The Baby Chase

by Jennifer Greene

  He forced himself to remember—a ton of times—all the memories of his parents fighting, sniping and biting at each other, turning whatever might have been love into a house of tension and silent bitterness. Every wildly-in-love couple seemed to rant and rave about “love” in the beginning. It never lasted.

  His whole life, Gabe had been determined to be a realist. Love was real; it just had no endurance factor. If you never bought into the fairy tale, you never had to go through the pain of disillusionment. If you made yourself self-sufficient, you never had to need anyone else.

  At some point, when he was suffering the worst symptoms of that flu, Gabe had the oddest realization. The memories of all those couples fighting and destroying each other had mightily motivated his loner philosophy. But he’d fought with Rebecca from the start. Had, in fact, loved their fights and sparring matches.

  He wanted the right to fight with her. Until they were both a hundred and ten. Maybe longer.

  More disastrous emotional conclusions had followed that one. Gabe knew—he knew—what dangerous trouble that redhead could get into. No one else did. She had family up the wazoo—they all loved her—but no one seemed to have any influential power over her behavior. For damn sure, no one was keeping her safe.

  Somebody on this planet had to believe in white knights. Somebody had to believe in the good of man, and that good won over evil, and that nothing would hurt you if you just did what was right.

  Gabe didn’t give a particular damn about anyone else on the planet. Just her. He wanted her to have the freedom to believe in those things. But if that was going to happen, someone had to protect her, subtly and with care. Someone who understood how vulnerable, how special, how wonderful, she was. Someone who was strong enough to sit on her from time to time. Someone who’d talk back. Who’d love back. Someone who understood that Rebecca would never thrive with repressive jail bars around her, limiting what she did…but that somebody really needed to be standing by her.

  And that was when it occurred to Gabe that he didn’t want anyone standing by her side…except him.

  He loved that woman.

  Loved her so bad he ached with it. And then, one night, he wakened from a nightmare, picturing Rebecca with a child in her belly. His child. The picture hit him with the impact of a nuclear warhead, with a longing to be a father that he hadn’t even known he had. Not a father like his own…but a father his own way. A family his own way.

  The nightmare aspect of the dream—the cold sweat he woke up with—came from knowing she’d never tell him if she was pregnant. It should have been obvious before this. Shorty had never made a secret of the fact that she wanted all or nothing—love, rings, the picket fence, the whole nine yards. No way that damn woman would remotely consider settling for less. Which meant that, unless she believed that whole corny future was a possibility, Red would never pick up a phone to call him. Not for a baby. Not for any other reason, either.

  The curtain stirred in her front window again. This time it parted several inches.

  Gabe winced in pain. He hobbled another agonizing couple of feet toward the porch, slowly, ignoring the rain slithering down his neck, when—miracle of miracles—her front door was suddenly hurled open.

  “Gabe! I saw movement from my window, even saw your bent head coming up the walk, but I didn’t realize it was you at first! My Lord! What on earth happened to you?”

  “A little accident,” he confessed. For a moment, he almost forgot to look pitiful. He just wanted to inhale the sight of her. He didn’t see any of that “nervousness” her mother seemed to think was so critically important…but one problem at a time. Lifting a ton of worry off his head, he saw her ragged-hemmed white sweatshirt, her hair wisping all over the place, her bare feet—and a wonderful look of panic and concern in her eyes.

  “A little accident? Good grief, Gabe—”

  “I could use some help, shorty, and that’s the truth.” As soon as he reached the overhang of her porch, he leaned hard on the crutch. “I need a place to recover, to just hole up for a bit of rest time…and I’ve got the place. But I’d have a real hard time driving there myself, much less carrying groceries and supplies inside. Once I set up, I’ll be fine alone. But if you could spare an afternoon…” He took a breath. “I need you, Red.”

  His voice sounded strange, harsh and curt, not at all how he’d intended those words to come out. But he’d never admitted to needing anyone before, and it came hard. He was afraid she’d think he was lying through his teeth, and it was true that there were some details that included some reprehensible fibs. But the part about needing her was the truest thing he’d ever said.

  She searched his eyes. Only for a second or two. But he could have sworn she responded instantly, intuitively, to the honesty in his. “I need to shut off my computer and grab a purse,” she said swiftly.

  “And shoes, shorty.”

  “To hell with shoes.”

  She came back out wearing shoes, though, and, moving faster than a speeding bullet, she bullied and mothered him into the passenger side of the Morgan. The plan was for her to drive, help him get set up, take the car and come pick him up in a week. Gabe knew damn well it was a hokey, illogical plan, but perhaps it was a good thing Rebecca was an idealistic, imaginative writer. She seemed to accept it wholesale.

  Gabe had a few more things he needed her to accept wholesale to get any of this to work. He gave her directions. An hour north of the bustling Minneapolis freeways, they turned onto country roads. Rebecca paid more attention to stealing glances at his injuries—and his face—than the geography.

  When they stopped at a grocery store, though, she turned into an army general. She allowed him to come in, but picked and chose all the groceries, ignoring any input from him, and hoisted all the grocery bags herself. When he gave her no grief and responded with meek obedience, she charged over and laid a palm on his brow. “Are you sure you’re not running a fever?”

  “You think I’m running a fever because I’m being nice?”

  “You’ve never obeyed me before, cutie. No leopard changes its spots that fast. Of course, there could be another reason why you’re not yourself. You’re probably taking a lot of pain meds?”

  “Hmm…” he said. There were a lot of complicated directions to give her after that. Eventually the blacktop country road twisted and turned into a gravel lane. The lane led through a roller coaster of woods and meadows, typical of Minnesota’s backwoods. Gabe directed her through enough misguided turns and backturns to confuse a geographer with a compass.

  They pulled up in a grassy driveway a half hour later. Rebecca stepped out first, her hands on her hips, and looked the whole scene over. The cedar cabin was multilevel, built on a hillside. Virgin woods sheltered the back in cool shade. The front had glass doors, leading onto a deck, with a view of a rambling silver creek gurgling and splashing diamonds at the base of the hill.

  “It’s gorgeous, Gabe. You rented this?”

  “Yeah, for a week.”

  “Well, I can’t think of a better place on earth to rest and relax, but it’s awfully secluded. I didn’t even see another house or cabin for at least a half mile back.”

  She carried in the groceries, ordering him to “just rest” while she looked around inside. He waited, tension knotting in his stomach like a thousand drunk butterflies, when she disappeared. He knew what she’d see. Inside were hardwood floors and a fieldstone hearth, stacked with firewood, the furniture all russets and browns. The kitchen was rustic, with a gnarled pine table. There was only one bedroom—a maestro-size room with a skylight, overlooking the view, with a king-size bed and built-in drawers. Nothing in the house was fancy, but the bathroom had a redwood sauna.

  When Rebecca came back out, her hands were on her hips again. “It’s beautiful. An absolutely idyllic retreat. But no telephone?”

  “Nope, no phone.”

  “No phone and no neighbors. What if you fall? What if you can’t get around with all these s
teps and need some help?” She tapped her foot. “I’m not sure about leaving you here alone.”

  “I’ve coped alone my whole life, shorty.”

  “You weren’t hurt before.”

  “Not like I’m hurting now,” he agreed. “Rebecca?”

  She turned her head. He opened his palm to show her the car keys, and then, while she was watching, hurled them in the air. As far as touchdown passes went, this one was pretty good. The keys landed with a plop and a splash in the creek.

  Rebecca’s jaw fell open. “I don’t believe I just watched you do that! Have you lost your mind? What on earth are you thinking of? Without the car keys, neither of us have any way to get out of here—”

  While she was still watching, he tossed the crutch on the grass. After peeling off the itchy butterfly bandage on his temple, he yanked off the arm sling, then bent down to undo all the fastenings on the Velcro cast.

  It took a good three minutes before he could stand up straight again. Three minutes. To risk his heart—a heart he’d never risked, not for anyone or anything—and hurl it at her feet. His heart couldn’t have beaten any harder if he was in the middle of a nightmare.

  She hadn’t moved. Hadn’t budged. Hadn’t shifted her eyes from his for even a second. But it seemed to take a couple of centuries before she got around to saying anything.

  Gabe figured there was a damn good chance she was gonna kill him.

  Thirteen

  Rebecca deliberately, slowly, circled around him. His normally tanned and ruddy complexion looked a little pale, but there wasn’t a bruise in sight. Once he peeled off that silly cast, an extremely healthy, hairy calf showed up—with no injury of any kind. Those linebacker’s shoulders were flexed tight, certainly indicating no malfunction in the muscle department, and there wasn’t a single cut or scrape on his chin or forehead—not even shaving nicks. Possibly she had a certain bias, but personally she thought Gabe could star in an anatomy textbook as a prize male specimen.

  The longer she studied him, though, the more he got the wary, edgy look of a cornered cougar.

  “You aren’t injured,” she announced.

  “No.”

  “You weren’t in some life-threatening accident.”

  “I got a mosquito bite last night, putting away the barbecue. But the last time I was near any remotely life-threatening injuries was in Vegas. With you. Rebecca?”

  “What?”

  “Somehow you don’t seem…all that surprised.”

  “Of course I’m not surprised, Devereax. I know you, for crying out loud. Put you in an alley with six thugs, and I’d feel sorry for the thugs. If there was ever a man born who could take care of himself, it’s you. What did you think, that I was buying this rhinestone? That I’d just leap to take off cross-country on a trumped up story about a bunch of pitiful injuries, without asking you a single question? I write fiction, for Pete’s sake. I can recognize a contrived plot blindfolded.”

  Uneasily Gabe cleared his throat. His eyes were on her face now, as relentlessly as the beat of a heart. “But…you came.”

  “Of course I came. I was worried sick.” She immediately corrected herself. “I’m still worried sick. It isn’t like you to lie. Something had to be seriously wrong for you to go to all this ridiculous trouble.”

  “There was. You didn’t want to see me. I couldn’t even get you to answer the phone. It was pretty damn obvious I had to do something creative to get your attention.”

  “Well, you certainly did that.” She had avoided him. Because she hadn’t wanted to answer any questions about whether or not she was pregnant until she was ready. But during the incredibly long drive to the cabin, she couldn’t help but notice that Gabe had ample time and opportunity to bring up that subject. Yet he hadn’t. Maybe foolishly, she had built up courage because that didn’t seem to be Gabe’s first priority. “So…you wanted to talk to me.”

  “I did,” he muttered. “But I’ve had about all the conversation I can handle for now.”

  She was still circling around him, fists still propped on her hips, when he hauled her into his arms. Not taking any chances on her acquiescence, he folded her small, clenched fists around his nape and molded them chest-to-chest. She could feel his sick-scared heartbeat thudding against her sick-scared heartbeat. And then he took a kiss.

  She’d been afraid he would kiss her. So afraid. She’d known how easy it would be to sink into Gabe’s arms again. The chemistry was so magical, so compelling, that she suspected it might damn well last forever, and she’d only fall more deeply and more hopelessly in love if she was with him.

  That first kiss was everything she’d worried about…and more. His mouth settled on hers like the dew on a rose. With infinite slowness, his lips rubbed against hers, as if he were taking a long, tender sip of her. As if she were a drink for a man who’d been dying in the desert, dry on the inside, thirsty for her, only for her.

  A wistful spring breeze ruffled the trees. Leaves sprinkled droplets of water on both of them. She could hear water gurgling in the distant stream, smell the briny pines, feel the squish of wet grass through her shoes.

  His mouth was softer than moonlight, and his arms were warmer than any sun. The dreams she’d wanted to believe in her whole life seemed real at the moment. Yet she felt so fragile she was scared of breaking.

  “Gabe…” Her voice came out thicker than wet sugar. It was the best she could do.

  “I know, we need to talk. And I want to talk with you, shorty. But right now all I really want is to find out if I can make you nervous.”

  “Nervous? Why on earth would you want me to be nervous?”

  “Damned if I know. But it’s important.” He scooped her up, wrapping her legs around his waist, facing her as he walked up the steps to the house, kissing her every third step. “We have to work on this, Red. I don’t think I can even try to do any more talking until we’ve got this settled.”

  “About my being nervous?”

  “Yeah. We’re headed for the king-size bed in the back bedroom with the skylight. Does that make you nervous?”

  “Uh…no. Should it?” The screen door banged behind them. He was still looking at her, still carrying her, still strewing kisses on her nose and jaw, in her hair, anywhere he could reach.

  “We’re not playing checkers in there,” he warned her.

  “Somehow I guessed that.” His shoulder grazed the dark log paneling in the hall. He was going to be all bruised up if he didn’t start looking where he was going.

  “This isn’t about sex. Just so you know. It’s about needing you. It’s about mourning every day of my life that you weren’t in it. It’s about thinking I was free until I met you, and discovering I was never free. Not to be myself. Not until you. Now does that make you nervous?”

  “No, Gabe,” she whispered.

  “I love you. Love you, shorty. Like I never loved anyone. Like I never believed I could love anyone, like I never believed I could even feel. Now, for God’s sakes, Red, I’m getting desperate here. What the hell does it take to make you nervous?”

  Eventually, Rebecca thought, they really needed to get this “nervous” business straightened out.

  Just then, her man was a mess. It wasn’t like all those things she’d been terribly afraid of suddenly disappeared. But Gabe was so rattled and shook up. He needed handling now.

  They’d reached the bedroom, after chasing through the rest of the house at breakneck speed, but he seemed confounded about what to do with her then. He seemed unwilling to let her down. He seemed unwilling to stop kissing her. But they didn’t seem to be moving past the threshold, either.

  “Gabe,” she whispered, “I’m not going anywhere if you let me go.”

  “I’m not letting you go,” he said fiercely, but, most uneasily, he let her feet drop to the floor.

  She peeled off his sweatshirt. Kissed him. Then flipped the catch on his jeans and kissed him again. When such wantonly aggressive moves failed to dent the desperate
look in his eyes, she slid her hands inside the denim and cupped his tight fanny boldly, possessively. Possibly her fingers were trembling a little too much for her to qualify in the true-seductress category.

  But that lost expression on his face slowly changed to something else. And so did the emotion in his eyes. One dark, shaggy eyebrow raised. “I don’t think you’re nervous at all,” he said accusingly.

  “I think you’d better be. If you can’t recognize when you’re in big trouble, cutie, then let me give you a clue or two.”

  She pushed him. That was all it took to tumble him on the bed. She peeled off everything she had on, first a shoe, then her sweatshirt, then the other shoe, and her underpants skinned down at the same time she yanked off her jeans. A Hudson’s Bay blanket draped the king-size bed, the wool fabric scratchy and rough. The blanket couldn’t have been a more total erotic, exotic contrast to Gabe.

  He was satin. Man-satin. His skin was warm and smooth and supple under her stroking hands. Gabe was so tough, but he melted like butter under a wet, openmouthed woman’s kiss. Tenderness took him under every time.

  He loved her. She’d heard him say it, inhaled and savored those words she’d never expected to hear, not from him. But now she felt his love in every answering kiss, every volatile response of his body, every look in his eyes. There was yearning and need and an ache of fear in his eyes that she wanted gone. There was a love song in those eyes, about a vulnerable, lost boy who’d sworn to be tough…and about a grown man who was trying to learn not to be.

  Driven by instinct, by intuition, by love, she unraveled him…one skein of kisses at a time. There were questions between them that still needed answering, but loving him was an answer, too. Right now, she simply belonged to him, with him. Every fear that she’d lost him poured into her touch. Every dark night, every nightmare under the bed, she expressed with her hands, with her kisses, with the need she laid raw and bare for him. It was no time for secrets, no time to deny what she felt. He was her match, her mate, the only man she’d ever wanted in her life.