“City or country—what’s the difference?”
“If you’d grown up out here, you would’ve seen animals give birth hundreds of times and figured it was. . .well, natural. I’ll bet you’ve never even seen puppies born.”
She lifted her chin. “I was there when you pulled that calf!”
Dylan winced at the memory. “If I’d have known you were expecting, I would’ve hustled you out of the birthing shed faster than a cricket can jump. Some things, you just don’t have to watch—like those videos. Are you trying to scare yourself half to death?”
“The women in the movies all manage just fine.”
He stared at her in silence. Suddenly, his face softened, as did his voice. His eyes glowed with compassion. “Yeah, Sondra, I’m sure they did, but they all had a husband along to smooth things out and help them along. You haven’t wanted or asked for any help. No one expects you to hang in there and take it all by yourself. No one’s going to bat an eye when you have ’em give you a little something to take the edge off of the pain.”
“The American Academy of Pediatrics says that if drugs are used in labor, the choice should be based on what has the least effect on the neonate.”
Dylan grinned. “See? The least effect.”
Sondra looked at him in disbelief. “I’ve done tons of reading, and it still all boils down to the fact that the baby still gets some of the drug. That’s why they say
if
drugs are used.” She folded her arms across her chest and leaned back against the counter. She nodded resolutely. “I’m not about to subject my baby to any risk!”
“It seems to me you’re putting him at risk by refusing to let anyone help you or stay with you.” Dylan crushed the can in his hand, then tossed it into the trash. “If something went wrong, it might be too late by the time any of us got here.”
“What an awful thing to say!”
“Yes, it was,” Teresa agreed softly. She then tacked on, “It takes a mighty good friend to point out something that touchy, though. Dylan did it because he cares about you and the baby. You can’t fault him for being dead straight honest.”
“Excuse me.” Sondra waddled out of the room and firmly shut her bedroom door. She had too much to worry about already. She didn’t want to have them feed her any more concerns. Didn’t they know how lonely she felt? How inept and overwhelmed? Didn’t they understand she’d come here so her child would be well provided for and so she could stay with him?
It hadn’t been easy in the least. The last thing she needed was for them to point out the obscure possibilities for complications. She stood at the crib and smoothed the sheet. A few moments later, she heard the kitchen door shut. Teresa and Dylan’s voices faded away. Letting out a shaky sigh, Sondra knew she was alone once again. She didn’t know whether to be delighted or worried.
❧
Dylan knew exactly how to feel: guilty. He’d up and scared the poor little widow-woman all over again. Often, when she wasn’t watching, he checked her over really carefully, and her eyes managed to take on a desolate, haunted look.
Preoccupied, he rode Pretty Boy under a tree and whacked off his Stetson on a low hanging branch. By noontime, Dylan had made a fair number of dumb blunders. Knowing full well he’d best go square matters away with Sondra or practically kill himself in an accident, he stopped at home and took out a half-gallon brick of rocky road. Just as Sondra kept his brand of soda at her place, he’d taken to storing her favorite flavors of ice cream at his.
She didn’t answer his knock, and Dylan started feeling antsy. He tried again, then walked on in. Tracking through the empty kitchen, he discovered the living room, bedrooms, and bathrooms were empty. Vexed, he walked back through the kitchen just in time to see the door to the basement open. Sondra stepped out.
She was wearing a gigantic, baby blue tee shirt. Singing loudly, she didn’t realize he was there until she shut the door and took another step into the kitchen. As soon as she spied him, she let out a high-pitched shriek.
Dylan reached out to take the laundry basket from her.
“I’m so embarrassed!” An evasive move accompanied her wail.
Dylan kept hold of the basket. “For cryin’ out loud, Sondra. You’re covered up.”
“Will you get out of here?”
“Nope.” He glanced at the contents of the basket. Calm-as-you-please, he plucked her pink, fluffy housecoat from the top of the laundry, shook it out, and slipped it around her shoulders. Curling his hands around the basket, he ordered, “Give this to me.”
“Only if you promise to close your eyes and turn around.”
Huffing, he complied. “Okay.” He stood with his back to her, set the basket on the table, and decided to lessen the tension. “Remember those fluffy, round, pink lunch cakes?”
“Are you comparing me to one of those?”
“Yup. One of those pinky, dinky, sweet things.”
She muttered, “As if there’s anything dinky about me.”
Dylan snagged the belt from the laundry basket. He turned around and proceeded to slip it around her, then tie it in a quick clove hitch. He patted the knot where it lay over the mound of her tummy and winked at her. “I defy you to look down and tell me you don’t look just like—”
“Dylan?” she interrupted. “I’m not a violent woman, but I’m about to threaten grave, bodily harm if you don’t hush.”
“Didn’t you ever learn about getting more flies with honey than vinegar? Instead of grousing, you should try to bribe me into silence by offering ice cream.”
She gave him an exasperated look.
He held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “I met you more than halfway—I brought the ice cream. Tell you what, you go sit on the sofa, and I’ll bring you some.”
She slipped past him and headed for the hallway, mumbling, “I don’t want flies.”
Dylan knew she hadn’t gone to the living room, but he didn’t chase after her. She was too embarrassed for him to push matters. He could hear her walking around in the master bedroom. If it made her feel better to pull on fifteen layers of clothes, he was going to let her—and he wouldn’t say a word about it. After filling a pair of bowls, he went to the living room and ate several heaping bites while he waited.
Sondra reappeared wearing stretch slacks and a gauzy top the color of spring grass. She didn’t meet his eyes when she finished easing herself into the corner of the couch.
Dylan pressed the bowl into her hands. “I changed my mind. The minute you turned your back and started walking down the hallway, I thought you looked like a polar bear with a sunburn.”
“Well!” The affronted tone of voice was at direct odds with the smile on her face. “I’m offended. You could have said I looked like something cool and graceful—like, say. . .a flamingo.”
“Nah. I’m not gonna encourage a nitwit notion like that. You might well take it in your mind to stand on one leg. You’ve managed to do just about everything else imaginable, but some things defy good sense.”
She played with the spoon and ice cream. “I’ve been careful. I admit—it’s driving me crazy not to do more around here, though. Holding back goes against my grain.”
Dylan set down his ice cream. “You do plenty. It’s not easy, adjusting to a new home. You’re settling in and making friends. Keeping books and learning the ropes of a new business, too. Using your mind is every bit as valuable as using your muscles.”
She swirled her spoon around and concentrated on the bowl as if she’d never seen anything half as intriguing. Her nonchalance was feigned, and poorly, at that.
Dylan leaned forward. “I confess, when we started out, I figured this was as lopsided as a partnership ever got. You’ve pitched in, dug deep, and have surprised everyone—me, most of all.” She looked up at him. Her gaze locked with his, as if she needed to be certain he wasn’t just giving her a pep talk. Dylan stared back at her, steady and sure. He wanted her to know she’d earned his admiration.
“You’ve been terrific about setting aside your plans and throwing yourself into this partnership. My role has been negligible. You’ll never know how thankful I am.”
He acknowledged her words with a dip of his head. “Mrs. Thankful, I do believe your name suits you fine.”
She hitched her shoulder. “Other than the baby, it’s about all I have to claim of Kenny’s.”
She didn’t often say much about her husband. He wondered aloud, “How long were you together?”
“We dated for about four months.”
Dylan picked up his ice cream again. “But how long were you together?”
“I thought you knew. I um. . .” A virulent blush swept over her as her voice dropped shyly. “I got pregnant on our honeymoon. Kenny called it beginner’s luck.”
“But he died—” Dylan rasped, “You were married only two months?”
Her eyes filled with tears. “Six weeks and two days.”
“Aww, baby.” Dylan reached to pull her close.
She shoved her bowl into his hands instead. “I can’t even eat that for solace!”
“Why not?”
A wry smile twisted her lips, even as her eyes swam with tears. “Because the baby has the hiccups!”
Dylan thumped the bowls down on the coffee table. “Really?”
She let out a watery laugh. “Look—you can see it.”
His gaze locked on her tummy, and within a few seconds, his hands were there, too. Rhythmic knocking lifted and dropped her belly. Soon, he couldn’t feel it because her laughter made everything shake. “You ought to see the look on your face, Dylan!”
“That’s wild!”
“It’s rude. I’ll have to teach this kid manners as soon as he makes an appearance.”
“Don’t ask me for any help. I’m the idiot who barged in on you today. I’m real sorry for that, you know.”
Sondra patted his arm. The distraction of the baby’s hiccups seemed to have bought her an opportunity to regain control of her emotions. “It was my fault. I invited you to come and go at will. The dress I wanted to wear today is down in the dryer. I just dashed down to get it, but it was still too damp to wear.” She started to wallow.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m trying. . .to. . .get up!”
Dylan sprang to his feet. “Why didn’t you just ask for help?”
“I’m. . .not. . .helpless.” She let him haul her to her feet and excused herself.
Dylan knew she was heading for the bathroom. “I’ll see you later. Oh—Sondra?”
She stopped.
“Teresa asked me to have you give her a call. Something about the wedding.”
She gave him a winsome smile. “Okay.” She watched his expression change. “What is it?”
“Something you said just passed through my mind.”
“What?”
“You said it was a honeymoon baby.”
“Yes.”
Beginner’s luck. She and Ken waited, just as God commands.
Sondra turned and started down the hallway. She called over her shoulder, “Thanks for the ice cream.”
Dylan took his empty bowl and her melted mush into the kitchen. Rinsing them, he shook his head in utter astonishment. She’d had a single spoonful of ice cream, just as she’d had a single month of passion. However sweet a month of honeymooning had been, it couldn’t make up for a lifetime of loneliness or the responsibilities of bearing and rearing a child. No wonder Sondra still clung to Kenny’s shirts and wanted to save the rip in the sofa. She had hardly any memories and nothing else at all.
Thirteen
Three days later, Dylan rapped on the back door. Sondra opened it, and he entered quickly so the hot air wouldn’t rush in and heat up the house. “Need a drink?”
“Probably.”
“Help yourself.” She turned to leave the kitchen.
Dylan gently grabbed hold of what once had been her waist. “Hang on. Every time I get within ten yards of you, you drop out of sight like a prairie dog diving into the nearest hole. Why are you avoiding me?”
Sondra didn’t bother to deny his assertion.
Dylan murmured, “You’re still not looking me in the eye. Are you having a fit because I saw you in that big tee shirt, or are you embarrassed that I ferreted out that you were a virgin bride?”
Her cheeks tingled with heat. “I’m not ashamed of having waited for marriage.”
“So you’re being goosey because I saw you looking like one of the seven dwarfs?”
“Is that what you thought?”
“I think I’m ready for that drink now.” He opened the refrigerator, got out a soda for himself, and handed her the milk. He gave her a wink and added, “You’re getting a tad moody. Isn’t that supposed to mean you’re ready to have the little one?”
“Don’t we just wish!”
“September second is eighteen days away. I counted on the calendar this morning.”
“In eighteen days, I’m going to take out a full page ad in the county newspaper, offering my services as a crop dusting dirigible!”
His soda went down the wrong way, and he spluttered. Sondra whacked him on the back a few times, then simpered, “Mr. Ward, I do believe that served you right after calling me moody.”
“If the shoe fits. . .”
She made a face at him and grudgingly admitted, “I am grumpy today.”