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There was still another issue they hadn’t touched on. A big one. But she couldn’t very well follow him and get into another discussion when other people would probably be in there using the equipment and could hear every word. Cord was counting on that. No wonder he’d purposely chosen a public place which would make a private talk impossible.
At a totally l
oose end, she walked over to the closet, reached for the large sewing bag Cord had put away for her and sat down on the chair again, relieved to have something to do with her hands.
The ladies at the church near Mrs. Bromwell’s apartment held a homemaking session every Wednesday night and had helped her get started on a quilt for her baby.
The white, silky material was a washable whipped-cream crepe which would be soft against an infant’s skin. Once the adorable lamb pattern had been stenciled on the fabric and she’d been taught how to make those tiny, perfect stitches and knots, Ashley had done most of the quilting herself. Now that it had been taken off the frames, she needed to bind it and had chosen a white lace eyelet for the trim.
Soon she would be able to wrap her new baby inside it. That day wasn’t very far off. There was a lot to be done to get ready. At least she could finish the quilt before she left the hospital.
It made her sad that she knew nothing about her own mother, who had only been a girl when she’d had Ashley. The nuns had no memento, no picture to show her. For that matter, Ashley knew absolutely nothing about her father. He’d probably been a teenager, too. Most likely both of them were alive and married with other children of their own.
Early in their courtship Cord had offered to hire a private investigator to find her parents. Though Ashley adored him for it, she’d told him no. She preferred living with the fantasies she’d woven about her origins. The nuns had been kind to her, had taught her to rely on God and her good mind to get her through life. Then she had had Cord and she’d needed nothing else.
That formula had worked until Cord had found out he couldn’t give her a child. That’s when the real trauma of life began…
While she hand-sewed the lace inserted between the quilt edges, she determined that her own baby would never suffer the same fate. Though Ashley couldn’t see her and Cord getting back together—not when there was too much painful history between them—he would play a loving, vital role in their son’s or daughter’s life, just as Ashley determined to be the best mother on earth.
Cord wouldn’t like the furnished apartment she’d put a first month’s deposit on, but it was clean and quite bright for a basement. The widow who lived in the upstairs portion of the house seemed like she’d be a nice landlady. She welcomed a baby. It was teenagers with loud music she didn’t want living below. Above all, she wouldn’t tolerate smokers or drinkers for tenants.
Ashley felt fortunate to have found a place to live in a decent neighborhood. She could park her car off the street at the back of the house where she could go down the steps to her own apartment which was tiny. The crib she hadn’t purchased yet would have to fit right next to her bed.
She’d bathe her baby on the counter at the kitchen sink. The nuns always bathed the foundling babies in the orphanage’s kitchen sink. When Ashley was old enough, she’d been given the job. Taking care of babies was a joy—not every girl in the orphanage cared about babies, but Ashley was happiest when she was given that task rather than washing dishes or doing laundry for twenty or so residents. Many were the nights she’d helped the sisters nurse a child with colic or croup.
The experience had prepared her for motherhood. She didn’t feel the least bit nervous about giving her baby physical care. It was her son or daughter’s emotional well-being Ashley worried about. She didn’t want her problems with Cord to put a blight on their child’s happiness.
Because of Cord’s estrangement from his father, a man Ashley had only met twice before his death, she was certain that Cord would do everything in his power to be the best parent he could. Even if they lived apart, between the two of them, they would find a way to fill their child’s physical and emotional needs.
Ignoring a nagging voice that told her living separate lives would not make for a contented son or daughter, Ashley worked faster at her handiwork. As a result, she held herself too rigidly. Before long her back started aching.
With a deep sigh she got up from the chair, left the quilt and lace on the seat, then lay down on her side on top of the bed. She only intended to rest for a few minutes, then get up and sew some more.
At some point she must have fallen asleep and knew nothing until she felt the small of her back being massaged with exquisite tenderness by a hand that seemed to know exactly where and how to apply the right pressure.
The feeling was so delightful, at first she thought she was dreaming and lay there in a warm, semiconscious condition as delicious sensations spread throughout her body, even to her fingertips.
The baby was moving in her womb, almost as if it were trying to find its favorite position, but couldn’t quite decide which one it liked best.
In her trancelike condition, she scarcely registered the fact that the source of her pleasure had left her back and was now freely roaming her stomach, absorbing the movement of the life growing inside her.
“Dear God, Ashley—” she heard a deep, familiar male voice murmur in awe.
Her eyes flew open.
She was no longer alone on the bed. Cord lay behind her, his right arm pillowing her head, his left hand getting to know their unborn child. There was no space separating them. She felt the warmth of his hard-muscled body from the back of her head to the back of her knees and all the way to her nylon-clad feet where his stocking feet tangled with hers.
Attempting to get up, she discovered she was trapped. “Don’t move yet,” he begged. “When I lie next to you like this, I can feel the baby’s restlessness and almost imagine it’s a physical part of me, too. The motions are so strong, I think it must be a boy.”
She swallowed hard. “I—I think it is, too,” she whispered. His nearness made it difficult to talk normally.
“Have you thought of a name for him?” he murmured into her hair, his lips lingering against the curve of her neck.
Her body shivered in ecstatic reaction. “Because of your name, I was thinking of having him christened Cabe. It’s Scottish, like yours.”
“I like it.” She could hear him smiling. Her suggestion had pleased him. “Very much in fact,” he murmured playfully. The low tones vibrated through her entire nervous system, almost as if their bodies were linked by some mystical force. “But if it’s a girl, I want to call her Mary-Ashley.”
She blinked in astonishment. “Why?”
