by Stuart, Amie
All I could do was nod and hiccup until he returned a few minutes later with a tall glass of water. "Drink this. I called Tara and told her you were sick."
"I have appointments!" I also had snot running down my face. I blew my nose and sat up. "I have to go to work!"
"Not today, missy." He reached out and slipped the jacket to my sweats off me. "Today, you stay home and rest. I insist. I have to go out for a little while, but I’ll come sit with you and make sure you’re okay. Should I call the doctor?"
I shook my head. I couldn’t miss work. I slipped out of bed and reached for my jacket. Ty held it above his head, his lips clamped shut. The stern expression on his face brought me up short.
"No, Bee. Not today."
I sighed and hung my head. I had two choices. I could either tell him about Jessa’s visit and start a huge to-do or give in and spend the day in bed because he thought I was being A Pregnant Woman.
Great. Way to go, Slick. "I feel fine!"
Just then, a fit of coughing hit me, and I ran for the bathroom. Phlegm, and lots of it, came up. When I was through, I found a cold wet washcloth dangling in my face. I took it from his hand and wiped my face with a sigh.
No way in hell he’d let me go to work now. Might as well call it a day. "Okay," I said, voice hoarse, "you win. I’ll stay home."
I even let him help me stand up. Before I could climb in bed, Ty pulled me close and rubbed my back. "I gotta go get feed. Will you be alright for an hour?"
I nodded, choking on more tears at his sudden tenderness. I leaned into Ty, and heard myself say, "You promise to come back and take care of me?"
So much for Rule Number Eight: Never Beg, Whine, or In Any Way, Cling.
Ty cuddled and shushed me for a while then tucked me in bed. He smelled like outside, fresh air and earth and male sweat. "I need to get cleaned up."
"To go get feed?"
"Yeah, I was gonna, uh, run by the store and get some stuff for dinner and soup and maybe some Sprite for your stomach."
"Aw, you’re so good to me." I smiled, flipping over his wet pillow and burrowing deeper in the bed. What the hell is wrong with me?
"I’m...I’m gonna get—" He pointed at the bathroom.
"Okay." I blessed him with another smile and closed my eyes, suddenly exhausted. I could get used to having someone take care of me. But not too used. That would be dangerous.
I woke up to the feel of Ty’s lips on my forehead. He smelled awful good to go to the feed store and get groceries, and I watched him walk out through half open eyes. Sharply creased, Sunday-church jeans, Sunday-church boots and a nice plaid shirt.
While we’re at it, lets throw Rule Number Nine in the mix: Don’t Nag. You can be a bitch at any given time. That’s a woman’s divine right but don’t nag. It ranks up there with whining and clinging.
There’s only one reason I can think of for a man to dress up in the middle of the week like that—besides Wednesday night church service. He was going to see That Bitch. Even as the thought crossed my mind, I shoved it away.
Surely not.
Not after all his care and concern earlier. But then something Jessa said came back to me. Ty was excited about becoming a daddy. I lay there letting my half-numb mind soak it in. He loved the baby and possibly his ex-wife but not me. So much for a hundred percent.
Chapter Fourteen
REMEDY
What a day for her to get sick. Ty slid behind the wheel of his truck with a groan. He started it up, debating whether to stop at Momma’s and ask her to keep an eye on Bettina. But after her very vocal disapproval of his marriage that might not be such a good idea.
He’d only be gone two hours.
On the way out, he passed Tim heading for home.
"Where you off to?" Tim propped his elbows on the window.
"See the doc." He couldn’t bring himself to call it therapy. "Can I borrow your cell phone again?"
"Yeah, but it’s up at the house. What’s going on?"
"Bettina’s sick. I came in and found her crying, laid out on the bed."
"Why’s she crying? Drive up to the house, and I’ll get it for you."
Ty did and two minutes later, Tim was back. Ty glanced at his watch. He’d be late if he didn’t hurry.
"I have no idea what set her off, but I made her stay home. I think she’s just...you know, pregnant."
Tim laughed and handed him the phone. "You made Betti stay home?"
"Yeah." With a frown, he stuck it in his shirt pocket, debating whether to go back to tell Bettina he had it, but then, he’d be late for sure.
"I’da paid good money to see that."
"Why?" He didn’t see what the big deal was. He didn’t want her going to work if she didn’t feel good.
"It’s not often someone gets the upper hand on her."
Ty let it go. He didn’t have the time or feel the need to discuss his marriage with his brother. "I’m gonna be late."
* * *
Ty took off and sent up a silent ‘thank you’ that the late morning traffic was light. He made it at nine straight up and stepped in the doctor’s office at five after.
"Sorry, Phyllis," he said, scratching his name on the sign-in log.
"Not a problem, Ty. Dr. Ritter will be right with you."
No sooner had he gotten settled in the uncomfortable waiting room chair, than the door opened.
"Ty, come on back." Today her suit was red, like cranberries.
"Have a seat," she said, ushering him into the office ahead of her.
He eased into his usual chair as he heard the soft click of the door closing. Dr. Ritter came around her desk and sat.
"So, how was your week?" she asked, opening his file.
That file had always fascinated him. He couldn’t help but think if she’d share some of what she wrote down, maybe he wouldn’t have to see her so often.
It’d taken him months to figure therapy out. She rarely told him anything, but led, or dragged, him to a point where he could figure things out on his own. Sometimes he appreciated it, but most times it just made him madder than hell.
"Great." The words were out before he could stop himself. What the hell? He frowned across the desk at her.
"Great?" She sounded excited and her sandy colored eyebrows shot up as she grabbed up a pencil. "Tell me."
"I got married." He nodded, unable to keep the sudden smile off his face, and the more he tried to contain it the bigger it grew.
She sat there for a minute then literally shook her head in confusion. Leaning across the desk, pencil slack in her hands she choked out, "You what?"
"I got married. Monday. And I’m gonna be a dad." There went that smile again.
"Ty." She seemed to struggle for words. "Ty...Rhea?"
"Oh, hell no!" He sat up, and before he knew it, he’d spilled the whole story. The night of his divorce, finding out Bettina was pregnant, getting married. The works. He talked for over half the session. More than he’d ever willingly talked before, and his words seemed to trip over themselves in his haste to explain.
"And how has your family reacted to all of this?"
"For the most part, fine." He shrugged.
She scribbled furiously. "Still taking your meds? Sleeping? Eating?"
"I haven’t needed the Xanax."
She nodded and looked up at him expectantly.
"Eating good, a few nightmares." Now, if only he could find the cure for those.
"About what?" She glanced up at him, her pencil twitching.
"Rhea. The baby," he reluctantly confessed. "She’s always got this empty baby carrier and she says I have to chose."
"Does it scare you?"
He nodded. "I’m scared she’ll really hurt the baby."
"What do you think it means?"
"I’m not sure." He swallowed and smoothed his hands down the legs of his jeans. "I know it’s not literal. I guess that, somehow, she will take the baby...my happiness."
"Since children wer
e something she refused to consider, that makes sense. No panic attacks?"
"No, ma’am. None not since last Wednesday. And it was an almost."
"What happened last Wednesday? Why an almost?" Her pencil went on high alert.
"I went to see Bettina after I left here."
"Your wife?" He nodded, wondering why it sounded almost like an accusation. "And she just up and agreed to marry you when you confronted her about the baby?"
"Uh-huh." He nodded again. Dr. Ritter didn’t look pleased. He turned it over in his head, trying to figure out what she was trying to show him. "I’ve known Bettina since kindergarten."
"What kind of family does she come from?"
"Not great. Her mom was a drunk," he blurted out, realization dawning. "But she’s not like Rhea!" He sat up, elbows on her desk and looked into her wise gray eyes. "She’s not!"
"How is she not like Rhea?"
"She works," he said with a nod. "And she’s real affectionate, and she, well, she cooks and um," his voice grew softer as he ran out of things to say. "I guess that’s not a lot, huh?" Hell.
"No, Ty, it’s not."
"Kids deserve two parents." Even to his own ears that sounded half-assed and lame.
"Kids deserve two parents who love each other," the doc countered. "Do you love your new wife?"
He turned the question over in his mind, then shook his head. "No."
She scribbled some more notes, then looked up at him. "Are you two sharing a bed?"
He nodded and swallowed the lump in his throat, remembering their wedding day talk. The pit in his stomach grew. "She...we...have sex. Does it really matter?" he asked softly.
"I think so, since sex was a huge problem in your last marriage. How’s your sex life?" She steepled her fingers, the pencil resting on top of her notepad.
"Amazing." His face was hot, and his eyes floated to the dark carpet then back up to Dr. Ritter’s knowing eyes.
"So," she said her tone gentling, "she’s affectionate and you have good sex?"
"Really, really good sex." The words were out before he could stop them or the grin that fought for freedom.
She chuckled. "Good sex is nothing to base a marriage on, Ty. There are three key ingredients in a marriage: communication, money and sex. You’ve got to be able to talk, you’ve got to have the same financial goals and dreams and you’ve got to be able to have great sex. Just one is not enough, Ty."
Leaning back in her chair, Dr. Ritter continued, "I want you to bring her in next week. I’d like to talk to the both of you together."
Abso-freaking-lutely not! "Her prenatal visit is next Wednesday. It’ll have to be after Thanksgiving."
Like when hell freezes over.
Communication was one thing, but there was no way he’d ever tell Bettina about the doc or the medication or Rhea’s abuse. He might not love her, but he did care about what she thought of him.
"Alright then. Our time is up. If you need me over the holiday weekend, Ty, you know you can call me."
He nodded and let himself out, stopping at the front desk to schedule his next appointment. He’d just make some excuse about why Betti couldn’t come, or reschedule it, or quit going or something. He’d think of something. Dad would just have to understand.
Out in the truck, he tried Bettina on the cell phone, but no one answered. On his way home, he swung through H-E-B and grabbed four kinds of soup, Sprite, chicken and...on impulse, some flowers.
"Bettina, honey?" Ty called out, setting the bags on the dining room table.
Stone, cold silence greeted him as he went to check the bedroom. The bed was unmade, the sheets all rumpled.
No Bettina.
Next, he checked the other three bedrooms. Still no Bettina.
She’d gone to work! He spun around and back out to the front porch. He car hadn’t moved.
Don’t panic.
He walked the wrap-around porch.
Breathe.
And came to a dead halt on the back porch.
Out in the yard, in a little patch of sunlight, lay his wife in a chaise. She must have dragged it down off the porch. Despite the fact that it was November, the day was clear, crisp and sunny. This was Texas after all, and in Texas the weather changed its mind more often than a lady.
Relieved, he slowly crossed the porch and stepped down into the yard, his boots crunching the occasional leaf as he went. Bettina lay sound asleep with her fist tucked up under her chin. Her nose was still red from crying and her lashes still wet. She must not have stopped after he left, and he angrily wondered what had set her off to begin with.
On silent feet, Ty made his way back to the house, called his mom, who reluctantly promised to tell his dad he wouldn’t be back, then changed his clothes. He put the groceries away, made himself a sandwich from the last of the brisket and sat on the back porch to eat, so he could keep an eye on her.
While he ate, he thought. About his conversation with Bettina the day of their wedding, and about what Dr. Ritter had said. Sex, money and communication. Now he had a better idea of what Bettina had been asking for. Not just sex. And he couldn’t just try and make their marriage work, he had to commit to it. Affection did matter. Rhea hadn’t been affectionate, even when she was young.
He enjoyed being near Bettina, and the sex was just a huge side benefit. She was independent. She didn’t cling to him except for earlier, but hell, she’d been upset. She made him laugh, and he didn’t have nightmares when they slept together. He’d quickly figured out that having her near kept the Rhea Demon away.
He didn’t miss Rhea, and if he were honest, could admit he hadn’t for a while. The pangs he’d previously felt at the thought of never having her back in his life weren’t there. And maybe they hadn’t been about her, but about being alone. The end of his dreams. What he’d thought he wanted.
He was going to be a dad. Bettina had asked for a real marriage, and not just in the bedroom. That’s what she meant, that’s what she wanted, and that’s what she deserved.
* * *
Ty awoke in a panic to the sounds of cooking and what smelled like a cake baking. Rhea. No, Bettina! After she’d woke up from her earlier nap, he’d fed her soup and stretched out on the couch with her for another. Pregnant women needed their rest.
Dusk crept in through the living room windows, the television was off and he could hear music. Sounded like Sheryl Crow. He breathed a sigh of relief and headed for the kitchen where he found Bettina puttering at the counter and quietly singing along. He leaned against the corner of the refrigerator to watch, afraid he’d startle her.
Not only did she sing, she shook her terry-cloth covered ass. Until she finally turned around and caught him grinning at her.
"What? You don’t like my singin’?" She held out a spoon full of red juice and Ty had no choice but to open wide and swallow.
"Raspberries." He licked his lips at the twangy taste.
"Found ‘em in the freezer." She grinned. She still looked a bit pale but better than she had that morning.
"You just looked cute, is all." He shrugged and stuffed his hands in his pockets.
"You like me all domestic, huh?" Snapping a lid on the berries, she stored them in the fridge.
"Much better than heating up a plate and eating in front of the television." He nodded at the table she’d set. Red place mats, bright blue plates and green glasses with bubbles in them. Mexican glass. Ty thought it looked cozy.
He watched her hover over the chicken and circled behind her, leaning against the kitchen sink for a better view. Her hips swayed from side to side as she flipped chicken and stirred what smelled like macaroni and cheese.
Who would have thought cooking could be so sexy?
He grinned, then bit his lip, praying she didn’t turn around and catch him. Twice in five minutes would be too hard to explain. But he’d never had Kitchen Sex before.
She turned around, and his eyes slowly traveled upward. Behind her, the stove slowed it’s sizzl
e and pop. She’d turned the burners off and now smiled at him, invitingly, while slipping off the jacket that matched her fancy sweat pants. Next came the dark purple t-shirt.
"See something you like?" Her hands cupped the lavender bra barely that held her lush breasts in check.
He swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry, his jeans unbearably tight. "Absolutely."
She unsnapped it and slid it off, floating across the floor and into his arms. Mouths met and tongues melded. He wanted her. Right there in the kitchen. He wanted to lean her over that pretty table and bury himself inside her.
He led her to the table and pushed the chairs aside....
"Ty. Earth to Ty." Bettina stood in front of him, fully dressed and snapping her fingers.
His grip on the counter’s edge was almost painful, his face burned with need and embarrassment and his erection throbbed. Please don’t let her notice.
"What?"
"Would you pour us some tea?"
He nodded, the grin tearing across his face again. He cupped her face with both hands and planted a big smacking kiss on her surprised lips, then yanked open the refrigerator door. Behind him, he heard a giggle. Tuning it out, he poured the tea, placed the pitcher on the table and moved to lean against the counter in the same spot. This time, she turned and kissed him for real but with her shirt on.
All the tumblers on some invisible lock clicked into place and a door in his mind swung open. Something about her, there, at that moment just felt incredibly right. He ran his hands down her back and cupped the cheeks of her ass. He felt something more than lust, but that, too.
He kissed her like he hadn’t kissed anyone in forever, and in a way, he hadn’t. There wasn’t an inch of her that he couldn’t feel, but it wasn’t just sex he wanted. It was something deep and soft and warm and comfortable that he felt snuggled in his wife’s arms. Finally, he pulled free, coming up for air. "The chicken?"
"It’s done," she whispered, voice husky.
"We should eat." But he didn’t want to let her go. He kissed her again, his lips devouring her soft, full ones. "I want you. God, I want you, Bettina."
"Oh, Ty." She arched her neck and he found that tender spot from last night. That same one that made her squirm and squeal. She chattered nonsense even as he bit her and her fingers unsnapped his jeans. Then he felt her hands on him. Her long skillful fingers wrapped around his cock.
