by Irene Hannon
“You amaze me.” He rubbed his hands up and down her chilly arms, finding himself rapidly stepping over the line from friendship to love as he thought of her generous spirit. “Most people in your situation would be bitter.”
She attempted a smile, but it flashed and faded as quickly as fireworks in the night sky. “I made a choice to be better, not bitter. I have a long way to go, but that’s my goal.” Lacing her fingers together in her lap, she looked at him straight on. “So where does this leave us, Luke?”
Good question.
He raked his fingers through his hair and shook his head. “I don’t have a clue. I’m still trying to absorb everything you’ve told me. But I do know one thing. Whatever feelings I had for you when this conversation began are even stronger now.” He reached over and stroked his fingers down the gentle curve of her cheek. “I’ll tell you what. Why don’t we both sleep on this? Regroup tomorrow? Maybe things will be clearer after a good night’s rest.”
Truth be told, he didn’t expect to get much shuteye tonight. And from the look she gave him, he suspected she felt the same way.
“Okay.”
“Now let me take another look at your knee before I leave.”
As he flipped back the quilt and stood to remove the ice pack, the shift into doctor mode helped him regain a little of his equilibrium. And a quick inspection reassured him. The swelling was minimal, but the bruise had darkened. “This is going to hurt for a few days.”
“I can handle it. I’ve been through worse.”
He thought of the scar near her collarbone. And the other injuries she’d no doubt suffered during the attack. Once more his anger swelled. Despite his years in the line of fire, he’d never been a violent man. Brutality and bloodshed turned his stomach. But if Kelsey’s attacker was standing here now, he’d punch the guy out. And he wouldn’t suffer one nanosecond of regret.
Needing a few moments to get his anger under control, he resettled the ice pack on her knee, pulled the quilt back into position and picked up her glass and plate.
“Leave those, Luke. I’ll take care of them later.”
“You need to keep that ice pack on your knee. Besides, I always clean up after myself.”
His thoughts more muddled than ever, he made short work of the dishes, wiped down the counter and rejoined her. “Can I do anything else for you tonight?”
Her eyes spoke volumes, communicating a need that had nothing to do with practical assistance, but she just shook her head.
“Call me if anything comes up, okay?”
She acknowledged his request with a dip of her head.
It was time to go. But all at once he felt as if he was running out on her.
She seemed to sense his dilemma. “Go home, Luke. I think we both need some time and distance to digest everything.”
“Yeah.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. A shaft of light from the setting sun was gilding her blond hair and turning her pale skin golden. Her lips were slightly parted, her eyes wide, her chin firm—and resolute. She was both strong and vulnerable, and despite his uncertainty about what lay ahead, he couldn’t resist the appeal of that juxtaposition.
Crossing the room, he stopped beside her, bent down and brushed his lips over the satiny skin of her forehead. “Good night, Kelsey.”
“’Night.”
Her strangled response caught on a sob, and he was tempted to stay. To tell her everything was fine, that what she’d told him tonight hadn’t changed a thing.
But that was a lie. It had.
With a final squeeze of her hand, he strode from the room, collected the artist’s renderings from the screened porch, and headed across the lawn toward his house.
Before he’d visited Kelsey tonight, Luke had made his peace—to some degree—with the notion of a ready-made family.
A child born of violence, however…that was a different story.
He paused, watching the setting sun edge the ominous black clouds in the distance with gold, transforming them into a thing of beauty. That’s what Kelsey was trying to do—make something beautiful out of a storm. And perhaps she’d succeed. Perhaps she’d eventually find it in her heart to accept this child on his or her own merits. Maybe a mother’s love would be strong enough to overcome her memories of the baby’s traumatic conception.
From what he’d seen of Kelsey’s kind heart, loving spirit and positive attitude, she just might be able to pull it off.
But as a distant rumble of thunder prodded him toward his own house, he wasn’t sure he could do the same.
Long after Luke left, Kelsey remained on the couch. The sun had set, taking with it the glow that had illuminated the room earlier, when Luke had been with her. Now it was dark.
She ought to get up. Put on some lights. Try to chase away the gloom.
Besides, she’d promised Detective Layton she’d check her email.
In truth, that latter task was the main reason she hadn’t moved. She didn’t want to look at the man who had turned her life upside down.
But it had to be done.
Removing the ice pack from her knee, Kelsey tugged the quilt off her legs and swung her feet to the floor. The move was less than graceful, thanks to her girth, and her knee protested when she bent it.
She reached up to turn on the lamp beside the couch, and a quick inspection told her Luke hadn’t been exaggerating about the bruising. Her whole kneecap was purple. At least the ice had kept the swelling down.
With one hand on the arm of the couch and the other on the seat, Kelsey managed to maneuver herself to her feet. She tested her knee, wincing when she put weight on it, but by holding on to the walls and furniture, she managed to limp into the quilt room where she kept her computer.
Instead of sitting, she bent over the keyboard, clicked on her desktop email icon and typed in her password. A quick scan of unopened mail told her Detective Layton had followed through. A JPEG was attached.
Opening the email, she moved the mouse to the JPEG file. Froze.
Just do it, Kelsey!
She double clicked, then clicked Open at the prompt. Two seconds later, a headshot filled the screen. Her attacker.
Her baby’s father.
The breath jammed in her throat, and her world tilted. She gripped the back of the desk chair. Made herself breathe.
With a triumph of will over emotion, she forced herself to look at the photo long enough to note the man’s brown eyes and stringy, dark-brown hair. To trace the long scar that started on his cheek and disappeared into his hairline. To examine a chin that was too pointed and thin lips that curled into a smirk.
And to know she’d never seen him before.
Fingers trembling, she closed the window and typed in a four-word reply to Detective Layton:
“I don’t know him.”
She hit Send. Selected his email. Hit Delete.
The message and the photo disappeared from her in-box.
If only she could delete the trauma as easily from her memory.
Her emotions in tatters, she limped back down the hall toward the kitchen. She needed a glass of water and another Tylenol. Then she was going to go to bed. And pray sleep would come, bringing peace. And clarity.
As she drew a glass of water at the tap, she surveyed the familiar kitchen where she and Gram had spent so many happy hours. From the time her mother died, this little cottage had always been the symbol of comfort and love for Kelsey.
Tonight, that symbolism had been reinforced.
Thanks to Luke.
But after his reaction to her story, she was afraid his offer of comfort—and perhaps love—might be short-lived.
In all honesty, she couldn’t blame him if he backtracked. If she was on the fence about whether to keep the baby after carrying her child close to her heart all these months, how could she expect Luke to embrace the prospect?
As she set the glass on the counter, she looked out the window. Through the branches of the trees, she could see a light burnin
g on Luke’s deck. He must be out there. Thinking about what had transpired tonight. Wondering how—or if—their futures were destined to entwine.
Heart aching, she turned away and headed toward the hall. On the threshold, she paused and gave the pristine kitchen one more inspection. Luke had done a good job cleaning up the mess he’d made.
In her kitchen, if not her heart.
Chapter Thirteen
Kelsey peered bleary-eyed at the digital clock on her nightstand. Three-fourteen in the morning. And her knee was still throbbing.
But that wasn’t what had awakened her
She had a cramp in her stomach.
Grimacing, she turned on her side, seeking a more comfortable position. Not that she’d been able to find one for the past six hours. Luke’s visit last night had further frayed her already tattered emotions and left her stressed and edgy.
No wonder she was having stomach pains.
Just as she began to drift off to sleep, another cramp pulled her back to wakefulness. Only it didn’t exactly feel like a cramp. It felt more like…a contraction?
Kelsey’s fingers clenched on the sheet and a spurt of adrenaline drove away every vestige of sleep. She’d been doing some research on labor and knew Braxton Hicks contractions could be expected at this stage of her pregnancy. She hadn’t yet experienced them, but that last twinge had felt a lot like the sensation described in the material she’d read.
Struggling into a sitting position, she propped her back against the headboard. Too bad she and Dorothy hadn’t signed up for an earlier childbirth class. Braxton Hicks contractions were probably covered in great detail. But they’d only completed the first session of the three-week class that met on Tuesday evenings. Session Two wasn’t until next week.
As the minutes ticked by with no further incident, the soft light from the lamp on her dresser lulled her back toward sleep. Okay. Good. Everything was fine. She’d just overreacted because she was on edge.
Her eyelids grew heavy, and she blinked. Yawned. When the time came, she’d…
Wham!
Another contraction tightened her abdominal muscles, and her eyes flew open.
This wasn’t stress-related.
It must be Braxton Hicks, after all.
Kelsey eased her legs over the edge of the bed and stood, trying to remain calm as she searched her memory for some nuggets from her research on Braxton Hicks. The contractions were irregular. She recalled reading that. And unpredictable. Changing position was also supposed to make them stop or slow down.
Right.
Okay. She’d walk around a little. Get a drink of water. Once they stopped, she’d go back to bed and try to salvage what was left of this night.
Good plan.
Except halfway down the hall to the kitchen another contraction stole her breath.
Panic nibbled at her composure as she continued toward the kitchen, flipped on a light and groped through a drawer for a pad of paper and pen. She’d time a few contractions. That would tell her a lot. Prove she didn’t need to worry.
She settled on a stool to wait, trying to ignore the tremble in her fingers as she noted the hour, minute and second on the pad of paper.
Six minutes and forty seconds later, she gripped the edge of the counter as another contraction hit. According to the second hand on her watch, it lasted thirty-five seconds. But it wasn’t all that painful. Surely not strong enough to be real labor. It felt more like a bad case of indigestion. Besides, she wasn’t due for another four-plus weeks.
Time to change position again, move around. She needed to get rid of these things so she could go back to bed and try to sleep.
For a few minutes she wandered through the house, favoring her sore knee. She picked up a newspaper and disposed of it. Straightened a picture on the wall. Wiped down the counter again.
Just when she began to believe the contractions were history, another one rolled over her. Six minutes and twenty-two seconds since the last one, according to her watch. It, too, lasted thirty-five seconds.
This wasn’t good.
But she wasn’t going to jump to conclusions. Until there was a definite pattern, she didn’t intend to call Dr. Evans.
Resettling herself on the kitchen stool, she picked up the pen and waited.
Forty-five minutes later, after tracking seven contractions that were now coming every five and a half minutes and lasting forty seconds, she accepted reality.
This baby was coming. Ready or not.
Not being the operative word.
Fingers fumbling with the phone, she tapped in Dr. Evans’s exchange and left a message. Four minutes later, the OB called her back and listened as Kelsey gave her a recap.
“It’s possible we’re still dealing with Braxton Hicks, but all indications are you’re in the late stages of the early phase of labor. You need to get to the hospital so we can check this out.”
“I don’t even have a bag packed yet.” Kelsey combed her fingers through her hair, her mind refusing to accept the reality. “And it’s too soon. The baby’s not due for almost five weeks.” And I haven’t decided what to do with it yet!
“Babies don’t always abide by our rules. As for the bag, don’t waste time packing. The hospital will have everything you need for the immediate future. I’ll alert them you’re coming. And I’ll meet you there if things progress.”
As Kelsey ended the call, another contraction gripped her. Once it passed, she headed for the bedroom to throw on some clothes. Dorothy had planned to drive her to the hospital in Holland when the time came, but the older woman had had a date with Charles last night. She couldn’t wake her at this hour. Besides, the pains weren’t that bad. She could cope long enough to drive herself. It wasn’t far.
In less than five minutes, Kelsey was dressed and out the door. The breeze off the lake was cool, and she shivered as she headed for the detached garage in the dark, wishing she’d grabbed a warmer sweater.
Halfway there, she had to stop as another contraction took hold. They were growing progressively more intense, but they were still manageable. And at this hour, foot to the floor, she could get to the hospital in Holland in less than fifteen minutes. The facility was only three contractions away.
She could make it.
As her abdominal muscles relaxed, she struck out for the garage again. But a sudden, odd gushing sensation brought her to an abrupt stop.
It was too dark to see what had happened, but she could feel it in the biting chill from the wind as it hit the damp fabric clinging to her legs.
Her water had broken.
This baby was coming.
Now.
Fear gripped her lungs in a vise, cutting off her breath.
No way could she drive now. And she might not have time to wait for Dorothy, if she did rouse the older woman. There was always 911, though the notion of an ambulance ride didn’t sit well with her.
That left only one option.
She glanced at Luke’s dark house through the trees, hesitating. He might not appreciate being pulled into this mess, considering his reaction to her story last night. But he was a doctor. And he was steps away. It was logical to ask for his help.
Yet logic wasn’t the catalyst that sent her stumbling toward his house in the dark. It was a decision of the heart.
Because Kelsey was scared. And she wanted him to hold her hand.
The pounding on his back door brought Luke instantly awake, a souvenir of his frontline experience that he expected would be with him for years to come.
Groping for his jeans in the dark, he checked the bedside clock. Four-twenty. Either someone was very drunk—or in big trouble. He grabbed a T-shirt and pulled it over his head as he strode barefoot down the hall toward the kitchen.
One look through the window as he drew close gave him his answer.
Someone was in big trouble.
Kelsey.
Adrenaline surging, he flipped on the deck light, unbolted the door and yanked it open. S
he spoke before he could ask the obvious question, hysteria raising the pitch of her voice.
“The baby’s c-coming. My w-water broke. I was going to d-drive myself, but…” She gasped and grabbed for the door frame to steady herself, her features tightening with pain.
Shoving the door aside with his shoulder, Luke slid an arm under her knees and lifted her against his chest. He ignored the dampness seeping into his T-shirt and held her close as she shivered.
“It’s okay, Kelsey. I’m here. Hold on to me.”
She needed no encouragement. Clutching his T-shirt, she bunched it into her fists and buried her face against his chest, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps.
It was the longest sixty seconds of his life.
When the contraction released her, the tension in her muscles eased. But her shaking continued unabated.
After setting her gently in a kitchen chair with a reassurance he’d be right back, Luke retrieved a blanket from the hall closet. He draped it around her shoulders, then dropped to one knee beside her and took her hands. Her eyes were wide with panic, and she gripped his fingers as if she’d never let go.
“We’ll deal with this, okay?” He used his best bedside manner, striving to instill confidence by appearing to be in total control. She didn’t need to know his insides were quaking just as they had the day his three buddies had been killed by the roadside bomb. And the day Carlos had died. “Kelsey?”
She sucked in a breath. “Okay.”
“Did you call your doctor?”
“Yes. She told me to go to the hospital.”
“Did you time the contractions?”
“Yes. They’re five minutes apart and last about a minute. And they’re getting stronger.”
“Okay. We’ll take my car.”
He snatched his keys off the counter, grabbed a pillow and more blankets from the bedroom and rejoined her in the kitchen. “Give me two minutes to put these in the car.”
Ninety second later, he returned to find her huddled in the chair, still shaking. She looked up when he entered, her eyes wide with fright.
“It’s too soon, Luke.”
