"What about you? Do you have a change of clothes?" she asked.
"In my saddlebags. If you don't need help, I'll start the fire; then I'll go back to the barn and take care of the horses. Have yours been fed?"
"Yes," she answered. "Be careful with Pegasus. He doesn't like strangers." She stared down at the floor with her hands folded together. As Douglas turned to leave, she called out to him, "You're coming back, aren't you?"
She was fretting again. The last thing she needed to worry about now was being left alone. He had a feeling they were in for one hell of a night, and he wanted her to conserve her strength for the more important task ahead.
"You're going to have to trust me."
"Yes… I'll try."
She still looked scared. He leaned against the doorframe and tried to think of something to say that would convince her he wasn't going to abandon her.
"It's getting late," she said.
He straightened away from the door and went to her. "Will you do me a favor?"
"Yes."
He pulled the gold watch out of his pocket, unclipped the chain, and handed it to her. The chain dangled down between her fingers.
"This is the most valuable thing I own. My Mama Rose gave it to me, and I don't want anything to happen to it. Pegasus might get in a lucky kick, or I
might drop it while I'm drying down my sorrel. Keep it safe for me."
"Oh, yes, I'll keep it safe."
As soon as he had left the room, she pressed the watch against her heart and closed her eyes. She and her baby were safe again, and for the first time in a long while, Isabel felt calm and in control.
Chapter Two
She had turned into a raving maniac. She didn't care. She knew she was losing the last shreds of her control, and somewhere in the back of her mind lurked the realization that she wasn't being reasonable. She didn't care about that either.
She wanted to die. It was a cowardly thought, but she wasn't in the mood to feel at all guilty about it. Death would be a welcome respite from the hellish pain she was enduring, and at this stage, when one excruciating cramp was coming right on top of another and another and another, death was all she was interested in thinking about.
Douglas kept telling her everything was going to be just fine, and she decided she wanted to stay alive long enough to kill him. How dare he be so calm and rational? What did he know about anything? He was a man, for the love of God, and as far as she was concerned, he was totally responsible for her agony.
"I don't want to do this any longer, Douglas. Do you hear me? I don't want to do this any longer."
She hadn't whispered her demand. She'd bellowed it.
"Just a few more minutes, Isabel," he promised, his voice a soothing whisper.
She told him to drop dead.
Honest to God, he would have liked to accommodate her. He hated having to watch her in such misery. He felt helpless, inept, and so damned scared, he could barely think what to do.
On the surface, he was presenting a stoic facade, but he wasn't at all certain how long he could keep up the pretense. Any moment now she was bound to notice how his hands were shaking. Then she would probably become afraid again. He much preferred her anger to her fear, and if it made her feel better to rant at him, he wouldn't try to stop her.
She accidentally knocked the water basin over when she threw the wet cloth he'd pressed against her forehead.
"If you were a gentleman, you'd do what I asked."
"Isabel, I'm not going to knock you out."
"Just a little clip under the chin. I need to rest."
He shook his head.
She started crying. "How long has it been? Tell me how long?"
"Just six hours," he answered.
"Just six hours? I hate you, Douglas Clayborne."
"I know you do, Isabel."
"I can't do this any longer."
"The contractions are close together now. Soon you'll be holding your baby in your arms."
"I'm not having a baby," she shouted. "I made up my mind, Douglas."
"All right, Isabel. You don't have to have the baby."
"Thank you."
She stopped crying and closed her eyes. She told him she was sorry for all the vile names she had called him. He calculated he had a few minutes left to mop up the water from the floor and go get more towels before another contraction hit. He was pulling the door closed behind him when she called out. "Leave it open so you can hear me." She had to be joking. She was shouting loud enough for most of Montana to hear. His ears were still ringing from her last bellow, but he didn't think it would be a good idea to tell her so.
He agreed instead. About three hours earlier, he'd learned not to contradict a woman in pain. Trying to get Isabel to be reasonable was impossible. Oh, yes, it was much easier to agree with everything she said, no matter how outlandish it was.
Douglas carried the porcelain bowl to the curtained alcove Isabel used as a kitchen, grabbed a stack of fresh towels, and headed back. He made it past the hearth before the reality of the situation finally crashed down on him. He had to deliver a baby. He felt the floor shift under his feet. He dropped the towels and slammed back against the wall. Doubling over, he braced his hands on his knees and closed his eyes while he desperately tried to face the inevitable.
His brother Cole had taught him a trick to use when preparing for a shoot-out. Cole said to think of the worst possible situation, put yourself smack in the middle of it, and then picture yourself winning. Douglas had always thought his brother's mental game was a waste of time, but it was all he had now, and he decided to give it a try.
I can do this. Hell with that. I can't do it. No, no, it won't be bad, and I can handle it. All right, I'm standing in front of Tommy's Tavern in Hammond. Five… no, ten bloodthirsty killers are waiting for me to come inside. There isn't any choice. I have to go in. I know that, and I'm ready. I know the bastards have all got their weapons drawn and cocked. I can beat them though. I'll get five of them with the gun in my left hand, and the other five with the gun in my right hand while I'm diving for cover. It's going to be as smooth and easy as a drink of fine whiskey. Yeah, I can take them all right.
He drew a deep breath. And I sure as certain can deliver this baby.
Cole's game wasn't working. Douglas was gulping down air now and letting it out faster and faster.
Isabel could feel the beginning of another contraction. This one felt as if it was going to be a doozy. She squeezed her eyes shut in preparation and was about to scream for Douglas when she heard a peculiar noise. It sounded like someone breathing heavily, as though he'd just run a long distance. Douglas? No, it couldn't be Douglas. Dear God, she was imagining things now. It had finally happened; her mind had snapped.
The contraction eased up while she was distracted. A few seconds later, it gained her full attention with a vengeance. She felt as though her body were being shredded into a thousand pieces, and as the spasm intensified, her whimper turned into a bloodcurdling scream.
Douglas was suddenly by her side. He put his arms around her shoulders and lifted her up against him.
"Hold on to me, sugar. Just hold on tight until it stops."
She was sobbing by the time the contraction ended. And then she was immediately struck with another one.
"It's time, Douglas. The baby's coming."
She was right about that. Ten minutes later, he held her son in his arms. The baby was long of limb, deadly pale, and so terribly thin Douglas didn't think the little one had enough strength to open his eyes… or last a full day. His breathing was shallow, and when at last he cried, the sound was pitifully weak.
"Is the baby all right?" she whispered.
"It's a boy, Isabel. I'll let you hold him as soon as I get him cleaned up. He's awfully thin," he warned her. "But I'm sure he's going to be fine, just fine."
Douglas didn't know if he was giving her false hope or not. He honestly didn't know how the baby could possibly survive. He w
as small enough to fit in Douglas 's hands, yet he could open and close his eyes and squirm about. Dear Lord, his fingers and toes were so tiny, Douglas was afraid to touch them for fear they'd crumble. He gently shifted his hold and gingerly pressed his fingertip against the baby's chest. He felt the heart beating. How could anything this little be so perfectly formed? It was amazing that the baby could breathe at all. And yet he did.
My God, Douglas thought, I could accidentally break one of his bones if I'm not careful. The sheer beauty of God's creation both awed and humbled him. Now Isabel needed one more miracle to keep her son alive.
"You've got to be a fighter, little man," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.
Isabel heard him. "He'll have help. The sisters told us that every time a baby is born, God sends a guardian angel to watch over him."
Douglas glanced up at her. "I sure hope he gets here soon."
She smiled, for in her heart she knew Parker's guardian angel was already here.
He was holding her son.
It took a good hour to get Isabel and the baby settled. Douglas had to alter the plan to use the cradle her husband had made because when his knee brushed up against the side, the bottom fell out. It was evident Grant had used rotten wood to build the base. Yet even if the wood had been freshly cut, Douglas would still have thrown the contraption out. Nails as long as a man's hand had been driven inward from the outside of the uneven slats, and long, dangerously sharp points angled down toward the bedding. He shuddered to think of the damage those rusty nails could do to an infant.
He was too tired to do anything about it now. He stripped out of his clothes, put on another pair of buckskin pants, and went back to the bedroom to make a temporary bed for the baby. He used the bottom drawer of her dresser and padded it with towels covered with a pillowcase.
By the time he was finished, Isabel was sleeping soundly. The serenity on her face was captivating, and he couldn't turn away. He watched her sleep; he watched her breathe. She was as beautiful and as perfect as her son. Her hair was spread out on the pillow behind her in a tangled mess. She looked like an angel now… and not at all like the Beelzebub he had compared her to during her labor.
Another yawn shook him out of his stupor. He carefully transferred the baby to the drawer and was leaving the bedroom when she called to him.
He hurried to her side, forgetting his state of undress. He hadn't put a shirt on yet or bothered to button his pants, but he was more concerned that she was going to tell him the bleeding had increased.
"Is something wrong? You're not…"
"I'm fine. Sit down next to me. I want you to tell me the truth and look me in the eyes so I'll know you aren't just telling me what I want to hear. Will my baby make it?"
"I hope so, but I honestly don't know."
Chapter Three
Douglas had walked into the middle of a nightmare. He knew Isabel's situation was bad. If what she'd told him the day before was true-and he was certain that it was-then she was in serious trouble. Not only was she being preyed upon by a group of thugs under the direction of a malevolent bastard named Boyle, but she was also completely cut off from town, which meant she couldn't get help or supplies. Last, but certainly just as troublesome, was the fact that she had just given birth. The infant needed her undivided attention, and both mother and son were too weak and vulnerable to be moved.
Then bad got worse. The rain didn't let up. Since dawn, it had alternated between a soft sprinkle and a thundering deluge. He'd become extremely concerned about the weather as soon as he stepped outside in the gray light of day and saw exactly where the log cabin was situated. Last night it had been too dark to see much of anything when he'd ridden down the slope, guided by only a faint flickering light in the field below. He'd already known the cabin was surrounded on three sides by mountains, but what he hadn't known was that her home was sitting smack in the center of the flood floor. Any overflow from the lakes and creeks in the mountains would have to pass through her cabin in order to get to the river below.
He couldn't believe anyone would build a home in such a dangerous spot. Douglas didn't usually speak ill of the dead, but facts were facts, and it was apparent Parker Grant, Senior, had been an incompetent imbecile. Douglas had given Grant the benefit of the doubt when he'd seen the cradle. Some men weren't any good at making furniture. Nothing wrong with that, he'd reasoned. Building a home on a flood path was an altogether different matter.
Still, Douglas didn't want to jump to conclusions. Someone else might have built the place years ago, and Grant might simply have moved his wife inside as a temporary measure until he could build a proper home up on higher ground.
Douglas hoped his guess was right. With any luck-and God only knew she was due for some-Grant had gotten a roof on the new cabin. If it wasn't too far away, Douglas could take Isabel and her son there in a couple of days.
Time wasn't critical yet. Although there were patches of water all over the field behind the house and barn, and the ground was soggy under his feet, he figured he still had some time before they had to leave. There was also the chance that the rain would stop. The usual hot summer sun would quickly dry up the water then, which would give them some additional time.
He needed something to cheer him up, he decided, and so he went to the barn to take care of the horses. He was eager to get a look at the Arabians again. The stallion was as magnificent as his brother had told him he was.
The horse was big for an Arabian, with a beautiful gray coat. Douglas could feel the power in the stallion and the distrust. Isabel had been right, Pegasus didn't like strangers, but fortunately Douglas had always had a way with horses, and once the stallion was used to his scent and his voice, he let him check his injury.
His mate was smaller, somewhat delicate looking, and definitely full of herself. She tossed her head about like a vain woman, which made Douglas like her all the more.
The pair was meant to stay together. As soon as he moved the female into the stall next to the stallion, they nuzzled each other and let Douglas brush them. No wonder Isabel had wanted to keep them. Her husband never should have sold the stallion without first discussing it with her, no matter how desperate he was for money.
The animals' feed was running low. He gave his sorrel and the Arabians as much as they needed, then calculated he had less than a week's ration left.
The supplies inside the cabin were just as sparse. He had only just finished taking inventory when he heard the baby's whimpering. He decided to change him so that Isabel could stay in bed, but when he reached the bedroom door, it was closed.
He knocked twice before she answered him. In a stammer she asked him to please wait until she finished dressing.
"You may come in now."
She was standing by the chest of drawers dressed in a blue robe buttoned to the top of her neck. Parker was nestled in her arms. Isabel was getting prettier by the minute. Douglas realized he was staring at her, glanced away, and noticed then the dress she'd laid out on top of her bed.
"You really should stay in bed."
She finally looked up. The glow of motherhood was still in her eyes, and there was a faint blush on her cheeks. She wasn't looking at him though. Her gaze was directed on the wall to his left.
"Is something wrong?"
"No, nothing's wrong." She sounded nervous. "I want to get dressed and fix your breakfast."
He shook his head. "For God's sake, you just had a baby. I'll fix your breakfast. You sit down in the rocker while I change the bedding."
His voice told her not to argue. She sat more quickly than she should have, and let out a loud moan. "I think I'd better stand up."
He helped her to her feet. She still wouldn't look at him.
"Why are you acting so shy with me?"
Her blush intensified. He shouldn't have been so blunt, he supposed.
"After… you know."
"No, I don't know. That's why I asked."
"It's… awkw
ard. I was thinking about how I met you and you had to… it was necessary for you to… when the baby was coming…"
He started to laugh. He simply couldn't help it. She didn't appreciate his amusement.
"I was real busy at the time. All I remember is the baby. I was worried I'd drop him."
"Honest?"
"Yes, honest. If it hurts too much to sit down, lean on the dresser until I get your bed ready. The last thing we need now is for you to fall. You've got to be weak."
"Parker's fretful," she stammered out, trying to change the subject.
Douglas leaned closer to her side and peered down at the sleeping infant. Fretful was the last word he would have used to describe the baby.
"He looks real peaceful to me."
They looked at one another and shared a smile. Douglas was the first to turn away, but not before he noticed how pretty her eyes were. They were more gold than brown, and, damn, those freckles of hers were going to keep on distracting him if he continued to stand so close to her.
She had delicate hands too. He had noticed them during her contractions when she tried to choke him because he wouldn't knock her unconscious.
He made quick work of changing the bedding while she listed all the qualities she was sure her son possessed. She started out telling him Parker had already proven how smart he was, and by the time she finished listing his attributes, she had elevated him to genius.
Douglas couldn't figure out how she'd arrived at her conclusions. The baby wasn't a full day old, and all she could possibly know about him was that he slept and he wet.
She was sagging against the chest when Douglas took Parker away from her.
"I could go in the kitchen with you and help you fix breakfast."
"You don't need to," he said. "Is Parker getting enough to eat?"
"He will… soon."
"Please, try to get past your embarrassment. I need to know if he's doing all right."
"Yes, he's doing just fine. The doctor spent a long while telling me what to expect. I should be able to feed him by tonight."