“Yeah,” she murmured, “and I wish some of them were here right now.” He smiled, appreciating a woman who could make jokes when things looked black. “Oh, no…here’s another one….” Then she grabbed at him, curling her fingers into his forearm until each one of her nails dug through the fabric of his jacket and the shirt beneath, to bite into his skin. Man, she had a helluva grip.
Misery shimmered across her features. Her lips clamped tightly shut, she breathed quickly, deeply through her nose and closed her eyes as she rode the wave of pain gripping her.
John had never felt so helpless in his life.
Not knowing what else to do, he smoothed his free hand up and down her back in long, comforting strokes. And even through the thick, blue cable-knit sweater she wore, he felt her muscles tighten convulsively.
“Are you okay?” Dumb question, Paretti, he told himself as her fingernails slowly eased back out of his skin. She trembled, and he wanted to pick her up and carry her bodily through the snow. Find a hospital. Find a doctor who could give her something to ease the pain. A doctor who could take care of her and her baby.
And he couldn’t do it. All he could offer her was a shoulder to cry on and the promise that he wouldn’t leave her.
A long, deep breath shuddered into her lungs before she looked up at him. An invisible fist clutched at his heart, squeezing painfully. Sapphire-blue eyes stared back at him, and John saw fear and hope, and unbelievably enough, excitement shining in those vivid depths.
“That one was much stronger,” she told him. “I think the baby’s going to be here soon.”
He buried the knot of panic swelling inside him and said only, “Then let’s get ready to greet it.”
Three
The night crawled on.
She’d been wrong. The baby hadn’t been as close as she’d thought. Minutes were measured in soft moans that tore at John even as he admired the woman who refused to cry out despite the pain that kept blossoming inside her. He knew it was far worse now. He saw the advancement of the pain on her face. Her features tightened, draining her of color. Her blond hair lay damp against her forehead, and those lake-blue eyes of hers were glassy with concentration and agony.
And there wasn’t a damn thing he could do to help her.
Helplessness was not something he was used to feeling. Until tonight there’d never been a problem he couldn’t solve. A situation he couldn’t take charge of. As a man—a Marine—he’d prided himself on being able to handle whatever came his way. It was second nature to him to offer help. To fix whatever was broken.
But now, despite his training, despite wishing things were different, he was nothing more than a bystander. All he could do was watch as Mother Nature did what she did best.
And damned if he wasn’t humbled.
As the latest pain faded away, John watched her breathe easier, saw the tension leave her body and was probably more grateful than she for the respite.
“Oh, my,” she whispered and swallowed hard. “That was a hard one.”
He was suddenly aware that his hands were curled into tight fists. Deliberately he relaxed them and walked to her side. Picking up a damp washcloth, he wiped her forehead, smoothing her soft blond hair back and accepting her smile with all the pride he would have a medal.
“Thanks,” she said and pulled in one or two deep breaths. “This is a heck of a first impression I make, don’t you think?”
John smiled down at her. “It’s not a night I’m likely to forget.”
“Me, neither,” she assured him and rubbed one hand across the mound of her child. “But then, when this is over, I’ll have my baby.”
He watched her hand move slowly, tenderly, and not for the first time he noticed the lack of a wedding ring. Did that mean she wasn’t married? Or that her rings didn’t fit anymore? Hadn’t he heard his own mother complain about being pregnant with him and his brothers and how she hadn’t been able to wear her wedding rings for the swelling?
Probably shouldn’t say anything, he thought, but at the same time, if she was his wife, he’d be terrified at the thought of her stuck in a blizzard. Of course, if she had been his wife, she wouldn’t have been traveling alone so close to the birth of their baby.
Taking a seat beside her on the mattress, he asked, “Is there anyone who’s going to be worried about you?” And even as the words left his mouth, he thought, Oh, nice job, Paretti. Could you make her sound more alone?
She pushed herself a little higher against the pillows and shook her head. “If you mean, do I have a husband somewhere pacing the floor, the answer is no.”
“I didn’t mean to—”
“Pry?” she finished for him, and gave him a tired smile. “John, you undressed me and put me to bed. Before the night’s over, you’re going to deliver my baby. I don’t think a question is out of line.”
He still felt like an idiot.
“And, as I said, the answer is no,” she said in a voice pitched so low he had to strain to hear it. “No husband. No anxious father. It’s just me. And the baby.”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “It’s none of my business.”
“Probably not,” she agreed, “but don’t be sorry for me. It’s an old story, certainly not a new one. I picked a lemon in the garden of love.” Her hand on her belly paused, as if she were trying to keep the baby from hearing what she was about to say. “When he found out I was pregnant, he left.”
Okay, now he knew who the real idiot was. “Stupid of him,” he said.
Annie smiled at the compliment. “Thanks. I thought so.” Really, as “burglars” went, he was a very nice man. And she was more grateful than she could say that he was there. She didn’t even want to imagine what it would have been like to be stranded, alone and giving birth. She squirmed a bit on the bed, feeling the pad of towels John had folded and slipped beneath the sheet. She just couldn’t get comfortable, she thought, and briefly longed again for that fabulous epidural she’d heard other women talking about. Funny how this had worked out. She’d never had any intention of having a natural childbirth. Annie was a big believer in taking advantage of medical science. After all, a hundred years ago women were putting knives under the bed to “cut the pain.” Who was she to go without medication when people had worked for years to make childbirth easier, safer and pain free?
Something inside her began the slow, unmistakable tightening that by now she recognized all too well. Another contraction was coming. Her body readied for that slow climb to agony. And since there was no anesthetist around to give her a hand, she settled for something else.
“Talk to me,” she whispered as her insides tightened and her back arched as she moved into the pain.
His eyes widened. “About what?”
“Anything,” she assured him. She just wanted something else to concentrate on besides her own discomfort. “Tell me about your family. Are you married?”
He laughed shortly and shook his head. “Me? No. I figure I’ll stay single and save some poor woman a lot of headaches.”
Oh, it was a big one. She tried to ride the wave, told herself that with each pain, her baby was that much closer. Keep talking, she thought. “Scared, huh?”
John’s head jerked back, and he looked at her. “Scared? Who said anything about scared?”
Despite her distress she laughed at his offended tone, then gasped and reached for his hands. Holding on tightly, she only said, “Talk, John. Talk to me.”
“Uh,” he said, letting