‘How’s your business?’ she asked and was surprised when he didn’t answer for quite some moments. She didn’t think the long pause was justified by the difficulty of opening a tin of spaghetti.
‘The business is fine,’ he said at last. ‘I’ve left it in good hands.’
‘Your parents?’
‘They’re well. At least Dad’s as well as can be expected. Where do you keep your microwave cooking gear?’
She showed him and, while he attended to the spaghetti, Meg made toast.
‘I’ve been reading about ultrasound,’ Sam said casually. ‘Have you had that?’
‘Yes.’
‘And?’
‘It showed that the baby’s fine. Everything is as it should be.’
‘That’s great.’ He adjusted the timer on the microwave and straightened to look down at her searchingly. ‘So did they tell you the baby’s sex?’
She nodded.
‘Will you tell me?’
Meg drew in a sharp breath, remembering how real the baby had become for her once she’d known its gender. That kind of insider knowledge would bring Sam another step closer. Telling him probably wasn’t wise.
‘I’m just asking out of idle curiosity,’ he added, almost too offhandedly.
She gave in. Keeping the news to herself had been hard. ‘It’s a boy.’ She nibbled her upper lip.
His blue eyes—the eyes she so hoped her baby had inherited—widened. Then his face broke into an incredulous smile. ‘A boy? That’s kind of amazing isn’t it?’
‘You have a preference for boys?’
‘Me? Not especially. I love girls.’
‘Of course you do,’ Meg muttered under her breath.
‘I’m sure girl babies are especially cute. It’s just…now I know it’s a boy. Heck, it just brings home that your bump—’ he indicated to her stomach with a nod of his head ‘—is aging to be a real, living, breathing person.’
‘It hits you all of a sudden,’ she agreed.
He returned to slicing tomatoes, but then he shot another cheeky grin in her direction. ‘Hey, he’ll need someone to teach him how to pitch a baseball.’
Startled, Meg cried, ‘Hang on, Sam, don’t get carried away. To start with, you won’t be here. Secondly, this baby’s going to be an Australian. He won’t be playing baseball. He’ll be learning to surf and playing cricket. He’ll be—’
He held up his hands to slow her down. ‘My apologies. I get the picture.’ He surveyed the kitchen. ‘Anyway, before we get too het up about our kid’s future, I think this simple banquet is ready.’
With some misgivings about the way this evening was heading, Meg handed him two plates and he dished up their spaghetti on toast as carefully as he might a gourmet meal. And, as they carried their plates and glasses of milk through to her little dining room, he added, ‘Do you have a video of the ultrasound?’
She only just restrained a sigh. ‘I do.’
They sat down to eat before he said, ‘I’d really like to take a look at it later.’
‘I may not have time this evening. I have—an appointment.’ She began to give her food her serious attention. For a few moments they ate in silence.
‘What’s it like?’ he asked suddenly. ‘Being pregnant?’
She couldn’t help smiling. ‘Fantastic.’
Both his eyebrows rose. ‘So you don’t feel trapped, betrayed by your biology…any of those feminist urges?’
‘I did at first.’
He frowned.
‘For about five minutes.’
‘I wish I’d known. I would have been here earlier.’
‘The first few months weren’t worth watching. I hung over a bucket for ages. But the rest has been fine.’
‘Do you know much about looking after babies?’
Was this a trap? Some kind of test? Meg considered pretending she was a baby-care expert, but her natural honesty prevailed. ‘Not a lot,’ she admitted. ‘But I’ve bought heaps of books.’ Looking down at her plate, she added, ‘I don’t seem to be able to think much past the birth at the moment.’
His eyes grew serious as he looked at her. ‘I can never get my head around that whole delivery bit. Scares me witless just to think about it.’ Then he looked embarrassed. ‘I guess that doesn’t make you feel any better.’
‘I’m sure I’ll be OK,’ she said with forced cheerfulness. ‘After all, look how many women have babies every day.’
She realised that she was starting to let down her guard. Here she was chatting away to Sam as if he was—a close friend. Continued loneliness could have that effect—of grasping at straws.
He frowned. ‘But you’re planning on doing all this on you own?’
‘Yes,’ she admitted unwillingly. ‘Of course, there’s a midwife…’
Sam shoved his plate aside, rested his elbows on the table and propped his chin in his hands. ‘Meg, I think you’re being selfish about this.’
‘Selfish?’ she cried. ’Selfish?’ How dared he make such a claim! Did he have any idea how much she’d given up?
Obviously he didn’t. He continued his lecture. ‘Look at your situation.’
‘I am looking at it from the inside—day in, day out.’ Her voice rose several decibels. ‘This baby and I have been superglued to each other for some time now.’
‘Sure,’ he agreed with infuriating calm. ‘But how about you listen to another point of view? ‘
She opened her mouth to protest. And shut it. ‘OK, Mr Wise Guy,’ she retorted shakily. ‘You explain to me exactly what I’m doing that’s so wrong.’
‘Well, you’ve come down here, isolating yourself from your friends and your support base.’ He paused. ‘That’s right, isn’t it? You don’t have family. Do you have friends here on the coast who know you well and are willing to be there for you?’
‘I’m doing fine.’
‘But you’re going it alone, Meg.’
‘That’s the way I like it.’
He shook his head. ‘Hell, it’s not what being a human being is about. You wouldn’t be clinging so stubbornly to this independence thing if you really thought about what’s best for the baby.’
‘How dare you!’ she cried. Her knife and fork clattered to her plate as she glared at him.
Not the slightest bit intimidated by her anger, Sam reached across the table and touched his knuckles to her cheek—a gentle, feather-soft caress. Her heart jumped crazily.
‘I dare because I—’ his throat seemed to stick on whatever he’d planned to say ‘—I think someone should keep an eye on you.’
‘I keep telling you, I’m fine.’
He shook his head. ‘You might be fine but, whether you like it or not, I’m going to stick around till the baby’s born.’
The cheek of him! Meg spluttered, overcome by the nerve of this man handing down his edict. She’d been managing on her own for so long… ‘You want to swan around here and then as soon as the hard work’s done you’ll come bouncing into the hospital ward handing out cigars and announcing, “He’s mine”?’
She knew she sounded catty, but she couldn’t help it.
He surprised her by answering quietly, ‘That’s not what I’m on about at all. If you want me to, I’ll leave as soon as I know you and the baby are fine. But, in the meantime, count me in.’
He looked so determined, like a fiercely beautiful guardian angel, she could feel all her arguments snapping, as if the strings that held them together had been cut with a single slash of a knife.
‘You mean it? Once the baby’s born, you won’t start making demands? You won’t be wanting to turn him into Samuel Kirby II or something? ‘
‘Of course I mean it.’
‘You promise you’ll leave once the baby’s born?’
He stared straight back at her, his eyes unflinching. ‘I’ll go, if that’s what you want.’
‘You’re not going to try to—resume our relationship?’
He looked away and she saw the musc
les in his neck grow tense but, when his eyes returned to lock with hers, he said, ‘If you’re not interested, what’s the point?’
She sucked in her breath. ‘No point at all. So, you’re prepared to—’
‘I want to support you through these last few weeks. My hotel is only twenty minutes away from here. I can drive you to the hospital in the middle of the night. The things prospective fathers usually do.’ He took a small notebook out of his back pocket and scribbled on a page, tore it out and handed it to her. ‘That’s my mobile number and my address. Any time you’re worried about anything, call me.’
It was a seductive idea. Meg hadn’t admitted it to anyone but, as her time grew nearer, her courage had encountered one or two stumbling blocks.
She sent him a challenge. ‘If you really want to help, prove it.’
‘I’d be happy to, but how?’
‘Come to my childbirth education class with me this evening.’
For a second or two she thought she’d caught him out. His eyes widened. His Adam’s apple moved up and down. ‘Fathers go to those things, do they?’
‘Sure.’
‘And it’s just a class? We’ll just sit around and take instruction, won’t we?’
‘There’s a little more to it than that,’ she mumbled. In fact, she was rapidly questioning her sanity. Why on earth had she thrown out that invitation? It was a crazy idea. All the other couples were married or in committed relationships.
Frantically, she juggled words in her heard, trying to figure the best way to retract her challenge.
But it was too late. Sam was already smiling and saying, ‘I’d be happy to come.’
CHAPTER NINE
FOLLOWING Meg’s directions, Sam drove her to the class. He pulled up the hood of his convertible and drove extra carefully, aware of his precious cargo. Tense and silent, Meg sat beside him, looking adorable in a black stretch-knit tunic and tights. Her hair was arranged into a cute little knot of wheat-coloured curls on top of her head.
He kept wanting to look at her. He’d never noticed before how attractive a pregnant woman could be. Until three days ago, he’d found them about as sexy as rolled oats.
The classes were held in a low building at the back of the hospital and, as they stepped into the room, he was unprepared for the enthusiastic greetings of the other couples.
A pale redhead with a stomach as round as two watermelons and with a square-jawed husband in tow, rushed forward screeching, ‘Meg!’ She dropped her voice to a stage whisper, ‘Is this him? Your baby’s father?’
Meg nodded shyly.
‘Way to go!’ The woman laughed. She grabbed Sam’s hand. ‘It’s great to see you here—um—’
‘Sam,’ he supplied.
‘This is Carol,’ Meg explained quickly. ‘And Todd.’
‘Hey, where’re you from, Sam?’
‘Seattle.’
Carol beamed at him as if he were some kind of superstar. She winked at Meg. ‘I can see why you’ve been hiding him, honey.’
Others gathered close and Carol took on the job of introducing Sam as if he were a special discovery. Everyone’s excitement for Meg now that her baby’s father had shown up was downright embarrassing. Sam was relieved when someone announced that a girl called Sara had given birth to a baby girl that morning and attention was suddenly directed away from him.
Excited cries and a hundred questions filled the next few minutes, but the arrival of a middle-aged woman with iron-grey hair brought the discussion to a halt. The couples took their places on yoga-style mats on the floor.
‘Is everybody ready to talk about second-stage labour tonight?’ the woman asked with a hearty chuckle. ‘When we get to that point, we know the job’s almost done.’
She paused and her eyes rounded as she saw Sam. He’d been trying to look unobtrusive as he sat on the floor beside Meg with his elbows resting nonchalantly on his bent knees.
She beamed at Meg and gave a little approving nod of her head. ‘We have a newcomer in our class?’
Shyly, Meg made another introduction.
‘Great to have you on board, Sam. Are you going to attend Meg’s confinement?’
‘Attend?’ He gulped. Attend the birth? Hell, no. ‘I—I don’t know. I’m just her back-up support. I get to drive the car and carry the bags.’
One of the fathers behind him chuckled. ‘You were there at the start, mate. They’ll make sure you’re there at the end.’
The instructor smiled serenely. ‘That’s for Meg and Sam to decide.’ She looked around the room. ‘Before we discuss your baby’s delivery, let’s go over some of our relaxation breathing. Nice, deep, slow breaths, now, mothers. We’re having minute long contractions. Fathers, you can breathe along with them. Cleansing breath, and…’
Sam found his eyes riveted on Meg as she breathed. She sat cross-legged on the floor, with her eyes closed, and he could feel her drawing inward, focusing on something only she could find.
After a few, deep slow breaths, her right hand came up and slowly, slowly, she began to massage her rounded tummy—in big, soft circles. He could see her body relaxing. Her shoulders began to slump and her jaw to sag a little more as each breath was released.
She looked beautiful.
To his amazement, she lifted the black top she was wearing and exposed her bare abdomen. All of a sudden, he felt as if he’d swallowed a block of wood—perhaps an entire tree stump. He could see the true shape of her. Her skin looked so soft and creamy—and a faint line had appeared exactly down her middle. Now, she was trailing her fingertips over her skin, massaging once more. His eyes followed her fingers and he imagined how she must feel—so soft and warm.
He remembered a time when her hands had caressed his body and a film of sweat broke out all over him.
‘Fathers,’ the teacher was saying, ‘remember, you can help during the first stage of labour, by reminding your wife to relax like this—or by rubbing her back if she has backache.’
Sam hadn’t touched Meg for so long, the thought of rubbing her back—any part of her—brought an uncalled for thrust of desire. He took a deep breath. Time to try some relaxing of his own.
‘Just remember not to over-breathe so that you hyperventilate. OK, that’s great. This last contraction is coming to an end.’
He watched as Meg’s eyes opened slowly. She looked at him, blushed prettily and pulled her tunic top back over her stomach.
He leaned close. ‘You were fantastic. The best breather in the whole class.’
Looking pleased but also self-conscious, she gave him a playful push.
‘What we’re going to talk about for the rest of tonight is usually the most exciting stage of labour,’ their teacher went on. ‘When you feel the urge to push, you know it won’t be long before you see your baby. For the first delivery, pushing may take a few minutes or up to three hours.’
Three hours! Sam hoped his shock didn’t show.
He listened, fascinated, as the instructor went on to describe the various positions a woman might like to consider when pushing out her baby—squatting, lying on her side, on her back. He tried to switch off his imagination when she began to talk about stretching, burning, stinging sensations but, for the most part, he found himself listening carefully. If he couldn’t be there with Meg, at least he could understand what was going to happen.
‘OK,’ she said at last, sweeping aside some charts she’d used to illustrate the progress of a baby down the birth canal, ‘that’s enough theory for tonight. Let’s do some practice. I want each couple to choose a birthing position.’
Meg turned to Sam. ‘I’ll try lying on my side,’ she said.
He tried to answer, but his throat wouldn’t make a sound, so he nodded.
She stretched out on the strip of foam rubber, obviously unaware of the way her graceful movements affected him. It took all Sam’s self-control not to get right down beside her.
‘I’m—er—I’m going to have to support your leg,’ he
whispered.
She nodded and smiled, her silvery grey eyes glinting with a touch of amusement.
Damn her! She was enjoying his discomfort.
He crawled on his knees till he was positioned at the appropriate angle and then he touched her thigh. A quick glance around the room showed him the other guys were grabbing hold of different parts of their women without turning a hair.
It was all right for them, he thought. They curled up with their baby’s mothers every night. They were kissing them night, noon and morning.
But he hadn’t touched Meg in eight months—and even then it had never become a habit. Sweat beaded his brow. This was the first time he’d touched her in all this time and he was having to hold her legs apart. And on top of that he was supposed to keep breathing!
Fate, he decided, had a strange sense of humour.
‘Are all our little fathers in place?’ the teacher called.
There was a smattering of replies. Sam muttered something rude beneath his breath.
‘Right. We’re getting the urge to push. Here it comes. Tilt your pelvis, mothers. Round your shoulders, put your chin on your chest—and—push! That’s it. Push, again! Keep pushing—a little more. That’s it. Have a rest.’ She beamed at her class. ‘Well done.’
Sam lowered Meg’s leg.
She smiled up at him and he only just resisted the urge to lean down and kiss her teasing lips. ‘How are you doing?’ she asked.
He wiped a shaky hand over his damp brow and tried to crack a grin. ‘Piece of cake,’ he told her. ‘By the time your baby comes, we won’t need a midwife.’
Half an hour later, he emerged from the class, feeling a little shell-shocked, but rather pleased with himself. ‘I’m an educated man,’ he said to Meg as he walked with her towards the car.
She smiled back at him. ‘You had your mouth hanging open for most of the night—especially during the film. I almost leaned over and shut it for you.’
He sent her what he hoped was a smile. They had reached the car and they both stood beside her door. Sam, about to open it, paused. ‘You shouldn’t talk about mouths and touching in the same breath, Meg Bennet.’
The Pregnancy Discovery Page 12
