by Leanne Banks
“It won’t be much longer, sweetie,” Faith said sympathetically.
Ann Elise suddenly pointed past Marilou’s shoulder. “I love that man.”
When she turned around, Marilou watched Joe and Gabriel walking toward them, carrying a large wreath on some sort of easel-like stand. Tate walked beside them, holding a smaller arrangement of flowers.
“Tate suggested that we get flowers for you girls to put on your aunt’s grave,” Joe said as they stopped in front of the women.
“We agreed it was a good idea, so we all chipped in on it,” Gabriel added, nodding.
“That was so thoughtful of you,” Marilou said softly when Tate stopped beside her. She touched the arrangement he held. “Is that for your mother’s grave?”
“I know it’s windy and pretty cold, but I thought we could walk over to that side of the cemetery after we take care of placing the wreath in front of your aunt’s new headstone.” He paused as he took her hand in his. “That is, if you feel like it.”
She kissed his lean cheek. “Yes, I’d like to visit your mother’s grave with you.”
Ten minutes later, after they’d helped the other two couples place the wreath on Elizabeth Baker’s grave and bid them goodbye, Tate put his arm around Marilou’s shoulders and they slowly walked over to the far end of the Mission Creek Cemetery. Dropping to one knee, Tate brushed a collection of dead leaves from the edge of a small marker and replaced them with the silk roses he’d purchased earlier in the day.
He wished his mother could have met the woman standing beside him. Maria Carson would have loved Marilou almost as much as…
Whoa, cowboy! Swallowing hard, he shook his head in an effort to clear it. He’d come damned close to thinking in terms of the “L” word.
But as he straightened and met Marilou’s steady emerald gaze, his chest tightened and it felt as if someone had delivered a sucker punch to his gut. If he hadn’t done it already, it wouldn’t take much to fall in love with her.
They’d spent the past week talking, laughing and growing closer than he’d ever been with any woman. They’d told each other stories about their childhood, talked about their likes and dislikes, and shared their dreams for the future. And each night as he held her in his arms the intimacy between them had grown. But did he love her?
Hell, how would he know? He didn’t have anything to compare it to. He’d never been in love before.
“Your mother was very young when she passed away,” Marilou said softly. She glanced down at the tombstone. “She was only thirty-nine. What happened?”
Distracted from his disturbing introspection, Tate nodded. “She was in a ranching accident.” He took a deep breath against the tightness suddenly filling his chest. “After my dad left us high and dry, Mom and I ran the ranch. Then after I graduated, I took off on the rodeo circuit to earn money to keep us going. One weekend, while I was gone to a rodeo in Waco, she tried to pull a stump out of the ground with a tractor. It…turned over on her.”
“Oh, how terrible,” Marilou said, placing her soft hand on his arm. “I’m so sorry, Tate.”
With a lump the size of his fist clogging his throat, he simply nodded and pulled her into his arms. They stood for several minutes just holding each other before he felt her shiver against him.
“You’re cold,” he said, rubbing his hands up and down her back. Stepping back, he pulled her open coat as close together as her stomach would allow. “Let’s go back to Faith’s and see if we can get her to make some of her world class cocoa to warm you up.”
“That does sound nice,” Marilou said, smiling up at him.
He watched her rub the lower part of her back. “Another backache?”
She shook her head. “Actually, I think it’s the same one.”
He put his arm around her, kissed the top of her head and steered her toward his truck. “I’ll give you a back rub when we go to bed tonight, darlin’.”
“Mmm. A cup of Faith’s cocoa and a back rub.” She laughed. “Aren’t you afraid you’re going to spoil me?”
“Nope. You deserve to be pampered.” He stopped to give her a kiss that left them both gasping for breath. “And I’m finding that I enjoy being the one who does the pampering.”
Even though the nagging ache in her back seemed to be getting worse, Marilou enjoyed spending New Year’s Eve with her family. After one of Faith’s scrumptious dinners, they’d divided up into teams and played a heated game of Monopoly. She and Tate had won, with Faith and Gabriel coming in a close second. Ann Elise and Joe had been too busy discussing plans for their new animal clinic to really get into playing.
“Have you and Tate given any thought to living at the Circle C after the baby is born, Marilou?” Gabriel asked as they all gathered in the living room. He switched on the television to await the New Year’s broadcast from Times Square in New York City. “I could use a good CPA for my new restaurant.”
“We’ll be needing an accountant for our expanded practices, too,” Ann Elise added, looking hopeful.
Marilou wasn’t sure what to say. Nothing would please her more than living close to her sisters. But if she moved back to Mission Creek, everything would get extremely complicated.
She could cover her and Tate not being together by telling everyone that things just didn’t work out between them. But how would she explain his not helping her raise her baby without making him look like a complete jerk?
“With Tate being away nearly every weekend for a rodeo, we would be close enough to help with the baby,” Faith said, seating herself on the arm of Gabriel’s chair.
“I’m not sure—”
Marilou stopped to glance at Tate sitting next to her on the couch, silently begging for another one of his quick, and completely reasonable, explanations. But he remained silent, as if he, too, was interested in her answer.
Hoping to end any further discussion of the matter, she shook her head. “We…um, really haven’t had a chance to make any definite plans.”
“Marilou and I are still looking at our options,” Tate said, reaching out to take her hand in his.
His hand gave hers a gentle squeeze and his reassuring smile warming her all the way to her toes, had her wishing that what he said was true—that they really would be planning a future together. She wasn’t sure how or when, but sometime over the past week, she’d let down her guard and fallen head over heels for Tate Carson.
Time seemed to stand still at the unsettling realization, and needing a moment to collect herself, Marilou struggled to get off the couch. “One thing about being pregnant, you get to visit a lot of bathrooms,” she said, hoping the excuse would cover her sudden need to be alone.
Tate was immediately on his feet to help her up. “Are you feeling all right?”
“I’m fine. I just—” She stopped suddenly as a warm, wet sensation began to spread down her legs.
“What’s wrong, darlin’?” Tate asked, looking alarmed.
Glancing down at the front of her maternity slacks, Marilou’s cheeks heated with embarrassment and she forgot all about the need to have a moment alone. “I think…my water just broke.”
After her announcement there was a momentary pause, then everyone jumped to their feet and started talking at once.
“Oh, God,” Tate groaned.
“Are you in pain?” Ann Elise asked.
“No,” Tate answered, looking pale.
Ann Elise shook her head. “Not you, silly. I’m talking to Marilou.”
“My back hurts.” Marilou tried to remember what the doctor had told her about back labor. “But it does seem to have started coming and going.”
Faith nodded knowingly. “I had a feeling this afternoon at the memorial service that you were having more than just a normal backache.”
“Carson, it looks like you’re going to start the New Year off as a brand-new daddy,” Joe said, grinning.
Gabriel slapped Tate on the shoulder. “Hang in there, kid. You’ll do just fine.”
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“Who had the first?” Faith asked.
Gabriel gave Marilou a sheepish grin. “I did.”
“You were all betting on when I’d have the baby?” she asked incredulously.
“Hey, why didn’t someone let me in on it?” Tate asked, his complexion returning to its normal shade.
“You want to be in on the next pool?” Joe asked.
Tate nodded. “Sure. What are we betting on this time?”
“The hour Marilou has the baby,” Ann Elise answered. “I’m saying it will be sometime between eight and nine tomorrow morning.”
“How did I get to be blessed with such a sensitive family?” Marilou asked dryly.
Her comment froze everyone to the spot, and as she looked from her sisters to her brothers-in-law-to-be, to Tate, she couldn’t help but laugh. They all looked like naughty children caught with their hands in the cookie jar.
“Oh, what the heck.” She groaned as the ache in her back intensified. “Count me…in. I’ll take the hour…between four and five…in the morning.”
Chapter 7
On the drive from the Baker place to the Mission Creek hospital, Marilou asked Tate to stay with her through the birth of her baby, and he’d told her that nothing would keep him from being there for her every step of the way. But when they arrived at the hospital, he felt like a fish out of water.
As soon as they finished filling out the paperwork, a nurse, who’s name tag identified her as Christina Brooks, appeared with a wheelchair, helped Marilou into it, then started down a long corridor with her. Tate was left standing in the reception area holding a small overnight case, wondering what he was supposed to do next. He wasn’t sure if he should follow them, or drop the little suitcase right there in the middle of the floor and run like hell in the opposite direction.
“Come on, Dad,” Nurse Brooks said, looking over her shoulder at him. “You’ve got a job to do, too.”
It took a moment for Tate to realize she was talking to him. He had a job to do? What was the woman talking about? And where the hell was the exit anyway?
But when he spotted the sign above a door on the other side of the lobby—the arrow looking for all the world like an open invitation to freedom—Tate turned and followed Marilou and the nurse. The thought of what his “job” might entail scared him more than the biggest, meanest, pissed-off bull he’d ever had the misfortune to ride in the past thirteen years on the rodeo circuit. But Marilou needed him and he wasn’t about to let her down. He’d do whatever it took to make this as easy for her as possible.
“Tate, we’ll be in the waiting room,” someone called from behind him.
When he looked over his shoulder, he found Faith, Gabriel, Ann Elise and Joe walking toward him.
“The women decided they’d rather wait here at the hospital than at home,” Joe said, grinning.
As soon as the group reached him, Faith placed her hand on his arm. “I don’t want to frighten you, but things might get a little intense during Marilou’s labor.” Her sympathetic expression made the hair on the back of his neck stand straight up and a knot to form in the pit of his stomach. “Feeling helpless is normal for a father, and you may find that you’ll need to take a few minutes break from time to time. Let me know if you do and I’ll go in to coach her through the contractions, while you collect yourself and catch your breath.”
“Thanks, Faith. I’ll remember that,” Tate said, meaning it. He didn’t like having to admit it, even to himself, but he just might have to take her up on her offer. Watching Marilou in pain was going to be the hardest thing he’d ever had to do.
“Whenever possible, come out and give us periodic updates on how everything is progressing,” Ann Elise added.
“Will do.”
Before he could change his mind and go running for the exit like a coyote with a tail-end full of buckshot, Tate turned toward the double doors that Marilou and Nurse Brooks had disappeared through only moments before. Checking in at the nurse’s station in the obstetrics unit, he impatiently checked his watch as another nurse, whom he was sure had done time as an army drill sergeant at some point in her life, gave him strict orders about the do’s and don’ts of the birthing room. He was supposed to be there for support and encouragement. He wasn’t, under any circumstances, supposed to get in the way.
After what seemed like an eternity, the woman abruptly stopped the lecture and pointed toward a door a little farther down the hall. “Ms. Baker is in room 224 if you’d like to go in now.”
Without hesitation, Tate strode purposefully into the room where Nurse Brooks had already helped Marilou change and was in the process of helping her get into bed. Setting the overnight case on the nightstand, he smiled and took hold of Marilou’s hand. “You still doing okay?”
“I think so,” she said, looking a little nervous.
“You’re right on time, Dad,” the young nurse said cheerfully.
Every time the woman called him “Dad,” a warm feeling filled Tate’s chest and sent a longing through him that defied logic.
“I’m just getting ready to hook up the fetal monitor, then I’ll do a quick ultrasound to make sure everything is going well.” The nurse pulled the sheet down below Marilou’s rounded belly, then pushed the flimsy hospital gown up to just below her breasts.
“Is this normal procedure?” Marilou asked, looking concerned. “The nurse/midwife conducting the childbirth classes I attended said that an ultrasound was usually only done during labor if the doctor suspects there’s a problem.”
“It’s probably just hospital policy, darlin’,” Tate said, hoping that was the case. He watched in total fascination as Nurse Brooks squeezed a big gob of clear gel onto Marilou’s stomach, then placed something that looked like a microphone right in the middle of it and started smearing it around.
“Since the obstetrician who’ll be delivering your baby is different from the one you’ve been seeing throughout your pregnancy, he’s going to want an idea of what’s going on in there,” the nurse explained. She smiled and pointed to a screen resembling a small television set. “See, there’s your baby.”
Tate frowned as he tried to concentrate on what the nurse might be seeing that he wasn’t. All he could decipher on the small screen was a bunch of twitching gray areas that didn’t even come close to resembling a baby.
“I’ll be back in just a moment,” the woman said, her easy expression fading.
“What’s wrong?” The fear in Marilou’s eyes just about tore Tate apart.
“Is there a problem?” he asked. The knot in his gut felt as if it grew to the size of a basketball when Nurse Brooks hurried from the room without answering.
Turning his attention to Marilou, Tate brushed a tear from her pale cheek. “Did your doctor indicate there might be a problem before?”
“No.” Her voice was little more than a whisper and he could tell she was close to losing it.
“Then it’s probably nothing,” he said gently, hoping that was the case. “Maybe there’s something wrong with the machine.”
Marilou’s grip suddenly tightened on his hand as she closed her eyes and started taking deep breaths. He could tell from the sweat beading her forehead and the deep rose coloring her cheeks that the pains were getting a lot stronger. Just knowing she was hurting caused him to feel ill.
As the contraction passed and she opened her eyes, a tall man Tate judged to be somewhere in his mid- to late-thirties walked into the room holding a metal chart. The stethoscope draped around his neck and the blue scrub suit indicated that he was probably the obstetrician.
“I’m Doctor Martinelli and I’ll be delivering your baby,” he said, walking straight to the monitor on the other side of the bed. “How are you doing, Marilou?”
“Please tell me if there’s something wrong with my baby,” she pleaded.
The tremor in her voice and the fear in her eyes broke Tate’s heart. If someone didn’t tell them something, and damned quick, he was going to invite th
e good doctor out into the hall for a private consultation. By the time Tate got finished with him, the man would be damned glad to answer their questions.
“Let’s take a look and see what we’ve got here,” the doctor said as he picked up the microphonelike instrument and started smearing it around in the clear gel on Marilou’s belly. The grim set of his mouth didn’t reassure Tate one damned bit. “It appears the fetus is breech.”
Marilou groaned and Tate wasn’t sure whether it was from the doctor’s news or from the current contraction.
“What does that mean in terms of problems for Marilou and the baby?” Tate demanded, feeling sick inside.
Martinelli met Tate’s gaze head on. “It might mean that we’ll have to perform a C-section. But since it looks like it’s a face presentation, and the baby is still up high and to the right of the cervix, there’s a good possibility we’ll be able to get it into the proper position for Marilou to deliver naturally.”
“What does that entail?” Tate didn’t like the idea of her being put through any more pain than necessary. If they were taking a poll, he’d vote for the quickest, least uncomfortable procedure possible.
“I’ll have a resident use an ultrasound to monitor our progress while I try to get the baby turned the right way,” Martinelli answered, reaching for a box of latex gloves. “It’s all done externally and shouldn’t cause Marilou an extreme amount of discomfort.”
“Not another one,” Marilou said, groaning. Her hand tightened around Tate’s as another wave of pain swept over her, and he wasn’t sure he wouldn’t need a couple of finger splints before this ordeal was over with.
“Let’s see how far along you are,” Martinelli said, pulling on the glove.
When the man lifted the bottom of the sheet to examine Marilou, Tate wasn’t sure whether to turn his head, or step out into the hall. In the end, he focused his attention on stroking her strawberry-blond hair and murmuring words that he hoped were encouraging. He could tell the examination was uncomfortable for her and he wanted to do whatever he could to lend her his strength and support.
