the entire thing a bit too amusing. When they finally reached the hospital, he took his place as assisting father without a qualm. He was so calm and cool—and annoyingly authoritative—that Skye would have gladly clobbered him at times. Time was beginning to wear at her resistance to the pain, but the more frantic she would become, the more Kyle firmly assured her, forcing her to breathe instead of give way.

  She was ready to scream, praying someone would shoot her, when Dr. Hammond finally announced they were ready for the delivery room. And still Kyle held her hand, still he assured her.

  “Easy, Skye, it’s almost over.”

  “That’s easy for you to say!” Skye moaned in a strained whisper. “You’re not on this table!”

  “That’s right,” he grinned. “Women are designed for babies!”

  “Jagger—you always were a damned chauvinist!”

  “And you always were an opinionated little witch—a beautiful little witch, of course. Now shut up and push!”

  And then it was all worth it. Her daughter was born with a hearty little wail that could hardly be described as feminine.

  And Skye was able to laugh and smile and lie back with contented exhaustion, filled with a wonderful ecstasy as she watched her husband—yes, her husband!—dip his infant into a soothing bath after gamely agreeing with Dr. Hammond that he didn’t mind cutting the cord at all. She was grateful then that Kyle had continually talked her out of anesthetic. She would have missed this moment, seeing his gentle, adoring handling of their child, seeing his eyes as they turned to her, feeling the love that bound them as three as he placed the baby into her arms… feeling his kiss on her forehead as she awkwardly relied on instinct to bring her tiny daughter to her breast… hearing his words…

  “She’s beautiful, Skye, absolutely beautiful. Thank you, Mrs. Jagger.” He leaned closer in his hospital greens. His eyes were a deep shade of tender mint, dark and tender. “Thank you,” he whispered again, “thank you my love, my wife, my life…”

  With their child greedily huddled close to her and Dr. Hammond tactfully turning his back, Skye offered her lips to her husband, shivering with incredible happiness.

  EPILOGUE

  June 4, the South Pacific

  A dozen seabirds, splendid as they soared against the ceaseless green and brown backdrop of island foliage, carried on wild squawked conversations. The sun blazed down on the glistening shoreline; a startled crab danced along the sand in a comical side step.

  On the horizon sat the Bonne Bree, and pulled to the beach, the dinghy that had brought humans to the shore of this particular paradise.

  Kyle Jagger stood tensely poised by a coral outcrop, his eyes sharply following the lazy swimming of a small fat grouper. His tree-branch spear was raised high in his hand—dripping water from several fruitless previous attempts to score the fish.

  “I am going to get you, fish,” he threatened with low-toned authority. He plunged. The fish sidled by. “Okay, fish, so far, you’ve been lucky…”

  “Kyle!”

  He waved an impatient hand toward the shore, sighed, then glanced over the water to his wife.

  “I’ve almost got it,” he lied.

  “Kyle!” Skye moaned, “We don’t need the fish! We have
a cooler full of steaks for tonight!”

  “That’s not the point!” he called back. “I want this fish!”

  He studied the movements of the fish again, heedless of the time elapsing. He was about to plunge again when he was detoured by another call. “Kyle!”

  He glanced to the shore. Skye, hands on trim hips, blond hair blowing in the breeze, stood in cutoffs and knotted shirt, arched brows portraying exasperation. “Just a minute more!” he vowed.

  “Okay,” he threatened the fish. “Your luck is coming to an end. I couldn’t have completely forgotten how to do this! Now stand still, buddy, one last time.”

  “Kyle…”

  The call was different this time. There was a husky, sultry tone to it.

  Kyle turned to the shore. She stood as she had before, feet firmly planted in the sand, head tilted back, hands planted on her hips, hair flying like spun gold in the breeze…

  Except now she stood naked and proud beneath the sun, a bold goddess, beckoning.

  He stared at his wife, at her shapely slender form, the sun glistening on lightly tanned, soft flesh…

  A shudder gripped him, sending shock waves of heat through him even as he stood in the water.

  A smile curved her lips, touching exquisite amber cat eyes with an enticing glimmer of sweet, seductive promise.

  Kyle grinned, dropped his tree-branch spear, took one last look at the fish. “This is your lucky day, fellow,” he murmured.

  Then his eyes returned to those of his wife. He began a slow, sure walk from the water, holding that amber gaze.

  Gold had brought him to this paradise once. Golden beauty had brought him back. And would bring him back again, and again, and again. He knew, as she did, that every year they would leave their world behind—the hustle, the strain, even the tiny daughter they adored—to return to this place, to be alone, uniquely together, special lovers remembering, savoring, creating new moments of paradise.

  She walked with lithe, fluid movements to meet him, and beneath the sky and sun, within the temperate blue water, he reached out and touched the woman who was the gold of his life.