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“Thank God.” He didn’t know if he could hold out much longer. Watching her in pain was the hardest thing he had ever done, and he was seriously considering limiting the number of their children to one. He kissed her sweaty temple. “I love you, sweetheart.”
That earned him one of her slow smiles. “I love you, too.” Another contraction.
The nurse checked her and smiled. “You’re right, Mrs. Duncan, it won’t be much longer. We’d better get you into delivery.”
He was with her during delivery. The doctor had kept careful watch on the growing baby and didn’t think she’d have any trouble delivering it. Reese wondered violently if the doctor’s idea of trouble differed from his. It was thirty-six hours since her labor had begun. Less than half an hour after he’d told her about the San Diego Chargers, Reese was holding his red, squalling son in his hands.
Madelyn watched him through tear-blurred eyes, smiling giddily. The expression on Reese’s face was so intense and tender and possessive that she could barely stand it. “Eight pounds, two ounces,” he murmured to the infant. “You just barely made it under the wire.”
Madelyn laughed and reached for both husband and son. Reese settled the baby in her arms and cradled her in his, unable to take his eyes from the both of them. He’d never seen anything so beautiful in his life, even if her hair was matted with sweat and coming loose from her braid. God, he felt good! Exhausted but good.
She yawned and rested her head against his shoulder. “I think we did a good job,” she announced, examining the baby’s tiny fingers and damp dark hair. “I also think I’m going to sleep for a week.”
When she was in her room, just before she did go to sleep, she heard Reese say it again. “I love you, sweetheart.” She was too sleepy to answer, but she reached out and felt him take her hand. Those were three words she never got tired of hearing, though she’d heard them often during the past months.
Reese sat and watched her as she slept, a smile in his eyes. Slowly his eyelids drooped as he succumbed to his weariness, but not once during his sleep did he turn loose of her hand.
Keep reading for a sneak peek
from Linda Howard’s next thrilling romance,
TROUBLEMAKER
Coming Summer 2016 from William Morrow
CHAPTER 1
WASHINGTON, D.C., AREA
IT WAS ONE of those bright, early-March days that made you think spring had to be here, even though you knew the winter bitch wasn’t yet ready to loosen her grip and move completely out of town. Morgan Yancy sometimes lost track of what season it was anyway. He’d have to stop and think: was he in the Northern Hemisphere, or the Southern? His job demanded that he travel to hellholes at a moment’s notice, so he could find himself going from the Arctic to the Iraqi desert, from there to South America—wherever it was in the world that his talents were needed.
Thirty-six hours ago he’d arrived at the small condo that passed for home these days, slept the first twenty-four hours and awakened to the discovery that his days and nights were mixed up. Wasn’t the first time, wouldn’t be the last. So he stayed up a while, ate some peanut butter smeared on stale crackers, worked on his gear, ran seven miles in the dark city to tire himself out, then conked out again.
When he woke, it was spring—or as good as.
He took a cool shower to blow the rest of the cobwebs out of his head, then rummaged in the refrigerator and found that his last bag of ground coffee had enough in it to make half a pot. Good enough. He opened the carton of milk, sniffed, winced, and poured it down the drain. There was some fuzzy green cheese in the fridge too, so he tossed it. No doubt about it: he had to do some grocery shopping while he was home this time. He could do without cheese and milk, but things got dicey if he didn’t have coffee. Funny how he could go days, weeks, without it, drinking whatever was handy, but when he was home he damn well wanted his coffee.
The bright sunlight lured him out onto his postage-stamp patio. Coffee cup in hand, he stepped out and assessed the situation.
The weather was perfect: just cool enough not to classify as warm, but warm enough that he was comfortable without a jacket. There was a light breeze, and a few cotton-ball clouds floated by.
Well, fuck; life was tough sometimes. He didn’t have a choice about it: he had to go fishing. He’d lose his man-license if he let a day made specially for fishing slip by without taking his boat out.
Besides, the old Shark needed to have the cobwebs blown out of the motor every now and then. He did upkeep on it whenever he was home, but it hadn’t had a good run in about five months—which, come to think of it, might have been how long it had been since he’d had more than a day at ho
me. The team sure as hell had been on a grueling stretch.
He fished his cell phone from the cargo pocket on his right thigh, and called Kodak, a buddy from his GO-Team. Kodak’s real name was Tyler Gordon, but when you have eidetic memory, what the hell else could people call you besides Kodak?
Kodak sounded a little groggy and froggy when he answered, not surprising considering he’d been on the last job with Morgan. “Yeah, wassup?” The combination of hoarseness and borderline consciousness made the words barely intelligible.
“Fishing. I’m taking the Shark out. Wanna go?”
“Fuck, don’t you ever sleep?”
“I’ve been sleeping. I’ve slept for most of two days. What the hell have you been doing?”
“Sometimes not sleeping. I’m sleeping now. Or I was.” There was the sound of a huge yawn. “Have fun, buddy, but I won’t be there having it with you. How long you going to stay out?”
