Marry Me...Again. Cheryl St.John

paused with his hand on a stall gate, realization flooding over him like a bright light. His wife wanted a family. A baby. He had already given her that. A completely male sense of pride accompanied that thought. So be it. Maybe parenthood was happening sooner than he’d had time to plan for, but it was happening, so he could appreciate that. He could be happy.

      Brynna had seemed quiet and withdrawn the last couple of days, undoubtedly because of his reaction. He’d disappointed her. On top of that, he’d blown it by not showing up for Tuck’s party. She had a right to be mad.

      She had to work late tonight, pull her Saturday-night shift at the clinic, but he would fix a late supper and surprise her with something special. He imagined her pleasure and her smile and knew everything would be okay. It had to be. The rift between them these past few days was unbearable, and he meant to fix it.

      He’d finished turning the last screw and was filling the salt holders when a ringing sound caught his ear. Remembering he’d left his cell phone on the seat of the truck, he hurried outside. Brynna often called him when she had a few minutes, and he didn’t want to miss her call. The number on the caller ID indicated Rumor Family Clinic. “Hey, sweet thing,” he said into the phone.

      “Thanks,” a voice replied. “But this is Rae Ann Benton. We just put Brynna in a bed and are getting ready to do an exam and an ultrasound.”

      Dev’s chest felt like a horse had kicked it, and he struggled for a breath to ask, “What happened?”

      His imagination conjured up all kinds of accidents and confrontations with unstable patients.

      “Can’t say for sure yet, but it looks like she’s at risk of losing the baby.”

      Dev’s heart dropped to his feet.

      Chapter Six

      “I’ll be right there.” Dev tossed the phone down, shrugged into his shirt and vaulted into the driver’s seat. He paused with his forehead on the steering wheel for a minute—collecting himself? Praying?

      “Dev?” Ash McDonough, a ranch hand, paused in leading a horse toward the barn, halting the animal beside the truck.

      Dev sat up and started the engine. “Tell Colby I had to go into town. I’ll call him.”

      “Everything okay?” Ash asked. “Is this about the fire?”

      “No, it’s my wife. I don’t know if everything’s okay.” The truck left a dust trail all the way down the drive. This was his fault because he hadn’t been more supportive. And he’d upset her last night. No, that was nuts. Everything was going to be all right. Brynna wanted this baby more than anything, and nothing was going to happen. He wanted this baby, too, he realized, and panic made his heart hammer. It would be okay. Brynna was at the clinic. They would know what to do. She would know what to do—she was a doctor!

      The drive was interminable—when he finally reached the clinic and parked haphazardly in a tow zone, he shoved open the glass doors and ran to the desk. After being directed, he hurtled past nurses and carts to the room indicated. Brynna was lying on a bed behind a green curtain, still wearing her scrubs, an IV in the back of her hand.

      Dev rushed to her side and placed his hand on her knee which was covered by a thin white blanket. “Is everything okay?” he asked.

      A tear squeezed from the corner of her eye, and she pressed her pale lips together before saying in a shaky voice. “No.”

      Heart thundering, careful of the needle in her hand, he rested his palm on her arm. “Tell me.”

      “I’m losing the baby, Dev.”

      Oh, Lord. Dev was stunned speechless. Why? Why had this happened? A million thoughts tumbled for prominence in his head, the one first and fore most being her devastation at this loss. “Can’t they do something?”

      She shook her head. “My cervix is dilated, and the ultrasound showed the—” she stumbled over the word “—fetus is not alive.”

      She wiped tears away with her other hand. “This early in pregnancy, it’s known as spontaneous abortion. Sort of a natural selection process, probably a chromosomal or genetic abnormality. Or it’s possible my body didn’t produce adequate hormones or that I had an immune reaction to the embryo.”

      Dev listened to her medical explanation, understanding it, and yet not relating the terminology to the baby they’d been expecting. “I’m so sorry,” he said softly, inadequately, his mind numb.

      Her lower lip quivered, and he leaned forward to hold her where she lay. She wrapped her free arm around his neck and hugged him tightly.

      “We’ll get through this,” he assured her, feeling helpless.

      “I know.” Her words were muffled against his damp shirt. “It’s just…no matter how professional I try to be…”

      “You don’t have to be professional,” he told her. “It was our baby.” He leaned away to look at her and smooth her hair from her face.

      She laid her head back against the pillows and blinked up at him, tears on her lashes. God, it hurt to see her like this.

      “I thought we’d have a baby for Christmas,” she said. “I was going to make stockings for the three of us.”

      An ache lodged in Dev’s heart and he wanted to shed tears with her. He didn’t. He forced himself to be the strong one. He tried to think of something— anything—to comfort her. “We’ll have another baby,” he promised.

      She nodded, obviously uncomforted, and it had been a lame attempt anyway. The idea of a baby had begun to grow on him, and if he felt this awful—as if a knife was twisting his guts—she must feel worse. He felt so bad—for her and for him, and in desperation he sought words to comfort her, to make her see beyond this tragic moment. He had to fix this.