The Baby Blizzard

She nodded, incapable of speech.

That appeared to suit him just fine. Mouth set once again in a grim line, he pulled her shoulder harness around her and buckled it. Then he secured his own, released the brake and put the truck in gear. It rolled forward, fishtailing a little before the tires caught.

Tess pulled his coat tighter around her, burying her face in the soft shearling collar. The distinctive scent of horses and damp leather, familiar from her childhood, tickled her nose. Oddly comforted, she leaned back and closed her eyes.

She wasn’t sure how much time passed, but eventually she began to feel less like a Popsicle and more like a person. She stretched, sighing with pleasure at the stream of hot air from the heater that blew over her stocking toes as she tried to find a position that would alleviate the persistent pain in her back.

She wound up canted sideways, toward her companion. Veiling her gaze with her lashes, she covertly studied him. She had to admit she was a little intimidated by his continuing silence. Her reaction surprised her. She’d grown up around cowboys, and she was no stranger to private, taciturn men.

Jack didn’t seem to be thinking so much as brooding, however. And that tight look on his face was hardly benign. In point of fact, he had the air of an individual who kept to himself not because he preferred his own company, but because he didn’t trust anyone else’s.

And yet...he had come to her rescue. And for all his brusque manner, his hard-fingered hands had been carefully gentle every single time he touched her.

More to the point, what did it matter? Soon they would both go their own ways, never to clap eyes on each other again—

“Didn’t anyone ever teach you it’s rude to stare?” Jack asked abruptly.

Tess started, then forced herself to relax, the willful part of her nature asserting itself. It was one thing to privately confess that she found him intimidating. Letting him know was something else entirely. “You’re right,” she said calmly. “Sorry.”

“You want to explain what you’re doing out here?”

Why, she wondered, did he have to be so abrupt? “Visiting my grandmother.”

“Ah.” He imbued the single syllable with a wealth of disdain. “But instead you got lost.”

“I wasn’t lost. I missed my turn.”

“Right.” He didn’t sound as if he thought much of that, either. “I don’t suppose it occurred to you when the snow started to fall that maybe you were out of your league?”

“I grew up here,” she said patiently. “I know about snow.”

“Huh. Could have fooled me.”

“For your information, the only reason I had a problem was because I slowed down to let you pass, so I could turn around.”

He snorted. “Because you were lost.”

If he was trying to annoy her, he was doing a good job. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“I suppose it’s all right for you to be out in a blizzard?”

That granite face didn’t change. “Damn straight. I’ve got heavy-duty snow tires, four-wheel drive, and I know what I’m doing. Besides, I’ve got obligations. If I don’t get home, my stock won’t get fed.”

“Where’s home?” She was certain he hadn’t lived around here when she was a teenager. She’d remember.

“Cross Creek Ranch. We should be there in another few minutes.”

Tess made no effort to hide her surprise. “Oh. But—”

“Look,” he said sharply. “I’m not wild about taking you there, either. But we need to get in out of this storm while we still can, and mine’s the closest place for miles.”

Tess let a moment of silence pass. “Are you finished?” she asked finally.

His jaw bunched. “Yeah.”

“Good. For the record, going to your place is fine. It’s extremely nice of you to offer, and I appreciate it. I appreciate everything you’ve done.”

“But—?” He kept his gaze glued to the road as he carefully braked to make a wide left turn, the headlights flashing across a sign that bore the ranch’s name above a stylized carving of a rocking horse.

“When I lived here, this ranch was owned by some people named Langston.”

He shot her a sharp glance as they rumbled across a cattle guard marked at both sides with orange reflectors. Around them, the landscape was hard to make out. The few trees and low-rising hills were nothing more than a series of ebony shadows against a charcoal night shrouded with blowing snow.

He slowed even more as their ride grew bumpier over the graveled drive. “You really used to live around here?”

She sighed at his obvious skepticism. “Yes. At the Double D. Mary Danielson’s my grandmother.” That earned her a single sharp look. “I can’t figure out how I missed the turn for the driveway.”

He was silent. He shifted the automatic transmission into low as the truck slid on a shallow grade. “Maybe,” he said finally, “you weren’t looking in the right place.”

She waited for him to say more. When he didn’t, she had to swallow another sigh. “Do you think you could explain that?”

He shrugged. “Your grandma cut a new road a few years back, when she had to redrill the well at Shell Butte. That must’ve been right after I bought out Langston, and that’s been—” he shifted the truck back into regular drive “—seven years ago.”

“Oh.” Even though there was no way she could have known, she felt foolish. Perhaps that was why she was less than enthralled with his next, comment.

“Too bad you don’t bother to come home more often.”

She frowned,. taken aback by his obvious disapproval. “I don’t think that’s any of your business.”

“Yeah? Well, it is when I’m stuck with you.”

“Trust me. Just as soon as the storm passes, someone from the Double D will be over to get me.”

He gave her another narrow look. “Your grandma left three days ago for an extended vacation.”

“What?” She felt momentarily disoriented, the way she had when her car began to slide.

“It’s one of those things you’d know about if you kept in touch—or were here because you’d been invited.”

She bit off the instant retort that trembled on her lips. She’d be darned if she’d justify her behavior to him. She wasn’t about to explain that she’d both written and called ahead, stating her intention to visit and supplying the date of her arrival. Or that her grandmother’s departure was the older woman’s oblique reply, an apparent payback for Tess’s own decision to leave ten years ago.

For one thing, she didn’t go around explaining her behavior to rude, disapproving strangers—no matter how compelling they were.

For another, unless she was mistaken, she had a much more pressing problem.

“Damn,” Jack said abruptly.

“What’s the matter?”

“The power’s out.”

Following his gaze, she glanced around as they drove into the ranch yard. Although a pair of dogs had come to attention on the back porch, not a single light glowed in welcome. Not from the pitch-roofed barn with its adjacent corrals, or the covered arena, or the rambling two-story house that looked pretty much the way she remembered it from childhood.

Tess’s heart sank as she realized something more. She wasn’t in the city anymore. Way out here, when the power went, so did the phones, since the two lines shared the same poles.

The icing on the cake. She took a deep breath. “Jack?”

“What?”

“Do you have a wife?”

He stared straight ahead. “Not anymore. Why? You thinking of applying for the job?”

“No.” Tess shook her head, clenching her hands as the pain, previously limited to her lower back, snaked along her sides and wrapped around her middle like an invisible boa constrictor. She gave an involuntary gasp as the painful pressure increased. “I’m in labor.”

Two

Jack didn’t think. He reacted. “No.” He swiveled toward Tess and shook his head. “Absolutely not.”

Her eyes, big and velvety like winter pansies, widened in astonishment. “What?”

“No way.” He shook his head again, adamant. “You’re not having a baby. Not here. Not now. Not with me.”

For the space of one endless, protracted second, she continued to send him that same incredulous look. Then she abruptly crossed her arms above her rounded middle and shifted her gaze to the darkness beyond the windshield. Her mouth—soft, lush, with an undeniable carnality that was all wrong on an expectant mother—flattened dangerously. “All right.”

It was the very last thing he expected. Primed for an argument, he stared blankly at her, struggling to get himself under control. “Good.” He knew he was behaving badly. He told himself he didn’t care. It was better than having her suspect the anxiety her announcement had brought him.

“Here.” She laid his coat down on the section of seat between them. “Thanks for the loan.” She shoved open the door and climbed out.

Jack gaped. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“To the house. There must be someone there who’ll help.” She slammed the door.

Stunned, he sat frozen in place, his thoughts churning. Hell! What had he ever done to deserve this? One small good deed, one humanitarian be-a-good-citizen gesture, and suddenly he was stuck with a stubborn, unreasonable, overly independent woman who didn’t have the sense to stay out of a snowstorm. A woman who, if she really was in labor, was going to have to rely on him to deliver her baby.

Just the idea made his throat tighten. Memories, ruthlessly suppressed for the past three years, flashed through his mind. He recalled how happy he’d been when Elise told him she was pregnant. It had been enough to make him ignore his uneasiness when she asked him to move into a spare room so that he wouldn’t disturb her rest. It had sustained him through his loneliness when she insisted on moving into Gweneth her last trimester to be closer to the doctor. It had even made it possible for him to swallow his desperate disappointment when he arrived too late for the birth because someone had forgotten to call him. It had all seemed worth it when he finally held his small, precious, perfect son.

Unbidden, an arrow of longing pierced him. The boy would be almost three and a half now, walking, talking, his big green eyes full of questions—

All of sudden Jack realized what he was doing. This wasn’t going to help anyone, he thought savagely, slamming a door on the past. He could rail against fate, he could rehash history, he could sit around feeling sorry for himself indefinitely, but the end result would be the same. The child was gone, forever beyond his reach... and Tess had no one to rely on but him.

He took a calming breath and forced himself to look at the situation dispassionately. Tess’s labor had just started. Chances were, her baby wouldn’t be born for hours, possibly not even until sometime tomorrow. Hell, by the time she was actually ready to deliver, the weather might well have improved, the phone lines might be restored and he could call for help. Once he did, she would no longer be his problem.

In the meantime, all he had to do was provide shelter and a cursory moral support. As long as they both remained calm, there was no reason why they couldn’t get through this like the pair of adults they were. Unless something happened to her, he thought suddenly, as a particularly vicious gust of wind rattled the truck. For example, if she were to slip and fall...

He twisted around to grab his hat, forgetting he’d lost it, and that was when he noticed Tess’s damp boots, lying exactly were he’d tossed them earlier.

Damn, damn, domn. The little fool was out there without any shoes! His newfound calm evaporated in a flash. He shoved open his door and scrambled out of the truck. Heedless of the fact that he’d forgotten his coat, he stormed across the yard, catching up with her in a few furious strides. Ignoring her cry of surprise, he scooped her into his arms. “You just don’t learn, do you?” he shouted over the shriek of the wind.

“Learn what?” she replied, her voice muffled as she buried her face against the warmth of his thinly covered shoulder.

“To get the lay of the land before you go hightailing off.” He marched up the three wide, shallow steps and across the wraparound porch, skirting a trio of wooden rockers that swayed in the breeze as if filled with invisible occupants.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean there’s nobody here but me and you!” With a curt command to the dogs to stay down, he thrust open the back door, strode across the mudroom and opened the second door into the big country kitchen.

“What?” For the first time, she sounded uncertain. “What are you talking about? This is a big ranch. You can’t possibly...” Her voice trailed off. She cleared her throat “You can’t possibly run it by yourself.”

“The hell I can’t,” he said curdy. “I got rid of my herd a few years ago.” His voice, though hardly more than a murmur, sounded harsh and loud in the pitch-dark quiet, but at least he’d managed to state the facts with none of the furious anguish he’d felt at the time. “Now I’ve just got horses.”

Tess, still clutched in his arms, shifted. “Oh,” she said in surprise.

Her scent came up at him, delicate, mysterious, feminine. He had a sudden, vivid recollection of how it felt to lie naked with a woman, to touch her in all her soft, silky places—

What was he thinking? She was about to have a baby. Disgusted with himself, he set her on her feel “Stay here while I get a light. I don’t want you banging into something.” Despite his terse tone, he took an extra second to steady her, then strode to the big walk-in pantry, grateful for the privacy.

He halted before the shelves where the emergency supplies were kept, wondering what was the matter with him. Three years of living like a monk, and the first time he felt so much as an itch for a woman, she happened to be pregnant by somebody else.

The irony of it sent a bitter smile twisting across his lips—and cooled his treacherous hormones like a plunge into a snowbank. With an impatient jerk, he lifted down two of the half-dozen battery-operated lanterns and thumbed on the switches. There was a dim glow and then a flash as the fluorescent bulbs came on.

He walked back into the kitchen to find Tess standing rigidly, her face pale, her mouth taut with pain. It didn’t take a genius to figure out she was having a contraction. He slapped the lanterns on the kitchen table with a clatter, yanked out a chair and strode to her side. “Come on,” he said gruffly. “You’d better sit down.” He slung an arm around her and tried to usher her toward the chair.

“No.” Stubbornly, she held her ground. “Standing... standing is better than sitting and this is... the pain is starting to fade.” Another few seconds passed, and then she abruptly relaxed. Her breath sighed out and she leaned against him. After a moment, she straightened. “Thanks. I’m okay now.”

Jack was damn glad somebody was. To his disgust, his heart was pounding.

He willed it to slow, watching as she took a quick look around, her eyes widening with surprise when she saw the ultra-modern kitchen with its pale birch cabinets and new appliances. An open counter was all that separated it from the family room, which was dominated by a big flagstone fireplace. The service stairs climbed the far wall, while straight ahead was the hallway that led to the living room, dining room, bathroom and den, and the more formal main staircase.

In the family room, there was a couch and a pair of overstuffed chairs atop a dark area rug, the varying gray, green and cream fabrics bled of color by the room’s deep shadows. A built-in entertainment center occupied the wall to the right of the fireplace, notable for the large empty space where the TV should have been.

Jack wondered what his guest would say if he told her he’d smashed it into a thousand pieces the night his wife announced she was leaving him.

Not that it was any of her business. “How far apart are the pains?”

“I’m not sure,” she said unsteadily. “Maybe...four minutes?”

“Four minutes?” He loosened his grip and stepped back as if she’d goosed him. “What are you talking about? I thought they just started.”

She shrugged. “Actually, my back has hurt off and on since this morning. I just didn’t realize what it was.”

So much for calling for help tomorrow. He took a hard, critical look at her midsection. Elise, though a full head shorter, had been twice that size when she delivered. “How far along are you?”

“Eight and a half months.”

Part of him relaxed; the baby should be all right. But part of him was unexpectedly furious, stunned by her irresponsibility. “What the hell were you thinking, running around the countryside when you’re this far along?” he demanded.

A wash of color rose in her chill-pinkened cheeks. “Listen, Jack. I didn’t do this just to ruin your day. And despite what you seem to think, I’m not some reckless airhead. I saw my doctor yesterday. She didn’t see anything to indicate I was about to deliver, and I didn’t expect to get caught in a blizzard. Why should I? It wasn’t predicted, and until today, this has been the mildest winter on record. How-ever—” she took a deep breath as she struggled to control her temper “—it’s also not your problem. So if you could just spare me a room, I promise not to bother you.”

“Don’t tempt me.” Despite his words, he felt an unwanted twinge of admiration for her nerve—until he remembered how far her labor had progressed. Four minutes! Hell, she was going to need all the nerve she could scrape together and then some. He picked up the lamp and thrust it at her. “Here. Hold this.”

“Why?” she started to ask, only to give a startled yelp as he swept her up in his arms.

“Because I’ve only got two hands.” He headed for the service stairs that spanned the interior wall. “And you’re not exactly a fragile flower.”

“Put me down,” she ordered, clutching his neck for balance.

He gave an involuntary grunt as she jabbed him in the chest with her elbow. “Forget it. Apparently you haven’t noticed, but your socks are covered with snow, which means your feet are probably half-frozen. All I need to round out my day is for you to slip and fall. Now hold still before I lose my balance and break both our necks.”

She gave a little huff, but quit squirming. After a moment’s silence, she asked, “Where are we going?”

Didn’t she ever quit talking? “Upstairs.”

“way?”

“Because it’s cold. Because even with the emergency generator, it’s going to take hours to get this place warmed up. Because the only room in the house with a bed, a bathroom and a fireplace—all of which you’re going to need—is upstairs. Okay? Satisfied?” He gave her a quick, impatient glance. “Or is there something else you have to know? My social security number? My shirt size?”

“Look. I’m sorry—”

“Yeah, right.” She couldn’t be half as sorry as he was, he reflected, angling sideways to avoid knocking her into the walls that enclosed the steep, narrow risers.

But then, he’d cut out his tongue before he admitted that he hadn’t set foot on the second floor more than a half dozen times in the past trio of years. Or that when he had, it had been only briefly, to fetch and haul for his mother who showed up periodically to fuss at him about getting on with his life. It was certainly none of Ms. Danielson’s business that for him the upper reaches of the house teemed with memories he preferred to ignore.

It was nobody’s business but his own.

He rounded the corner at the top of the stairs and made his way down the long halt to the closed double doors that marked the master suite, where he deposited Tess on her feet. Face set, he hesitated for the barest instant, then reached for the polished brass handles.

“Jack—”

Sunk in thought, he jerked his head around in surprise as she laid her hand on his shoulder. “What?”

“You don’t have to give up your bedroom for me,” she said softly. “I’ll be fine somewhere else—”

Her sudden concern was worse than her questions. Alarmed at what she might have seen in his face to prompt such an offer, he shrugged off her hand and thrust open the door. “I sleep downstairs.” He strode to the fireplace, hunkered down and opened the fire screen. “Hold the lamp steady, will you?”

He wondered what she’d make of the room. It was decorated in what Elise had claimed was pseudo-Victorian, but what he’d privately always termed Neo-Pretentious. A thick white rug, totally impractical for a working ranch, covered the wood floor. Lace swags hid the more practical window shades. The queen-size bed had a fussy floral bedspread and canopy, while the chairs that faced the fireplace were slipcovered in a contrasting geometric pattern. As for the rest...well, anything that didn’t have a ruffle or a flounce had a fringe or a bow. The overall effect made his teeth ache.

He checked the damper, then lit the kindling beneath the logs already laid on the grate. To his relief, the fire caught immediately. He closed the. screen, glanced pointedly at Tess and jerked his head toward the bed. “Sit down so I can have a look at your feet.”

For a moment she didn’t move, but then she walked over, set the lantern on the nightstand and sat on the mattress edge.

He knelt and peeled off her socks. Her icy feet were long and slim,. “They look all right,” he said after a careful inspection, relieved to find none of the telltale white spots that would indicate frostbite. “How do they feel?”

“Cold.” He glanced up, surprised to see the corners of her mouth curve up in a tentative smile. “But otherwise okay. Thanks.”

He shrugged. “Forget it.” Her eyes weren’t really blue at all, he saw, but closer to the purple color of the gentian violent he used to treat minor cuts on the livestock.

“Jack?”

“What?”

“Did you and your wife.... Do you have any children?”

He couldn’t believe his ears. He stood. “That’s none of your business.”

“You’re right,” she said immediately. “I’m sorry. I just thought it might help if one of us knew what they were doing—”

“The bathroom’s through there.” He indicated the door set into the wall at her right. “I need to move the truck and get the generator started and check on my horses, but I’ll bring you your bag, some dry socks and some extra blankets before I go.”

“All right.”

“Do you have a watch?”

She shook her head. “No, I’m afraid I—”

“Here.” Cutting across her explanation, he stripped off his and handed it to her.

She clutched it in her hand. “Thank you.”

“I’ll see you in a little while.” Face set, he strode from the room.

Tess was blessed with an iron constitution. She rarely got sick, but when she did she always bounced back in record time. She was also lucky; despite being both adventurous and athletic, and having tried everything from hang gliding to parasailing, she’d never broken a bone or suffered a serious injury.

That was probably why she was so scared now.

Standing with her hands braced against the mantelpiece, she prayed for the current contraction to ease. As silly as it seemed, she was shocked by how much being in labor hurt—and how quickly that pain was wearing her down. She couldn’t seem to rise above it, or outsmart it, or brazen it out, the way she had so many other obstacles in her life. Given that things would likely get worse before they got better, she was starting to suspect that she wasn’t going to make it through the next few hours with any dignity whatsoever.

It was a humbling admission. Tess considered her strength, both mental and physical, to be as much a part of her as her utterly straight hair, her too-wide mouth, her tendency to do what she felt was right, regardless of the consequences. But now, when she needed it most, her strength seemed to have deserted her. It had gone missing along with her nerve and her luck—

Stop it. Stop feeling sorry for yourself and think about something else.

Okay. How about that this wasn’t even close to what she’d pictured when she envisioned giving birth? She’d wanted her and Gray’s child, conceived out of such incredible sadness, to be born in tranquil, joyous circumstances. She’d even had a plan: Beethoven on the CD player in the birthing room at Eastside Hospital; her friend and obstetrician, Joanne Fetzer, in attendance; herself, in control, her life in order, ready to welcome the future after having made peace with her past.