McCloud's Woman

by Patricia Rice

  She squirmed even more at the sight of the doctor. He was old enough to be her father and to lecture her on the perils of immorality. He didn’t hide behind a TV-doctor persona of silver, blow-dried hair and geniality either. He looked at her from over old-fashioned bifocals, ordered her to undress, and ambled off to do whatever mysterious things doctors did.

  Men ought to be put through this humiliating routine on a regular basis—it would deflate their egos to manageable level, Mara thought grumpily, trying to keep the drafty hospital gown modest while the nurse put her through the usual series of tests. If she ever decided TJ wasn’t worth the effort, she’d never put herself through this again. She could swear off men with a snap of the fingers.

  She couldn’t swear off TJ. She looked for him around every corner, stopped by the dig every day, but he managed to stay out of sight. Smart man. She might fling herself at him again and embarrass them both in public.

  At some point she would have to quit pampering his screwed-up over-protective urges and call a showdown—but not until she had better control of this contraception thing. She’d learned her limits where TJ was concerned. She couldn’t risk having a child.

  She wondered if that would bother TJ, but it wasn’t as if they were talking marriage. At best, they could only manage a long-distance relationship. She could do that. She wasn’t much good at the regular kind, anyway.

  The thought of any kind of relationship with TJ lifted her spirits. It was far better than anything she’d dared hope a month ago. They could meet in romantic hideaways. He could fly to her locations between contracts. She could do the same. They’d once talked of seeing the world together; now they could.

  The doctor entered, jotting notes in his chart and looking over his spectacles at her. Perfunctorily, he ordered her to assume the position. Retreating to the world she was creating in her mind, Mara submitted to the examination buoyed by new hope.

  “You may get dressed now, Miss Simonetti. I’ll see you in my office when you’re ready.”

  Definitely old-fashioned, Mara concluded. Doctors never took time to talk to patients these days. Not that she wanted to talk. She wanted a prescription and out of here. And then she would hunt down TJ in his lair.

  Dressed and feeling more confident, even though she’d donned her nondescript librarian’s guise today, she sauntered into the doctor’s room, glancing at her watch. Not yet lunchtime. She could find TJ, wring his neck and other parts south, and still have time to get back to the set before the afternoon scenes. She could make this work.

  “What was the date of your last menstrual period, Miss Simonetti?”

  Annoyed at being asked to repeat what was right there on his chart, Mara returned to the moment. “Approximately the second week of July. I’ve never been regular when I’m off the pill.” It was only the end of August.

  The doctor made another note. “What means of protection have you been using during intercourse?”

  “Condoms.” She tapped her toe and glanced at her watch again.

  “They’re not always reliable, Miss Simonetti,” the physician lectured.

  “Tell me about it. That’s why I’m here.”

  “Your records show you aren’t married, Miss Simonetti. Engaged?”

  She wasn’t always this slow. The pointed question filtered into her brain, setting off alarms. “I’m a grown woman.” She tried hard not to sound like a frightened teenager. “If there’s something wrong, just tell me.”

  “Nothing abnormal, I assure you, just the usual consequences of unprotected intercourse. Urine tests aren’t always accurate, but judging from all factors, I’d say you are roughly four weeks pregnant. It’s a little late to prescribe birth control.”

  The doctor’s drone as he recommended vitamins faded while Mara grasped the chair arms unbelievingly.

  Four weeks pregnant reverberated in the hollow left by her fleeing brain. Too late for birth control.

  Instant replay—TJ prowling her room, a seductive red shawl, overpowered, conquered, submitting—

  No protection. Tiny little swimmers, full speed ahead. Pow. Egg walls breached by TJ’s damned potent sperm. Pregnant.

  A helpless little baby growing inside her, all cute little fingers and toes that would wave in the sunshine as she cooed and gurgled. A precious baby that would look to her for love...

  Oh, damn. Oh, shit. Oh, no.

  Blankly, Mara took the piece of paper the doctor handed her, nodded when the talking paused, wrote a check when presented an invoice, but dismay filled every synapse, preventing coherent thought.

  Four weeks pregnant. Too late for birth control.

  This couldn’t be happening. Not now. Not after all these years.

  ***

  “The family will recover, TJ,” Clay assured him, grabbing the beer the bartender shoved in his direction. “Mom brags about you all the time. It’s not as if your name is in the headlines or anything.”

  “It doesn’t need to be. The funding for the beach project got pulled today,” TJ replied gloomily. “Good timing. Whoever wants me out of here had my office lease canceled as of September first. I have to pack it up tomorrow.”

  He didn’t know where he’d go after he did. For fifteen years he’d been on the run. Slamming into a wall now had knocked him out.

  “They can’t do that, can they?” Outraged, Clay smacked his bottle down. “A grant is a grant. They can’t pull it midstream.”

  “I’m paid in increments. It wasn’t much anyway.” TJ shrugged it off. He wouldn’t starve anytime soon.

  He had no excuse to stay and see Mara again.

  “What did you mean about someone wanting you to leave?” Clay’s always suspicious mind caught another thread.

  “They seem to have given up lately. They trashed my office, the dig site, sent nasty little notes. I just figured they were behind the lease cancellation as well. Some local yokel thinks I stand in the way of progress.”

  TJ sipped his beer, aware of the low murmur of conversation in several corners of the bar. It was too early for Ed and his cronies to take their places. Or maybe all the strangers had driven them to more comfortable environs. There was a new reporter here every night. TJ thought they ought to form a network and save themselves a lot of trouble.

  “Have you heard from Martin?”

  “The colonel wouldn’t have anything to do with petty vandalism,” TJ corrected Clay’s path of thought. “If he’s after my head, he’ll arrive brandishing a sword.”

  “Some friend. You sure know how to pick ’em.”

  TJ didn’t bother to interpret that remark.

  “McCloud,” a worried voice intruded.

  Both TJ and Clay glanced over their shoulders.

  The pretentious little producer from Mara’s crew nervously tapped the cell phone in his hand as he looked from one unmistakable McCloud face to the other. “Dr. McCloud, sorry. Could I speak with you a moment?”

  TJ debated telling him where to go, but his curiosity had always been his downfall. Shoving away from the bar, he followed Ian to an unoccupied corner. “What is it? I’ll be closing the site shortly. You ought to be thrilled.”

  “It’s Mara,” Ian blurted with uncharacteristic emotion. “I think she’s having a breakdown. She’s always been clearheaded and on top of things when Sid lost it, but this time... If neither Sid nor Mara are in charge of the production—”

  Ian choked as TJ grabbed his collar and dragged him toward the door.

  “Who did what to her?” TJ demanded, physically heaving the smaller man into the street and following him out.

  “No one. Nothing that I know of.” Frantically following TJ’s giant strides, Ian attempted to straighten his crumpled collar. “She went out this morning, came back at noon and locked herself in, and she won’t come out. She hasn’t eaten, doesn’t answer the phone, and every so often, something crashes against the wall. Katy is concerned about the antiques in there.”

  “To hell with the damned antiques,
” TJ shouted, increasing his pace to a run. “What has Sid done this time?” His stride outstripped Ian’s, and he didn’t hear the reply.

  Racing past the overgrown gardenia and down the drive to the B&B, TJ tried convincing himself that he didn’t know Mara as well as he thought. Just because the teenager he’d once known was temperamentally unsuited to hysterical fits didn’t mean the woman she was now wasn’t capable of them.

  The woman he knew now was capable of fits all right, but only for a reason. What reason? Panic socked him in the stomach, and his feet pounded the wooden porch at warp speed. The old-fashioned wooden screen door slammed against the wall where he threw it.

  Katy, the anxious proprietor, stepped out of his way as TJ took the stairs two at a time. He didn’t hear anything overhead, but in his present state of mind, even silence was ominous.

  He rattled the knob without knocking. Finding it locked, TJ cursed and pounded the door panel. “Mara! I’ve got news. Open up.” Her curiosity had always been stronger than his.

  Something breakable shattered against the other side of the door. So much for curiosity.

  “Throw things at me instead of the door,” he shouted, frantically seeking some way of reaching her. There’d been a time when he’d ignored Brad’s tantrums. He had to believe Mara was stronger than Brad. “Don’t be such a wimp,” he shouted, praying anger would drive her to throttle him.

  A heavy object collided with the other side of the panel, followed by something that sounded like a book. Experience had taught TJ how to control panic and seek solutions, but not when it came to Mara. Terror tore through him at the sound of breaking glass.

  “She’s slid the bolt,” Katy whispered from behind him. “The door is solid oak.”

  “Windows?” TJ demanded. Mara couldn’t be doing anything too deadly if she still had the strength to heave things.

  “It’s second story. We’d need a ladder. The glass is old and the panes are small,” Katy warned.

  “Bring me a toolbox.” TJ eyed the old-fashioned backward door hinges, judging the level of difficulty. “And some WD-40.”

  While she ran to follow his orders, TJ pounded the door again. “I’m not leaving until I talk to you. You’ve got to come out sometime.”

  Silence.

  That was worse than breaking glass. Frantically, TJ grabbed the hinge pin and tried to work it loose with his fingers. As he feared, it was thoroughly hammered in.

  “I’ve got Godivas,” he called, his mind racing while suppressing his alarm. “Let’s find some espresso and talk about it.”

  Silence again. Then the lock clicked, and nearly collapsing in relief, TJ closed his eyes in a prayer of thanksgiving. The instant the door cracked open, he shouldered through the crack, slammed the solid oak panel closed behind him, and leaned against it to prevent escape. He stood in a war zone of broken glass and hurled objects.

  “You lied.” Glancing at his empty hands, Mara spun around and stalked to the window, presenting him with her back.

  He’d seen enough with his first glance. She looked terrible. She looked wonderful. He wanted to scoop her up and carry her away and forget everything that had gone before this.

  He knew better than to presume too much.

  In these past few weeks, she’d turned everything he’d believed about himself inside out. His momentary panic over losing her permanently had drained him, and he needed time to recover. Letting the door hold him up, TJ watched her pace.

  Multi-colored tangles of bleached hair tumbled to her shoulders. She wore a white cotton bathrobe that revealed nothing of her figure but her height and slenderness. She wore no makeup, but TJ could tell she’d been crying. She finally stopped pacing halted and stood huddled in front of the window seat, and he ached to reach for her, but after this past week, he really didn’t have that right.

  “I’ll break in the drugstore and steal the Godivas,” he offered helplessly. “We can go back to Jared’s for the espresso.”

  “I’m pregnant.”

  Shock hit TJ’s blood stream like an injection, spreading slowly but insidiously, until all his vital signs went bonkers and hammers pounded his brain.

  “Pregnant?” he repeated cautiously, still using the door for support. It had only been a week—

  His gaze fell on the red shawl wadded up on the bed, and the vivid image of that maddening evening—how long ago? A month?—filled his mind. They’d gone at each other like hungry animals. Half-sloshed, angry, and overheated, he’d responded to her taunts with his prick instead of his mind.

  She was carrying his child. His head felt as if was exploding in fifteen directions at once, but concern emerged first. “You’ve seen a doctor?”

  “Don’t worry. I’m not keeping it.” She continued staring over the harbor, the robe wrapped tightly around her.

  If the door hadn’t been holding him up, he’d crumple to his knees. He’d never thought about babies, but his gut reaction was fascination at the idea of fatherhood and horror at the idea of losing a child.

  Trying to think rationally, TJ sought some reply. “We can get married.” Propriety. Always fall back on prescribed behavior when all else failed. He began to feel a little better. “I would have asked you sooner—”

  “I’m not having a baby. Save your proposals. I don’t need you or any other man, now or ever.”

  She straightened her spine, clenched her fists at her side, and spoke with coldness, but TJ caught the tiny hitch in her voice. A little girl called Patsy still hid somewhere behind that sophisticated woman. Patsy couldn’t swat a fly. She’d never harm a baby.

  Gathering all the shattered bits of his courage, TJ crossed the room to stand behind her. He didn’t trust himself to touch her yet. “We have time to think about this. Don’t do anything rash. Come home with me, and we can talk.”

  He had a purpose again. He didn’t dare explore his feelings just yet, not while Mara was in this state. He just knew he needed to be with her. And she needed to be with him.

  The starch seemed to drain out of her all at once. Her shoulders slumped, and she shook her head helplessly. “No, I don’t want you to talk me out of this. If you’re a real friend, you’ll find a place that takes care of this kind of thing.”

  Her broken whisper tore TJ’s heart into shreds. More terrified than he’d ever been in his life, he hesitated, afraid he’d drive her to something irrational if he came any closer.

  But he couldn’t not touch her. Gently, TJ wrapped his arms around her waist. “Do you hate me that much? I’m sorry I didn’t protect you. I was unforgivably reckless and had no excuse. But you can’t take it out—”

  She shook her head violently. “Stop it, TJ! You’re only making things worse. Find a clinic. Don’t ever come near me again, and this will all go away with time.”

  Maybe he was kidding himself, but he didn’t think she meant that. There was more here than met the eye.

  TJ refused to release her, and gradually, she began to weep. He turned her in his arms, pressed her tears against his chest, and dug his fingers into her springy curls. “Explain in words that make me understand,” he murmured as her sobs escalated and his own eyes burned. He never in his life wanted to hurt Patsy, but he seemed to do it repeatedly.

  “I can’t have a baby,” she sobbed into his shoulder. “I just can’t. I’ll go crazy, just like my mother.”

  “Your mother isn’t crazy. A little neurotic, but not crazy.” He hadn’t seen her mother in seventeen years. What did he know? But he’d say anything to calm her right now.

  “She’s mentally ill,” Mara responded vehemently. “Certifiably. It runs in the family. It’s a chemical imbalance.” She slammed her fist into his shoulder, trying to get free, but TJ only hung on tighter. “Damn you, Tim! Let me go.”

  “No, not until I hear the whole story. Chemical imbalances can be treated. Give me more.”

  Mara shook her head and collapsed against Tim’s muscled shoulder. He rubbed his hand up and down her spine,
and his strength calmed her, but physical strength wouldn’t solve her problems this time. Nor would his cleverness, his sense of justice, or his family connections.

  “I don’t know the technical terms. Her wiring is out of whack—the imbalance makes it worse. Some days, medication is enough. Others, it isn’t. She can be gentle as a lamb, or tear a room into shreds in a matter of minutes. She tried to kill me once. She didn’t remember it the next day. It’s hereditary, TJ. My mind can snap just like that. It did. I completely lost it after Irving hit me. I lived in the park for weeks with all the other homeless people. I refuse to pass this horrible degenerative thing on to another generation. I can’t have this baby!”

  His silence didn’t tell her everything she wanted to hear, but it said enough. Carefully, feeling as if she held the shattered bits of herself together with frayed twine, Mara pried free of his hold and retreated across the room.

  Her father had deserted her when she needed him most, even knowing her mother was ill. Irving had left her after the homeless incident. Brad—no point in rehashing old news. The men in her life didn’t hang around. She had depended on them, but they’d never needed her. She wouldn’t repeat past failures.

  “It’s okay, Tim. I can take care of myself.” She could barely stand to watch the devastation written across his face, but it strengthened her resolve. “I just can’t take care of anyone else. Aunt Miriam takes care of Mom. I send her money. That’s the most I can manage.”

  He looked so sad, she wanted to weep for him, but she’d already shed all the tears she had for herself. Gripping her elbows, her arms wrapped around herself, she waited. If she had to find an abortion clinic on her own, she would. She just prayed TJ was the friend she needed.

  “We need time,” he said slowly, obviously hunting for words. “I’ve got to know more.” He studied her through grief-stricken dark eyes. “Please, give me time. I know it’s your decision, and I won’t stand in your way—but just wait and let me find some way of understanding.”

  His gaze never left her face, and Mara drew reassurance from that. She couldn’t see what there was to understand, but relief flooded through her at his acceptance. She didn’t want to do this alone.