Cradle and All

by Rebecca York

  to convey more than the substance of his words.

  "I was making arrangements with Singh."

  Abby took a deep breath and tried to think before she gave too much

  away-to whoever might be outside.

  "His wife, Inder-Jeet, was here. She said she'd come to see if I had

  everything I needed, but she was really trying to find out if I knew

  where his precious merchandise is stashed."

  "I hope you told her the truth. That I didn't tell you a damn thing

  about it because you were safer not knowing," Steve said very

  deliberately, his gaze burning into hers.

  "Yes."

  The syllable came out as a little gasp.

  "That's what I told her."

  She saw his wariness go down a notch.

  "Good. Because it's dangerous to lie to a man as savvy as Amarjit

  Singh."

  Abby nodded her agreement.

  They'd both taken a terrible chance-and their stories had matched.

  Her gaze shot to the door of the tent.

  Steve nodded almost imperceptibly.

  "Did they give you what you need to take care of Shannon?" he asked,

  as if domestic matters were uppermost on his mind.

  "Yes."

  She gestured toward the hammock.

  "Come see her."

  He walked slowly toward the bed and stood for several heartbeats gazing

  down at the sleeping child.

  When he reached out and touched her gently, she stirred and then began

  to whimper.

  He jerked his hand back.

  "I'm sorry. 1-1 woke her up."

  "No," Abby assured him quickly.

  "She's7 been asleep for hours. It's probably time for her to eat.

  And she's wet."

  She watched Steve watching her as she changed Shannon, washed her

  hands, and got out one of the bottles of milk from the carton.

  As she settled into the seating area, Shannon began to suck noisily.

  Steve hesitated for a moment, then sat down beside Abby, slinging his

  arm around her shoulders.

  She moved over and rested her head against his shoulder.

  He was silent for several moments.

  Then he reached out to gently take hold of his daughter's foot,

  stroking the soft baby skin.

  "Would it be all right-?

  Can I feed her?

  "Oh, Steve, of course."

  "How do I hold her?"

  "The way I am. Just be sure to support her head."

  He made an awkward cradle of his arms, and she settled Shannon into

  them.

  His hand wasn't quite steady as he took hold of the bottle.

  The baby stared up at him, her eyes large.

  But she must have sensed the security of his grip because she kept

  right on eating.

  Steve wasn't quite as relaxed as his daughter.

  At first he held himself stiffly, like a man who'd been handed a

  priceless Venetian glass vase that might shatter at any moment.

  Then as he got the feel of holding the baby, he began to settle back

  more comfortably against the rug.

  At the same time, Abby watched his features change from anxious to

  incredibly soft and tender.

  If there had ever been a father who loved his daughter, it was this

  one.

  "You're good with her," Abby whispered, her voice catching a little.

  Tears misted her eyes, and she pressed her cheek to Steve's shoulder.

  "But I knew you would be." He shifted Shannon more firmly against his

  muscular chest.

  She'd always seen this man as the epitome of masculinity.

  He was tough.

  Aggressive.

  Dangerous.

  Yet the tiny baby looked so natural in his arms.

  "I didn't realize how much I'd like holding her," he said in a thick

  voice.

  "How... much I'd ... care about her."

  Abby squeezed his arm.

  "Thank you for giving me this."

  "I think we did it together," she said with a chuckle in her voice.

  "I don't mean just making a baby. That was the easy part. I mean,

  giving me the chance to find out how much being a father could mean.

  It's not just the two of us anymore. It's the three of us."

  "Oh, Steve. I knew it was going to be that way. I always knew."

  She tipped her face up, finding his lips.

  Automatically, their bodies shifted, and Shannon was cradled between

  them.

  Steve groped for Abby's hand, and she knit her fingers with his.

  His lips were very close to her ear.

  "Abby, you and Shannon are getting out of here first thing tomorrow."

  "Not without you."

  "Sweetheart, I love you, and I've got to know the two of you are

  safe.

  That's the only way I'll be free to deal with Singh."

  I I

  "I'd like that same feeling of security about you, He didn't answer,

  and her heart leapt into her throat.

  Chapter Fourteen "I'm not leaving without you," Abby repeated.

  A few moments ago she'd felt so safe and secure in Steve's arms.

  Now he was telling her the three of them couldn't stay together.

  His expression was fierce, but he confined himself to a harsh

  whisper.

  "As long as you're in this camp, Singh's got too much of a hold on

  me."

  "Steve, I can't-" He didn't let her finish the protest.

  "Shannon has to come first. She's too little to take care of herself,

  so one of her parents has to bring her home. And in this case it's got

  to be you."

  Abby pressed her forehead against her husband's shoulder, willing

  herself not to break down.

  She'd never thought she'd live to see the day when Steve Claiborne

  would be giving her lessons in parenting.

  But he was right.

  Shannon had needed her from those first frightening days in the

  hospital.

  Still she'd never weighed her duty to her daughter against abandoning

  her husband in an enemy stronghold.

  Between them, their child stirred.

  Automatically, Abby picked up the baby, held her against her shoulder,

  and rubbed her back.

  She was rewarded with a loud belch.

  Steve's lips quirked.

  "I didn't know we had a secret weapon."

  "She has a lot of talents."

  "Yeah."

  Steve's face turned serious again as he delicately cupped his hand

  around the back of Shannon's little head.

  "Abby, remember how I felt when I couldn't save someone else I loved?

  My sister. Sharon.

  I failed her.

  "Steve, we both felt that way. But there was nothing either one of us

  could have done."

  "I shouldn't have left her on her own. I was all the family she really

  had, and I didn't realize how much she needed me."

  "You couldn't," she insisted, knowing that nothing she said would ever

  change his feeling about the tragedy of Sharon Claiborne.

  "Now I don't want to fail you. And Shannon. I can't live with that,

  too."

  Abby's chest ached with the need to make him understand that the things

  he was saying about Sharon came pretty close to her feelings about

  him.

  Leave him here.

  Impossible.

  But deep in her heart she knew he was right.

  They beth had to put Shaiinon first.

  And any protest she vo
iced would make it harder for him to carry out

  his plans.

  "I'll bring her heme, " she whispered.

  "Thank you," he said in a low voice.

  She nodded as she shifted the baby back into feeding position.

  Steve handed her the bottle, and Shannon grabbed his finger.

  "She's strong."

  Oh God, and I have to be, too, Abby silently told herself.

  Together they finished giving their child her midnight meal.

  Together they played with her, talked to her, exclaimed over the smiles

  she gave them.

  Together they changed her diaper again, and her tiny gown.

  The whole time, Abby was choked with emotions she dared not unleash.

  And every time she slid Steve a sideways glance, she could see he was

  keeping himself under the same kind of tight control.

  She watched him take Shannon in his arms, his lips tenderly brushing

  back and forth against her cheek.

  "She's so soft."

  "Yes."

  "She smells so sweet."

  He held her for several seconds longer before laying her in the

  hammock.

  His hand lingered on her back.

  "Before she was born, there was no way you could make me understand how

  much I was going to love her," he whispered.

  Abby clasped her arm around her husband's waist.

  He looked like a man storing up impressions, sensations .

  feelings.

  Was he wondering if he'd ever see his child again?

  The intensity of the moment was almost too much to take.

  Abby watched Steve shake himself and glance around the tent, as if he

  were disoriented.

  His gaze settled on the washbowl and pitcher.

  "I'm still pretty gritty," he muttered.

  "Oh, Steve, I wasn't thinking. You're probably feeling like a mess.

  But I used up most of the water."

  It was a relief to back off from her fears and focus on something

  uncomplicated.

  "Yeah. But they'd better extend their gracious hospitality to both of

  us."

  Steve stepped to the door of the tent.

  "Bring more water," he demanded into the darkness.

  He must have received an affirmative answer from the guard who'd been

  lurking around the door, because he stripped off his shirt, strode back

  to the basin and began to wash his hands.

  Minutes later, the guard returned with a second pitcher.

  In the flickering light from the lantern, Abby watched him wet the

  cloth she'd used earlier and begin to sluice water over his neck and

  shoulders.

  He threw back his head and inhaled deeply.

  "Damn, that feels good."

  She drew in a deep breath and let it trickle from her lungs.

  Never before in her life had she realized how much simple pleasures

  could mean.

  "I thought so, too.

  Except that I kept being afraid someone might come in.

  "Anyone I find lurking around this tent tonight is going to find

  himself ass-down in a sand dune," he said loudly enough for half the

  camp to hear.

  Despite everything, she grinned at him.

  And he grinned back.

  Then he stripped of the.

  rest of his clothes, wet the cloth again, and began to work it across

  his broad chest.

  Washing was such an intimate task she thought.

  Really, she should give him some privacy.

  Yet it was impossible not to be drawn to the sight of her husband's

  nude body.

  It was' too fascinating to observe the play of his muscles, the

  droplets of water glistening on his taut skin.

  Her eyes followed the path of the cloth as it moved across his chest

  and down to his flat stomach.

  It was the same cloth she'd used.

  And in her mind she began to replace it with her hands.

  She felt tiny jolts of sensation along her nerve endings as she

  imagined her palms and fingers on his firm flesh.

  He looked up, his gaze skimming over her and coming to rest on her

  face.

  She felt heat rise in her cheeks.

  "I-I'm sorry. I should let you have some privacy."

  "That's okay. I think we can make the best of primitive conditions."

  "You've missed a few spots."

  "Where?"

  "Your face. Let me help," she offered softly, moving toward him.

  He pressed the cloth into her upturned palm.

  Abby dipped the rag into the cool water and wrung it out.

  Obligingly, he tilted his head.

  As she began to minister to him, his eyes stayed on her.

  She could feel the heat radiating from his body, see how he was

  responding to her, and her own temperature rose in answer.

  Gently she dabbed away the dried blood around the cuts on his forehead,

  his cheeks, and his chin.

  Her task was finished, yet she couldn't resist tracing the curve of his

  mouth with the damp cloth.

  "That's better," she said, letting out a shaky breath.

  "Much better," he agreed huskily as he began to dry himself.

  "Steve-" He stopped her before she could bring the conversation back to

  where they'd left it hanging.

  "Sweetheart, I don't want to talk about where we are, or that we're

  going to be separated tomorrow. I just want to love you."

  Unable to deny him anything he asked, she opened her arms.

  He came into them with a deep, shuddering sigh.

  Then he was holding her, kissing her, pressing her tightly to his body,

  sliding his hands urgently over her.

  Even as her breath quickened and her skin began to glow with heat, she

  looked questioningly up at him.

  He nodded in understanding before reaching for his duffel bag and

  pulling out a small plastic packet.

  "Abby, when I went out to get supplies for the trip, I bought these."

  She took the condom out of his hand, clutching it tightly in her

  fist.

  "Trust a man to think of the essentials," she whispered.

  Steve adjusted the lantern so that there was only the barest glow of

  light in the tent.

  Yet it was impossible not to see the need on his face as he turned back

  to her.

  She wanted to beg him to share whatever reckless plan he'd worked

  out.

  Instead, with a soft, yielding sound, she pressed the taut length of

  his body against hers.

  "Oh, God, Abby, Abby," he growled.

  As his arms banded around her, he took her mouth in a devouring kiss.

  She responded with the same reckless urgency, lifting her lips from his

  only to land kisses on his,cheek, his neck, his brows.

  He did the same, his hands trembling as they tugged at her clothes.

  She felt the sheer power of their shared passion bind them tight and

  close.

  Then, all at once, he stilled.

  "I don't want this to be like the first time we made love."

  She swallowed.

  She had been remembering that time, too, but not regretfully.

  They'd been in a situation that had seemed.

  as desperate as this, and they'a turned to each other just as they were

  doing now.

  "I don't understand," she managed.

  44 I was in too much of a hurry.

  I want to savor this, not rush through it.