Sarah's Child

by Linda Howard

  Sarah was dozing, while Marcie quietly read a magazine. Both Sarah and the baby were being closely monitored, but time was dragging and nothing was really happening, though the twinges were getting closer together. They were in a private labor room; a television was mounted on the wall, and they’d watched the evening news, then a situation comedy. She’d thought Rome would have called before then, but perhaps he was being held up at the office. After all, there was a time difference of two hours.

  He came into the room and Marcie looked up, her eyes widening. She got to her feet. “Where did you come from?”

  “Los Angeles,” he replied, his strong mouth quirking in momentary amusement. “I caught the first flight out when Mrs. Melton told me Sarah had gone into labor.”

  Sarah’s eyes fluttered open, and she looked at him drowsily; then abruptly she was wide awake. “Rome! You’re here!”

  “I’m here,” he said gently, taking her hand.

  “I called your hotel and left a message for you.”

  “I know; Mrs. Melton told me. I’ve also talked with Dr. Easterwood. I was in a panic, afraid something was wrong because it’s two weeks too soon, but she said everything’s all right.”

  “I’m really not in labor yet, just trying to be, but she wanted me here so she could keep an eye on me.”

  She was beautiful, he thought. Her white-gold hair was pulled up, away from her face, and twisted into a single long braid. Her eyes were bright and clear, a soft Nile green, and her cheeks were flushed. She wore one of the plain nightgowns she’d been wearing at home, and she looked about fourteen, certainly not old enough to be having the infant who made a mound against the fabric. He kissed her gently.

  “Since you’re here, I’m going to go down to the cafeteria and get something to eat,” Marcie said cheerfully, with the obvious intention of giving them some time alone and not being abashed about it.

  But when they were alone, it was difficult to say anything. He held her hand, wishing that it was already over with, that she didn’t have to face labor and birth. He didn’t want her to be in any pain, not even the natural pain of having a child.

  Finally he drew a deep breath. “I won’t go in the delivery room with you, but I’ll be waiting.”

  “Just knowing that you’re here is all I need,” she said, and it was.

  Her daughter was born twelve hours later, after a relatively easy labor and birth. “Oh, she’s a tiny sweetheart,” Dr. Easterwood cooed as she placed the baby in Sarah’s arms. “Look at that black hair!”

  “She looks like Rome,” Marcie pronounced flatly, only her laughing, tear-filled eyes visible above the surgical mask she wore. “I swear, she’s even got black eyes.”

  Sarah examined the tiny infant, who’d already stopped her outraged squalling and was lying as if tired from her ordeal, ready to go to sleep. Rome’s daughter. She couldn’t believe it. Somehow, she’d thought it would be a boy. Tears filled her eyes as she touched the damp black curls with a shaking finger. This was the most precious thing she’d ever seen.

  Several hours later she woke to find Rome sitting quietly beside her bed; she’d been so sleepy when she was placed in her bed, she’d only been able to give him a smile before drifting off. She didn’t say anything but watched him as he read the newspaper. He was tired; he’d been up all night, and dark circles lay under his eyes. He needed a shave too, but he was gorgeous. With the enthusiasm of a new mother, she wanted to ask him if he’d seen the baby, but she knew he hadn’t. By even coming to the hospital, he’d given her more than she’d expected.

  “Hi,” she said softly.

  He looked up, relaxing as a deep relief spread through him. Somehow, until she spoke to him, he’d been afraid to believe she was all right. He took her hand and carried it to his lips, tenderly kissing her soft palm. “Hi, yourself. How do you feel?”

  She considered her state of being, moving gingerly. “Not too bad. Better than I’d expected. How do you feel?”

  “Dead on my tail,” he said, making her laugh.

  “Why don’t you go home and get some sleep? I’m not going anywhere.”

  “You’d better not.” He let her convince him to go home, because he really needed to get some sleep before he fell on his face.

  When the baby was brought to her to nurse, Sarah cried when the tiny rosebud mouth automatically rooted for her nipple. Her very own baby! She was thirty-four years old and had long ago given up the thought of being a mother, but now she had this minute living, breathing miracle in her arms. She stroked the downy hair that covered the small round head, then examined the incredibly small fingers, the shell of her ear. How very much like Rome she was! There was even a smooth olive tint to her skin, a hint of her father’s darkness, and her eyebrows mimicked Rome’s bold slant.

  The baby opened her eyes, looked around vaguely, then closed them again, evidently content that everything was right in her world. Marcie had been right; she had Rome’s eyes too.

  She named the baby Melissa Kay, and by the time she went home three days later, the name had already evolved into Missy. Rome had spent a lot of time with Sarah at the hospital, but he always stepped out when it was time for the baby to be brought in to her, and as far as she knew, he hadn’t seen it. He didn’t drive them home from the hospital—she hadn’t expected him to—and she understood that she’d have been asking too much of him if she’d tried to introduce him to his child by that method. He would have to decide for himself if he wanted to know his own daughter. Marcie drove them home, and together they placed the baby in her crib for the first time, both of them leaning over to admire the way she squirmed around until she was comfortable.

  Missy was beautiful; Sarah knew that, if given the chance, she was capable of working the second miracle.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Rome took Sarah to bed and held her against him for the first time in months, his arms tender. He kissed her over and over, as if he couldn’t get enough of having her in bed with him again. He was careful not to jostle her, but he felt an almost desperate need to hold her. Sarah curled against him, wishing that the six weeks were over instead of having barely begun. Her hands sought his hard, muscular body, traveling lightly over him as she reacquainted herself with the various textures of his flesh. “I love you,” she said against his throat.

  “I love you. Never again,” he said deeply. “I’ll never let you sleep away from me again.”

  Sarah slept contentedly but woke at the first small cry Missy gave that signaled her hunger. Gingerly she slipped from the bed and tiptoed down to the nursery to cuddle her daughter and reassure her that she wasn’t in danger of starving. She changed the baby’s diaper, then sat down in the rocker and hummed as she nursed Missy, slowly rocking back and forth. Missy wasn’t a fussy baby, and she went to sleep immediately after her stomach was filled. Gently Sarah placed her back in the cradle, then returned to her own bed, snuggling against the warmth of Rome’s back.

  He didn’t move, but his eyes were open, and he stared stonily at the wall.

  Sarah had worked hard before, but she’d never worked as hard or been under as much strain as she was in the following weeks. If Missy hadn’t been a good baby, it would have been impossible. During the day, after Rome left for work, Sarah spent as much time as she could with her daughter, playing with her, doing all of the things that a baby required. Mrs. Melton took care of the mounds of laundry and the cleaning, which freed Sarah for all her other duties. She tried to give Missy bottles as a supplementary feeding, but the formula made her spit up, and the pediatrician advised Sarah to feed the baby solely by breast until she was a little older; then they’d try the formula again. That meant she couldn’t leave Missy alone for any length of time, as she demanded regular feedings.

  She always had Missy bathed and in bed for the night before Rome came home from work and kept her fingers crossed that the baby wouldn’t wake before it was time for her usual feeding. The door to the nursery was always closed when Rome wa
s home, and he never glanced at it, never asked about the baby. He’d told her how it would be, but until she lived the reality of it, Sarah hadn’t realized just how difficult she’d find it. She was so proud of Missy, she wanted to take her to Rome, hold her out, and say, “See what I’ve given you.” How could he fail to be as enchanted with the baby as she was? But she always reminded herself that the next step was his, that she couldn’t force him.

  Other people weren’t so reticent. Max came to dinner one night and insisted on going in to see the baby. Sarah cast a helpless glance at Rome’s set face, then got to her feet to take Max to the nursery. Marcie and Derek were frequent visitors, and they weren’t shy about talking about Missy in front of Rome. Because he couldn’t close his ears, he heard in enthusiastic detail from Marcie just how beautiful his daughter was. He knew that she was growing like wildfire and that already she recognized people.

  A haunted look came into his eyes. He tried not to think about the nursery or its occupant, but a painful curiosity seized him every time Sarah got up in the middle of the night and went in there. He sometimes thought of standing in the doorway and looking in, but a cold sweat would break out on him. A baby…no, he couldn’t handle another baby. She wasn’t Justin or Shane; she couldn’t replace his sons. He couldn’t take the risk.

  The thought of a daughter was alien to him. He’d known only husky rough-playing little boys. He thought often of his boys, as Christmas approached, another Christmas spent without them. It was his second Christmas with Sarah, and he found that the pain was almost gone because he had her. There was still, and would always be, a haunting sense of loss, but it was bearable now. He could think of Justin and Shane, and remember the good times, the hilarious things they’d done. Diane was farther from him; there was still love for her, but it was more of a remembered love. Sarah was his present, and he was stunned anew by the fierce passion he felt for her, eclipsing the relationship he’d had with Diane, because his capacity for love had increased so much under Sarah’s gentle glow.

  One night during the second week of December Sarah went into his arms as usual, her head finding its customary place on his shoulder. “I’ll be going back to the store tomorrow,” she said casually, her voice soft in the darkness.

  Moving swiftly, he reached out and turned on the lamp, then propped himself up on one elbow and loomed over her, his brows drawn together. “Dr. Easterwood released you?” he asked sharply.

  “Yes. I had my checkup today. She said I’m in perfect health.” She gave him a slow, bewitching smile.

  It was fascinating to watch the way desire changed his face, made it harder and more intent. “Then, why did you wear that nightgown to bed?”

  “So you could take it off.”

  He did. He was very careful with her, slowly building her to a state of readiness before bracing himself atop her and easing himself into her body. Sarah gasped, but not with pain. It had been so long! She clung tightly to him, quivering with almost unbearable pleasure. His hands were everywhere on her newly lush figure, discovering and delighting in the fullness of her breasts, stroking her intimately. She lost her grasp on reality, carried away by delight to a different realm of consciousness where only he existed.

  Wrapped warmly against the weather, Missy was taken to the store the next morning, and Sarah had to fight to get to hold her own child. She was careful not to overdo it, and they went home early, but the excursion had tired both of them. She put Missy down for her nap, then crawled sleepily into her own bed. She’d just take a short nap, she told herself.

  Missy’s fretful cry woke her and she started up; the growing twilight told her that she’d slept much later than she’d intended and Rome would soon be home. Missy was ravenous; there was a lot to be done, but Missy wouldn’t wait. Sarah sat down in the rocking chair and put the baby to her breast.

  She didn’t hear Rome come in, but suddenly she felt his presence, and she looked anxiously at the door. She felt weak when she saw him standing just beyond the door, not stepping inside, but his eyes were on her and the baby in her arms. He couldn’t see anything but the top of Missy’s head and one tiny hand as it kneaded Sarah’s breast, but a spasm of pain crossed his face. Without a word, he turned and walked away.

  Sarah stared down at the baby, shaking. She’d messed up her schedule, she realized. She should have bathed her before nursing her, because now Missy was going to sleep, and she wouldn’t take kindly to being roused by her bath. What would she do if Missy decided to throw a howling temper tantrum? As she grew older she was showing definite signs of her father’s temper, as well as a comic determination to have everything just the way she wanted it, if an infant that young could be said to be that discriminating. But there was a certain way she liked to be held, and other small things that had to be just right to satisfy her. She would fuss indefinitely until circumstances were righted. To keep things quiet, Sarah decided to skip the bath for one night, and she changed Missy’s clothes, then put her to bed, hoping she’d sleep after that long nap.

  “I took a nap this afternoon and overslept,” she explained a little nervously to Rome when she came out of the nursery.

  His shoulders were tense, but he didn’t say anything about Missy. Instead he picked up on the way Sarah had given herself away. “Going to the store tired you out, didn’t it?”

  “Yes, and it’s so silly, because I didn’t do anything,” she said in exasperation, glad that the tense moment had passed.

  “You’ll have to get used to it all over again, and I want you to do it gradually. Take it easy,” he ordered, and kissed her hello.

  But of course, for Sarah, there was no taking it easy. She threw herself back into the routine of the store with joy, for she’d missed it more than she’d ever imagined. She was always careful to leave early enough to get Missy taken care of before Rome came home, but the infant was becoming so active that Sarah could already foresee the day when there wouldn’t be any of this putting her to bed and watching her go promptly off to sleep. Every day she was awake longer, her legs and arms waving around energetically.

  After a particularly exhausting day, Sarah fell deeply asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow. Rome lay beside her, slowly relaxing, and was almost asleep himself when he heard the baby cry. He went stiff, waiting for Sarah to wake and go to the child. He couldn’t stand hearing that cry. But Sarah was still asleep beside him; she’d worn herself out.

  He knew she’d eventually hear the baby’s cry and get up to tend it, but he didn’t know if he could stand it that long. A moment later he knew that he couldn’t. He reached out to shake Sarah awake; then something stopped him. Perhaps it was her face, so peaceful as she slept; perhaps it was the nights in years past when he’d gotten up in the middle of the night to answer a sleepy cry for daddy. For whatever reason, he got out of bed and found himself standing out in the hallway.

  He realized with surprise that he was shaking, and sweat was running down his spine. It’s just a baby, he told himself. Just a baby.

  He stretched his hand out and opened the door, scarcely able to breathe from the band that was constricting his chest. There was a small yellow night-light plugged into an outlet close to the crib, enabling Sarah to see when she got up in the middle of the night. It also enabled Rome to see the child, who’d worked herself into a furious tantrum. Her tiny fists were clenched and jerking spasmodically, her legs were drawn up, and she was squalling for all she was worth. She was used to having her wants catered to immediately; this unreasonable delay wasn’t something she intended to tolerate.

  He swallowed, slowly walking closer to the crib. She was so small, the temper she exhibited was ludicrous. A girl…what did he know about girl babies?

  Shaking, he slid his big hands under the infant and lifted her, surprised at how light she was. Missy squalled a few more times, but the touch of those big hands told her she wasn’t alone, and after a few hiccuping sobs she quieted.

  Old skills came back to him automatically.
Hurrying, without looking at her face, he changed her diaper and was about to settle her back into the crib when she made a cooing noise, and he jerked, almost dropping her. He looked at her and froze, mesmerized, as the baby looked at him with such innocent trust and acceptance that he almost screamed aloud with pain.

  It wasn’t fair. Sweet heaven, it wasn’t fair. He’d avoided her, hadn’t even held her, hadn’t looked at her; he’d rejected his own child, but none of that made any difference to her. She didn’t scream in fear at being in unfamiliar hands. She simply looked at her father with automatic acceptance, then began trying diligently to control a waving fist long enough to stuff it into her open, avid mouth.

  Looking at her was like looking at himself, immortalized. He stared in fascination at the dark hair, the almost-black eyes. Her mouth was Sarah’s, he realized, a soft, tender mouth, but the rest of her was a feminine version of himself. She’d been born from the sweet, loving times in Sarah’s arms, a part of Sarah, a part of himself. He’d wanted her life destroyed before it even began.

  A low, raw cry came from his lips. He lifted her again, cradling her in his arms, and he sank to his knees. Bending over his child, he cried.

  Sarah jerked awake, knowing that something was different. Her hand sought Rome but found only the empty pillow, and she sat up. An odd, strangled noise came to her ears, but it didn’t sound like Missy. She whispered “Rome?” but there was no answer.

  Quickly getting out of bed, she reached for her robe, pulling it around her. Going to the door, she looked for any light to indicate where he might be, but there was none. Then she heard the choking noise again, and she went cold. It came from the nursery. Missy was choking!

  Her hand at her throat, she flew on silent bare feet down the hall, but only a split second had passed before she realized that it wasn’t Missy. She stopped, her breath ragged. Rome?