Just a Little Misgiving (Shades of Deception, Book 3)

by Mallory Rush

  "How exciting! I wish they'd had such things when Larry and I were having our babies. We have five kids, which wasn't so out of the ordinary then. Nowadays, though, people seem to stop at one or two."

  Myles and Faith exchanged knowing glances. Carol was nothing if not consistent.

  "I don't think ours is destined to be an only child," Faith ventured, realizing they hadn't discussed the possibility of more. Their marriage was still new.

  "Once we hit an even dozen, we might decide we've got enough," Myles put in with a chuckle, winking broadly at Faith.

  Surely he wasn't serious. This pregnancy seemed to be lasting forever; how many times would she be willing to go through this, to relinquish herself for a new life? And how many demands would a child put on their relationship? How much time would she have for the career she'd worked so hard to build? As it was, she couldn't keep up.

  As Carol bid them good-bye and good luck. Faith stared after her, the questions tumbling like so many dice.

  "What's wrong, sweetheart?" Myles put his arms around her, but she pulled away slightly.

  "You don't really want a dozen children, do you?"

  "I used to think I did. And you know how much our own family means to me." He gazed down at her thoughtfully, a frown creasing his brow. "I have to admit that lately, though, I've started getting selfish about not wanting to share you. But I'm coming to terms with it... sort of. I keep telling myself that mature, grown men don't try hoarding their wives away from their own children."

  Faith bit her lower lip. "Mature, grown women do. At least this one does."

  "You too?"

  She gazed at him anxiously. "Does that mean we're horrible, Myles? That we won't be good parents?"

  "No. I think it means we're sharing some of the same anxieties over a lot of unknowns. I like to think it means we've got a strong enough marriage to confess what we wouldn't to anyone else and that we're bringing our child into a home full of trust and... love." He smiled ruefully and added, "I do feel a lot less guilty now. I'm thinking I'm only human instead of a selfish ogre."

  "You haven't had the corner on that market. I've been thinking... or maybe trying not to think lately about..." Faith eyed him levelly. "Myles, what about my career?"

  "What about it? Do you want to cut back some more? Or better yet, quit the accounts you've got left and come work for me. The benefits are terrific, pay's not bad, work the hours you want, and you can sleep your way to the top."

  "Stop joking, Myles. I'm serious about this."

  "So am I. If past experience is any indicator, we make a damn good team." He pulled her against him, ruthless in his attempts at persuasion. "I have a lot of respect for what you do. I'd never ask you to give up something I wouldn't be willing to give up myself... but I could be totally unscrupulous when it comes to keeping you as close to me as I can."

  "I'm a hard sell," she warned, even as she warmed to the idea. "You'd better throw your best pitch."

  "Okay. For starters I don't like you working late the way you do some nights when I can see you're ready to drop. I sit on my hands to keep from yanking you away from your drafting table."

  "I... suspected as much. One of freelancing's drawbacks. You don't like my deadlines, do you?"

  "The only time I resent your work is when it eats into our time together. That's why I think we'd both be happier if you closed shop here and put your time in at my office. Besides, it would give us a chance to work on projects away from home and baby. Sure, that part of our lives is the most important, but it's healthy to have more in common than just that and to keep from getting so caught up with our separate careers that we catch quickies and conversation on the fly while we try to raise a family."

  Faith thought of the nights she'd already spent working during their marriage and of the mornings she'd woken up to an empty bed. She thought of the women she knew who loved their husbands but didn't seem to know them anymore, the demands of family and job slowly driving them apart, making them near strangers.

  "Okay, you've got my attention. Let's hear the plan," she finally said.

  "You close your ears and eyes to the weeping and gnashing of teeth when you break the news to your clients. Wind up what you've got, take as much maternity leave as you want, and when you're ready to start working again, pick the days and hours you want."

  "But who'll take care of the baby?"

  "Simple. We'll hire a part-time nanny. If you're still nursing when you decide to come back to work, I'll have a nursery put in the office so that she and the baby can be handy. I've been planning to get one started for the other women at work anyway."

  "What if we disagree, as we're bound to?"

  "As long as you don't undermine my authority at work, you can disagree as much as you like. We respect each other professionally. If it gets too personal, we'll just have to work out our differences of opinion in private."

  "The other employees might resent me. You wouldn't exactly be unprejudiced."

  "Smart people don't bite the hand that feeds them. Besides, once they get a load of your work, they'll be thanking me for bringing you in."

  Faith considered him and his suggestions one by one. "Why do I get the feeling that this isn't off-the-cuff?"

  "Because it isn't off-the-cuff. I've been plotting this whole scheme since before we got married."

  "You're manipulating me. Pulling all the right strings."

  Myles slid his hand up her maternity top to fondle a breast.

  "I should hope so. But maybe a little more practice would help. Tell me which string makes you weaker. "

  Faith moaned her assent as he found her weakest string.

  "Enough," she finally pleaded. "I give up. We win."

  He sealed the victory with a heart-stopping kiss. The baby stamped its approval with yet another kick.

  "Oh, that was hard!" She jumped as a flurry of activity commenced. "And... oh no, the hiccups again."

  Myles grinned broadly as he stared down at her belly.

  "Looks like one hell of a party in there. Junior must have had too much to drink."

  They laughed, and it felt so good, so right. Myles pressed his hand over her belly; she pressed her own over his.

  "You know who I miss, Myles?"

  "I miss her too, Faith."

  "As strange as it sounds... at the wedding, of all the people I wished were there..."

  "Gloria," he whispered.

  "Yes. I missed her worse than ever then. And only you can understand how I felt."

  "She was there," he murmured, pressing his lips to her temple. "I felt her there."

  "I feel her now," Faith whispered.

  "So do I." Myles stroked his hand over her belly as it quieted. "And she's smiling."

  Chapter 12

  "Hey, gorgeous, are you almost ready to go? We don't want to be late for our last session."

  Faith didn't answer. She stared down morosely at her untied laces. Her back hurt. She could hardly breathe. And she was carrying so much baby she didn't seem to have room for food or drink. Though that wasn't true, judging from the number of her trips to the bathroom. The August heat didn't help her hot flashes either, even with the thermostat set near freezing.

  "I don't want to go," she muttered crossly. "I want to stay home and be miserable."

  She glanced up at Myles, who stood in the doorway, looking maddeningly calm and comfortable in the jeans hugging his well-built hips. That was another thing—she was so sick of maternity clothes, she could scream. She felt like a beached whale and thought she looked like one. She couldn't even get out of bed or a low-slung chair without a hand.

  "You go on," she said irritably. "I'll stay."

  "Are you crazy? You're due in two weeks. Every time my pager goes off, I have palpitations. Every time you groan or try to get out of bed, I'm ready to jump into my pants and fly out the door."

  "At least you can get into them," she accused. "Go away. I want to be alone."

  "What's wrong, Gar
bo?" He smiled tenderly and came to kneel beside her chair. "I won't leave you alone until you tell me."

  She was being unreasonable and she knew it, but dammit, how could he understand? How could anyone understand, unless that person had been eight and a half months pregnant?

  Suddenly so tired of it all—the pregnancy, the fatigue, the horrible discomfort—she gave in to the need to cry, to get something out of her system, even if it wasn't what was kicking her under the ribs.

  "I can't tie my shoes," she sobbed.

  Myles put his arms around her and drew her close, as close as her stomach allowed. It became hard, tensing up until it felt like a major-league bowling ball. The Braxton-Hicks contractions, preparing her body for the real event, had been on the rise lately, but this one was worse than most.

  "There... there now," he soothed, kissing away her tears and pushing back the tangle of her hair. "I'll tie them for you. See? They're done. Now, why don't I help you up and we'll go see our friends. They'll miss you, even if you are the prettiest one there, and you'll feel better if you see some other pregnant women. At least they're as miserable as you."

  "I wish you wouldn't be so nice. It makes me feel bad, and I feel bad enough as it is."

  "I know you do. I'd have the baby for you if I could."

  She sniffled and held tight to her husband. Knowing that he would do anything possible to ease her discomfort, even the pain to come. It gave her the fortitude to put her depression aside and try to make the best of the night. Myles was right. She would feel better after seeing their new friends, friends from all walks of life who shared in the excitement and intensity of becoming parents soon. They would do their exercises—again—they would visit and then go to the nursery window in the hospital where the classes were held and dream of seeing their baby there soon.

  "Okay." She swiped at her nose and the few remaining tears, then summoned a halfhearted smile. "Help me up and we'll go."

  "That's my girl. Hang in there, sweet. It won't be long. And just remember, I'm with you all the way."

  With a practiced motion Myles fitted his arms beneath hers and lifted. Faith stood, teetering as she gained her balance. She tried to remember what it was like when she'd sauntered around on high heels with a self-assured sway of the hips. It seemed so long ago; now she waddled like a duck.

  Myles tucked an arm around her waist and helped her down the stairs and to the mini-van they'd bought. Just as she put a foot on the running board, she tensed.

  He knew from experience that she was having a Braxton-Hicks contraction and quickly whipped out his stopwatch. This one seemed harder and was lasting longer.

  "Well get a head start on the class with our practice. Breathe with me now. Deep breath... let it out slow... and inhale—"

  "Put it away," she growled, impatient with the techniques they practiced ad nauseum each night. "Just put the damn stopwatch away while I—Oh!"

  Warm water gushed between her thighs, streaming down her legs into her shoes, thoroughly soaking her pants.

  "Myles! My water! It—"

  "Ohmygod! Oh, no, stay calm... stay... what do I do? Go to the hospital... call the doctor... pack your bags—"

  "Myles, get a grip. I packed two weeks ago, remember?"

  Faith struggled with the impulse to laugh hysterically at the sight of her controlled husband going into a tizzy.

  "Packed, right. The bags, the bags. I'll get the bags."

  He automatically pivoted, ready to head for the house.

  "Myles! Don't leave me here! I'm completely wet. Help me inside so that I can at least change my clothes."

  "No! Get in the car. We're leaving right now."

  "I can't get in the car. The seat will get wet."

  "The hell with the seat. We're having a baby!"

  Faith resisted as he tried to urge her inside.

  "We're not having a baby until you get my bags and something for me to sit on. I'll wait here while you go back and—"

  She almost doubled over with another gripping contraction, latching onto Myles and digging her fingers into his arm.

  Myles started breathing with her as if on automatic pilot. Once the contraction was over, he gathered his wits, ready to assume his role of coach and husband and father.

  "Okay, Faith. This is what we do. You get in and don't say another word about the seats. This is our baby and I'll keep this car till the day I die because its water is on it. I'm going inside and calling the hospital to let them know we're on our way. While they call Dr. Laurentz, I'll get those bags you want, and then we're gone." He kissed her in reassurance, and in the dim light his eyes willed his support to her, his belief in her courage. "Can you handle five minutes alone?"

  She nodded, and he quickly helped her up. Handing her the stopwatch, he instructed, "Keep this. If you have another one, time it." Seconds later when he was already inside the house, she felt the beginnings of another contraction.

  "Please, God," she whispered. "Please let me be strong. I'm hurting and I'm scared."

  She rose to the challenge of another contraction; only it was harder, longer, fierce. Nothing was as she'd imagined it. Her first birthing was supposed to start slow and give her a chance to get ready. It could take hours... hours! How could she endure it?

  A vision of Myles gave her the answer. For him she would endure anything, even this terrible pain she had never imagined possible. She focused on him, she focused on the baby, the moment they would claim it in their arms....

  "They're expecting us," Myles said excitedly, throwing her luggage into the seat behind them and slamming the door shut. "Did you have another one?"

  "I'll say," she said, dreading the next one. He revved the engine. Faith grabbed his hand. "Don't leave me," she said urgently as her stomach began to knot up. "Please don't leave me again."

  He returned the pressure of her grip. "I'll never leave you. I love you."

  "Myles," she whispered, tears gathering again, of joy then the pain this time, "I lo—ah!"

  He helped her through it, then immediately shifted the van into gear. Like a man possessed, he drove through the thin traffic, following the route they'd mapped out before. Faith noticed a flashing red light coming up close behind them, but Myles was oblivious to the siren's sound.

  When he didn't pull over, the police car drove up to race alongside them. A horn honked, and the officer gestured.

  Myles rolled down his window. "We're having a baby!" he yelled.

  Whether the officer could read lips or was able to see her doubling over, she wasn't sure. But he quickly nodded and with a grin signaled for them to follow him. He zipped in front and led the way, giving them an impressive escort right to the emergency-room entrance.

  "I told you I had clout," Myles said with a chuckle as he quickly helped Faith from the van. The policeman hopped out to ask if he could be of further assistance.

  "Thanks, officer. You've done plenty," Myles assured him, fumbling with their bags and managing to give the man a business card at the same time. Faith concentrated on puffing and panting. "Give me a call and I'll be sure to give you an extra good deal. Along with a cigar."

  An orderly appeared with a wheelchair, and before Faith could blink, she was being raced inside. Everything happened so fast, she didn't have time to think. There was the quick change to a gown, a prep, an I.V., and electrodes to monitor the baby. Sandwiched between all this, a nurse measured her dilation, then quickly ran back to the birthing ward's station. Myles disappeared just long enough to throw on a surgical gown.

  "Myles!" she cried, grasping his hand when he returned. "Don't leave me again. You said you wouldn't leave—"

  "Oh, baby, I'm sorry." He winced as her nails dug into his hand. "How bad is—breathe... pant, pant—"

  "Shut up!"

  Myles's startled and uncomprehending gaze swung to the composed face of Dr. Laurentz, who was garbed in sterile hospital green.

  "Don't worry," she whispered. "She doesn't really know what she's
saying. She's striking out at the pain, not you."

  "Give her something. Don't let her hurt anymore," he pleaded. "I can't stand it."

  "Too late. She was dilated eight centimeters when the nurse measured her ten minutes ago. We're already going into the final stretch, and a shot or an epidural would only prolong her labor. I've seen more births than I can count, but your wife's coming faster than any first baby I've seen." She patted Myles's free hand while his other stroked a wet cloth over Faith's fevered brow.

  "But what can I do? Tell me. Anything and I'll do it."

  "You already are." She nodded at the gentle way he tended his wife. "Don't worry. You're doing great. Just keep reminding her the baby's almost here." Leaning down, she said firmly, "Faith, can you hear me?"

  Her head thrashing against the white pillow, she fought the pain engulfing her body. Why were they bothering her? When would it end? The pressure... the pressure bearing down...

  "I have to push!" she screamed.

  "Don't push," Dr. Laurentz ordered sternly. "Wait until I give you the okay."

  "I have to push," she urgently insisted. "Oh God, I have to—"

  "Now I need you," the doctor said to Myles. "While I'm measuring, you get in her face and make her pant. She'll listen to you before she will me." Slapping on a pair of thin plastic gloves, she turned to the nurse hovering close by. "Get the other nurses. Make sure the anesthesiologist is around, just in case. Call the nursery to get that incubator here pronto and make sure the delivery tray's ready."

  Myles turned his back to the frenzied activity. "Faith, don't push, please."

  She swiped at him, and he grabbed her hands. "Listen to me," he ordered. "You can't push."

  Even though his face was mere inches from hers, she had trouble focusing. Myles wasn't making any sense. Not push? How could she not push when the pressure was so immense, demanding she bear down with all her might?

  "I... can't... stop...." she groaned between clenched teeth.

  "You can. I know you can. Just hold tight to me and pant... pant!"

  She did hold tight, squeezing the circulation out of his hands. She tried to concentrate on his face, blocking out everything but him and doing her best to imitate his rapid, shallow pants. Myles was her rock, her one link left in the world. She clung to the strength he offered. Myles would keep her safe. Myles would take care of her and make everything all right. He loved her. He would never leave her.