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
