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“Then I’ll be back. I’m going to my bank now to have the trust fund transferred into my checking account. I’ve had full access to it since I was twenty-five, so there’s no problem.”
He pushed the telephone toward her. “Call them, so they’ll let you in. They’ll be closing for lunch shortly.”
She smiled at him as she reached for the phone. “By the way, do you know a good obstetrician?”
A phone call later, it had been arranged for her to enter the other bank by a side door. An hour later she was back at the first bank, cashier’s check in hand for the amount VanRoden had given her before she left.
She signed the necessary papers and walked out of the bank with the deed to the ranch and the papers that said the debt had been paid in full. She also had an appointment the following week with the obstetrician VanRoden’s wife had used. She grinned as she got into the car. Contacts had their uses, even unlikely ones. Poor Mr. VanRoden had looked startled at being asked to recommend an obstetrician, then had offered his congratulations.
She had no illusions that everything was going to be fine now just because she had paid the mortgage. She hadn’t done it lightly; she had done it with the full knowledge that Reese would be furious, but she was willing to fight for their future, their child’s future. She had to deal with the scars left by Reese’s first marriage, and this was far more serious than painting the house. As a matter of fact, he had drawn up a note stating that he would repay her for the cost of the paint and estimated labor, which she thought was ridiculous, but was a fair measure of how determined he was in the matter.
But knowing she had to tell him and knowing how to tell him were two different things. She couldn’t just say, “I went into Billings today to make an appointment with an obstetrician because I’m pregnant, and by the way, while I was there I paid off the mortgage.” On the other hand, that was certainly a good example of killing two birds with one stone.
She was still worrying it over in her mind when she got home at about four-thirty. There was no sign of Reese’s truck, so perhaps she had made it without him even knowing she’d been gone. If he had come back to the house for any reason during the day, he’d ask questions as soon as he got back, and one thing she wouldn’t do was lie to him. Delaying telling him about the mortgage was different from lying to him about it.
It was amazing how tired she was, and equally amazing how she could feel so exhausted but still feel well.
She would be having his baby sometime late in October or early in November, if she had figured correctly. The knowledge of it was like a great inner warmth, and she had never wanted anything more than to share it with him. Only the worry he had been enduring over the ranch had kept her from telling him, because she didn’t want to give him something else to worry about. The stern lines in his face were deeper, and his eyes were habitually grim these days, as he faced losing everything he had worked so hard for, for so long. How could she burden him with the knowledge that now they had medical bills to consider, as well?
How could she not tell him?
As she changed clothes, her fatigue suddenly became overwhelming. She fought it, knowing that it was time to begin cooking dinner, but the thought of all that preparation made the fatigue even worse, and her stomach suddenly rolled. She broke out in a sweat and sank weakly onto the bed. What a great time for morning sickness to hit—late in the afternoon on a day when she needed all her wits about her. She sat there for a minute, and the nausea faded, but the fatigue was worse. There was no way she could summon the energy even to go downstairs; exhaustion pulled on her limbs and eyelids, dragging both down. With a sigh she stretched out on the bed, her eyes already closing. Just a short nap; that was all she needed.
Reese found her there. He had noticed that the kitchen light wasn’t on when he got home, but he had taken care of the evening chores before going into the house. The kitchen was empty, with no sign of meal preparations in progress, and the house was strangely silent. “Maddie?” When there was no answer, a worried frown creased his forehead, and he searched the downstairs, then started up the stairs. “Maddie?”
He turned on the light in the bedroom, and there she was, curled on her side on the bed. She didn’t stir even when the light came on. He’d never known her to nap during the day, and he was instantly alarmed. Was she sick? She had seemed okay that morning. He was dirty from the day’s work, but he didn’t care about that as he sat down on the side of the bed and turned her onto her back. She felt warm under his hands, but not unusually so. He shook her, and worry sharpened his tone. “Maddie, wake up!”
Slowly her lids drifted upward, and she sighed. “Reese,” she murmured, but she couldn’t keep her eyes open.
He shook her again. “Are you all right? Wake up.”
Reluctantly she roused, lifting one hand to rub her eyes. “What time is it?” Then she looked at him again as realization sank in and said, “Oh my God, dinner!”
“Dinner can wait. Are you all right?”
Her heart lurched as she stared up at him. His face was lined and grayish with fatigue, but there was worry in his eyes, not irritation. Automatically she reached up to touch his cheek, stroking her fingers over the high ridge of his cheekbone. She loved everything about this man, even his stubborn temper. She took his hand and placed it on her belly. “I’m pregnant,” she whispered. “We’re having a baby.”
His pupils dilated, and he looked down at his hand on her slender body. From the time she had stopped taking the birth control pills, every time he had made love to her he had been aware that he might impregnate her, but the reality of having her say she was pregnant was still almost a physical shock. His baby was growing under his hand, utterly protected in her flat little belly.
He slid off the bed onto his knees beside it, still dazed. “When?” he asked in a strained tone.
“The last week in October, or the first week in November.”
He unsnapped her jeans and slid the zipper down, then spread the fly open so he could touch her skin. He pushed her sweatshirt up out of the way and slowly leaned forward, first pressing a light kiss to her belly, then resting his cheek against it. Madelyn stroked his hair and wondered if the baby would have dark coloring like him or her fairness. It was such a new, wonderful consideration, their child, created from the raw passion that still burned between them. Seven more months suddenly seemed too long to wait to hold it, to see Reese’s powerful hands turn gentle as he cradled his child. “Do you want a boy or a girl?” she asked, still whispering, as if normal speech might spoil the sweetness of this moment.
“Does it matter?” He rubbed his rough cheek against her belly, his eyes closing as he luxuriated in the caress.
“Not to me.”
“Or to me.” Silence grew in the room as he fully absorbed the news; then finally he lifted his head. “Are you feeling sick?”
“I was a little nauseated, but mostly I was incredibly tired. I tried, but I just couldn’t keep my eyes open,” she said apologetically.
“Are you all right now?”
She thought about it, mentally taking stock of herself, then nodded. “All systems are go.”
He moved back and let her get to her feet, then caught her to him and tilted her mouth up. The expression in his eyes was intense as he gave her a hard, brief kiss. “Are you certain?”
