“Thanks. Let me fix supper for you tomorrow night.”
“You don’t need to do that.”
“I want to. I’m getting cabin fever, staying inside with nothing but the hum of the air conditioner. What would you like to have?”
“You have a knack in the kitchen. Do whatever sounds good to you.” He worked like mad for the rest of the day to make up for the time he’d lost assembling the baby furniture.
The next day, Dylan got up early and pushed himself to get everything done. Teresa had given him a speculative look when he’d told her he already had plans and wouldn’t be home for supper.
At ten ’til six, he shambled up to the back door and knocked. Sondra answered, looking fresh as a dewed wildflower. “Little lady, I’m as big a mess as a man ever was. I don’t want to offend you, and I know you probably spent a lot of time fixin’ a mighty fine meal, but I’ll have to ask for a rain check.”
Her gaze slid up and down him, then concentrated on his left sleeve. Her dainty nose twitched. That particular smell was unmistakable. “You have a change of clothes here. Hop on in and take a shower.”
“I don’t think—”
She grabbed his other arm and gave it a tug. “The cool air is rushing out while you stand there trying to act as if I don’t know what manure smells like. Last time I checked, this was a ranch. It isn’t as if it’s a totally foreign part of the package.” She shoved him in the direction of the hall, then flooded the kitchen with a mouthwatering aroma as she opened the oven to check on the rolls.
“Mmm. I won’t be long.”
A red-and-white-checkered cloth graced the table when he padded into the kitchen in his stocking feet. Her smile suddenly melted.
“What’s wrong?”
She wiggled a little and blushed. “I can’t. . .seem to. . .untie. . . oh! The apron strings are knotted.”
“Come here.” Dylan leaned against the counter and twirled her around. He deftly undid the small tangle. “What makes you wear an apron, anyhow? I thought those went out in the early sixties. Only time Teresa ever wears one is when she’s basting half a cow for barbecue ’cause it’s so messy.”
“I drop everything down the front of me these days. I’m a first-class slob.” She turned back around and let out a self-conscious laugh. “I guess I won’t have any room to complain when the baby spills stuff all over his bibs and overalls.”
“I’ve yet to hear you complain. Seems to me you’ve got cause to grouse a bit here and there.”
For a minute, she couldn’t seem to breathe. She closed her eyes. “I had to have the jeweler cut off my wedding band today.”
“Aww.” He pulled her into the shelter of his height as she steadied herself with a few deep breaths. “That’s a pure pity. Why don’t we get you a little something to wear so your finger doesn’t feel so bare?”
“Nothing but Kenny’s ring would feel right.” She pushed away and forced a smile.
Dylan pulled her into his chest again and cupped her head to his shoulder. “How long has it been, sweetheart?”
“Seven months and three days.”
She hadn’t even had to think for a second before answering. He felt the waves of grief wash over her. He held her tightly, having to bow himself around her tummy. As if her grief wasn’t enough, the baby kicked and squirmed between them—an ever-present and poignant reminder of a past she’d never leave behind. His lips barely grazed her temple as he quietly asked, “Want me to slip out of here?”
“No. Please, no!” Her fingers curled into the fabric of his chambray shirt. After taking another breath, she pushed away from him. “Supper’s going to get cold. I hope you like Italian.”
“The only thing I don’t like is brussels sprouts. Other than that, I’m a human vacuum cleaner.” He grinned at her and felt a flood of relief. The look of gratitude on her face made it clear he’d reacted the right way.
“Then you’re in luck. In my opinion, they rate right up there with liver.”
Wincing theatrically, Dylan held up both hands, as if to ward her off. “I know better than to touch that one!”
She’d made a marvelous meal. Manicotti, garlic bread, Caesar salad, and mixed vegetables should have been enough, but she even produced spumoni ice cream for dessert. “It’s not chocolate, but I couldn’t resist.”
“You still could stand to put on a few pounds. I’m glad you didn’t resist.”
“Dylan, my weight isn’t a topic of conversation.”
“Then what about baby names? Are you going to name him after his dad?”
“Kenneth hated his name, so he made it clear from the get-go that he didn’t want our son to be a Kenny, Junior. I thought about naming him after Miller, but it’s cruel to stick a kid with a name like that. Imagine going through life with the name Thankful, Miller on the classroom rosters.”
Tearing off a chunk of garlic bread, Dylan agreed, “That’s bad.”
“I thought maybe I’d look in the big, old family Bible Miller had in the study. There are probably a couple of good names in it.”
“I’ll clear the table, Sondra. Go get it and let’s see what’s to be found.” Dylan rose and grabbed a few dishes. Sondra took a few steps and suddenly skidded. All of the plates in his hands clattered to the floor as Dylan made a quick dive. Miraculously, he caught her before she landed. “Oh!” she gasped as she grabbed handfuls of his shirt.
“Are you all right?” He didn’t like how pale she’d become. Quickly scooping her into his arms, Dylan carried her to the living room and laid her on the couch. “Sondra, honey, are you hurt?”
Her hands went to her tummy. His joined them. Four hands, two slender and white, the others larger, rough, and tanned, waited impatiently until the child somersaulted. Sondra burst into nervous laughter.
Dylan sat on the floor. He wanted to hold her. At least hold her hand. He settled for reaching up and gripping the back of the couch to keep her in the shelter of his arm, but she started to squirm.
She doesn’t want me close.
“Dylan? I need to turn onto my side. It’s hard to breathe if I’m on my back.”
“Here.” He slipped her arm around his neck and took his sweet time helping her get readjusted. The baby tumbled again, rippling across his wide-open palm in a startling display of strength. “He’s a mighty little cowhand, isn’t he?”
She let out another small, tight laugh and nodded.
Tilting her face upward, Dylan demanded, “How ’bout you, sugar? Are you all right after that spill?”
She nodded and proceeded to huddle into him and start to shudder.
“Shaken up,” he evaluated. He couldn’t blame her at all. His hands were unsteady. After a long time, her shivers tapered off. She mumbled an apology.
“You’re gonna be all right, little Sondra. You and that baby are just fine.”
“Just fine,” she agreed.
“That’s right, honey.” The swell of emotions he felt stunned him. Tenderness the likes of which he’d never known filled his heart. It wasn’t pity, either. It was a deep kind of caring. Oh, he felt attracted in a purely masculine sense. She was feminine and soft and yielding. Even now, pregnant as could be, the way she moved mesmerized him. He grazed her temple with his fingertips.
She smiled. “Not a single bump, in case you’re checking. Your reflexes are awesome. Thanks for the rescue.”
Her gorgeous, fiery locks splayed across the throw pillow. He wanted to toy with them, but that wouldn’t do. Dylan pushed to his feet. “You stay put.”
“Why? I’m—”
“Going to drive me nuts,” he interrupted. He strode to the kitchen and made sure to clean up the small spot of spaghetti sauce she’d slipped in. She shouldn’t be living alone anymore. It was dangerous. What if she’d fallen and been all by herself?
He heard a sound and went back to the living room, but it was empty. “Sondra?”
Her voice drifted to him from the hallway. “Just a minute.”
“Are you okay?”
She reappeared. “Sorry I was so clumsy.”
“You oughtn’t be all on your lonesome. Teresa can come stay a little while, or—”
“No!” She stepped back. “I’m not a child. It’s humiliating enough to have to rely on everyone to do my work around here. I refuse to have someone lurking around the house, watching my every move.”
“What’s wrong with letting us help you out a bit?”
“I’m going to work up to the day I have this baby. There’s no reason not to—I feel terrific. Besides, after I have him, I’ll be out of commission for a couple of weeks.”
“Six minimum. More likely, eight or ten.”
“Ten!”
“If you have a caesarian.”
“I’m not having a caesarian!”
Noting how she glowered at him and still managed to protectively cover the undercurve of her tummy, Dylan knew he’d rattled her. “Sondra, even if you don’t, the baby is going to need you nonstop.”
“I’ll carry him in one of those nifty slings, so he’ll go wherever I go.”
“Your back aches from carrying him on the inside. What makes you think carrying him on the outside will be any easier?”
“Who says my back hurts?”
He gave her an exasperated look. “You’re rubbing it right now. Fact is, most anytime I see you, you’ve taken to bracing the small of your back with your hands.”
“See? I told you I need some privacy!”
“Tough luck. If you won’t let someone stay with you, then we’re going to start checking in on you a couple of times a day.”
“That’s ridiculous. Heaven help me—”
Dylan cracked a laugh. “If you’re referring to Miller looking down at you from heaven, you’d better start worrying.”
“I meant the Lord, Dylan. Still, it’s sweet to think Miller is walking the streets of gold with God, and they can see how grateful I am.”
“God’s certainly watching over you, but I aim to help. As for Miller—I have news for you, Mother Hen: He was allergic to feathers. He put in that coop after he read your request for chicks.”
“He never let on—”
He squeezed her arms. “Of course he didn’t. That wasn’t Miller’s way. When I asked him about it, he told me he got so much joy out of your visits and stories about the children, he’d have gladly built a coop ten times that size.”
“He was a special man. I really miss him, Dylan.”
He gave her hand a squeeze. “So do I.”
“Thanks for coming over. I’m sorry I spoiled the evening.”
“Hey, supper tasted terrific. You didn’t spoil anything.”
“I was clumsy as a cow.”
Dylan forced himself to let go of her hand. He injected a mock sternness into his tone. “And here I thought you showed all of the potential to become a good rancher. Every cattleman knows cows are graceful as can be.”
She turned him around and pushed him toward the front door. “And every cattlewoman knows cowboys are full of beans.”
Twelve
August arrived. Heat shimmered off of the land. Chores not done early in the morning became almost impossible to accomplish until late afternoon because of the torturous conditions. Sondra was eternally grateful for the air-conditioning in her home. It took less than five minutes in the noonday sun for her to wilt.
A philanthropic organization operated a summer camp for foster kids, so she didn’t visit the group home. She missed seeing the kids, but she decided to concentrate on getting ready for the baby. She put sheets on the crib, wallpapered the nursery, and read voluminously.
Teresa offered to come help with the housework before and after the baby was born. Sondra appreciated her kindness but didn’t accept. “I’ll be bored to tears if I don’t have anything to do. By then, you’ll be a newlywed and need to settle in.”
Teresa shook her finger. “Don’t you be too proud to go changing your mind.”
“I’m okay. Really, I am. Housework keeps me busy. At least I’ll be ready when the baby decides to make his appearance.”
“Once you drop, you shouldn’t ought to be alone.”
“You’re as bad as Dylan! He’s hovering. I’m just pregnant, not terminally ill.”
“True enough. Still, if your water breaks, you’ll need someone to drive you into the hospital lickety-split.”
“I’m perfectly capable of driving myself.”
Teresa gave her an appalled look. “You’re not thinking clearly at all! Either you promise you’ll call for help, or one of us is moving in with the other.”
Dylan had come into the kitchen as her pronouncement was made. He sauntered over to the refrigerator, pulled out a can of soda, and popped the lid. “Guess you have things under control. Which way is the move going? Sondra to our place, or you comin’ here?”
“Neither!” Sondra glowered at him. “The last thing I need is having everybody drive me crazy. It’s natural to have a baby. Healthy. If you don’t want to believe me, I have books by all sorts of experts—”
He raised his can in a toasting gesture. “Hats off to you. You’ve done the schoolteacher thing and read a heap and did a bunch of research to get ready. Just remember that there’s a world of difference between all of the theory in your ivory tower books and actual practice in real life situations.”
“I’ve also gotten videos!”
He nearly choked on his soda, then shook his head. “Now why would a city-gal want to go do a thing like that?”