A Soft Place to Fall

by Barbara Bretton

  "I looked the other way when I should have been doing something to help. I hurt innocent people."

  Her eyes welled with tears. "I know all about looking the other way, Sam. I did that for most of my marriage to Kevin."

  Her words were balm to his soul, the first step in his journey to regain his self-respect.

  "I love you," he said. "I've never said that to a woman before." The power of those words and all they represented – you built families on their foundation. You built generations.

  "You're my soulmate," she said softly. "I've never said that to a man before." Her voice broke on the last word. "I never will again."

  "I'm not rich," he said, "and my prospects these days are lousy." It would take time for his reputation to be restored and by then, that world would have long since passed him by.

  "I'm one step up from being flat broke," she said, "but I'd say my prospects are terrific."

  "I might end up building canoes for a living."

  "Sounds good to me."

  "If you'd met me this time last year, you would've gotten a hell of a better deal." He'd had a career, a new car, money in the bank. Now all he had was his heart on his sleeve.

  "I'll be the judge of that. I fell in love with the guy in the ratty old Trooper, didn't I?"

  "The one with the pizza-eating dog."

  "Yep," she said, "that's the one. He stole my heart and I don't want it back."

  "There are a whole lot of Butlers out there for you to meet."

  She took a deep breath. "Actually there's one more Butler even you haven't met yet."

  He looked at her. "You want to say that again?"

  "One more Butler," she said, taking his hand and placing it against her soft belly, "due to join us around June 15th. That's what I was coming to tell you that afternoon."

  "But I thought you couldn't –"

  "So did I," she said, "but when we found each other more than one miracle happened." New life where there had been none before. Laughter where there had been only silence. Joy where sorrow had lived for too long. "I know we never talked about this – I mean, you may not even want children. You've spent your whole life raising kids and now here I am telling you that you're going to be starting all over."

  She looked radiant and joyful and so uncertain his heart ached with love for her and the future she carried deep within her beautiful body.

  "Tell me again." He bent down and pressed his lips to the roundness of her belly. "Tell me this is really happening for us."

  "It's really happening for us," she said as her tears fell softly onto his forehead. He could feel her relief flowing into his bones. "Just one miracle after another from the moment we met."

  He told her of the dream he had dreamed of children with her eyes and her smile, children who would carry their love into the future the way it was meant to be.

  "And your heart," she said as he took her in his arms and held her close. "I couldn't ask for more for our child."

  Everything he was, everything he had ever done or dreamed of doing, came together in that moment when she smiled at him and he saw their future in her eyes. He loved Annie Galloway and she loved him and they were going to have a baby.

  Sam Butler had finally come home.

  The Way It All Ended Up

  Late June

  "Push, Annie!" Ellen Markowitz urged. "One good push and you'll have your baby."

  "I . . . don't . . . want . . . to push!" Annie yelped in the voice everyone in the birthing room had come to know. "I want to get out of here." What was the matter with these people? Didn't they know she had been in labor for the last eighteen hours? Weren't they paying attention?

  Sam, who was sweating almost as much as his wife, leaned over and brushed her lips with an ice cube. "One more push, Annie. You can do it." Ellen had said he could be the one to receive the baby – if Annie would only push.

  Her eyes locked with his. "I can't, Sam, I can't –"

  "You can and you will. She's almost here, Annie, all you have to do is push."

  Next to her, Claudia squeezed her left hand. "All these years and still nobody's come up with a better way to get the job done. You can do it, Annie. I promise you, you can do it."

  "Oh, look!" Ellen cried. "We're almost there, Annie . . . just one more push."

  "Come on, Annie," Sam urged. "It's time we met our little girl."

  Annie took a deep breath and reached down deep to a place she didn't know existed but all women somehow found, a place where the power of love could perform miracles, and she pushed their daughter out into Sam's waiting arms.

  "Sarah Joy Butler," her husband said through his tears, "welcome to the world."

  A second later a small cry filled the room and a new life officially began.

  Annie and Sam had their miracle.

  #

  It hurt to look at them. Ellen had helped deliver hundreds of babies but she had never been as deeply moved by the experience as she was today. Sam kept kissing Annie and telling her how much he loved her, how much love and joy she had brought into his life, while Annie – oh God, the look of wonder and joy on her face was so profound that Ellen turned away. She talked Sam through cutting the cord then she went back to the work of delivering the afterbirth and making sure the baby's vital statistics had been duly recorded.

  Then came the moment she always waited for, that magical moment when a couple became a family. Sam laid the baby down on Annie's chest. Sarah Joy was slick with blood and birth fluids, a squalling little bundle of humanity whose nursing instinct guided her right to her target. Annie's tears fell onto the baby's fuzzy head while Sam tried to wipe away his own tears with the back of his sleeve. There were no celestial fireworks, no host of angels sent down from on high, but the sense of almost heavenly wonder couldn't be denied.

  Ellen waited a moment while Claudia drank in the sight of the newborn family and then the two of them stepped out into the waiting room where forty-two assorted Butlers, Galloways, and their friends all jumped up at once and gathered around them.

  Warren Bancroft, who looked like he'd been in hard labor himself, met Claudia's eyes. Claudia, who was laughing and crying simultaneously, nodded her head and Warren shouted with joy.

  "You old coot," Claudia said. "Now don't go taking all the credit for yourself. This was God's doing, not yours, and don't you forget it."

  Warren winked at Ellen over the top of Claudia's head and she knew he wasn't about to share credit for Sam and Annie's happiness with anyone, not even the Almighty.

  Ellen cleared her throat. "I am very happy to report that Sarah Joy Butler joined us at 1:28 p.m. She weighs seven pounds two ounces and measures nineteen inches long. She has her mother's curly hair and her father's nose and right now I think it's safe to say she also has everyone's heart in the palm of her little hand."

  "She's healthy?" Warren asked in a suspiciously husky voice.

  "Very," Ellen said.

  "And Annie," Susan said, "she's okay?"

  "She did great."

  Two of Sam's sisters looked at each other and grinned. "He fainted, didn't he," the one named Marie asked. "Sam never did like the sight of blood."

  Ellen laughed. "I'm sorry to disappoint you but your brother maintained consciousness throughout the delivery."

  Laughter and high fives and lots of happy tears filled the room as the two families celebrated the new addition.

  They didn't even notice when Ellen slipped out the door, which was, of course, as it should be. She had done her job, helping Annie bring little Sarah Joy into the world but now the rest of it was up to them. She leaned against the wall and let her emotions seek their level once again. You would think she would be used to it by now but each time she saw a tiny head crowning, each time she heard a newborn baby greet the world, she was filled once again with a sense of wonder that carried her through until the next delivery.

  But sometimes, like today with Annie and Sam, it was even more wondrous. To see them with their b
aby girl, to be privileged to witness the happiness on their faces and on the faces of the people who loved them –

  "Are you crying again, Markowitz?"

  She looked up through teary eyes as Hall approached. He was fresh from the delivery room himself, wearing the look of wonder she knew all too well.

  "Boy or girl?" she asked him. "I know Aileen was looking for a boy."

  "Aileen got her wish," he said, leaning against the wall next to her. He smelled faintly of Betadine and that made her smile. "Nine pounds, six ounces with lungs like his mother." She heard him drawn in a breath. "Annie?" he asked.

  "A beautiful little girl," Ellen said as those damn tears flooded down her cheeks and splashed onto her scrubs. "Sarah Joy Butler." She provided the vital statistics and tried very hard not to notice that his own eyes filled with tears. "I have never seen so many people in a waiting room in my life."

  "The Galloways stick together," Hall said.

  "Looks like the Butlers do too." Lucky Annie, she thought. Lucky Sam.

  Lucky, lucky Sarah.

  They were quiet for a while, then Ellen stifled a yawn. "I think I'm going to call it a day," she said.

  He looked at her and for the first time she didn't see Annie Butler reflected in his eyes. She didn't know if it meant anything at all but she was open to the possibility. "How about we grab some lunch at Cappy's?"

  "I'd like that," she said then smiled at him. "I'd like it a lot."

  They watched for a moment as Sarah Joy Butler took her place in the nursery next to Baby Boy Whitcomb. They held the hopes and fears and dreams of their parents tight in those little fists. A smile from either one of them could make a grown man cry.

  She didn't know what Hall was thinking but she could guess. "Another day, another miracle," she said, pretending to dust off her hands. "All in a day's work around General Hospital."

  He laughed and turned away from the window of sleeping dreams. "Ain't it the truth, Doc," he said. "Ain't it the truth."

  "Cappy's in fifteen minutes?"

  "Sounds great," said Hall. "I'll meet you in the parking lot."

  Ellen was smiling as she hurried back to her office to change into street clothes.

  It wasn't a miracle, but it would do for now.

  ==The End==

  Page down for excerpts from The Marrying Man, I Do, I Do . . . Again, and At Last from Barbara Bretton

  The Marrying Man - a novella

  Chapter One

  Catherine O'Leary Zaslow knew twenty-seven ways to kill a man and on that morning before Thanksgiving she contemplated a twenty-eighth. If looks could kill, her agent would be six feet under.

  "I must be crazy," she announced as Max took her coat then handed it to his assistant. "I don't know how I let you convince me to come all the way down to Manhattan for this meeting. This is the day before Thanksgiving, Max. Normal people are home baking pies, not taking meetings."

  "This was the only day Riley McKendrick could make it," Max said. "We had to grab him when we could."

  Cat took a seat at the long conference table. "So who is this Riley McKendrick, the uncrowned king of England?"

  "Better than that," said Max, taking a seat opposite her. "McKendrick's the best time management expert in the country. I know how you feel about organization, Catherine, but the time has come--"

  "If you think I'm letting one of those schedule-loving lunatics into my house so he can alphabetize my spices and color-code the toilet tissue, you're crazy."

  "Think how successful you'd be if you could actually find your computer in that rat-trap office of yours. I've been to your house, Catherine. I'm surprised you can find your children."

  "You mind your business, Max, and I'll mind mine." What difference did it make if she had the organizational abilities of the average fruit fly? Everyone was clean, fed, and happy. If more was required in raising children, she couldn't imagine what it was. Besides, her kids weren't any of Max's business, her books were. And these days her mystery novels were number one on bestseller lists across the country.

  "Frank Fairbairn's production has doubled since he hired a time management specialist to whip him into shape." Frank Fairbairn was her closest competition in the murder mystery field. Max looked downright wistful at the thought of double production.

  "Frank Fairbairn is a man," Cat pointed out, choosing to ignore Max's statement about a time-management specialist. "His wife keeps his world running smoothly."

  "Listen, if a wife'll get you back on track, I'll find you a wife."

  "Jenny and I do just fine on our own." Jenny was her housekeeper, confidante, and partner in chaos.

  "I know Jenny," Max reminded her. "That's not a very convincing argument. The woman can't make scrambled eggs without consulting the Joy of Cooking."

  "I know why you're doing this," she said, tapping her index finger against the table top. "Last year it was a personal trainer, this year it's a time management consultant. You're too trendy for your own good, Max."

  "Trends come and trends go," Max intoned, "but an organized life is forever."

  She glanced at her watch. "What time was he supposed to be here?"

  Max shifted uncomfortably. "Ten o'clock."

  "It's ten-fifteen," she observed. "Sounds like the world's best time management consultant needs to have his credentials updated."

  "This is Manhattan, Cat. He probably got stuck in traffic."

  Cat rose then walked around to the other side of the table and placed a quick kiss atop Max's elegant, perfectly barbered head. "Dinner's at four o'clock tomorrow, Max. We'll pick you up at the train station at three-fifteen."

  "Catherine, Catherine, Catherine! See reason, please. An hour with Riley McKendrick will change your life forever."

  "Sure, Max," she said. "That and a magic lantern with a genie inside. No nearsighted weenie with an obsession for clocks and calendars is going to get close enough to--" She stopped, a frown creasing her forehead. Max's smile was incandescent. His eyes sparkled. He'd seen reason!

  Her heart soared with delight until she realized Max was looking right past her toward the door.

  "McKendrick!" Max said in a booming, hail-fellow-well-met voice he reserved for contract negotiations and Elite models. "We were about to send out a search party."

  "Sorry," drawled a deep male voice behind her. "Flat tire on East 54th Street."

  The number-crunching clockwatcher. She barely suppressed a groan. If she hadn't stopped to kiss Max on the head, she'd be safely in the elevator and on her way home.

  No big deal. She'd turn, she'd smile politely at the poor dweeb in the doorway, and then excuse herself with dispatch.

  She turned around.

  She looked at him.

  And her entire life seemed to pass before her eyes.

  That was no dweeb. That was the Marlboro Man - in all of his untamed, uncivilized Wild West glory.

  Her jaw dropped open and for a moment she wondered if she'd need professional help to get it closed.

  The guy wore artfully faded jeans, a cream-colored sweater, and a leather jacket that looked as if it had a few stories to tell. Her gaze slid across his torso, down his long legs, to the boots. And not the kind of boots you'd find on some ersatz urban cowboy. These were the real thing, tough, worn, sexy as hell.

  Same as the man who wore them. He was at least six-four and most of that was muscle. Hard, well-developed muscles, some of them in places she'd believed only Greek statues had muscles. Dark hair, green eyes, your basic Adonis. For a moment she considered swooning but thought better of it. This was the 90s, after all, and modern women were supposed to take things like amazing male pulchritude in stride.

  He was the kind of guy you saw on the cover of a paperback historical romance, one of those perfect specimens that came complete with a bosomy blond companion clutching at his manly chest.

  That couldn't be the clockwatcher. Maybe he really was a cover model and that was why he was looming in Max's doorway. If she could
breathe at all, she'd breathe a sigh of relief. Max handled a few big name romance authors and he probably had a say in who posed for the covers. Riley McKendrick must be standing behind the Marlboro Man, hidden behind the cowboy's broad shoulders. You could hide a redwood tree behind those shoulders.

  "Cat." Max's voice broke into her reverie. "I want you to meet Riley McKendrick."

  She waited for a small, plain man to peer around the cowboy's shoulder but none did. It can't be, she thought, heartbeat accelerating. It's just not possible!

  The cowboy smiled down at her. This was the man who watched clocks for a living? Men who looked like this guy did usually spent more time looking in the mirror. His teeth were white, shiny, and symmetrical. Instead of money, the tooth fairy had probably left porcelain veneers under his pillow.

  "C. O. Lowe," McKendrick said, as her hand was swallowed up in his. "I know your books."

  She nodded, aware that he'd said he knew her books, not that he either read and/or liked them.

  "My name's Cat," she managed, wishing she had more experience dealing with cowboy Adonises, "and I'm not interested in getting organized." Blunt but true.

  "That's what they all say."

  "I'm sure they do," she murmured as reason made a delayed return, "but let me say it again: I don't know what Max promised you, but there's no deal. Not with me."

  Max popped up between them, a referee in Armani. "Coffee," he said in an unnaturally cheerful voice. "That's what we need. Coffee." He looked toward McKendrick. "How do you take it?"

  Talk about a loaded question. A voluptuous shiver rose up from the soles of her feet and she wondered if anyone would notice if she poured a pitcher of iced water over her head.

  "Black," said the cowboy. "No sugar."

  "Cat?" Max asked.

  "With cream," Cat mumbled. "Two sugars. Decaf."

  "Decaf?" asked McKendrick.

  "What's wrong with decaf?" she asked.