“I’d say, ‘the better to see you with, my dear.’ But that line is so cliché.”
She sobbed a little and then her fingers touched his hair. “You need to shave. And your hair is too long.”
“Are you going to stand here and point out all of my physical faults?” He reached, found the door and pulled it open. “I’m here to rescue you, and all you have are complaints. Wife, enter this building at once.”
“Please stop.”
He took hold of her hand, and he led her into the building. “Don’t cry, Cheyenne.”
“I’m so afraid.”
Once they were inside the building, he pulled her into his arms and held her, the way he’d wanted to hold her a few days ago. They were strangers, friends, husband and wife. He’d make sense of it all later. The one thing they had in common was they were both afraid. “I know. And I’m here.”
She nodded against his shoulder and repeated what he recognized to be her mantra. “I can do this on my own.”
“I know you can. And I’m here to tell you that I can help. I want to help. You need to sit down, and I’m going to make sure you’re okay.”
“Your brother told?”
She led him to chairs at the side of the room, and they sat down side by side. “He didn’t tell me. He just hinted that my wife might need me.”
“I’m sorry he found out. I didn’t realize he would be at the hospital when I went.”
“I’m glad you went. I’m glad he was there. But he didn’t tell me anything. It’s up to you to do that.”
“It’s nothing really.” She released his hand. “I’ve had contractions. I thought at first it might be Braxton Hicks.”
“Braxton who? Is he another Shakespearean hero? Competition for my affections?”
“False labor.”
“Oh, that’s a word I understand.”
“But they monitored me for a few hours and realized they were real contractions. When I rest, they do go away, but they’re real. The bigger problem is that my blood pressure is high.”
“So what do we do?”
“I, not we. I’m not on bed rest at this point. I’m on medication and I’m taking it easy. I go back to the doctor in a week. And the obstetrician said to come in immediately if I have contractions that won’t stop with rest, if I feel dizzy or experience serious swelling or headaches.”
“‘Taking it easy’? Is that what this is, remodeling a building? Do I smell paint?”
“I had help.”
“What were you doing when I got here?”
She shrugged. He felt her shoulder move, brushing his arm. “I was putting up mini blinds.”
“I’m going to help you, and then we’ll call Vera and ask her to deliver something for dinner.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I’m here, Cheyenne. I’m going to be here, and there isn’t a lot you can do about that. You came to Dawson, remember?”
She stood and he heard her moving away. “Do you think I came here to trap you?”
He unfolded the cane and followed her voice. “No, I think you wanted to know if I was safe. You wanted a safe place to raise your son. That’s something we’ll work out. But for now you’re still my wife, and I’m going to help you get this shop ready and make sure you don’t have that baby two months early.”
“I can’t let you do that.” She rested her hand on his shoulder. “You have to take care of yourself, not me.”
“I have to take care of us both, or I might not make it through the next few months. Let me help you. You’re about the only person in my life right now who makes me feel normal.”
A long silence and then she stepped close. “Can you use a drill?”
He laughed. “Can I use a drill? Of course I can.”
She placed his hand on her arm, and he couldn’t think of anything better than that moment with Cheyenne. For now, helping her took his mind off his own problems. He didn’t for a minute think he was home free. Tonight he’d have more nightmares. Tomorrow he’d feel frustrated and useless. Next week he’d have a good day and think he could conquer the world.
Today he could rescue Cheyenne. He covered her hand with his. “Where’s that drill?”
Chapter Four
“Drill?” Cheyenne hesitated because she’d forgotten mini blinds. She’d forgotten about taking it easy. Her gaze had lingered on the face of the man who, on paper, belonged to her—her husband.
In Vegas he’d been the one person who’d told her she could do this pregnancy thing. She could make it work, and she could keep her baby. Cheyenne thought about the birth mother who chose to have her. She still wondered about that woman, what her situation had been.
Her hand rested on Reese’s arm, and he looked down, as if seeing her, seeing her hand. But his hazel eyes didn’t focus, didn’t see. She wanted to touch his face, let her hand rest on the strong line of his jaw and touch the raspy stubble of his unshaved cheek.
Break contact, a little voice whispered into her mind. She needed to step away, find a focus point other than her husband’s face, his strong shoulders and the way it felt to have his hand on hers. She moved.
“I’ll get the drill,” she whispered, a little hoarse.
He walked behind her, staying close to her side, stopping when she stopped. She wanted to back away. Instead she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. His hand touched her back.
“Did you find it?”
“Yes. Now what?” She picked up the drill.
“Well, you get the parts we need and then we measure so that we get the blinds even.” He touched her arm. “Sit down.”
“I have to help.”
“No, you don’t. You have to give your baby a chance to make it to term.” He reached for the drill, taking it from her hand. “I really can do this. Or at least part of it. You sit and give me directions, and I’ll see what I can accomplish.”
She nodded and moved away from him.
“One important rule, Cheyenne.” He cleared his throat and she turned. “You have to tell me what you’re doing. I can’t see you walk away or see you nod your head. I can’t even see a frown, so I don’t know when I’m on thin ice.”
Heat slid up her cheeks. “I’m sorry.
