by Rebecca York
That first day Gabe was up and about set the tone for the next few months. Well, there was one other thing. He kept up the habit of lighting a fire in the evenings. The difference was that instead of lying together in front of the fire, he sat in the easy chair, and she lay propped up by pillows on the couch.
She was glad that he didn’t shut himself in his bedroom right after dinner. In the flickering light, she felt closer to him than she did while they moved carefully around each other during the day. He hardly looked at her while they ate and worked. But at night she felt his gaze on her.
There were so many things she wanted to say to him, but she kept them locked inside herself—afraid to shatter the calm mood. They were together, but would they ever speak about anything important again—besides the crops and the livestock?
He had said nothing about the baby since that first night when his anger had flared like a rocket exploding, and he’d stomped out of the house. And she was afraid to bring up the subject.
She told herself she was a coward. But she didn’t want to see that anger on his face again. And she didn’t want him to stomp off and get hurt a second time.
Still, there were things she needed to say. She needed to tell him what she felt for the baby. It had been fathered by a man who had forced her to submit to him. And it would make sense if she hated the child she had conceived. But that wasn’t true. At first, she’d tried to ignore the pregnancy. Then when she had thought about the life growing inside her, something else had blossomed—love for her child. She wanted to cradle her baby in her arms, to hold him to her breast and feed him, soothe him when he cried and teach him all the important things he would need to know in life.
This farm where she’d landed would be a wonderful place to grow up. But when she thought of Gabe and his reaction, the fantasy of raising her child in this environment evaporated like mist burning off in the morning sun. She might love the baby, but Gabe would only think he was stuck with another man’s bastard.
And there were so many practical problems that she had no idea how to solve. Like where would the baby sleep? And what would he wear? And how would she get him to the doctor to have him checked out after he was born?
If she took him back to Port City, would Gabe tell her to stay there? And if she did, where would she live and how would she support the two of them? She was good at office work, but who would hire her when they learned why she’d gone to prison.
That was in the future. But for now, she felt like she was always walking a narrow line, where she couldn’t be sure of Gabe’s reaction to anything.
He had gotten his strength back. His arm was functioning. He had taken over a lot of the farm responsibilities. He was letting her work at her own pace at the jobs she enjoyed—like taking care of the chickens and tending the kitchen garden of herbs and vegetables that grew at the side of the house. And he told her she should rest in the afternoons.
But they never talked about the two of them, and he never touched her, except by accident like when she was at the sink and turned as he was bringing his plate to the counter. What if she reached out and put her hand on his shoulder? What if she pulled him close? She ached to feel his arms around her, but it seemed that he couldn’t handle any intimacy between them.
Sometimes when she climbed into the bed she had shared with Gabe, she couldn’t stop herself from crying softly. Even though they were living in the same house, she felt more alone than she ever had in her life.
The man she loved was sleeping in another room. If she told him how much she missed him, he’d probably make a derisive sound and turn away. But what would happen if she got up one night and climbed into bed with him?
The more she thought about that, the more she wondered—why not do it? From the first, they’d been good in bed together. Maybe that would make a difference again. Or maybe she was simply looking for more confirmation of rejection. She was a fat lump now and perhaps that was one reason why he never touched her.
On the other hand, maybe she had to confront the worst.
She clenched her hands into fists, building up her resolve to break the status quo.
In the small hours of one morning, she moved to the side of the bed and got up awkwardly. First, she made a quick trip to the bathroom, as she did more and more in the night. Then she tiptoed across the short hall and quietly opened the door to the room where Gabe had been sleeping. She’d looked at the bedchamber when he was out working. It was probably the room where he’d slept when he was a kid, but he’d swept away all traces of his boyhood and it was an anonymous space that was only for sleeping.
She waited for her eyes to adjust. One of the two moons was still up, and it shined a little illumination on the man lying on the bed.
He was on his side facing away from her. She stood for long moments, staring down at him, feeling the intimacy of watching him sleep. But she wasn’t here to just watch. She wanted to be close to him—as close as they once had been.
In the dark, she grinned, because they were going to be closer. It was a narrow bed.
Quietly she crossed the room, pulled the blanket aside and slipped between the sheets behind her husband, burrowing into his naked warmth.
He had been sleeping soundly, but she felt him go instantly rigid when he realized she was in his bed.
He didn’t turn, and his voice was hoarse when he asked, “Carin? Are you all right?”
“Yes.”
“What are you doing?”
“I’ve missed you. I want to be with you,” she answered, trailing her lips against his neck and moving to the line of his jaw, feeling the bristles of his beard. It had been so long since she’d been close to him, and it felt so good to finally clasp him to her again in the warmth of the bed. Would it be the final time she ever held him? That thought threatened to cut off her breath. But if he was going to send her away after the baby was born, she wanted this last time with him.
He still didn’t turn. “You should leave.”
Instead of answering, she moved her arm so she could clasp her hand around his penis.
He made a strangled sound, and she felt his instant response. He grew hard as she stroked up and down his length, then even harder.
He wanted her. Or maybe he couldn’t help responding after so long without making love.
What he said was, “Stop.”
She laid her head against his shoulder. “Why?”
“You’ll make me come.”
“You don’t want to?”
“Yes. No, wait.”
He turned over, facing her. She could barely see his face, but she heard the urgency in his voice. “Not like this. Take off your gown.”
A surge of joy flooded through her as she absorbed the request. “Oh yes.”
She sat up, pulled the gown over her head and tossed it toward the end of the bed, before quickly lying back down.
Under the covers, he brought his hands up to cup her breasts. They were large and full, the nipples much bigger, and they hardened as he stroked his fingers over them.
“They’re so big,” he said in a strangled voice.
“Uh huh.”
He lifted them and held their weight in his hands, stroking his thumbs over the crests.
“What is it okay to do?”
“Everything. It’s okay to do everything.”
He squeezed her nipples between his thumbs and fingers, applying the pressure that she liked, and she almost came from his touch.
Both of them groaned in pleasure.
“Fates, that’s so good,” he murmured.
“Yes.”
His hand slid down her body, combing through the springy hair at the top of her legs, then dipped lower and into the folds of her sex. She had gone wet and slick for him, and she lay back as he slipped his finger into her vagina.
“That’s okay?”
“Yes. It’s wonderful.”
He withdrew, then slid up to her clit, circling and pressing before sliding back to her op
ening again,
She heard him groan as he felt her responding to him.
“I want my cock in there,” he said in a strangled voice.
“I want you there.”
She thought about how they could do it. She could be on top, but then her huge belly would be on full display, and she thought that might turn him off. Instead she said, “I can lie on my side. You can come up behind me and enter me from the back.”
“Can you come that way?”
“I think so. If you play with my clit. And my breasts.”
She turned on her side and felt him mold his body to hers. When his erection slipped into her, she couldn’t hold back a little sob.
He went still. “Did I hurt you?”
“No. It’s so good.” She wanted to tell him how much she’d missed making love with him, but she couldn’t get the words out.
The finger and thumb of one hand tightened around her nipple. The other hand rubbed against her clit as he began to move.
She had wanted him for months, and now it was finally happening. She came quickly—at the same time he did. They both lay where they were, panting, for several moments before she turned in his arms and raised her face to his, finding his lips.
They had made love before any mouth-to-mouth contact. Now she remedied that omission with a long, deep kiss, taking in the familiar taste of him.
As they kissed, he began to touch her, caressing her breasts and her sex, and she felt herself getting hot all over again.
They had both been keyed up from long months of deprivation. Now, in the dark, they caressed each other slowly, going back to familiar patterns. Touching was comforting—and arousing—but there was so much she wanted to say to him. Yet the words stayed locked behind her lips. Instead, she strove to give him as much pleasure as she could. And she thought he was doing the same.
She shifted her position, moving down his body so that she could take his cock into her mouth. It felt like an even more intimate thing to do than intercourse because she was so aware of his every small reaction as her tongue slid over him and her lips compressed around him.
She fondled his balls while she sucked him as deep into her mouth as she could. And when he came, she swallowed his semen, wanting to have as much of him as she could.
When she lay back, he sat up and moved between her legs, kneeling as he faced her. She was embarrassed now by the bulge of her belly sticking up in his face. But he ignored it and bent to swirl his tongue around her clit while he slipped two fingers into her vagina, moving slowly in and out of her. She came in a blast of feeling, rearing up, then sinking back against the pillow as she caught her breath.
He flopped down beside her, clasping her hand under the covers.
Again, she wanted to speak, but shouldn’t he be the one to say something after she’d come in to bridge the gap between?
She lay beside him in the dark, hoping to hear words that would break the silence torturing her for months. Tension coursed through her, as she prayed for some kind of reassurance. But as the minutes passed and he said nothing, she lost the fight to stay awake. She drifted off quickly and woke when the sun had already risen.
It was a long stretch for her to have slept. When she looked around for Gabe, she saw that he had left the bed. But she could smell the scent of their lovemaking on the sheets. Reaching for her gown, she pulled it over her head, then staggered into the bathroom where she used the facilities and washed.
In the kitchen, she saw that he had eaten—and left hard-boiled eggs, bread and cheese for her.
As she ate, she thought about what had happened last night. Maybe you could call it a breakthrough—and maybe not. Or perhaps today would be the same as all the other days since he’d climbed out of the medical bed.
Although she looked at him expectantly when he came in for lunch, he had very little to say except that the corn crop would be ready to harvest soon.
The man who had made tender love to her the night before seemed to be gone, replaced by the laconic stranger who had shared farm chores and meals with her for the past few months.
Chapter Nine
She felt as though nothing had changed. But in reality, there was no way things could stay the same forever. In fact, the upheaval came one evening as she lay on the couch watching the flames.
Her back had been hurting all day, and she’d tried to ignore it. Finally, she felt a pain like a giant cramp in her abdomen and made a small sound.
Gabe turned quickly toward her. “What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know. It could be . . .” She stopped and swallowed hard. “You know . . . the baby.”
“I should take you to Med Central.”
“Yes,” she said, as another giant cramp gripped her, and a gush of liquid came down between her legs.
“Oh!”
“What happened?”
“Either I peed in my pants—or my water broke.” She pushed herself up.
“Lie down.”
“I’m all wet. I’m going to ruin the couch.”
“Don’t worry about the couch.”
“I’m going to change into . . .” She looked at him. “Maybe the best thing is one of your old shirts.”
“Okay.”
She climbed to her feet as another pain hit her. It was stronger, and she reached out to steady herself against the sofa arm.
“They’re coming fast,” she murmured.
“Are they bad?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll get the shirt. You stay there.”
She gave him a grateful look, eased back down and rested her head against the back of the couch.
“I’ll bring the hauler to the farmyard.”
Her eyes blinked open. “I don’t think we have time.”
“Why not?” his voice held a note of panic.
“I think I’ve been in labor and didn’t know it. My back hurt a lot today. I think it was what they call back labor.” She dragged in a breath and let it out. “Call the med . . .” Before she finished the sentence, another pain took her breath away. When she felt like she could talk again, she said. “Well, first, throw a tarp on the rug. Then maybe a sheet or a blanket you don’t’ mind getting messed up.”
He ran outside and came puffing back with a rough blanket and a tarp. He put the blanket on the rug, then the tarp before running into the bedroom and returning with a sheet.
She scuffed off her shoes, stood and took off her shirt, then pulled off her pants and panties before quickly putting on his shirt. Gabe was helping her onto the sheet when another pain seized her.
He eased her down, and she lay panting as he ran to get his comms unit. Everything was happening fast. Maybe too fast.
She heard him calling, heard him talking to a tech. When he brought the unit over, she was relieved to see Harrison’s face.
“You’ve only been at the farmstead a little over seven months. Your baby’s coming early?” he asked.
She glanced at Gabe.
“Yeah, early,” he said in a strangled voice. “She doesn’t think she can make it to the city. Can you send someone out here?”
“You should be able to handle it,” the tech said, using the same logic as when she’d wanted help after Gabe’s accident.
She heard him curse under his breath.
“Have warm water ready. Grab some towels to wipe the baby off. You need a scissors or a knife to cut the cord and string to tie it off.”
Gabe rushed out of the room, and she lay back on the sheet.
“How close are the contractions?” Harrison asked her.
“Close. I’m not sure,” she gasped out as another one hit her, and she clamped her fist around a handful of the sheet.
Gabe brought the supplies back and knelt beside her, his face a mask of worry. “How are you?”
“I’ve been . . . better.”
The pain jolted up. “Oh Crayton,” she gasped out, using the name of a hated dictator as she grabbed up fistfuls of the sheet.
Gabe turned to the comms unit. “The pain’s bad. What should I do?”
Dimly she heard the two men conferring, but now she was consumed with the needs of her own body.
“I have to push,” she gasped out as she began to do just that, feeling like she was straining to expel an enormous gourd.
Gabe pulled up the shirt and knelt between her legs. “I see the head,” he cried.
“Guide him out gently,” the tech answered.
“Fates, the cord is around his neck.”
“Slowly ease it over his head.”
She heard Gabe let out a sigh of relief. “Okay. I have it. I’ve got his shoulders.”
The rest of the little body slid out, and she knew Gabe was busy.
She thanked the fates when she heard the baby cry.
“It’s a girl,” Gabe shouted as he wrapped the baby in one of the towels.
A girl. Her daughter, she thought with a surge of wonder. And she hadn’t even thought of a name.
“We can use girls,” Harrison answered as he gave Gabe more directions. He wiped off the baby and laid her on Carin’s chest. In wonder, she reached up to cradle the new life.
“Should I cut the cord?” Gabe called out.
“Wait until she delivers the placenta.”
She gently hugged her daughter, drifting in the lull after the pain. She felt Gabe doing something and looked up.
“I’m getting any mucus or fluid out of her nostrils by stroking down the side of her nose,” he explained.
“Okay,” she answered, then felt the need to bear down again.
With a few pushes, the placenta slid out of her.
“Cut the cord in two places. You don’t want to leave too long a length. Then vigorously massage Carin’s abdomen below her navel to get the uterus to contract.”
Gabe pressed his hand against her middle, kneading. She heard him gasp, then heard Harrison ask what was wrong.
“She’s bleeding—a lot.”
“She should nurse the baby. That will help.”
He brought pillows and propped her up so that she could hold the infant to her breast.
“She’s still bleeding like a river. This can’t be right.”
“Wad a towel between her legs.”
