Wyatt's Pretend Pledge

by Liz Isaacson

  “I can’t call anyone,” Micah said, returning with half a dozen towels. “Give me your phone.”

  Jeremiah handed it over at the same time Orion said, “Boss, what can I help with?”

  “Can you run out to the birthing shed and get me a clamp?” Jeremiah asked. “And Whitney is going to need some pain meds, Micah. I want her to take those now.”

  “Jeremiah,” she whimpered, and he planted a kiss on her forehead while Micah juggled two phones as he headed into the bathroom to get painkillers.

  “I’m right here,” he said. “It’s going to be okay.” He checked her again, and this time, he could definitely see the baby’s head. “On the next contraction, you’re going to push, Whitney. Okay.” He looked past her knees to her face. “You’re going to push hard.”

  She started nodding, little short bursts of her head. Micah helped by having her swallow the pills and then laying a few towels underneath her, and he said, “I called Wyatt. He’s calling everyone, and—”

  He cut off as Jeremiah pointed to Whitney.

  “We can see the head,” he said to the paramedics.

  “We’re six minutes away,” they said, and Whitney cried out.

  “This baby is coming now,” Jeremiah said. “Tell me what I need to remember to do.”

  “Have her push,” the man said. “And when the baby comes out, wrap her up in something warm and just leave the umbilical cord. Do not cut it or clamp it or anything. We’ll do that when we get there.”

  “I’ve got my guy getting a cattle clamp,” Jeremiah said, disbelieving that he’d just used those words to deliver his baby. His own child.

  “You don’t need it,” the paramedic said. “Leave her on the bed. Newborns are slippery, and that way, she won’t fall.”

  Newborns are slippery.

  “Jeremiah,” Whitney said through her teeth. “Another contraction.”

  “Push, baby,” he said. “You’re going to push now.”

  She did, a guttural noise coming from her throat. The baby had a shock of black hair that Jeremiah could see as he positioned his hands to catch the infant. “Just like that, hon,” he said, his voice growing in intensity. “Push, Whit.”

  “I am pushing!” she yelled, and in the next moment, the baby’s head came out, and the baby turned.

  “It’s not out all the way,” he said.

  “I’m going to push again,” Whitney said. “Here it comes.” She yelled as another contraction overcame her, and the baby’s shoulder came out, and just like that, the rest of its tiny body followed.

  “Oh, boy,” Jeremiah said, staring in awe at this new human in his hands.

  “It’s a boy?” Whitney asked, but he couldn’t answer.

  “Micah, I need a towel,” he said, and his brother handed him a warm towel. The baby wailed, and it was the sweetest sound in the whole wide world.

  Gently, Jeremiah wiped his little face and looked up at Whitney, pure love for her streaming through him. “It’s a boy,” he said, his voice catching on itself.

  “Focus,” the paramedic said, and Jeremiah realized he couldn’t gaze at his son right now. “Give the baby to Whitney. Keep him covered and warm. They lose a lot of warmth from their heads.”

  He quickly wrapped the baby and handed him to Micah, who laid him gently on Whitney’s chest. She sobbed, and Jeremiah almost lost his focus again.

  “Okay,” he said. “Now what?”

  “Now make sure they’re both warm and comfortable, and we’ll take care of her when we get there.”

  “Forty seconds,” the second paramedic said.

  Jeremiah moved to stand next to Whitney, and they both gazed down at their son. “What are we going to name him?”

  He gurgled as if he knew his father was talking about him, and Whitney smiled fondly down at him. “I think Jonah.” She put her finger in his tiny hand, and he clutched it. “Jonah Jeremiah.”

  “That’s perfect,” he whispered.

  “Paramedics,” a man called, and Micah rushed over to the door.

  “Down here,” he said, and a few seconds later two men who looked like they knew what they were doing arrived in his bedroom.

  Relief hit Jeremiah, and he moved out of the way so they could take care of Whitney. He’d barely backed away when Liam arrived.

  “Oh, Dear God in heaven,” he said, his voice awed. “She had the baby right here.”

  “Jonah Jeremiah,” Jeremiah said. “And you better call Momma.”

  “She’s on her way,” Liam said. “I came as soon as I got off the phone with Wyatt.” He looked at Jeremiah, his eyes wide. “What in the world?”

  “It happened really fast,” Jeremiah said.

  “Freaky fast,” Micah added.

  “And she’s fine,” the paramedic said. “Now Whitney, I’m going to need you to push again.”

  “That’s a lot of blood,” Liam said. “I’m going to, uh, step out.” He faded out of the room, and Micah and Orion went with him.

  Jeremiah returned to Whitney’s side until the paramedics had everything delivered and deemed her done with labor.

  “Okay,” one of them said. “Let’s get her to the hospital.”

  She had not given up their son, and Jeremiah took him gingerly from her. “He’s okay?”

  “Yep, he looked great,” one of the paramedics said. “But we’ll need to take them both. We have the warmer on in the bus. You should come out with the baby, and we’ll bring in the stretcher to get her.

  “You’re okay?” he asked Whitney, bending down to kiss her forehead.

  “Tired,” she said, smiling wearily.

  “It’s almost over,” Jeremiah said, and he followed the paramedics out to the ambulance, where they placed his son in the warming unit and then proceeded to get the stretcher out for Whitney. Jeremiah put his finger in his newborn son’s hand and let every emotion he had stream through him.

  He had not comprehended the vastness of love that he could feel until that moment, and it was unlike anything he’d ever experienced before.

  The sound of a vehicle pulling up met his ears, and he heard Momma’s voice say, “The ambulance is here. Praise Jesus.”

  “Momma,” he said, his throat dry and scratchy.

  She turned toward him. “Oh, my.”

  “He’s right here. They’re bringing Whitney out now.”

  Momma climbed right into the back of the ambulance and gazed down at her new grandson. “He’s a blessing,” she said.

  “He’s fast is what he is,” Jeremiah said, chuckling. “I guess he was done being cooped up inside.”

  “Just like you,” Momma said, and Jeremiah smiled up at her.

  “Ma’am,” one of the paramedics said.

  “Tell everyone to come to the hospital,” Jeremiah said as Momma climbed down out of the ambulance. Whitney was loaded up, and they had her on oxygen now. “Is she okay?”

  “I’m fine,” she said. “Feeling lightheaded.”

  The doors closed, and the one remaining paramedic bustled around in the small space to make sure the two people Jeremiah loved the most were taken care of. “Moving,” the driver called from the front, and the man took a seat near Whitney’s head.

  “Here we go,” he said, beaming at Jeremiah. “You did really great in there, Dad.”

  “Thanks,” Jeremiah said, a smidgeon of pride filling him. “I’m definitely going to need a new bed, though, right?”

  The man chuckled. “Yes, definitely.”

  He looked down at Whitney and then Jonah. “It’s a small price to pay for such a perfect baby.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Wyatt whistled while he went through his email. “Marce, we got the final plans on the house.” He pushed away from his computer and looked over to hers. She hummed at him, a signal that meant, I’m in the middle of this. Give me a minute.

  She fiddled with something on the video she was working on, finally turning toward him a moment later. “What?”

  “The
final plans for the house,” he said. “They came today. We just need to approve them, and they’ll start breaking ground.”

  She blinked, life re-entering her eyes. “Oh. Let’s get them approved then.”

  “We should look at them first,” he said, scooting back up to his computer. “Remember how they tried to make that back patio ten-feet by ten-feet?”

  And Wyatt had been very clear that he wanted a large patio space. Somewhere big enough to host all the Walkers, their parents, their spouses, their kids. There was no sense in buying a five-million-dollar home and putting in a patio that only he could stand on.

  The builder had acted like a bigger patio would break the bank, and Wyatt wanted to make sure he got what he wanted. He clicked to open the new plans, and the blueprints on his twenty-three-inch screen were beautiful.

  Marcy came to stand beside him, and together, they looked over the plans. After a few minutes, she said, “You got your patio.”

  “And the hot tub pad,” he said. “I need that.”

  “Need,” she said, shaking her head. “That’s a relative term, Wyatt.” She moved back over to her computer, and Wyatt let her.

  There had been some new distance between them since they’d decided to buy a house together. Wyatt wasn’t sure if it was because she didn’t want him to pay for everything, if she found the huge lot and house in the hills above Three Rivers too extravagant, or something else entirely.

  She’d finally agreed that he could go on his western wear tour, only moments before Jim had called to get the final word. That had definitely put some distance between them, but Wyatt still wasn’t sure why she didn’t want him to go.

  After holding him at arm’s length for a year, she suddenly wanted to keep him close. He wasn’t complaining about that, not even a little bit. In fact, he had very little to complain about when it came to Marcy, except maybe the fact that she wasn’t super forthcoming with her feelings. He wasn’t either, and they worked together in the office they shared—her office—in silence.

  “The plans look good,” he said. “Should I sign them and send them back?”

  “Yeah, sure,” she said, completely disinterested in them.

  Wyatt sighed, but Marcy didn’t say anything. Her chair didn’t squeak to indicate she’d moved at all. “Marcy,” he said, unsure of what to say next.

  “Hmm?”

  “Do you want this house?” They could still get out of it. The lots at Church Ranches hadn’t sold quickly, and there were still spaces available. The price tag had kept a lot of people away, but Wyatt had liked the idea of a gated community in the hills, away from town so people couldn’t just show up at his doorstep.

  More than once in the past six months, he’d seen suspicious cars parked across the street from Marcy’s house—his house—when he left for work. One of them had followed him all the way out to Three Rivers, where they’d asked him to sign one of his hats.

  They weren’t dangerous, but Wyatt didn’t want them on his front lawn.

  “Do I want the house?” she asked.

  “Yeah.” He swung around, committing to this conversation. He was leaving for his tour in two weeks, and she’d have to handle a lot of things with the building while he was gone. “Do you want the house?”

  “Yes,” she said, barely glancing at him. “We need a house that belongs to both of us.”

  “Do we?”

  Marcy finally abandoned her video editing. “Wyatt, you’re not happy here, and I know it.”

  “I’m fine here, sugar,” he said.

  “No, you think this house is mine.”

  “This house is yours,” he said.

  “So the new house is needed.”

  Wyatt looked at her, trying to put the words in the right order. “We’ve been married for six months now,” he said.

  Marcy crossed her legs, her eyes never leaving his. “Yeah.”

  “It’s just six more months,” he said. “And then I can just…I don’t know.”

  Her eyes widened. “You think you want to be done at a year?”

  “I think you want to be done at a year.”

  “Why would you think that? I haven’t said that.”

  “There’s something bothering you, and you won’t tell me what it is. That’s why I think that.”

  She turned back to her computer, her office chair swiveling easily. He’d bought her a new one when all of the shrieking the old one did had driven him mad.

  “See? You’re doing it again.”

  “I’m just getting used to the idea of us being a real couple,” she said. “I know you love me, and I love you, but I’m afraid it’s not the kind of deep, lasting love we need to survive long-term.”

  Shock and despair jolted through Wyatt at the same time.

  “It’s early love,” she said. “The kind you have in the beginning of the relationship. The kind you date through, you know? I feel like maybe we’re still dating.”

  Wyatt thought about what they did in the bedroom, and that definitely wasn’t dating. That was married life. That was what husbands and wives did.

  “So…you’re still deciding if you like me,” he said.

  “No, Wyatt.” She sighed. “Of course I like you. And I’m so grateful for what you did for me.”

  “I don’t need your gratitude,” he said, an overwhelming flood of foolishness pouring over him. He sputtered and choked, trying to find a lungful of air that wasn’t coated with the screaming wail that he was a complete idiot.

  She didn’t love him. Not the way she needed to in order to stay married to him for longer than it took to make sure Payne’s Pest-free was hers.

  Marcy looked like he’d thrown ice water in her face. She stood up and closed her laptop. “I’m sorry, Wyatt. I don’t know what you want me to say.”

  “I want you to tell me why you’re so opposed to the tour,” he said, following her out of the office and down the hall to the kitchen.

  “Because,” she said, opening a cupboard only to close it again. “Then I’ll be here alone.”

  “You like being alone,” he said. “You’re not making sense.”

  She glared at him and pulled down a box of blueberry pancake mix. “I want you here so we can spend time together.”

  Wyatt didn’t want to argue with her, but they spent plenty of time together. “Okay,” he said.

  “And I don’t want to share you with America for the rest of our lives.”

  “Ah-ha,” he said. “There it is.” He searched her face, which was starting to crumple. “Sugar.” He took her into his arms, glad when she melted into his embrace as easily as she ever had. “You don’t have to share me.”

  As if God wanted him to prove it, Wyatt’s phone rang with Jim’s ringtone.

  “You should get that,” Marcy said, trying to pull away.

  But Wyatt only held her tighter. “He can wait.”

  “He’ll have sent you an email,” she said. “And he’ll just call again.” She sniffed as Wyatt finally let her go. He didn’t answer the phone though. Fissures ran through his heart, and he didn’t know how to stop them.

  His phone stopped ringing, and relief filled him. At least until the line rang again.

  “Just get it, Wyatt,” Marcy said, clearly exasperated.

  “Don’t go anywhere,” he said.

  “Where am I going to go?”

  Wyatt wasn’t sure, only that the woman had access to airplanes she knew how to fly. And he knew where they were, but he couldn’t follow her into the sky. “Jim, hi,” he said, stepping away from her and out the back door. “What’s up? I have maybe two minutes.” He looked over his shoulder to find Marcy walking back down the hall.

  She’d totally gone somewhere, even if it was still in the house.

  “I just wanted you to know I sent over the packing list,” he said. “Every item is crucial, Wyatt. I know sometimes you think you don’t need some of the items on the list, but you do.”

  “I didn’t need a pink sharpie
,” he said. “I have a reputation to maintain.”

  Jim laughed, and that got Wyatt to smile despite the unrest in his gut. “I’m sending a car for you on the fourth. I’ll email you the confirmation number for that too.”

  “Okay,” Wyatt said. “Jim, while I have you….”

  “Yeah?”

  “What if I couldn’t do the tour?”

  “What?” The snappy quality of his voice wasn’t lost on Wyatt.

  “I mean, the whole tour,” he amended. “Could I skip out on some of the stops? Come back to Three Rivers for a week or so?”

  “Why? Is Marcy pregnant?”

  The very idea had Wyatt’s heart shrinking and expanding much too quickly. “No,” he said. “Nothing like that.”

  “Is it your back?’

  “Okay, Momma,” he said. “I’m hanging up now. I can pack my own bags.”

  “Wyatt, wait—”

  But Wyatt hung up anyway. He’d told Jim two minutes, and he’d given the man that. He shouldn’t have said anything about the tour, and he sighed as he went back inside.

  He found Marcy feeding her hamster in the third bedroom in the back corner of the house, a room she used for yoga and storage. He leaned in the doorway until she looked at him.

  “What did he send you?” she asked.

  “Packing list,” Wyatt said. “Listen, Marcy, we don’t have to get the house. Maybe we should just wait and see if we want to be together after a year.” He’d been excited about the house, but maybe she’d just think of it as his, not theirs. And that was just trading in one problem for another.

  “I think I just need more time for this to be more…real.”

  And that was the biggest, realest thing she’d ever said to him. “So it’s still pretend for you.”

  “Not completely,” she said. “And I do love you, Wyatt.” Tears gathered in her eyes. “I don’t want you to be upset with me.”

  “I’m not,” he said. “I’d much rather know what you’re thinking than try to guess at it.”

  “That’s what I’m thinking,” she said. “And I feel guilty for wanting you to stay, and like I shouldn’t be jealous, but I am jealous, and I feel stupid living in a five-million-dollar home with a man I’m still trying to decide if I want to be with.”