Judith Bowen

by The Man from Blue River

  “She call a doctor? An ambulance?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Where’s Daisy?”

  “Daisy’s home. She said she was going to see the new baby before I did, and it ain’t fair, Fraser! Birdie made me come get you ‘cause I’m oldest.” Anne scowled. “It just ain’t fair.”

  “Nobody’s going to see the baby before you,” Fraser said flatly. “Babies don’t get born that fast.” He hoped to God he was right. “She’s going to have that baby in Pine Ridge,” he said through gritted teeth. “I’m going to get her to the hospital if I have to drive a hundred miles an hour.”

  Anne started to wail. “You mean we ain’t going to get to see the baby right away? Me or Daisy?”

  “That’s right.” Fraser was trying hard not to think about Charlotte. But he couldn’t help it. All he could see was Martha, her face superimposed on Charlotte’s, weak, pleading, desperate. And the baby…

  In a way, he was glad he had Anne in the truck with him. There was no telling what he’d’ve done if he’d been on his own. This way, at least he had to appear strong, for Anne’s sake.

  He rounded the last corner before the ranch house. He saw the Bronco sitting there. And Birdie’s car. And an unfamiliar one, a red station wagon with North Dakota plates. Fraser slammed on the brakes and leapt from the truck.

  “Hey, what about me?”

  “Hurry up,” he yelled back, not even looking at the girl.

  He had to see Martha. He had to hold her, had to tell her what was in his mind before it was too late. What was in his heart.

  He burst through the screen door. “Where is she?”

  “Hold on.” Birdie grabbed his sleeve. “You’re going to scare her if you go in there looking like some kind of crazy man.”

  “Where is she, Birdie?” He couldn’t ask the question he wanted to ask. “Where is she?”

  “She’s in the bedroom—”

  He trid to bolt for the room, but Birdie had him firmly by the sleeve.

  “Sit down. I’ve made some tea for the doctor. You better have a cup before you go in.”

  Fraser sank into the chair Birdie led him to, then her words registered. “Doctor?”

  “You know the people who bought the old Strummond place? Well, she’s a doctor. Lucky she was home when I called, and she came right over.”

  “Birdie…” Fraser’s voice was strangled. He half rose from his chair. He felt like he was going crazy. Martha. He had to see Martha.

  “Where’s the new baby?” Anne came in, trailed by Spook.

  “There’s no baby yet,” Birdie said. “Here, you take this cookie tin, young lady, and you go be with your sister. She’s in the living room. Git!” Birdie shooed the child from the kitchen and came back to put a steaming cup of tea on the table. She stirred in a heaping spoonful of sugar.

  Fraser pushed it away. “I can’t drink this.” He put both his hands in front of his face. He felt his breath coming too quickly, his heart beating too fast. His body was drenched with sweat, and it wasn’t from the work he’d been doing before Anne arrived.

  You’re scared, McKenna. You’ve never been so goddamn scared in your life.

  “The ambulance is on the way, Fraser. Everything’s under control.”

  He looked at her. Ambulance? “Dammit, Birdie, is she all right?” He could barely get the words out.

  “Just a precaution. The two of them might need to be checked over at the hospital later. Depends what the doctor says.”

  Birdie patted his hand, and he saw her blink rapidly. “Martha’s going to be fine, Fraser. She’s strong and she’s healthy and she’s got a doctor with her. And I’m an old nurse, don’t forget!” She paused, then added, “It isn’t going to be like last time, Fraser.”

  “I love her, Birdie,” he burst out. “I love her!”

  “I know you do,” she said softly.

  Fraser stood suddenly, almost upsetting his chair. “I’d better go and see her.” He ran his hands through his hair. “What do you think, Birdie? Should I?”

  His neighbor smiled at him, her bright eyes blinking rapidly again. “Of course you should, Fraser. It’s your baby, too.”

  His baby, too. Dear God, he’d done this to her. He was the one responsible for putting her through this. He didn’t give a damn about the baby. He wanted Martha to be all right. He took a deep breath and put his hand on the door that led to the hall. At that exact moment, he heard an angry piercing cry and Birdie made an odd little sound behind him.

  He whirled to face her. “What in hell’s that noise?”

  She was beaming. “That’s your baby, you idiot. That’s your new son or daughter.”

  WHEN HE WALKED into the bedroom, all he could see was Martha. Pale cheeks streaked with tears. Smiling. Wordlessly she held out her arms when she saw him, and he went to her. He held her for an eternity, whispering things he couldn’t even remember, kissing the top of her head, kissing her face, letting her weep into his shoulder. Why was she crying?

  “Shh. It’s all right sweetheart. Don’t cry. It’s all over now. You’re fine.”

  “The baby?” she whispered.

  “The baby’s fine.” The baby? Dear God! He looked around him wildly. He had a baby, he and Martha—

  “Your son.” Beaming, Birdie handed him a tiny bundle wrapped up in something that resembled a tablecloth. He took it, caught a glimpse of dark fathomless eyes, black hair pasted to a tiny skull smudged with traces of blood and what looked like too much suntan lotion, and passed the bundle to Martha.

  Martha took the baby in her arms and smiled. Even with her face streaked with perspiration and her hair a mess, she’d never looked more beautiful to him. She bared her breast, and his son began to nurse lustily. His son.

  “My God, Martha,” he said, his voice full. He felt like he’d just gone twelve rounds with George Foreman in his prime. “That’s ours, yours and mine?”

  She laughed through her tears. “Isn’t he beautiful? I want to call him William. After your father. William Fraser McKenna.”

  “William Fraser,” he repeated foolishly, liking the sound of it. “That’s fine.” Then he stretched out one finger to the tiny baby in Martha’s arms, and his son grabbed hold. Tight. Tiny wrinkled fingers with sharp translucent nails. Hanging on for dear life. Fraser felt his eyes fill with what could only be tears. That’s the way to do it, son. Hang on tight.

  He cleared his throat. “I love you, Martha,” he said roughly. “Dammit, I love you.”

  “Oh, Fraser.” Martha reached up with both hands. Tears streamed down her face. Birdie snatched up the protesting baby, muttering about foolish women and aggravating men.

  “I don’t care if it’s part of the bargain or not—” he began, but she placed a finger over his mouth.

  “I love you, too, Fraser. I’ve been afraid to tell you. I’ve been hoping…Oh, Fraser…” Anything else she’d been about to say was lost as he pulled her into his arms with a hoarse cry.

  “Uh, excuse me,” the doctor said a moment later, laughing. “Could we break it up, you two? Just for a minute?”

  Fraser ignored her. He was kissing his wife. He had a lot of catching up to do.

  THEY’D DONE EVERYTHING backward—first they found a family, then they got married, then they fell in love. But by God, they’d finally got it right.

  Now they had a child of their own flesh and blood. He had a second son.

  Fraser walked through the house with his son in his arms, the girls trailing behind, squabbling over who got to hold him next. Willow, they’d christened him immediately when they heard his name. Blossom, Daisy and, now, Willow. Fraser and Martha had shared a secret smile over the heads of the excited girls. They were expecting the final adoption papers any day. Then their crazy mixed-up family would be truly complete.

  He was in a daze. He showed his new son every room of the old McKenna house, then stood for a few moments at the kitchen window, looking up at the mountains behind the ranch. Wher
e Charlotte lay, and the child she’d wanted so much. His first son. He took a deep breath that pushed back what was left of the pain, maybe forever.

  The ridge where he’d placed their ashes looked sunbaked and brilliant in the late-afternoon sunshine. He felt at peace for the first time in a very long time.

  “Here, hand me that baby,” Birdie said, taking William from him. He gave him up gladly. Now that he’d had a chance to meet his son, he wanted to be with his wife. By now the doctor would have finished with her.

  “Time I gave him his first bath, although I don’t know if Martha’s got anything to put on him,” Birdie muttered. Despite her usual no-nonsense manner, she hadn’t stopped smiling once. “You girls can help me. Anne, you find a nice big towel we can wrap him in.”

  “Yay!” Both girls ran off to look for a towel.

  Fraser paused at the narrow door that led to the attic above the kitchen, then opened it and climbed the dusty stairs. When he came back down, he set the box of baby clothes on the kitchen table. “Here,” he said gruffly, “Maybe you can find what you need in here.”

  Then he went to find his wife.

  EPILOGUE

  “GRILLED CHEESE on brown and a glass of milk,” Martha called to the man behind the counter. She smiled at Fraser across the scarred Formica tabletop and raised one eyebrow.

  “A burger for me and a side of fries. Coffee.” He leaned toward her and took her hands in his. “Martha, what are we doing in here?” he asked in a low voice. Martha had insisted they stop for lunch at this particular diner.

  Anne was reading a novel in the next booth, at nearly fourteen appalled by the thought of sitting with her parents. Daisy was devotedly following William around as he explored the diner on his chubby legs.

  They were on their way to Sheridan to take Anne to a summer music camp for two weeks. Then they were leaving Daisy and William with her mother and Harry, who’d rented a cabin for the summer near Cody. And after that, they were going for a holiday of their own. Just the two of them. Although what good was it going to be—Martha glanced down ruefully at her swollen waist—since Fraser was being as stubborn about making love with her during this pregnancy as he’d been the first time? Oh, well, she had two weeks to change his mind.

  “This is where it all started, Fraser,” she answered mysteriously, squeezing his hands.

  “What started?”

  “You and me. The girls.” She smiled again. “I had lunch here and saw your ad in the paper.”

  “No kidding.” He looked around in surprise.

  Martha glanced around, too. The same TV blared in the corner, only there was a baseball game on, instead of hockey. The same bored man waited tables and apparently did the cooking. And there was still no sign of “Mom.”

  And Fraser’s burger, when it came, was underdone—just the way he liked it, he said—and came with plenty of half-fried onions and ballpark mustard stuck to the bun.

  But this time her grilled cheese came on brown.

  “What’s that smile all about?” Fraser asked with a grin. If anything, he looked younger, handsomer, even more wonderful than he had three years ago when she’d married him. That was what happiness could do to a person. Her happiness and his.

  “Never mind,” she said with another smile. “I don’t think I could begin to explain it.”

  Weddings by De Wilde

  Since the turn of the century the elegant and fashionable De Wilde stores have helped brides around the world turn the fantasy of their “Special Day” into reality. But now the store and three generations of family are torn apart by the divorce of Grace and Jeffrey DeWilde. As family members face new challenges and loves— and a long-secret mystery—the lives of Grace and Jeffrey intermingle with store employees, friends and relatives in this fast-paced, glamorous, internationally set series. For weddings and romance, glamour and fun-filled entertainment, enter the world of De Wilde…

  Twelve remarkable books, coming to you once a month, beginning in April 1996.

  Weddings by DeWilde begins with Shattered Vows by Jasmine Cresswell.

  Here’s a preview!

  “SPEND THE NIGHT with me, Lianne.”

  No softening lies, no beguiling promises, just the curt offer of a night of sex. She closed her eyes, shutting out temptation. She had never expected to feel this sort of relentless drive for sexual fulfillment, so she had no mechanisms in place for coping with it. “No.” The one-word denial was all she could manage to articulate.

  His grip on her arms tightened as if he might refuse to accept her answer. Shockingly, she wished for a split second that he would ignore her rejection and simply bundle her into the car and drive her straight to his flat, refusing to take no for an answer. All the pleasures of mindless sex, with none of the responsibility. For a couple of seconds he neither moved nor spoke. Then he released her, turning abruptly to open the door on the passenger side of his Jaguar. “I’ll drive you home,” he said, his voice hard and flat. “Get in.”

  The traffic was heavy, and the rain started again as an annoying drizzle that distorted depth perception made driving difficult, but Lianne didn’t fool herself that the silence inside the car was caused by the driving conditions. The air around them crackled and sparked with their thwarted desire. Her body was still on fire. Why didn’t Gabe say something? she thought, feeling aggrieved.

  Perhaps because he was finding it as difficult as she was to think of something appropriate to say. He was thirty years old, long past the stage of needing to bed a woman just so he could record another sexual conquest in his little black book. He’d spent five months dating Julia, which suggested he was a man who valued friendship as an element in his relationships with women. Since he didn’t seem to like her very much, he was probably as embarrassed as she was by the stupid, inexplicable intensity of their physical response to each other.

  “Maybe we should just set aside a weekend to have wild, uninterrupted sex,” she said, thinking aloud. “Maybe that way we’d get whatever it is we feel for each other out of our systems and be able to move on with the rest of our lives.”

  His mouth quirked into a rueful smile. “Isn’t that supposed to be my line?”

  “Why? Because you’re the man? Are you sexist enough to believe that women don’t have sexual urges? I’m just as aware of what’s going on between us as you are, Gabe. Am I supposed to pretend I haven’t noticed that we practically ignite whenever we touch? And that we have nothing much in common except mutual lust— and a good friend we betrayed?”

  eISBN 978-14592-7787-8

  THE MAN FROM BLUE RIVER

  Copyright © 1996 by Judith Bowen.

  All rights reserved. Except for use In any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any Information storage or retrieval system, Is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.

  All characters in this book have no existence outside the Imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all Incidents are pure invention.

  This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

  ® and TM are trademarks of the publisher. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Trade Marks Office and in other countries.

  Printed in U.S.A.

 

 

 
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