Dr Zinetti's Snowkissed Bride / The Christmas Baby Bump

by Sarah Morgan / Lynne Marshall

  “Talk to me,” he said. “I can see a million thoughts flying around your mind. Share one of them with me.” His voice was husky and sincere. “Please.”

  She took a deep breath. “This is all so new to me. I guess I just need to know the rules.”

  “I’m the king of no strings, Steph. I think you know that.”

  She hesitated with a long inhalation. “No strings. Right.”

  Their eyes met and fused. For long silent moments they searched each other’s souls for the truth. She wasn’t positive what she read in his stare other than it made her feel dizzy and fuzzy-headed. She wasn’t ready to tell him that it was too late, she’d probably fallen a little in love with him. How silly of her to think that. Love wasn’t something you could do a little of. Love was like being pregnant—you either were or you weren’t. Was she in love?

  Hell, she’d really messed up with this fling thing. Next time, if there ever was a next time, she’d sit on the sidelines and leave it to the experts. Like Phil. He knew how to keep a sexy and satisfying relationship in its place. Just do it. Have a good time. Don’t make any promises. Maybe it was a surfer’s creed: ride the wave for all it’s worth then move on to the next.

  Apparently, Stephanie didn’t have the no-strings gene.

  Phil put his hand on the back of her head and pulled her toward him. His kiss was tender and meltingly warm. He kissed her as if he loved her, but that was her interpretation, her head was mixing everything up again. She’d blame it on being hormonal and still waiting for her period.

  What he offered and what she felt were two different things. She needed to remember that. He only wanted her for two more weeks.

  His lips kept nudging her, asking her to give back, to kiss him as if she meant it. She couldn’t resist another second. Whatever words he’d just avoided saying, he communicated beautifully with his lips. I. Want. You. With. Me.

  Did she need to know anything more than that?

  As predicted on the previous night’s news, the storm front moving down from Alaska had worked its way along the coast, first bringing gray skies, clouds, and cold temperatures on Thursday night, and by Friday morning, a week before Christmas Eve, full-out rain.

  As the morning wore on, Stephanie became aware of something worse than stormy weather—nausea. Realizing exactly where she stood with Phil—nowhere!—had affected her more than she’d thought.

  She sat with a new patient in her office. As she calculated the pregnant woman’s expected due date, it hit her. Her hand trembled to the point of being unable to write.

  She cleared her throat and verbally gave the due date, then used her best acting skills to hide the anguish brewing in her heart. “Congratulations. You’ll have a late-summer baby. August, to be precise.”

  The young woman clapped her hands and beamed with joy. The complete opposite of how Stephanie felt. A late-summer baby?

  The instant she’d ushered the ecstatic woman from her office, she got out the lab kit and drew a vial of blood from her arm, labeled it with a bogus name, and hand carried it to the laboratory for a STAT test.

  After lunch, spent sitting in the darkness of her office, Stephanie frantically flipped through her reports, looking for the single most important lab of her life. She knew it was preposterous. She’d had her tubes tied! What were the odds? They certainly weren’t in her favor—she’d looked it up—three different times. But defying the odds, she’d missed her period and showed early signs of pregnancy with fatigue, tender breasts, and mild nausea. It simply couldn’t be!

  With dread and a trembling hand, she continued to skim through the reports, and after a few more, there it was—her pregnancy blood test—and it was positive.

  Her stomach protested as if she’d taken a five-hundred-foot free fall. Her pulse surged. She couldn’t breathe. Her body switched to fight-or-flight mode.

  She surged from the chair and strode toward the door on unsteady legs, her footsteps soon turning to a jog. She reached the clinic entry in a full sprint and just as she saw Phil on the periphery of her vision, she sprang outside and down the street, through the icy, pouring rain.

  With all systems on automatic panic, she ran without a destination, unaware of the weather. She ran from her breaking point, she ran in a futile attempt to keep her sanity, her only goal to prolong the inevitable, to avoid the truth—she was pregnant.

  “Stephanie, come back here!”

  What in hell was she doing running down the street? Didn’t she know it was practically hailing?

  Phil raced down the sidewalk, slipped in a puddle, and nearly crashed into a bush. He recovered his balance, knocked a rolling trashcan out of his way then hurdled another, all while keeping Stephanie in his sight.

  Not waiting for the streetlight, she crossed Cabrillo Boulevard, recklessly dodging a car, and headed for Stearns Wharf.

  He didn’t have a clue what had made her snap and take off for the pier in a storm like this, but he sure as hell planned to catch up and find out, if she didn’t get herself killed first!

  She’d reached the beach, and headed for the pier. It may not have been such a great move, clearly not well thought out, but he had no choice. If he wanted to catch her, he’d have to tackle her, and finally he got close enough. He lunged and brought her down with a mild thud onto the wet sand.

  She rolled onto her back, squealing. “What are you doing? Are you crazy?”

  “I’m not the one sprinting between cars in the rain, darlin’,” he panted. “Now, are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

  “Let go of me.” She squirmed to break free.

  “Not gonna happen. Calm down and talk to me.” He pinned her arms above her head.

  She sighed like an outsmarted teenager, wagging her head back and forth. Her tears blended with the rain. “I’m pregnant.”

  A rocket left his chest, headed straight toward his head, and exploded. The shock waves zapped every ounce of strength left his hands. “What? You’re what?”

  “I’m pregnant!”

  “But your tubes are tied!”

  She glanced up at him. “See? There’s a reason I was running.”

  He sat back on his knees, raking his hands through his soaked hair. His vision blurred from the combination of rain and disbelief.

  “I’m kicking myself for tackling you.” He hopped up, pulling her up with him, before he spit out some sand. He couldn’t leave her floundering on the beach. “Come here.” He drew her into his rain-drenched arms,

  into a gritty, sand-wrapped hug. “What do we do now?” He felt her trembling and wondered, coupled with his jarring reaction, how much he was contributing to it.

  “I can’t have this baby.” She wouldn’t look him in the eyes. She kept shaking her head.

  “I know you don’t do kids, but maybe this is a good thing. Maybe you can get beyond that hang-up now.”

  “No!”

  “Okay. Maybe just give yourself time to think this over.”

  “You don’t understand.” She sounded tormented.

  Maybe he’d been too wrapped up in his own reaction. Sure, he was shocked, but the craziest thing followed—he wasn’t upset about it. She obviously had an issue about the pregnancy, hence the jogging on the beach in the pouring rain. This was all new territory for him, too. He needed to handle her delicately, find out what she was thinking—because he cared. He gave a big fat damn about her and her feelings, and, most importantly, about the baby they’d made. “Try me. Tell me why you can’t have this kid.”

  She tried to pull away, but his strength had returned and he didn’t let her.

  “Let me go!”

  “No!” He clenched his teeth and fought to keep her near. “Tell me why you don’t want the baby.”

  “I killed my baby.” She spit out the words as if they were poison.

  “What?” His pulse paused; a distant rumble of thunder helped jump-start it. “I don’t believe that.”

  “I killed him. I let him fall.” Her h
ead drooped so low, he could barely hear her.

  Lightning snapped and forked into branches over the ocean. Her confession deserved wisdom that he didn’t have, but he wanted more that anything to do right by her. He’d never experienced anything close to this newfound desire in his life.

  “Let’s sit down. Get out of this rain.” He led her to the covered bus stop a few feet away by the porpoise fountain. “Tell me what happened. I want to know everything.” He took her by the shoulders and forced her to look at him. “You’ve got to tell me.”

  “You’ll hate me when you find out.”

  “No. I won’t.” And he meant it. By God, he meant it.

  She paced within the small confines of the bus stop as if she was a panicked animal, gulping her tears, gasping her words.

  “Justin was a super-colicky baby. He never grew out of it. He was four months old and this time he’d cried three nights in a row. You have no idea how terrible it feels not to be able to console your child.” She shuddered, and he fought the urge to wrap her in his arms for fear she’d quit talking.

  “No matter what I did, he wouldn’t calm down. I paced and sang. I rubbed his back. I gently bounced him. I walked and walked…all night long.”

  She hiccuped for air, hugged herself, hysteria emanating from her eyes. He wanted to console her, but couldn’t fathom how. No wonder she’d freaked out with Robbie that first night.

  “My arms ached. My back throbbed. I was exhausted. No matter how long I walked, no matter how I held him, sang to him, kissed him, he kept crying. Then finally the crying stopped. Justin had calmed down and gone to sleep in my arms. I didn’t know what to do. If I moved he might start up again.”

  She spoke as if reliving the moment—locked in another time and place. Phil knew she couldn’t have killed her baby. He knew there was a logical explanation, one she couldn’t accept.

  “If I put him in his crib I knew for certain he’d wake up. I eased onto the couch and he kept sleeping on my chest. So peaceful. So beautiful. For the first time in hours I found comfort. Comfort in the feel of my precious baby in my arms, and comfort for my aching back, my burning, sleepy eyes. I laid my head against the cushions and my son’s gentle breathing lulled me to sleep.”

  A feral flash in her eyes alerted him that the hysteria was back. “I fell asleep!” she said, pain contorting her face. She continued her story as if he wasn’t there. “I fell asleep,” she sobbed. “And the next thing I knew…Oh, God, my baby!”

  She dissolved into tears, crumpled to the bench. Phil rushed to lift her, to hold her up, to embrace her. After she settled down a bit he cupped her shoulders and stared into her eyes. “Tell me, sweetheart. Tell me everything.”

  She hiccuped another sob. “Justin fell off my chest, he fell off the couch, and…” She cried so hard she heaved, fluids pouring from every orifice on her face. She wiped her eyes with her palms, even as she cried more. “He hit his head on the table…”

  Phil had never heard a woman cry like this in his life. He’d never seen such primal torture. He’d never imagined the depth of pain ripping at her.

  “It damaged his brain.” Then, as if finally giving in to the nightmare, her shoulders slumped in total defeat. “He died the next day.”

  Phil held her so tight he worried she might not be able to breathe, but she held him back, all trembles and shivers. “I never got to say goodbye, Phil,” she whimpered, collapsing against his chest.

  “Baby. Oh, honey. No. No, it wasn’t your fault. Who let you believe it was your fault?” He pulled back to look at her. She avoided his eyes. “You weren’t a single mother. Your man should have helped. You shouldn’t have had to do it all yourself. Don’t you see, he should have been there for you.” Feeling anger at the bastard who’d let her down, Phil kissed her cheek.

  They held each other tight for several minutes. What the hell should he do now? A maelstrom of emotions, fears, and doubts knocked him off balance. He could only imagine how Stephanie felt. She thought she’d killed her baby, didn’t deserve to ever be a mother again, had had her tubes tied to make sure she never would be, and still wound up pregnant.

  And he was the father.

  He didn’t know what else to do, so he put his sopping wet jacket over their heads, and escorted Stephanie back to the clinic. When they got close, he flipped open his cell phone and called Jason as he steered Stephanie away from the clinic and toward his car.

  “Jase, I’m taking Stephanie home. She’s not feeling well.”

  Phil undressed Stephanie. She’d slipped into a stupor, trembling from the cold. He was in near shock, too, but one of them needed to function. He turned on the shower and waited for it to heat up then thrust her inside. She gasped, but didn’t fight him.

  He ripped off his wet and gritty clothes and climbed in with her, easing her head under the water, making sure her body warmed up.

  “Come on, honey, turn around. Let the water hit your back.” The steamy shower felt good. He dipped his head under the stream and shook it.

  What in the hell were they supposed to do now?

  Sherwood and Daisy came sniffing around the bathroom, obviously aware that something wasn’t right.

  With Stephanie still out of it, Phil tried to gather his thoughts. He’d never been in this position before. He watched her through the water. She stared blankly at the tile. His heart ached for her. He could only imagine the torture she’d lived through, the guilt, the self-hatred, and now her hibernating nightmare had been reawakened.

  He washed her hair and lathered his own. The excess sand and mud gathered around the drain.

  “Are you warmer now?”

  She didn’t respond.

  “Let’s get you dried off then I’ll put you to bed.”

  Her worst fear may have materialized, except there was one thing different this time around.

  He was the father.

  Chapter Ten

  PHIL bundled a second blanket over Stephanie, but she still trembled. He made a snap decision to share his body warmth, and climbed under the covers then spooned up against her. She snuggled into his hold. Heavy rain sounded like Ping-Pong balls on the roof, and crackles of thunder in the distance made the cuddling even more intimate.

  After the shower, he’d blow-dried and brushed her hair, and now it splayed across the pillow, tickling his face. It seemed odd to smell his standard guy shampoo in her hair instead of the usual flowers-and-dew-scent shampoo she used. Up on one elbow, he pushed the waves away from her shoulder and dropped a kiss on her neck.

  “We’ll get through this, Steph,” he whispered.

  They’d leaped a thousand steps ahead in their relationship with today’s news. What should they do? He’d just finished a crash course on parenting with Robbie and had barely made the grade, but this was different. They’d made a baby. Together. Was he ready for this?

  And what about Stephanie? The last thing in the world she wanted was a child. He’d never been in this position before. One thing was certain; he didn’t want to run away from the challenge. A part of him was excited about being a father.

  A swell of tender feelings made Phil pull her closer. He pressed another kiss to that special spot on her shoulder.

  Stephanie needed oblivion. She needed to find one tiny corner of her mind and hide there. She didn’t want to think. Couldn’t bear the truth.

  A vague memory of Phil bathing and drying her then brushing her hair filled her heart with gratitude. Even in her haze, she could sense the delicate way he’d treated her. Now his warm hands surrounded her and pulled her close. His breath caressed her neck. He kissed her…there. Chills fanned across her breasts and she suddenly knew how to keep from thinking about anything but Phil.

  She turned into his arms and eager mouth. His kiss was different. The passion was still there, but this one felt warmer than all the others had. Phil handled her gently, lovingly, taking their kisses slowly, yet building each on the next until she longed for more of him. She needed his ha
nds touching her everywhere, and guided one to her breast. He didn’t require schooling on the rest. She cupped his head at her chest as he kissed and taunted her. Desire burrowed through her, down to her belly.

  As his arms explored and caressed every part of her, her legs entwined with his locking him tight. With his passion obvious, she moved against him, placing him at her entrance. His hand moved between them, touching and teasing her, making her squirm for more. She needed to forget everything, and Phil’s deep kisses and sex would soothe all the aching in her soul.

  His tongue delved into her mouth as he simultaneously entered her with a slow, determined thrust. She gasped as she stretched and gloved him. He kissed her harder and quickened his rhythm, the building heat pulsing through her center. Her inner muscles throbbed as he edged farther inside. His breathing went rough and ragged and he cupped and tilted her hips for deeper access. She gulped for air and ground against his powerful penetration, her muscles and nerves winding tighter and tighter with every lunge.

  He held her at the peak of pleasure with the steady pace, and she thrived on every sensation swirling through her body. She never wanted the exquisite feeling to end and, languishing there with her, it seemed his only desire was to please her. Feeding on the suspended moments of bliss, her hunger grew. He’d made her frantic and dependent on him to take her all the way. As if reading her thoughts, he doubled his rhythm, pushing and nudging her to the brink, holding her there until she begged for release and he erupted.

  Tears streamed down her cheeks as she quivered and gave in to the pulsations pounding through her body, floating her outside of time and mind and, like a heavy sedative, numbing her to harsh reality.

  Phil had taken her there—to oblivion.

  Stephanie cracked open an eye. The room was still dark. She’d been sleeping, one glance at the bedside clock told her, for hours. Phil breathed peacefully beside her, his warmth like a snug cocoon. Sherwood had curled into a ball at the foot of the bed, and Daisy sprawled out on a nearby rug.