Countdown To Baby (Merlyn County Midwives #2)

by Gina Wilkins

  “You just summed mine up pretty well. Long. Busy. Not bad.”

  “I thought you had a business thing tonight.”

  “Yeah. It starts at eight. I was just trying to work up some enthusiasm for the event.”

  “From the expression in your voice, I take it you’re having a hard time doing so.”

  “Impossible. Can’t stand a couple of the jerks I’ll be dining with. But that doesn’t mean I won’t be on my best behavior while I try to convince them that fertility research is a worthy cause for their charitable donations. And somehow convince them that the crazy rumors about the most controversial plans Mari has on her agenda are mostly just that—rumors. I wish I could figure out who’s spreading all the talk about Mari lately. We Binghams have always been targeted for gossip—some admittedly legitimate but much of it spurred by petty jealousies—but, from what little I’ve heard since I’ve been in town, it seems particularly vicious lately.”

  “Poor Mari. She looked so tired and worried when I saw her this afternoon. I admire your sister a great deal, Geoff. I’m sorry she’s going through such a difficult time.”

  “I know she would appreciate your concern.”

  “If only Detective Collins could make some headway with his investigation so he would stop getting underfoot. At least that would be one annoyance off Mari’s shoulders.”

  “Maybe I should have a little discussion with Detective Collins,” Geoff growled.

  “He is conducting an official investigation, Geoff. And there really is a serious drug problem in Merlyn County. We had another addicted pregnant woman come in today with serious medical complications. As annoyingly persistent as the detective is, I hope his efforts will pay off by cutting the supply of black market drugs that are wreaking so much havoc on our community.”

  “You’re right,” Geoff conceded reluctantly. “I shouldn’t let my personal bias against Mari’s ex-boy-friend interfere with necessary police business. I just wish he could do his work without causing Mari so much stress.”

  “Yes, so do I.”

  “Do you have any big plans for the evening?”

  Cecilia thought of the teenager sobbing so angrily next door. The crisis that was none of her business, actually, but in which she felt obligated to get involved. “No. No big plans.”

  “I envy you. Actually, I’d like to be there with you. We could have a nice, quiet pizza-and-television night. Or I could bring my guitar and serenade you.”

  “You play guitar?”

  “Contrary to what my sister might tell you, yes, I do play guitar. Mostly oldies—Beatles tunes, especially. My mother was a Beatles fanatic. Other kids heard lullabies at bedtime, I heard ‘Hey, Jude.’”

  “What about ‘Golden Slumbers’? That’s a Beatles tune that makes a very nice lullaby.”

  “You’re a Beatles fan?”

  “Of course. They were brilliant songwriters and musicians. ‘Norwegian Wood’ is one of my all-time favorite melodies.”

  “And one of my favorite songs to play.”

  “Then you’ll definitely have to play it for me.”

  “A woman after my own heart. And, yes, I know,” he added, laughing. “You aren’t after anyone’s heart. But I still think you’re very cool.”

  She was cool, Cecilia thought as she hung up the phone a few moments later when Geoff reluctantly disconnected so he could prepare for his business meeting. It wasn’t exactly a flowery or poetic compliment—and he had definitely been speaking tongue-in-cheek—but still she found herself beaming with pleasure.

  She really wasn’t after Geoff’s heart, she assured herself, but she suspected he had already taken over a little corner of hers.

  Cecilia rarely took an entire day off work, but she had scheduled Tuesday as a stay-at-home day. She had accumulated two weeks’ vacation from the clinic, and she preferred taking it a day or two at a time rather than all at once. With the support of her supervisors, she had arranged her summer schedule so that she wouldn’t be away from her patients for very long, yet would still have periodic breaks.

  Though she had made no secret of her plans for the day, even mentioning them to Geoff, she wasn’t expecting company Tuesday morning. It was with both surprise and curiosity that she heard what sounded like a motorcycle pulling into her driveway, followed by the musical peal of her doorbell.

  Climbing down from a stepladder in the tiny front bedroom of her house, she automatically smoothed a hand down her hot-pink T-shirt and denim shorts. Her hair was up in a loose ponytail, and she had applied just a touch of makeup that morning—a habit too strong to break even when she planned a day at home alone. Could this be a delivery of some sort? She wasn’t expecting anything, but she supposed it was possible.

  Checking the security window before unlocking the door, she reached quickly for the dead bolt. “Geoff,” she said a moment later. “What are you doing here?”

  He smiled, and she had a moment to reflect on how unfair it was that he could look so breathtakingly handsome even with his hair all tumbled and wearing a plain gray T-shirt, faded, worn jeans and scuffed boots. “You said you were going to spend the day doing home maintenance projects. Since I didn’t have any pressing business, I thought I’d give you a hand, if that’s okay with you. I’d have called first, but it was sort of an impulse.”

  She looked behind him toward the big black-and-chrome motorcycle sitting in her driveway, a black-and-silver helmet dangling from the handlebars. “You came on that?”

  “Yeah. I don’t get a chance to ride it much, and it needs to be taken out occasionally to keep it purring. Maybe you want to go for a ride later? I’ve got a second helmet strapped to the back.”

  “Er, uh, thanks, but I’ll probably have to wash my hair or something this afternoon.”

  Geoff laughed. “You sound like my family. Don’t tell me you’re afraid of my bike.”

  “I’m just not really the motorcycle type.”

  “Maybe you’ll give me a chance to change your mind about that.”

  Cecilia truly doubted that was going to happen. She didn’t even like the idea of Geoff careening around on that dangerous-looking machine. Pushing some painful old memories to the back of her mind, she held the door wider.

  “Come in,” she said, turning her back on the motorcycle. “Can I get you anything?”

  “I didn’t come to be entertained.” He closed the door behind him. “I came to work. What’s on the agenda?”

  “Painting. I just finished taping off the front bedroom.”

  “Painting, huh?” He looked momentarily doubtful, then nodded. “Okay, lead me to it.”

  Planting her hands on her hips, Cecilia tilted her head to study him. “Have you ever actually painted a room before?”

  “I scribbled on my bedroom wall with felt-tip markers when I was five. I thought it looked pretty good myself, but my mother wasn’t as enthusiastic about it.”

  She couldn’t help laughing. “You must have been a handful.”

  “Actually, I was a model child. I just indulged in small rebellions every once in a while.”

  “I think you still indulge in the occasional rebellion,” she murmured, thinking of the motorcycle. Not to mention his present arrangement with her.

  “Me? Nah. I’m still a model child.”

  Smiling, she took his arm and tugged slightly. “Come on, I’ll show you how to paint a room the proper way.”

  He put a hand on her wrist and tugged her into his arms, covering her mouth with his for a long, hungry kiss. She was practically panting by the time it ended.

  “Now,” he said, looking rather proud of himself, “I’m ready to learn how to paint.”

  After that mind-emptying kiss, Cecilia just hoped she remembered how.

  Chapter Nine

  Geoff followed Cecilia down her hallway at a bit of a distance. He liked watching her walk, her slender legs nicely showcased by her denim shorts. She glanced over her shoulder, caught him watching her, and gave him a lo
ok. Totally unrepentant, he grinned back at her.

  The room she led him into was small, no more than ten by ten. She had taken out all the furniture, if there had been any to start with. The windows and baseboards had all been carefully outlined with blue masking tape. Plastic sheeting covered the wood floor. A bucket of paint sat in the center of the room next to a paint tray, a couple of rollers and some brushes in assorted sizes. “Looks like you know what you’re doing.”

  “I’ve done a lot of painting. I can’t afford to hire someone to do something I’m perfectly capable of doing myself. Eric offered to help next weekend, but this room’s so small, it won’t really take long. If there’s anything else you would rather be doing, I can handle this alone.”

  “Nope. There’s not a thing I would rather be doing than painting this room.”

  “You expect me to believe that?”

  “Okay, maybe there is one thing I’d rather be doing. But since you’re busy in here, I suppose that will have to wait.”

  He liked it when she gave him those dryly chiding looks. Which must be why he kept doing or saying things to earn them. “So what color are we painting?” he asked before she could come up with a response to his entendre. “The same off white that’s in here now?”

  “No.” She bent to remove the lid from the can, revealing the pale green paint inside.

  Not quite a pastel, he decided. More of a soft, moss green. “Nice.”

  “I was thinking this would be a good color for a…well, for a nursery. I like something different than the usual pinks, blues and yellows.”

  “A nursery.” Geoff reached up to massage the back of his neck as he looked around the room again from this new perspective. “Uh, yeah, green’s nice.”

  She seemed to be staring rather fiercely at the paint. “I know I’m getting a little ahead of myself, but the room needs to be painted, anyway, and this is a color that will work just as well in a guest room if we don’t—well, if our plans don’t work out. If they do, I thought I would use light maple woods with green, butterscotch and cream accents for the nursery.”

  “I would have thought you’d prefer bold, primary colors.”

  “Because of the rest of my house, you mean? I admit, I do have a weakness for bold colors, but I think a nursery should be relaxing. Peaceful. And the earthy colors I have in mind should create that effect.” She straightened abruptly. “Not that you’re at all interested in my decorating plans. Really, Geoff, if you would rather go ride your motorcycle, I—”

  “Cecilia.” He rested a hand on her arm. “I’m interested. Let me help.”

  Her smile was tentative. “I’d like that.”

  Brushing a kiss across her lips, he drew back and glanced again around the room, picturing a maple crib against the far wall. “Where do we start?”

  Cecilia picked up a paint roller and held it out to him. “That paint goes on these walls. It’s a fairly simple process. Try not to get it on your clothes.”

  It was fairly simple, actually. And unexpectedly pleasant. Working side by side with Cecilia, rolling paint on the walls of the room that might one day hold their child. Sharing warm smiles, talking about inconsequential matters. Stopping for the occasional stolen kiss.

  It was nice. Almost…domestic, he thought, and promptly dropped the paintbrush he had been wielding for a few finishing touches. Paint splattered his jeans and his right boot, then puddled beneath the brush on the plastic sheeting. “Great.”

  “Oh, my. You made a mess.” Cecilia was obviously making an effort not to laugh at him.

  “Yes, I did.”

  “Fortunately, the paint washes off with soap and water. I don’t think it will stain your jeans if you launder them quickly.”

  “What about skin? Does it wash off skin with soap and water?”

  “Yes. Why? Did you get paint on your—Geoff!” She stared in disbelief at the paint he had just smeared on her arm with his fingertip. “Why did you do that?”

  “Call it an impulse.” It must have been the same impulse that made him reach out and place a dot of paint on the tip of her very cute nose.

  She reached up to slap his hand. “Have you lost your mind?”

  “Sorry.” He rested a hand on her cheek. Since he had just deliberately squeezed the bristles of the wet paintbrush, he left a perfect green print on her smooth skin. “Sometimes I just can’t help myself.”

  Her chocolate-brown eyes were huge. “Um, did you just leave paint on my face?”

  “Yes. And green is definitely your color.”

  “I cannot believe you did that.”

  “Well, since I got paint all over me….”

  “But I didn’t put it there.”

  “That’s true. I suppose I owe you an apology.”

  “Apology accepted.” She patted his cheek, leaving a wet, sticky residue behind. “You know, actually, green looks quite good on you, too.”

  He laughed. “Oh, lady, are you in trouble now.”

  “Don’t even think about—”

  Before she could finish the sentence, he had her on her back and on the floor, plastic sheeting crinkling beneath her. Laughing, she squirmed beneath him as he tickled her with scattered kisses and neck nuzzles. “You crazy man,” she said in gasps. “This is not the way to paint a room.”

  “I think it’s a great way to paint a room.” He kissed her again, fancying that he could taste her sweet smile. With maybe a slight hint of paint thrown in, he thought, grinning against her lips.

  The humor carried them out of the guest room/nursery into Cecilia’s bedroom. They were still playing and laughing when they stepped into the shower to wash off the paint. But as the warm water cascaded over them and their soapy hands began to wander, the laughter and banter faded.

  He crowded her against the tiles, dipping his head to cover her mouth with his. She was so small, delicately boned, yet strong and capable. As comfortable climbing a ladder as she was cradling a fragile newborn in her arms. What man wouldn’t want a woman like this to be the mother of his children?

  Oops. Wrong word. Children implied a long-term commitment, not a one-time partnership.

  Deciding not to think beyond this day—not even beyond this moment—he pulled her closer. Her arms went around him, and it pleased him that she seemed as eager to be close to him as he was to be close to her.

  Their wet bodies fused. The kiss went deeper. Became almost hot enough to cause the shower water to steam around them. He lifted her against the wall, bringing her mouth within easier reach, and she wrapped her legs around him.

  Humor had been completely replaced now with hunger. His need was so great his knees were weak with it, forcing him to brace Cecilia against the shower wall.

  He wanted her. Desperately. It had nothing at all to do just then with any agreements or plans they had made, but everything to do with her warm smiles, her beautiful eyes, her generous heart and dry sense of humor. The only goal he had in mind just then was mutual satisfaction. And in that quest Cecilia seemed to be a very willing partner.

  “Are you sure you won’t take a ride with me?”

  Cecilia looked over her shoulder for a moment to answer, drawing her attention away from the last of the painting supplies she had been cleaning. “I’m absolutely certain. But promise me you’ll be careful on that thing.”

  He smiled and leaned over to kiss the tip of her nose, which was now scrubbed free of paint. “Careful is my middle name.”

  “Yeah, right,” she muttered, thinking of their exploits in the spare room. And in the shower. And then in her bed.

  “You’d better put those clothes in the wash as soon as you get home—or have your maid or housekeeper or whoever take care of them,” she added, suddenly doubting that Geoff Bingham did his own laundry. “As it is, I’m going to be scrubbing paint out of my shorts for a while—thanks to your roving hands.”

  He looked more proud of himself than apologetic. “If those shorts are ruined, I’ll buy you another pair. Heck, I
’ll buy you a dozen. That will give me a chance to ruin a few more with my, er, roving hands.”

  She found it hard to hold on to her smile when he talked about buying her anything. Even though she knew he was joking, reminders of the difference in their financial standing didn’t strike her as particularly funny.

  He stepped up behind her and kissed the back of her neck, which she had bared by pinning her damp hair into a loose roll. “Any other chores I can help you do around here?”

  She wasn’t sure she would survive any more of his help. “No, thank you. You didn’t have to work today?”

  Helping himself to an apple sitting in a bowl on the counter, Geoff shook his head. “I’ve decided I deserve an occasional day off, myself. After all, I worked until late last night, if you count a business dinner as work, which I do.”

  Cecilia wiped her hands on a paper towel and reached for the teakettle, deciding she would prepare herself a cup of herbal tea. She was making a deliberate effort to cut back on coffee, which would be good for her health—and for the child she hoped to carry. “How did it go last night?”

  “Not bad. Maybe we soothed a few concerns about some of the craziest rumors buzzing around. I’ve got to admit Lillith Cunningham did a good job working the crowd. Not that you’d get my dad to admit that.”

  “He’s still resisting her?”

  “He still thinks her ideas are too impractical. She’s talking now about using my grandmother as a spokeswoman for the medical facilities. He thinks that’s just foolish.”

  Cecilia took a moment to think about that idea. “Actually, that’s not a bad suggestion. No one would be a more knowledgeable or passionate spokesperson than Myrtle Bingham. After all, she’s the one who founded the Janice Foster Memorial Midwifery Clinic and Women’s Health Center. And she’s obviously the perfect representative for the Myrtle Northrup Bingham School of Midwifery. Who better to talk about the need for readily available quality prenatal and delivery facilities?”