One Spring Baby

“Because it’s my—” Realizing what she’d almost said, she bit her tongue before she could complete the blurted sentence.

Cole’s hand fell to his side and he took a step back. His voice turned cool. “All right. Get what you want and I’ll help you load it into the car.”

She’d hurt his feelings. Guilt flooded through her with the realization. That had been the last thing she’d wanted to do. She needed Cole to understand that though their marriage was based on his selfless offer to help her raise this child, she had no intention of taking advantage of his innate generosity. She’d been independent for more than a decade. She’d married him to be a partner to her, not for financial support. They hadn’t had time yet to talk about money or the other day-to-day responsibilities of marriage, but she knew it wasn’t going to be easy for her to adjust to his new role in her life. To learn to lean on someone else for a change.

Before she could figure out how to apologize for her thoughtlessness, a salesclerk approached with a bright, friendly smile. “Can I help you?”

Conceding that this was the wrong time and place for a momentous discussion, Stevie purchased the bassinet and bouncy seat, then helped Cole carry them to his SUV. She wondered if he’d be mad at her, but quickly found he’d masked any feelings behind an easy smile. He even teased her about having to leave his suitcase behind if they bought much more on this trip. Apparently he was determined to put their brief clash behind them, intent on keeping this day a pleasant one. She was glad; it was their honeymoon, after all. Practical discussions could wait until later.

Glancing at his watch, he asked if she wanted to eat dinner before the musical variety show they would be attending that evening.

“Oh, my gosh, yes!” She pressed a hand to her stomach. “I’m starving. I’d never make it through the show without food. For the past couple of weeks, it seems like I’m hungry all the time.”

He chuckled and opened her door for her. “As the old saying goes, you’re eating for two now. What would you like?”

“Anything that sounds good to you. I’m not picky.”

“We’ll even find a place with silverware this evening,” he assured her, then closed the door.

Watching him round the front of the SUV to the driver’s seat, she was relieved he’d put that momentary awkwardness behind them so easily. She supposed she shouldn’t be surprised. Cole wasn’t one to let emotions rule his actions, something that was difficult for her even when she wasn’t flooded with early-pregnancy hormones.

This was all going to work out, she promised herself. It was only to be expected that there would be some compromises in the process. But now that they’d gotten this first minor clash out of the way, she just knew the rest of their honeymoon would be nothing but enjoyable.

Cole stood beside the bed a few hours later, feeling helpless as Stevie curled into a ball and moaned. He’d dimmed the lights for her comfort, but even in the shadows her skin still seemed to have a slightly green tint to it. “Is your stomach still upset?”

The only response to his tentative question was another heartfelt groan.

He moved to the sink where he dampened a washcloth with cold water, then carried it back to her. “Let me put this on your throat. My grandma used to do that for me when I was nauseated and it always seemed to help.”

She shifted on the thick pillows and allowed him to press the cloth gently to her throat. “I’m sorry,” she murmured, her eyes squeezed shut. “I didn’t mean for the evening to end this way.”

“Don’t apologize. I’m just sorry you’re ill. Are you sure we shouldn’t have you checked by a doctor?”

She shook her head and managed a weak smile as she peered up at him through barely cracked eyelids. “No. It’s just nausea. I guess I bragged too soon about not being sick a day so far. At least we made it to the end of the show.”

But only just, he thought with a wry shake of his head. He’d noticed Stevie had seemed subdued at intermission. At first he’d wondered if it was because he’d somehow annoyed her at the baby supplies store earlier, though they’d gotten along fine during dinner. But she’d confided that she was feeling a little queasy, so he’d bought her a soda to sip while the energetic young singers and dancers had taken the stage for the second half. He’d only halfway paid attention to the stage, surreptitiously watching Stevie instead as she’d wilted visibly in her seat. He’d all but carried her to the car afterward, and she’d barely made it into the room before bolting into the bathroom and slamming the door behind her. When she’d reemerged, it was only to collapse on the bed, still fully clothed.

He slipped off her shoes and set them on the floor. “Would you like to put on your nightgown?”

Her eyes were closed again, but he thought there might be a bit more color in her face now. “I’ll change in a minute,” she murmured.

He moved to the dresser. She’d brought a couple of nightgowns—one made of black satin, the other a warmer purple knit splashed with cheery red flowers. As diverse as the two garments were, each somehow seemed perfectly suited to Stevie. Though his hand lingered for a moment on the black one, he pulled out the more comfortable-looking gown and carried it to the bed. “Here, let me help you,” he said.

A few minutes later, she was snugly tucked into the bed, the washcloth redampened and draped again on her throat. “Can I get you anything else? Some more soda?”

She shifted on the piled pillows, moistening her lips. “Maybe a little.”

Sitting beside her on the bed, he handed her the glass of citrusy soda he’d purchased from a vending machine down the hall. She took a couple of sips, then gave it back to him. “Thanks. I feel better now. Just tired.”

“I’ll sleep on the sofa bed.”

She shook her head and patted the bed next to her. “I’m hardly contagious. You’ll be much more comfortable here in this king-sized bed than on that fold-out.”

He wasn’t so sure about that, considering she’d be snoozing beside him, temptingly close but needing her rest. Still, as she’d said, it was a big bed. It had been a long time since he’d shared a bed with anyone, and he had to admit he liked the feel of a warm, soft body next to him even if only in sleep.

She was mostly out by the time he climbed in beside her, taking care not to jostle the mattress or otherwise disturb her. He’d hardly settled onto the pillows before she turned and snuggled into him, her hair tickling his chin, her small hand resting on his chest. He wore pajama bottoms and a T-shirt, but he could feel her warmth through the fabric. Too warm? He rested a hand lightly against her face, reassuring himself that she wasn’t running a fever.

“I’m fine,” she murmured drowsily, and he wasn’t sure she was actually awake. “I just never want to smell popcorn again.”

He stroked a wayward curl off her cheek. There was no need to reply. She wouldn’t have heard him, anyway, as she’d already drifted off again.

On impulse, he pressed a light kiss on the top of her head, then tried to relax. It wasn’t easy. Even discounting the distraction of having her in his arms, he was having trouble turning off his thoughts. He kept replaying the day, from the exhilarating wake-up sex to that terse exchange in the baby store. He still wasn’t sure exactly why she’d taken such exception to his offer to buy the bassinet and seat. He wasn’t very good at reading emotional cues, being the type who preferred issues plainly spelled out. But he thought maybe he’d unwittingly stepped on her pride.

He hadn’t tried to imply that she wasn’t capable of providing for her child. He hadn’t been trying to take charge or insist on having his own way. He’d simply wanted to show her that he shared her excitement about the baby.

Her baby, he reminded himself with a wince. It had been clear enough what she’d started to say before she’d swallowed the words. For all her talk about sharing the child with him, about commitment mattering more to her than biology, for all the nervous enthusiasm she’d shown so far toward their marriage even to the point of eagerly consummating their wedding night, there was still a part of herself she was holding back from him. A self-protective door that she hadn’t yet unlocked, perhaps because of her past disappointments. And she didn’t yet trust him enough to open that door for him.

He had to admit it had hurt when she’d snapped at him. When he’d realized what she’d almost said. Her baby. Not theirs. The words had hit him like a blow, though he’d tried to hide his reaction to keep the peace.

Because he wasn’t one to dwell on injured feelings, he relied instead on his usual method for dealing with uncomfortable emotions. Objective analysis. He needed to be patient. This was all so new for both of them. In the long run, he still believed he and Stevie would make a success of this marriage. That they and the child they’d raise together would have a good life. A contented life.

He’d have to proceed cautiously, prove to her that he was here for the long term. That he would not walk away from her when life got difficult. With time, he would convince her that she could trust him completely. And that she and her child—their child—could rely on him. Always.

Chapter Five

The pale winter sunlight just seeped around the edges of the window curtains when Stevie woke Sunday morning. She turned her head to find Cole still sleeping beside her. Had he lain awake awhile after she’d fallen asleep? She certainly hadn’t intended to cut their second night short that way. She was just relieved she’d made it through to the end of the show.

She slid carefully from the bed and padded into the bathroom, silently closing the door behind her. Fortunately there was no nausea this morning, so she felt much more herself when she emerged a few minutes later. She tiptoed back into the room, but it turned out not to be necessary. Cole was awake, propped against the pillows with his hands behind his head, watching her as she stepped into the room.

Smoothing her palms down the front of her red-flowered purple gown, she smiled at him. “Hey.”

“Hey. Feeling better?” His voice was a deep, sleep-roughened rumble in the quiet room. Her throat closed in response.

He’d been so sweet last night when she’d been ill, taking care of her without hesitation. He had a lot of experience as a caregiver, of course—but she wasn’t accustomed to being the one on the receiving end. She felt a sudden need to assure him that she really was fully recovered.

“I feel great this morning,” she said as she approached the bed.

“The color’s back in your cheeks and your eyes are bright again.” He nodded in satisfaction as he studied her face. “You looked wrung out last night.”

“Here’s a hint, Cole.” She sat on the bed beside him and leaned over him, her hands on his chest. “Don’t mention that your new bride looked sickly on her honeymoon.”

He chuckled and ran his hands up her arms. “Sorry. If it makes any difference, I still had trouble keeping my hands to myself when I helped you into this nightgown.”

“Yes, that’s much better,” she assured him, giving in to an impulse to run a hand through his thick tousled hair. “Did I mention I’m perfectly fine now?”

With a grin, he tugged her into his arms. “I’m happy to hear that. For several reasons.”

Her laughter was smothered by his hungry kiss.

Holding a bag in one hand, Stevie looked around the hotel room as they prepared to depart later that morning, her gaze lingering for a moment on the big bed. She found herself suddenly reluctant to leave this private retreat. Reality waited outside this door—the tasks of informing all their friends and families of their marriage and dealing with the reaction, figuring out how to combine their households, learning to live together, coordinating schedules in preparation for the baby’s arrival...

She took a deep breath and stopped listing the tasks before she became completely overwhelmed. One step at a time, Stevie.

Cole stepped up behind her and rested a hand on her shoulder. “Ready to go?”

“No.”

His fingers tightened reassuringly for a moment. “It will be fine.”

She smiled faintly up at him. “I know. But it’s been nice here.”

He leaned his head down to brush a kiss over her lips. “I’d like to stay longer, too,” he admitted when he stepped back. “Unfortunately...”

“The honeymoon is over,” she finished, turning toward the door.

Cole gave a little grimace. “Maybe I wouldn’t have phrased it quite that way,” he murmured as he opened the door to the hallway.

Giving him a look of wry apology, she preceded him out of the room.

“Is there anything else you want to do before we head out of town?” he asked after a leisurely breakfast.

“Yes.”

“More shopping? Another show?”

She smiled. “Let’s just say it will involve a wager.”

She noted that he looked both intrigued and a little wary in response, which made her laugh.

An hour later, she faced him with her shoulders squared, chin held confidently high. “Well? Still feeling good about that bet?”

“Pretty sure that was an unfair challenge.” Cole tilted his head as he eyed her in suspicion. “How many times have you played this course?”

Smiling nostalgically, she glanced around the indoor miniature golf course. The large space was dimly illuminated. Two eighteen-hole courses were lit by low walkway lights with multicolored plastic shades. Tiny fairy lights were strung in greenery arranged to replicate a nighttime garden setting. Tinkly new age music played from hidden speakers, and water splashed in artificial streams and falls, creating a mystical ambiance that explained why the few other players on this Sunday morning spoke in quiet tones, their laughter politely muted.

Holding putters, Stevie and Cole faced each other across the tee of the eighteenth hole. Only one stroke separated their scores, the advantage hers.

“I can’t remember how many times, exactly,” she said in answer to his question. “But every time Mom brought us to Branson for vacations, Tom and I begged her to let us play in here and in the arcade down the hall. We always bet on the outcome—doing dishes for a week, putting away the laundry, various household chores. Mom wouldn’t let us bet money.”

“You still haven’t told me what we’re wagering,” he reminded her, his tone indulgent. “And by the way, I don’t actually mind doing household chores.”

“So, what are you offering if I win?”

He gave it a moment’s thought, taking advantage of having no one behind them and waiting to play to stretch out the teasing conversation. “If you win, I’ll wash and detail your car when we get home.”

Having known her for a year, he was aware of how much she hated washing her car, and it was especially dirty after last week’s snow and mud. “Ooh. Interesting.”

He chuckled, tossing and catching his bright yellow golf ball in his right hand. “And what will you do for me if I win?”

She bit her lower lip for a moment in thought, then spread her hands, offering a vague pledge she was pretty sure she wouldn’t have to make good. “If you win, I’ll owe you a favor to be redeemed at your discretion. You name it.”

His eyebrows rose. “Sounds intriguing. But you look awfully confident you won’t have to pay up. You’re pretty good at this next hole, huh?”

“Scared?”

He dark eyes gleamed with amusement. “Maybe.”

He really was cute. More relaxed than she’d been in weeks, she grinned back at him. “Well?”

He swept a hand toward the course. “Take your shot.”

Already picturing her car all shiny and clean, inside and out, she bent to place her hot pink golf ball on the rubber mat. As she did so, she glanced over her shoulder at Cole. Was he admiring the curve of her bottom? He looked away quickly and she thought his face might have flushed just a little, though it was hard to tell in the shadowy venue. Biting her lip against a smile, she stood and lined up her shot.

A short while later, she walked out of the golf course into a big indoor breezeway, still shaking her head in disbelief. Smiling from ear to ear, Cole wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “So now you owe me a big favor.”

“I still can’t believe you got a hole in one. And that I whiffed that last putt. Are you sure you weren’t just taking it easy on me on the first seventeen holes?”

“I just got lucky with the hole in one, and you only missed your second putt by a half inch.”

“So what’s my penalty? Have you decided what you want for the bet you won?”

“Not yet. I’ll let you know when I think of it.”

She looked up at him through her lashes, enjoying his lazily teasing mood despite her pretend pouting. “Now I’m the one who’s scared.”

He laughed softly and gave her shoulders a little squeeze. “Don’t worry, Stevie, I won’t have you wash my car.”

She made a show of wiping her brow in relief, drawing another laugh from him.

In addition to the mini golf courses and arcade, the building housed a restaurant, a couple of small theaters and several gift shops. Stevie paused to admire a display of scarves, momentarily tempted by their bright colors, sparkly threads and fluttering fringe. Making herself turn away without buying, she looked around for Cole, spotting him standing in front of a display of stuffed animals.

He held a stuffed tiger in his right hand when she joined him. The toy looked quite suitable for an infant, more funny than fierce, incongruously whimsical in Cole’s strong hand.

She smiled. “You found a tiger.”

He nodded, his expression a little odd. “It caught my eye.”

Still he didn’t move. She lifted her eyebrows in question. “Are you buying it?”

“Is that okay with you?”

She didn’t know whether to sigh or wince in response to his hesitation. “Of course it’s okay with me. I think it’s adorable.”

“Then I’ll get it. A souvenir of our honeymoon for the kid.”

She chewed her lower lip as she watched him pay for the toy. Had she overreacted about the bassinet yesterday? Or had she merely shown that her independence hadn’t changed simply because she now wore Cole’s ring on her left hand?

Transaction complete, Cole turned to her. “Ready to head home?”

Forcing a smile, she nodded. “I guess it’s time.”

They shared a long look before moving in unison toward the exit. Stevie wondered if Cole had been able to read the emotions in her eyes better than she’d been able to decipher his. Probably. She seemed to be an open book to him, while she saw only what he chose to reveal to her.

She figured she had years ahead of her to figure him out. It might just take that long.

They were halfway back to Little Rock when Cole cleared his throat to catch Stevie’s attention. She’d been gazing out the side window at the winter-bleak scenery, but barely paying attention to the landmarks. She knew she’d been uncharacteristically quiet, her thoughts focused on the busy and complicated days ahead of them.

“Stevie?”

She glanced around at him when he spoke. “Yes?”

“We’ll be passing my dad’s place in another twenty minutes or so. Would you mind if we stop and say hello? Might as well get this introduction over with. We won’t stay long.”

She noted that he didn’t look particularly enthusiastic about the prospect. “You want me to meet your father? Now?”

He shrugged. “Now’s as good a time as any, since we’ll be passing by, anyway.”

“Should you call and make sure he’s home?”

“He’s home.”

“Should you at least let him know we’re coming?”

“No need. He and I don’t stand on formalities.”

She almost sighed at how little information he was offering, even though he was the one who’d made this suggestion. “Is there anything more I should know before I meet him?”

Cole shrugged. “I don’t expect you to like him very much. Though I guess if anyone could charm Jim McKellar, it would be you.”

It didn’t reassure her that he sounded less than optimistic.

The house was a modest buff brick bi-level half a mile off the highway outside of Conway. A chain-link fence surrounded the closely cropped, but sparsely landscaped yard. Outside the fence was a large graveled lot filled almost to capacity with vehicles of many makes, models and vintages waiting to be serviced in one of the three metal garages, each with three service bays, lining the lot. Only one of the bay doors was open. A sign over a regular-sized door at one end of the nearest building read McKellar Auto Service and beneath that, in smaller letters, Office.

Stevie saw no activity around the business, which was no surprise at almost five p.m. on a Sunday. She expected Cole to park close to the house. Instead, he pulled into an empty parking space in front of the office.

“That door’s up,” he explained when he saw her looking at him in question. “That means he’s working. He’s out here seven days a week unless something unusual comes up. Precisely at five thirty he goes in the house to wash up for dinner, which he eats while he watches the six o’clock newscasts.”

“A man of habit,” she commented.

“Very much so.”

“It looks as though he’s quite successful with his business.”

“Oh, yeah. He’s damned good at what he does. There’s not an engine he can’t tear down and rebuild given the right equipment, and he’s invested wisely in that.”

“Does he ever take vacations? Time off?”

“Not unless someone forces him. There’s nowhere Dad would rather be. What he can’t understand is why I don’t want to be under the hood of a car with him.”

Hearing something in his voice, she tilted her head. “He wanted you to go into the business?”

“Yeah. He’d hoped to turn it over to me someday. I guess he took it personally that I never wanted it.”

“That’s why you and your dad aren’t close? Because you didn’t want his auto repair business?”

“There’ve been other issues, but no need to get into those now. Let’s get this out of the way.” With that grim statement, he opened his door.

Stevie jumped out of her own side without waiting for him to come around. She shivered as cold air surrounded her, seeping through her layered tops and pants. She reached back into the SUV and grabbed her coat, bundling it around her as she followed Cole toward the open bay door. He wore only his pullover and jeans, but he seemed oblivious to the cold even though his breath hung in puffy clouds in front of him as he called out, “Dad?”

In response to Cole’s voice, a man emerged from beneath the raised hood of a battered sedan. Shop lights were trained on the car’s engine, silhouetting the man in their bright beams, and Stevie had to blink to bring him into focus. Wearing an oil-smeared blue uniform shirt, faded jeans and worn work boots, he looked like an older, more sun-grizzled and life-worn version of Cole. He still had a full head of hair, though it had gone mostly silver and was cut considerably closer than Cole’s. He was squarely built, still muscular in his fifties. His dark eyes were deeply set, and the lines of his weathered face seemed to have settled into a permanent scowl.

Wiping his hands on a shop towel, he greeted his son without obvious signs of surprise or pleasure. “Cole.”

“How’s it going, Dad?”

“Can’t complain. You?”

“I’m good.” Cole drew Stevie forward. “There’s someone I want you to meet. This is my wife, Stevie. Stevie, meet my father, Jim McKellar.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. McKellar.” She gave him a warm smile and held out her right hand.