by T. L. Haddix
John, Zanny’s husband, spoke up. “At our house.”
“Good.”
That was the last thing she said until the surgeon came out three hours later, dark circles under his eyes. His scrubs were soaked with sweat and, Emma saw, there were spatters of blood on the legs. Archer’s blood. She steered her mind firmly away from that line of thought.
“He’s critical, but he made it through the surgery,” the man said. He thanked the nurse who’d followed him as she handed him a cup of coffee. “The next few hours are crucial. He may not survive, and if he does, I don’t know if there’s going to be any permanent damage. He went into cardiac arrest a couple of times on us. I’m sorry I can’t give you any better news.”
All around her, the family reacted. Logan was angry, pacing, and cursed under his breath as Amelia tried not to cry. Her parents sagged against each other. John and Ben, her brothers, asked questions about what to expect. Rachel, her other sister, who was seated beside her, put her arm around Emma’s shoulders.
“I need some air,” Emma said, patting her hand before standing carefully. “And then I want to see him.”
“He’s being brought to the ICU. You can only stay a few minutes,” the doctor said.
“No. I’ll stay until he’s awake. I know you and your team need to work. I won’t get in the way. But I’m not leaving him.” She raised her chin and dared him to contradict her.
The surgeon eyed her with a shrewd gaze. “If you do get in the way, that’s it. You won’t get back in.”
“I understand.”
She let Rachel and Sarah guide her to the bathroom where she promptly threw up. When she came out of the stall, they watched her with worried eyes.
“Emma—”
“I’m fine, Mom,” she said as she splashed her face with cold water. “Will you and Daddy make sure Sydney’s okay? She’ll be worried.”
Sarah’s mouth compressed in a thin line, but she nodded. “If you need anything, just say the word.”
“Who has all the kids?” Emma asked as they made their way to the ICU waiting room.
“Aunt Gilly, Nonny, and Uncle Eli are at Zanny’s, and I’ll probably head out soon to help,” Rachel said. “Easton’s with his dad, but Bear goes on shift in a little while. Do you want me to bring you more clothes? Anything?”
Emma glanced down at herself. “Whatever you think I’ll need. Thank you.”
The surgeon had left word with the ICU nurses to expect Emma, and they let her and Logan go in.
“You can stay ten minutes, no more,” a short, pudgy nurse with a soft voice told Logan. “Mrs. Gibson, Doctor Davies said you’d be staying. If we have to get in there to work, you will wait outside the glass. Understand?”
Emma heard the steel in her voice and respected it. “Yes.”
When they reached Archer’s bay, he was hooked up to what looked like every piece of equipment in the hospital. Emma staggered against Logan. He caught her easily, but she wondered if she wasn’t holding him up as much as he was her.
Archer wasn’t a small man at six feet four, not by any stretch of the imagination, but he looked pitiful lying in that hospital bed. It was almost more than Emma could bear.
“I’m okay,” she told them after a moment. “I’m okay. How can I help?”
The nurse directed her to a chair on the opposite side of the bed. “Don’t touch any of the equipment, and don’t try to wake him up. Right now, he needs to stay as quiet as possible.”
There was a wide bandage running down the middle of Archer’s chest. Realization struck Emma.
“You had to open him up?”
The nurse nodded. “It was the only way to get to his heart.”
Logan, on the other side of the bed, laid a hand lightly on his brother’s head. “Another scar to add to the collection. Sydney’ll love the bandage.”
“She will. Can I hold his hand?” Emma asked.
“Of course. And you can talk to him. Just keep your voices low, and like I said, don’t try to wake him up. Push that red button on the wall if you need anything.”
She left them alone, pulling the curtain part of the way across the glass window in the front of the room.
“I thought we were past this,” Logan growled, leaning in toward Archer. “We agreed we wouldn’t do this anymore, remember? We’re not supposed to disturb you, little brother, so I won’t give you too hard of a time right now. But when you get out of here? I’m going to kick your ass for scaring me like this.”
She saw the tears on his cheeks and had to look away to keep from screaming.
After he’d gone, Emma carefully wound her hands around Archer’s. That hand was the one spot on his body he didn’t seem to have a tube or line or electric feed attached to.
“Don’t think you’re getting out of parenthood so easily. I made it past the eight-week mark, Archer. This baby is happening. I was so afraid to tell you I thought I was pregnant. You are not leaving me to raise your children on my own. I still need you. I’ll always need you,” she whispered. “So you rest, you heal, you fight this thing. And when you wake up, we’ll go on with this happily ever after we’ve been living. You hear me, you stubborn bastard?”
His fingers tightened around hers. That was all, just a slow movement that could have been a muscle spasm. But she knew better. And that gave her hope.
Chapter Four
Five weeks later, Archer was sitting in his recliner, his feet propped up in front of him, trying not to laugh as Emma rattled around in the kitchen, cursing the stove, the recipe, her father, and the universe for not giving her the cooking gene. He’d offered to help her get supper ready, but she’d glared at him with such a ferocious snarl that he’d held his hands up and backed out of the kitchen in self-defense.
Owen, who’d shown up not long after Archer had retreated to the living room, stood with a sigh. “Guess I’d better try to help her.”
Archer grinned. “Good luck with that.”
A minute later, Emma came stomping out of the kitchen, hands on her hips. “I almost had it,” she called back.
Whatever Owen’s muffled response was, Archer got the impression from the way Emma’s eyes narrowed that he would be better off not asking his father-in-law to repeat it.
“Come here,” he said instead, holding his hands out.
With a tiny pout, Emma took his hands. “You did not marry a cook.”
He laughed and tugged, not letting up until she eased into his lap. “I didn’t, no. But I love you anyhow.”
“Yeah?”
“Mm-hmmm,” he said, kissing her lightly. “But once I’m allowed back in the kitchen, don’t expect to eat spaghetti again until this baby’s a year old.” Spaghetti was the one dish Emma did well, and they’d had it so much the last few weeks, even eight-year-old Sydney was starting to curl her lip at the dish.
She settled in against him with a sigh as his hand came to rest on her belly. “We’re going to have to tell the family soon.”
What with Archer’s surgery and recovery, letting everyone know they were expecting had fallen by the wayside. But now that he was almost well again, they were starting to get some funny looks.
“They’ll figure it out soon enough. It’s getting hard to disguise,” he teased.
“Mmm, that it is,” Emma said around a yawn as she drifted off. Archer tucked her closer against him, enjoying the feel of her safe and sound in his arms.
When Owen came out of the kitchen a couple of minutes later, wiping his hands on a dishtowel, he smiled. “I saved the chicken. It’s in the oven, should be ready in about half an hour. She’s wiped out, huh?”
Archer nodded. “I feel guilty about that.”
“You shouldn’t. Sarah was almost narcoleptic with a couple of her pregnancies. Em doesn’t
seem overly tired, just pregnantly tired. You may have noticed we’ve all been pitching in to keep her as rested as possible.”
“I had noticed that,” Archer said with a happy smile. “Thank you. When did you figure it out?”
“About a week after you had surgery. Sydney told us all that her mommy had a baby in her belly.” He sat down on the couch, studying them. “How far along is she?”
“Fourteen weeks or thereabouts. Finally in the safer zone and out of that first trimester, thank God.”
Owen’s smile grew a bit misty. “Good. When’s she going back to work?”
“As soon as I can convince her I’m okay. I should get the all clear from the doctor next week, so hopefully that’ll help.”
They talked about some of the books they were reading as they waited for Sarah to arrive with Sydney, who’d had her own doctor visit that afternoon. Owen and Sarah stayed for dinner, and after they left, Archer got Sydney upstairs and bathed.
Emma came up soon after. “I locked up downstairs. Once we get her in bed, can we just hold each other? Maybe watch TV in the bedroom?” she asked as she hugged him from behind.
“Sure.”
They’d not been intimate since he had surgery, something else Emma had put the kibosh on despite his doctor’s telling them he was safe to resume those regular activities at last week’s visit. So when Sydney was asleep and they retired to their own room, Archer sat down on the bed and pulled Emma to him, caressing her hips.
“I need you.”
She traced his lips with a finger. “Archer…”
“Em, I’m fine. We can be careful, we can go slow, but I need you.”
“I’m afraid.”
“I know. I’m asking you to do this for me.” He slid his hands under her top and eased it over her head, then undid her bra. She’d already had to go up a size, and he cupped the tender flesh gently. “I promise you’ll enjoy it,” he cajoled.
A reluctant smile spread across her face even as she arched into his touch. “What if I hurt you?”
“I’m already hurting.”
She scowled, not amused, and he sighed. Sliding his hands to her hips, he drew her so that she was in his lap, her knees on either side of his hips.
“You didn’t hurt me before. Making love is not what put me in the hospital.”
Emma tugged his shirt off, then placed her hands carefully on his chest on either side of the new scar. “If we do this and you have any chest pain, any pressure, you tell me right away. We’ll stop. Promise?”
“I promise.”
She stared at him for another minute, then shook her head. “I’ve missed you like this,” she confessed as they kissed.
There were no more words as they touched one another, the heat building to a flashpoint that made going slow impossible. When Emma settled over him, warm and welcoming, Archer buried his face in her throat. Their movements were fast and frantic after that, need driving them each to a stunning climax. It came too soon and not fast enough, and Archer could hardly wait to do it again.
The second time they made love, the pace was slow, unhurried, and just as intense. “I don’t think I’ll be able to get enough of you until we’re ninety and living in a home somewhere. Not even if we do this every single day,” he whispered once they’d come down. “And I have my doubts that I’ll be satiated even then. You’re addictive.”
Emma wrapped her arms and legs around him and held on tightly. “So are you. I love you.”
Though he would have been more than happy to go for round three, she wasn’t willing to risk it. So he pulled her into his arms instead, more than content to hold her close as they drifted off to sleep.
Chapter Five
The purring woke her. “Huff, Puff, ask Archer to feed you,” Emma said as warm cat breath lifted her hair off her face. She buried her head deeper into the pillow. “After last night, I think he’s more than able to open a can of cat food.”
A hoarse rawr answered her as the purring faded, and the bed shook hard. Harder than it normally would have with Archer or the cats getting up. Opening her eyes, Emma glanced at the bedroom door. It was closed. The room was bathed in morning sunlight, even though the clock only said seven.
A second rawr sounded, this one closer, as the purring resumed. A very solid head butted her behind, and a large tawny paw came across her hip, resting there. A paw that was as big as her own hand, bigger even.
With a shocked gasp, Emma rolled over and sat up, coming face to face with a beautiful mountain lion who was gazing at her with something akin to impatience.
“What…?”
The cat yawned, showing off impressive teeth, then licked its paw. Satisfied she was awake, he rolled over and into the floor. From the twitching of his tail, she wondered absently if he’d intended to fall off the bed or not.
“Logan, this isn’t funny.” She clutched the sheet to her, grateful beyond words she’d had to put her nightgown back on last night after she and Archer had finished making love. “What the hell are you doing here?” she demanded in a whisper. “It’s not even eight o’clock in the morning! Where’s Archer? I’ll skin you two alive for this.”
Letting out what sounded suspiciously like a sigh, the cat padded to the door and scratched at it, not using his claws. He looked back over his shoulder at her as if asking her to let him out.
Emma scrambled off the bed. “Does Amelia know about this?” She let him out, then closed the door behind him, hanging her head. “Shape-shifters. God bless ‘em, I’m going to strangle those men.”
Archer didn’t know quite what to do. He’d never expected Emma not to realize it was him. He knew she didn’t typically come fully awake until she’d had a cup of coffee, but for her not to know what was going on… Maybe it was pregnancy brain, he thought as he twitched his tail, annoyed and frustrated at not being understood.
Thanks to his enhanced hearing, he knew she was in their bathroom. With an aggravated huff, he crossed the hall to Sydney’s bedroom door, which was slightly ajar. Emma might not recognize him, but he was betting their daughter would. She rolled around and played with Logan every time she was around him after he shifted.
More than a decade earlier, Archer’s first wife had decided widowhood was cheaper than divorce. She’d pumped two bullets into his chest, not counting on him surviving. But he had, for the most part. The part of him that could shift into a mountain lion? That had died on the table.
Or so he’d thought.
Sydney, who could sense certain elements about some people, had said ever since she was five that his cat was asleep. His brother Logan’s cat, on the other hand, was not. The family had long taken that to mean Archer’s cat was dead.
When he’d awakened a short time earlier, his entire body tingling from head to toe, Archer had thought he was dying. He’d gotten to his feet, then fallen to his knees, somehow without disturbing Emma. He was terrified he’d not be able to wake her in time to say good-bye. But then he’d shifted. The change into the cat had happened so fast, he hadn’t realized what was going on until it was done. Even then, he wondered if he’d died or was dreaming. He’d gone through some strange things while he was unconscious in the hospital, after all.
But after a couple of minutes, he figured he wasn’t dead. He wasn’t in a weird coma or something. He had, somehow, someway, gotten his cat back. And he desperately needed to run.
Easing Sydney’s door open, he crossed to the bed. One of her little feet was sticking out from under the covers, and he butted his head against it, purring loudly as he rubbed.
“Uncle Logan?” she said, coming awake almost instantly. She rubbed the heels of her hands against her eyes, then reached for her glasses. Archer rolled onto his back, then got up on his feet and stood there, watching her patiently. He saw the moment when she put it together.
“Daddy?” she whispered, her eyes huge.
He nudged her bed again with his head.
She was off the bed in a flash, her arms thrown around his neck as she squealed with excitement.
“Mommy! Mommy, Daddy’s a cat! Daddy’s a cat!” Sydney ran across the hall to their bedroom, opening the door without knocking to dash inside. “Mommy!”
Archer followed.
Emma was coming out of the bathroom, dressed, toothbrush in hand, frowning. “What did you say?”
“He’s a cat, he’s a cat, he’s a cat!” Sydney grabbed her hand and danced in place for a second, then dashed back to where Archer stood and hugged him. “Look!”
Emma’s face paled. “He can’t be.”
Archer let out a rumbling, growling purr and did his best to nod.
“Oh, my God.” She leaned against the doorjamb. “Oh, my God.”
“Can we take him to the farm? Please?” Sydney begged. “And let Grandma and Grandpa see him?”
As that was exactly what he wanted to happen, Archer prayed Emma would agree. He chattered and paced, not taking his eyes off her.
“You need to run?” Emma asked faintly.
This time, the roar he let out was louder than he’d intended, and she jumped.
“Okay. Okay. I’ll call Daddy and then we’ll go. Sydney, grab your robe. Get dressed. Shoes. You’ll need shoes. I need shoes,” she said as she went to the closet. “Shit, the phone.”
She was panicking, the last thing Archer had wanted. Desperate to calm her down, he went to where she stood and raised up on his back legs. Pinning her to the door, he licked her neck and face, trying to tickle her and make her laugh.
It worked.
“Stop it!” she said, dodging his tongue even as she giggled. He’d never heard her giggle before, and he chuffed at the sound, amused. He let his head rest on her shoulder for a moment, then got down. She was laughing now, still shaking but no longer completely freaked out as she grabbed the phone off the nightstand and dialed.
