A Christmas Blessing Page 3

  “Push, darlin’,” Luke coaxed.

  Jessie screamed. Luke cursed.

  “Push, dammit!”

  “You don’t like how I’m doing it, you take over,” she snapped right back at him.

  Luke laughed. “That’s my Jessie. Sass me all you like, if it helps, but push! Come on, darlin’. I’m afraid this part here is entirely up to you. If I could do it for you, I would.”

  “Luke?”

  There was a plaintive, fearful note in her voice that brought his gaze up to meet hers. “What?”

  “What if something goes wrong?”

  “Nothing is going to go wrong,” he promised. “Everything’s moved along right on schedule so far, hasn’t it?”

  “Luke, I’m having this baby in a ranch house. Doesn’t that suggest that the schedule has been busted to hell?”

  “Your schedule maybe. Obviously the baby has a mind of its own. No wonder, given the way you take charge of your life. You’re strong and brave and your baby’s going to be just exactly like you,” he said reassuringly.

  “I think I’ve changed my mind,” she said with a note of determination in her voice. “I’m not ready for this. I’m not ready to be a mother. I can’t cope with a baby on my own.”

  Luke laughed. “Too late now. Looks to me like that horse is out of the barn.”

  Moments later, a sense of awe spread through him at the first glimpse of the baby’s head, covered with dark, wet hair.

  “My God, Jessie, I can see the baby. Just a little more work, darlin’, and you’ll have a fine, healthy baby in your arms. That’s it. Harder. Push harder.”

  “I can’t,” she wailed.

  “You can,” Luke insisted. “Here we go, darlin’.” He slid his hands under the baby’s tiny shoulders. “One more.” Jessie bore down like a trooper and the baby slipped into his hands.

  “Luke,” Jessie whispered at once. “Is the baby okay? I don’t hear anything.”

  The baby let out a healthy yowl. Luke beamed at both of them. “I think that’s your answer,” he said.

  He surveyed the squalling baby he was holding. “Let’s see now. Ten tiny fingers. Ten itsy-bitsy toes. And the prettiest, sassiest blue eyes you ever did see. Just like her mama’s.”

  “Her?” Jessie repeated. She struggled to prop herself up to get a look. “It’s a girl?”

  “A beautiful little angel,” he affirmed as he cleaned the baby up, wrapped her in a huge blanket and laid her in Jessie’s arms.

  Even though her eyes were shadowed by exhaustion, even though her voice was raspy from screaming, the sight of her daughter brought the kind of smile to Jessie’s face that Luke had doubted he would ever see again.

  She looked up at him, her eyes filled with gratitude and warmth, and his heart flipped over. A world of forbidden possibilities taunted him.

  “She is beautiful, isn’t she?” Jessie said, her gaze locked on the tiny bundle in her arms.

  “Just about the most gorgeous baby I’ve ever seen,” he agreed, thinking how desperately he wished he could claim her as his own. His and Jessie’s. He forced the thought aside. “Do you have a name picked out?”

  “I thought I did,” she said. “But I’ve changed my mind.”

  “Oh? Why is that?”

  “Because she rushed things and decided to come at Christmas,” she explained. “I’m going to call her Angela. That way I’ll always remember that she was my Christmas miracle.” She turned a misty-eyed gaze on Luke. “Thank you, Lucas.”

  If he lived a hundred years, Luke knew he would trade everything for this one moment out of time.

  Later the guilt and recriminations would come back with a vengeance. Jessie would remember who he was and what he had done to ruin her life. The blame, no matter how hard she denied it, would be there between them.

  But right now, for this one brief, shining moment, they were united, a part of something incredibly special that he could hold in his heart all the rest of his lonely days. They had shared a miracle.

  Chapter Three

  Jessie felt as if she’d run a couple of marathons back-to-back, but not even that bone-weary exhaustion could take away the incredible sense of joy that spread through her at the sight of her daughter sleeping so peacefully in her arms. Her seemingly healthy baby girl. Her little angel with the lousy sense of timing.

  For perhaps the dozenth time since dawn had stolen into the room, bathing it in a soft light, she examined fingers and toes with a sense of amazement that anyone so small could be so perfect. Her gaze honed in on that tiny bow of a mouth, already forming the instinctive, faint smacking sounds of hunger even as she slept. Any minute now she would wake up and demand to be fed.

  “Luke, she’s hungry,” Jessie announced with a mixture of awe and pride that quickly turned to worry. Not once during all the hours of labor or since had she given a single thought to what happened next. “What’ll we do?”

  Given their past history, it was amazing how quickly she’d come to rely on Luke, how easily she’d pushed aside all of her anger and grief just to make it through this crisis. And, despite his less than alert state on her arrival, despite all the reasons he had for never wanting to see her again, he hadn’t let her down yet.

  Of course, judging from the way he was sprawled in the easy chair in a corner of the bedroom with his eyes closed, the last bit of adrenaline that had gotten him through the delivery had finally worn off.

  Faint, gray light filtered through the frosted window and cast him in shadows. She studied him surreptitiously and saw the toll the past months—or some mighty hard drinking—had taken on him.

  The lines that time and weather had carved in his tanned, rugged face seemed deeper than ever. His jaw was shadowed by a day or more’s growth of beard. His dark brown hair, which he’d always worn defiantly long, swept the edge of his collar. He looked far more like a dangerous rebel than the successful Texas rancher he was.

  If he looked physically unkempt, his clothes were worse. His plaid flannel shirt was clean but rumpled, as if he’d grabbed it from a basket on his way to the door. It was unevenly buttoned and untucked, leaving a mat of dark chest hair intriguingly visible. The jeans he’d hauled on were dusty and snug and unbuttoned at the waist.

  Jessie grinned as her gaze dropped to his feet. He had on one blue sock. The other foot was bare. She found the sight oddly touching. Clearly he’d never given a thought to himself all during the night. He’d concentrated on her and seeing to it that Angela made it safely into the world. She would never forget what he’d done for her.

  “Luke?” she repeated softly.

  The whisper accomplished what her intense scrutiny had not. His dark brown eyes snapped open. “Hmm?” He blinked. “Everything okay?”

  “The baby’s hungry. What’ll we do?”

  “Feed her?” he suggested with a spark of amusement.

  “Thanks so much.” She couldn’t keep the faint sarcasm from her voice, but she smiled as she realized how often during the night she’d caught a rare teasing note in Luke’s manner. In all the time she’d lived with Erik she’d never seen that side of Luke. He’d been brusque more often than not, curt to the point of rudeness. His attitude might have intimidated her, if she hadn’t seen the occasional flashes of something lost and lonely in his eyes. In the past few hours, she’d seen another side of him altogether—strong, protective, unflappable. The perfect person to have around in a crisis. The kind of man on whom a woman could rely.

  “Anytime,” he teased despite her nasty tone.

  Once again he’d surprised her, causing her to wonder if the quiet humor had always been there, if it had simply been overshadowed by his brothers’ high spirits.

  Still, Jessie was in no mood for levity, as welcome a change as it was. “Luke, I’m serious. She’s going to start howling any second now. I can tell. And this diaper you cut from one of your old flannel shirts is sopping. We can’t keep cutting up your clothes every time she’s wet.”

  �
�I have shirts I haven’t even taken out of their boxes yet,” he said, making light of her concern for his wardrobe. “If I lose a few, it’s for a good cause. Besides, I think she looks festive in red plaid.”

  As he spoke, he approached the bed warily, as if suddenly uncertain if he had a right to draw so close. He touched the baby’s head with his fingertips in a caress so gentle that Jessie’s breath snagged in her throat.

  “As for her being hungry, last I heard, there was nothing better than a mama’s own milk for a little one,” he said, his gaze fixed on the baby.

  “I wasn’t planning on nursing her,” Jessie protested. “It won’t work with the job I have. She’ll have to be with a sitter all day. I need bottles, formula.” She moaned. There were rare times—and this was one of them—when she wondered how she would cope. She’d counted on Erik to be there for her and the baby. Now every decision, every bit of the responsibility, was on her shoulders.

  “Well, given that she decided not to wait for you to get to a hospital or to arrange for a fancy set of bottles,” Luke said, still sounding infinitely patient with her, “I’d say Angela is just going to have to settle for what’s on hand for the time being. Don’t you suppose you can switch her to a bottle easily enough?”

  “How should I know?” she snapped unreasonably.

  Luke’s gaze caught hers. “You okay?”

  “Just peachy.”

  His expression softened. “Aw, Jessie, don’t start panicking now. The worst is over.”

  “But I don’t know what to do,” she countered, unexpectedly battling tears. “I have three more classes to take just to learn how to breathe right for the delivery, and a whole stack of baby books to read, and I was going to fix up a nursery.” She sobbed, “I…I even…bought the wallpaper.”

  Her sobs seemed to alarm him, but Luke stayed right where he was. Her presence here might be a burden, her tears a nuisance, but he didn’t bolt, as many men might have. Once more that unflappable response calmed Jessie.

  “Seems to me you can forget the classes,” he observed dryly, teasing a smile from her. “As for the wallpaper, you’ll get to it when you can. I doubt Angela will have much to say about the decor, as long as her bed’s warm and dry. And babies were being born and fed long before anybody thought to write parenting books. If you’re not up to nursing her yet, it seems to me I heard babies can have a little sugar water.”

  “How would you know a thing like that?”

  “I was trapped once in a doctor’s office with only some magazines on parenting to read.”

  His gaze landed on her breasts, then shifted away immediately. Jessie felt her breasts swell where his gaze had touched. Her nipples hardened. The effect could have been achieved because of the natural changes in her body over the past twenty-four hours, but she didn’t think that was it. Luke had always had that effect on her. A single look had been capable of making her weak in the knees. She had despised that responsiveness in herself. She was no prouder of it now.

  “I have a hunch that left to your own devices, the two of you can figure it out,” he said. “I’ll leave you alone. I’ve got chores to do, anyway.”

  He headed for the door as if he couldn’t get away from the two of them fast enough. Jessie glanced up at him then and saw that, while his cheeks were an embarrassed red, there was an expression in his eyes that was harder to read. Wistfulness, maybe? Sorrow? Regret?

  “You’ll holler if you need me?” he said as he edged through the doorway. Despite the offer of help, he sounded as if he hoped he’d never have to make good on it.

  “You’d better believe it,” she said.

  A slow, unexpected grin spread across his face. “And I guess we both know what a powerful set of lungs you’ve got. I’m surprised the folks on every other ranch in the county haven’t shown up by now to see what all the fuss was about.”

  “A gentleman wouldn’t mention that,” she teased.

  “Probably not,” he agreed. Then, in the space of a heartbeat, his expression turned dark and forbidding. “It would be a mistake to think that I’m a gentleman, Jessie. A big mistake.”

  The warning startled her, coming as it did on the heels of hours of gentle kindness. She couldn’t guess why Luke was suddenly so determined to put them back on the old, uneasy footing, especially since they were likely to be stranded together for some time if the snow kept up through the day as it seemed set on doing.

  Maybe it was for the best, though. She didn’t want to forget what had happened to Erik. And she certainly didn’t want to be disloyal to her husband by starting to trust the man who rightly or wrongly held himself responsible for Erik’s death. That would be the worst form of betrayal, worse in some ways perhaps than the secret, unbidden responses of her body. Luke had delivered her baby. She might be grateful for that, but it didn’t put the past to rest.

  “Well, Angela, I guess we’re just going to have to make the best of this,” she murmured.

  Even as she spoke, she wasn’t entirely certain whether she was referring to her first fumbling attempt at breast-feeding or to the hours, maybe even days she was likely to spend in Luke’s deliberately ill-tempered company. Days, she knew, she was likely to spend worrying over how great the temptation was to forgive him for what he’d done.

  * * *

  An hour later, the chores done, Luke stood in the doorway of his bedroom, a boulder-size lump lodged in his throat as he watched Jessie sleeping. The apparently well-fed and contented baby was nestled in her arms, her tiny bottom now covered in bright blue plaid. Erik’s baby, he reminded himself sharply, when longing would have him claiming her—claiming both of them—for his own.

  Sweet Jesus, how was he supposed to get through the next few days until the storm ended, the phone lines were up and the roads were cleared enough for him to get word to his family to hightail it over here and take Jessie off his hands? He’d gotten through the night only because he’d been in a daze and because there were so many things to be done that he hadn’t had time to think or feel. Now that his head was clear and the crisis was past, he was swamped with feelings he had no right having.

  He forced himself to back away from the door and head for his office. He supposed he could barricade himself inside and give Jessie the run of the house. He doubted she would need explanations for his desire to stay out of her path. Now that her baby was safely delivered, she would no doubt be overjoyed to see the last of him.

  Last night had been about need and urgency. They had faced a genuine crisis together and survived. In the calm light of today, though, that urgency was past. He could retreat behind his cloak of guilt. Jessie would never have to know what sweet torment the past few hours had been.

  He actually managed to convince himself that hiding out was possible as morning turned into afternoon without a sound from his bedroom. He napped on the sofa in his office off and on, swearing to himself that he was simply too tired to climb the stairs to one of the guest suites. The pitiful truth of it was that he wanted to be within earshot of the faintest cry from either Jessie or the baby. A part of him yearned to be the one they depended on.

  Shortly before dusk, he headed back to the barn to feed the horses and Chester. The wind was still howling, creating drifts of snow that made the walk laborious. Still, he couldn’t help relishing the cold. It wiped away the last traces of fog from his head. He vowed then and there that no matter how bad things got, he would never, ever try to down an entire bottle of whiskey on his own again. The brief oblivion wasn’t worth the hangover. And he hoped like hell he never again had to perform anything as important as delivering a baby with his brain clouded as it had been the night before.

  He lingered over the afternoon chores as long as he could justify. He even sat for a while, doling out pieces of apple to the goat, muttering under his breath about the insanity of his feelings for a woman so far beyond his reach. Chester seemed to understand, which was more than he could say for himself.

  When he realized he was
about to start polishing his already well-kept saddle for the second time in a single day, he forced himself back to the house and the emotional dangers inside. Chester, sensing his indecisiveness, actually butted him gently toward the door.

  The back door was barely closed behind him when he heard the baby’s cries. He stopped in his tracks and waited for Jessie’s murmured attempts to soothe her daughter. Instead, the howls only escalated.

  Shrugging off his coat and tossing it in the general direction of the hook on the wall, Luke cautiously headed for the bedroom. He found Jessie still sound asleep, while Angela kicked and screamed beside her. Luke grinned. The kid had unquestionably inherited Jessie’s powerful set of lungs. Definitely opera singer caliber.

  Taking pity on her worn-out mama, he scooped the baby into his arms and carried her into the kitchen. Once there, he was at a loss.

  He held the tiny bundle aloft and stared into wide, innocent eyes that shimmered with tears. “So, kid, it looks like it’s just you and me for the time being. Your mama’s tuckered out. Can’t say I blame her. Getting you into the world was a lot of hard work.”

  The flood of tears dried up. Angela’s gaze remained fixed on his face so attentively that Luke was encouraged to go on. “Seems to me that both of us have a lot to learn,” he said, keeping his voice low and even, in a tone he hoped might lull her back to sleep. “For instance, I don’t know if you were screaming your head off in there because you’re hungry or because you’re soaking wet or because you’re just in need of a little attention.”

  He patted her bottom as he spoke. It was dry. She blew a bubble, which didn’t answer the question but indicated Luke was definitely on the right track.

  “I’m guessing attention,” he said. “I’m also guessing that won’t last. Any minute now that pretty little face of yours is going to turn red and you’re going to be bellowing to be fed. Seems a shame to wake your mama up, though. How about we try to improvise?”