Baby In His Cradle

by Diana Whitney

  He stroked her cheek with the back of his hand. “Sounds wonderful.”

  Hoisting on tiptoes, she kissed his cheek, gave him a brief but fervent hug, then hurried toward the kitchen. Samuel watched the supple sway of her hips with a blended sense of enticement and confusion. Something was different. Her bottom seemed rounder, more sensually defined. “Are those my brother’s pants?”

  “Uh-huh.” She set the pot back on the burner, carried the steaming mug of coffee back to the living area. “Here you go. Be careful, it’s hot.”

  Nodding his thanks, he wrapped icy fingers around the warm ceramic mug and watched Ellie’s perky pirouette as she modeled her newly tailored clothes. She spun around twice, then faced away from him, looked over her shoulder and smoothed a palm down her denim-gloved derriere. “I took in the waist, put a couple of darts in the seat and voilà!”

  Samuel blew out a breath, shrugged off the comforter and took a burning gulp of coffee. There ought to be a law against that kind of sex appeal.

  “Well, what do you think?”

  He shifted the mug, loosened his shirt. “You don’t want to know what I think.”

  Her face crumpled. “Don’t you like the pants?”

  “Oh, I like them, so much that all I can think about is getting you out of them.”

  A startled expression melted into a tickled grin. “First you’re half-frozen, then you want to get naked. That coffee must have warmed you right up.”

  Samuel blinked a sweat bead out of his eye. His gaze was still riveted on her firm little bottom. “Coffee has nothing to do with the heat I’m feeling right now.”

  “Ooh, you silver-tongued devil.” A flirty head toss, a twinkly, over-the-shoulder wink. “It so happens I just fed Daniel and put him down for a nice, long nap. Convenient, hmm?”

  “Very.” He followed her to the bed, reached out.

  She skittered away with a laugh, returned a moment later with a goofy grin and a tube of squeeze cheese.

  Samuel couldn’t get his clothes off fast enough.

  Ellie pursed her lips, fiddled with the hand-woven napkin holder in the middle of the table. “It doesn’t matter. Oregon, Idaho, wherever.”

  Pushing the holder and a pair of trout-shaped saltand-pepper shakers aside, Samuel spread out the map so Ellie could see it. “I fought a wildfire outside Boise a couple of years ago. It’s a great place, with great people, but it’s too small-town friendly.”

  “How can a place be too friendly?”

  “When its citizens know everything about everyone in town.” He studied the hodgepodge of color-coded roads, traced an interstate with his fingertip. “You need someplace larger, more anonymous. Chicago?”

  Ellie squirmed in her seat, stared at a blemish in her freshly tailored jeans to avoid looking at the map. “Chicago is too urban. I want my son to grow up with his own yard, in a safe neighborhood where he and his friends can play on real grass. Besides, it’s too far away.”

  “I thought far away was what you wanted.”

  “No... I mean, yes, but it’s, well, too far. It would cost a fortune just to get there.”

  “Let me worry about that.”

  “I’m not taking money from you, Samuel. This is my problem, not yours.”

  He regarded her thoughtfully. “I’m not dropping you and Daniel off at the nearest bus station, Ellie. I’ll take you wherever you want to go.”

  Biting her lip, she pulled the map over, pretended to study it so he wouldn’t see the moisture gathering in her eyes. “That isn’t fair to you.”

  “I’ll decide what’s fair.”

  “You’d be putting your life on hold, your career—” She angled a glance upward, saw his jaw tighten.

  “I don’t have a career, remember?”

  “You have a career, Samuel, you’ve just turned your back on it.” Pushing the map away, she crossed her arms, frowned at him. “I still don’t understand why.”

  A muscle beneath his ear twitched in warning. “I don’t want to discuss it.”

  “I don’t want to discuss hiding places either, but you insisted so here we are, staring at a stupid map when there’s plenty of time to decide.... I mean—” Biting her lip, she struggled with the lie, fought against truth. She pushed away from the table, wiped her hands on her thighs as she stood. “So, what would you like for dinner? There’s still a few pounds of ground venison in the freezer and a chicken. I saved a ham bone for soup—”

  “Ellie.” Samuel caught her arm as she passed by. “Honey, I know it’s scary to think about leaving, but we can’t stay.”

  “There’s no rush,” she insisted, sounding thin and unconvincing even to herself. There was a rush, and she knew it. The pantry was nearly bare, spring had officially arrived and the road could be ready to travel in less than a week.

  Samuel wrapped a comforting arm around her waist, pulled her into his lap. “We can’t stay here, honey, and we can’t just point the truck and drive without knowing where we’re heading.”

  She sniffed, wiped her wet eyes. We. She liked the sound of that even though the word sent guilty chills down her spine. “You’d better be careful of the we word, Samuel. It’s beginning to sound like a commitment.”

  His smile was genuine, and a bit teasing. “Maybe I’m more committed than I’d like to admit.” The smile faded, the sparkle died. “I won’t let you go this alone, Ellie, not until you and Daniel are settled and safe.”

  “And then?”

  He shifted, laid her head on his shoulder, ignored the hidden meaning of her question. “There are beautiful suburbs in the Chicago area. The city has a booming economy, lots of jobs available—” his gaze wandered “—a good real-estate market.”

  Ellie studied the sadness in his eyes. It hurt to see his pain, killed her to know she could do nothing to relieve it. “You’d make a lousy Realtor, Samuel.”

  The comment clearly startled him. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

  “That wasn’t meant as an insult.”

  “Could have fooled me.”

  She sat up, swiveled on his lap to face him. “Look, I have nothing against Realtors. My mother put me through college selling properties, and she was wonderful at it. But you are not a salesman, Samuel. You’re a firefighter, a paramedic, a saver of lives. It’s what you do, it’s who you are. Nothing else will give you the same satisfaction or sense of purpose.”

  He tensed, took a raspy breath. “Then I guess I’ll have to settle for a life without purpose.”

  “Samuel, please—”

  “I don’t want to talk about this,” he growled. Sweat beaded his forehead, and his cheeks were abnormally flushed. “You don’t underst—” He coughed suddenly, turned away to cover his mouth and continued to cough while Ellie patted his back. Air wheezed into his lungs, and he finally straightened, breathing heavily. “Sorry.” He wiped his tearing eyes, shook his head. “That snuck up on me.”

  “Are you all right? You were coughing in your sleep last night, too.” She stroked his face, which seemed overly warm to her. “I think you have a fever.”

  “It’s nothing.” He turned his head from her touch, lifted her off his lap. “Probably just a virus. I’ve kept my distance from Daniel, and I shouldn’t be breathing on you, either.”

  “If I recall, you’ve done a lot more than breathe on me.” When he didn’t respond to her teasing, she studied him with concern. He didn’t look well. “You’re really feeling ill, aren’t you?”

  “A little worn-out,” he conceded. “Probably too much hiking yesterday.”

  Ellie flinched, went to retrieve a dampened washrag from the bathroom. “This is all my fault,” she murmured as she sponged his face. “I never should have asked you to go to the tower.”

  “It’s nobody’s fault, honey.” He eased the cloth from her hands, set it on the table. “I’m coming down with a cold, that’s all. As drafty as this place is, it’s a wonder we aren’t all sick.” He rubbed the back of his neck, and stood slowly
, as if the movement caused him pain. “Maybe I’ll take a couple of aspirins and lie down for a while.”

  A sudden surge of anxiety fluttered Ellie’s stomach. “That’s a good idea. I’ll call you when dinner’s ready.”

  “Don’t fix anything for me. I’m not hungry.”

  “Samuel?”

  He paused to look over his shoulder. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

  He shook his head, issued a weary sigh. “I’m fine, honey. Don’t worry about me.”

  But he wasn’t fine, and Ellie was worried.

  Sterile. Antiseptic. The smell of agony and of death. It turned Samuel’s stomach. A white hallway undulated ahead. Light sprayed from an open door.

  He didn’t want to go through that door, but knew that he must. His feet dragged, step after reluctant step. Blurred people hurried by, some dressed in white, some in green, all were tense, rushed. They smelled like iodine.

  Samuel was beside the open door now, close enough to hear the groans from inside. Voices, stiff and professional. Cold and curt. Voices intoning possibilities, probabilities, prognoses. Surgery. Risks. Paralysis. Death.

  Samuel moved away, backed down the hall, covered his ears against the voice of cold dispassion.

  Surgery. Risks. Paralysis. Death.

  A scream. A terrible, agonized scream.

  Samuel spun around, but there was no where to run. Dark eyes, huge and pleading. An outstretched hand.

  Help me.

  Behind him, the agonized scream. Before him, the pleading eyes. Surrounding him was failure. Failure. Failure.

  And death.

  “Here, sip this.” Ellie braced Samuel’s shoulders, eased him up against the pillows.

  He blinked groggily, eyed the steaming mug.

  “What is it?”

  “Ham soup. Actually, it’s ham bone soup, but it’s hot and it’s nourishing and I want you to drink it.”

  “Not hungry,” he mumbled, turning his head.

  Ellie was nothing if not persistent. “Seems to me that when I was in this situation, you made some kind of threat involving the use of a soda straw as a feeding tube.” She smiled sweetly as he hiked a grumpy brow. “The delivery mechanism is up to you, of course, but one way or another this soup is going to end up in that magnificent, washboard-firm stomach of yours.”

  He stared woefully at the fragrant liquid. “I’d rather have sex.”

  The startling statement made her laugh, which in turn brought Baloo over to investigate. “Isn’t that typical?” she asked the perplexed hound. “The man can’t hold his head up without help, but he can sure as the dickens get something else up on his own.” The animal whined with appropriate chagrin. “You see, even your dog is shocked by such a blatant conflict in priorities.”

  “It’s a guy thing,” Samuel said with a weary smile. “And you love it.”

  “Yes, I do, so drink this—” she wrapped his limp fingers around the mug “—and get your strength back so I can jump your bones without feeling guilty.”

  He issued a weak chuckle, pushed the mug back into her hands. “Really, I don’t want anything now. Maybe later.”

  Pursing her lips, Ellie considered that for a moment. A brief moment. “Perhaps I should sing to you.”

  That got his attention. “No! Er, I mean, you don’t want to wake Daniel.”

  “Daniel loves my singing. In fact, it always makes him eat better.” She grinned at Samuel’s forlorn expression, then launched into lusty song. “Up on the moun-tain, mountain so high—”

  Samuel groaned.

  “Look toward the val-ley—” Ellie didn’t miss a beat when Baloo threw his head back and howled. “Hear the wind si-igh.”

  Baloo howled again. Samuel groaned again, covered his ears.

  “Hear the wind sigh, dear—”

  Howl. Groan.

  “Hear the wind sigh, look toward the val-ley—”

  “Enough!” Samuel croaked. “Give me the damned soup.”

  Triumphant, Ellie handed over the mug, watched happily as Samuel chugalugged the contents and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “There, don’t you feel better?”

  “Now that you’ve stopped singing, yes.” He heaved a sigh, and let his head drop back on the pillow.

  She laid a palm to his forehead, found it disturbingly warm. “I’ll have you know that I was a lead vocalist in my high school choir. The music director was very impressed with my talent.” Beside the bed, Baloo’s muzzle split into a tongue-lolling grin, and his tail agreeably thumped the floor. “You see? Even your dog appreciates fine music.”

  “’Loo’s been tone-deaf since birth,” Samuel growled. He yanked irritably at the covers, bunched them under his chin. “Can’t you put another log in the woodstove or something? It’s colder than a well digger’s fanny in here.”

  It was at least seventy degrees. “Sure.”

  “Thanks,” he mumbled, then burrowed beneath the covers looking flushed and miserable.

  Ellie dutifully added a log to the roaring fire, then retrieved a couple of aspirin from the bathroom cabinet. She brought them to Samuel with a glass of water. “Open your mouth.”

  He opened one eye instead. “Uh-uh.”

  “Don’t be stubborn. This will make your achy muscles feel better, and help lower your fever.”

  After a suspicious squint at the small white tablets in her palm, he issued what Ellie interpreted as an affirmative grunt. She placed the pills in his mouth, held the water glass to his lips only to have him snatch the glass away with a cranky grumble. “I can hold my own damned glass.”

  “Whoa, sure you can, macho man. Didn’t mean to threaten your masculinity.” She laughed at his withering stare, waited until he’d swallowed the medication then took the glass and set it on the nightstand. “Men are such babies when they’re sick.”

  The comment was given softly, with affection. No umbrage was intended, and Samuel took none. Instead he sniffed pitifully. “My head hurts.”

  “I know.” She stroked his damp hair. “The aspirin should help.”

  He closed his eyes, and heaved a contented sigh. “You have soft hands.”

  “Thank you.”

  “And you always smell so good.”

  “Do I?”

  “Umm.” Shifting, he took a shallow breath, rolled his head against the pillow. “Sometimes the scent of you wakes me up in the middle of the night, and I want you so bad it hurts.”

  She combed his hair with her fingers, felt as if a giant hand were squeezing her heart. “I wake up wanting you, too.”

  He rolled his head back, used considerable effort to lift one eyelid. “Really?” When she nodded, he frowned. “You never told me that before.”

  “You never told me, either.”

  “No, I guess I didn’t.” The words were sleepily . slurred. A moment later, his breathing slowed in slumber.

  Across the room, a cranky wail filtered up from the cradle. Ellie bent to kiss her sleeping lover’s cheek, then went to tend her baby.

  It was a bad crash. Head-on, then over a steep embankment. Crushed metal, twisted steel. Limp bodies trapped in the carnage. A cry from the ravine. Someone was alive down there. Someone needed help.

  Samuel shifted his gear, snapped the rappel rope through his harness clip. Just another call. A bad one, but he saw lots of bad ones. He saved those he could, wept for those he couldn’t, went on to the next call. It was his job. It was his life.

  The ravine was steep, treacherous. Halfway down now. Sharp twigs scratched at his eyes. Dirt and rock rained from above, a hailstone of pebbles loosened by his decent.

  Three-quarters of the way down. The cry was weaker. He had to hurry.

  The twisted wreck was right beneath him now, perhaps ten feet below. The rope wasn’t long enough. As he dangled above the imprisoning mangle of metal, the cry diminished into a thin moan. Someone was dying in there, and he couldn’t help because the rope was too short.

  Too short.


  Samuel reached for the harness. A voice in his mind screamed, “No!” It was Drake’s voice, Drake’s voice telling him not to release the harness. Samuel didn’t listen. The cry from the wreckage had stopped now. He had to get there. Had to save a life.

  He released the latch, and plummeted. Not ten feet. Not twenty feet. He plummeted a hundred feet, then a thousand, then a million.

  He landed in a white hallway. Sterile. Antiseptic. The smell of iodine. A lighted doorway beckoned.

  Voices, stiff and profession. Surgery. Risks. Paralysis. Death.

  A scream. A terrible, agonized scream. Drake’s scream.

  He should have listened, shouldn’t have released the harness. But the dark eyes were huge and pleading. The outstretched hand beckoned.

  Samuel covered his eyes, but heard the scream. He covered his ears, but saw the reaching hand. No escape, nowhere to run.

  Failure. Failure.

  Death.

  Chapter Eleven

  “Samuel, wake up.”

  A soft voice, melodic, warm. He shifted, opened an eye. The most beautiful face in the world smiled down at him.

  “How are you feeling?” Ellie asked. “You had a restless night.”

  “Did I?” Ignoring a wave of dizziness, Samuel pushed into a sitting position, flinched at a viselike tightness in his chest. After several shallow breaths, the room stopped swaying. “I’m sorry if I disturbed you.”

  “You always disturb me, handsome. Flatten your knees.”

  He complied without comment until she placed the breakfast tray in his lap. A bowl of raisin-studded oatmeal grinned up at him. His stomach lurched. “I’m not very hungry.”

  Ellie instantly burst into song. “Up on the mountain—”

  Samuel snatched up a spoon.

  “Good boy.” She patted his head as if he were a paper-trained puppy. “Do you need anything else before I give Daniel his bath?”

  When he shook his head, she brushed a breezy kiss on his cheek, scooped her son out of the cradle and hustled toward the kitchen sink, humming softly. Samuel’s spoon hovered over the untouched cereal until Ellie turned on the faucet, then he placed the utensil quietly beside the bowl and issued a pained sigh.