She very gently cupped her daughter’s head and waited for the fear to ebb, as the labor pains had. She closed her eyes and thought…thank you. God or whoever was listening, thank you.
A lump of emotion seemed to be caught in her throat. What was it Alec had said to set her off? I’ll think of this at Christmas. Where would he be at Christmas? With his sister and her family?
On another tremor of uncertainty that wasn’t so different from the earlier fear, Wren wondered where she would be at Christmas. Would she have found Molly by then? Or…or perhaps a motel room? Except, she didn’t have a cent. This was one time she would have to ask her mother for help. After that, if Wren couldn’t find Molly, maybe she could rent a room, if there were such things as boarding houses anymore. She would have to look for a job, too, of course. Finding one where she was allowed to bring a baby wasn’t going to be easy. Day care. There must be day-care centers around. Or maybe she could be a night janitor. No one would be around to be bothered when Cupcake got hungry or unhappy because her diaper was wet and cried.
The terror was surging again, building in power, because now she didn’t have to worry only about herself, but about another entire person. And she knew she was woefully unprepared to take care of her daughter. Especially knowing James would try to find them. She wished Alec was right and James wouldn’t bother, but Wren didn’t believe it. He hadn’t let her go the first time she’d tried to leave him, a month ago. If anything, he’d gotten more obsessed since then. She couldn’t imagine that he would be able to shrug and decide to let her go. And…she’d seen his violent side.
Don’t think about it, she decided. Not now. Not yet.
Here and now, she and Cupcake were safe. They might get chilly, and hungry, but they weren’t alone, and they were safe. She’d never in her life trusted anyone completely, but there was always a first, and this was it. Alec wouldn’t let anything bad happen to her or her baby, as long as they were with him.
“I think I need that applesauce jar again.”
With a low, deep chuckle, he rose to his feet and held out his hands to help her up. “Is that what it was for?”
“Well, some kind of preserves. In the old days, they canned green beans and things like that, too. The jar’s too big for jam.”
He hoisted her up, frowning when her face changed. “What is it?”
“I wonder if, um, I need to replace the T-shirt. Or refold it or something.”
“Ah.”
She loved the way he said that. Acknowledgement, understanding, no need to comment. He bent and produced another item of clothing from the shrinking stack. Boxer shorts? Oh, heavens, had she grabbed the former resident’s underwear?
“We might have to do some washing. I mean, between me and Cupcake. Maybe we could rinse things out in the rain….”
Alec shook his dark head. “I don’t think they’d dry.”
Worrying over the problem, she retired to the end of the attic, aware that Alec had politely turned his back again. Flushing with embarrassment, she used the jar, dumped the contents out the window he’d already opened and let the rain rinse it. Then, before she could struggle to close the window, he reached around her and did it. She felt the heat of his body behind her, the strength of the arms that momentarily caged her, and her stomach did a dip and roll.
Stepping back, he said in a curiously gentle voice, “All right?”
She bobbed her head and, without looking at him, retreated to her pallet. Her throat had formed another of those impossible-to-swallow lumps. Cupcake was so tiny, and Wren realized suddenly that she was exhausted. It had to be hormones that were causing her mood swings. Joy to fear to gratitude to lust and back to fear again in mere minutes. Realizing that she wasn’t altogether sure she could lower herself to a sitting position gracefully and without pain was enough to make her eyes burn. Had she torn? Alec hadn’t said, and why would he when he couldn’t do anything about it?
Before she could begin any kind of undignified maneuvering, Alec lifted her up and laid her down. She squeaked, and he smiled.
“You were giving the problem more thought than it deserved.”
“My body is holding a major protest.”
He crouched over the first-aid kit. “It hadn’t occurred to me, but—” He made a pleased sound. “Here we go. Aspirin or ibuprofen?”
“Really?” Wren struggled up to her elbow, careful not to shift Cupcake, who she’d snuggled against her.
“Yeah, I thought about it earlier, when you were in labor, but I wasn’t sure what was safe for you to take.” He grimaced. “Or how much good either would do. Sorry that I’m only now remembering it’s here.”
“I haven’t hurt that bad. But I won’t say no to some ibuprofen.” She took the two capsules, popped them in her mouth, then swallowed them with a sip of water. “Thank you,” she murmured, settling back down.
“Hey, these dressings should work as menstrual pads for at least a few changes.” He sounded pleased. “I should have thought of it.”
Paper rustled as he laid out a small pile of sterile dressings then closed the velcro fasteners on the case, and stood. “I’m sorry, but I need to…” He gestured toward the window.
“Feel free.” Wren curled more comfortably around Cupcake and tugged the blankets higher over them. One of them was particularly scratchy wool, but it was warm. She tried not to listen to the sound of Alec lowering his zipper and then, a moment later, pulling it up again, and was grateful she couldn’t hear what he did in between.
The window grated as he shoved it down, and then his footsteps neared.
“The sun is going down, isn’t it?” Wren whispered.
“Yeah.”
She’d hardly noticed the deepening of the gray light.
“Is it still raining?”
“Yeah,” he said again.
“If we’re going to be biblical, it’s poor Noah we ought to be identifying with. And his wife. Doesn’t it figure that nobody can remember her name? She probably took care of all the animals and still put dinner on the table every night for him, and all anyone remembers is her husband because he built the boat.”
Alec knelt beside her. “I suspect he’s remembered because the vision was his.” Amusement roughened his voice.
“Who says? Maybe it was her idea. Wouldn’t it figure he took the credit?”
He sat and untied his boots. “As it happens, I know her name. Emzara.” He tugged off the first boot and set it aside. “Don’t ask me why that stuck from Sunday school.” In the act of pulling off the second boot, he paused. “Come to think of it, I know why. It was Mom. She said something pretty similar to what you did.”
“Smart woman.” Wren was beginning to feel drowsy, even though she wished there was a whole lot more padding between her and the floor.
Jeez.
