Their Precious Christmas Miracle: Mistletoe Baby / In the Spirit of...Christmas / A Baby By Christmas. Tanya Michaels
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“Brat.” They both knew that Susan could be obstinately determined when it came to prying information from one of her kids. She’d already expressed some concern for him, and if Arianne added that he was acting strangely, his mother might not be content to leave well enough alone. He made a show of checking his watch. “If you’re done with your attempted extortion, I’m supposed to meet Rachel somewhere.”
“‘Somewhere’?” Arianne echoed.
“It involves your Christmas present. I can’t say more. It would ruin the surprise.”
“You’re so full of it. But at least Rach never has to worry about her husband keeping something from her. You’re a lousy liar.”
“I wouldn’t lie to Rachel.”
“I was joking. You know that, right?”
“Yeah, sure.” It was just that he didn’t find much about his marriage funny these days. He stood. “If I don’t get out of here, I risk being late.”
“Yeah, that gridlocked downtown Mistletoe traffic can be a real delay.” She sighed. “Fine, don’t tell me what’s wrong. Go wherever it is that you’re also not telling me. I’m only a blood relation, no one important.”
He made it all the way to the door before he turned back to press a kiss on top of Arianne’s head.
She blinked up at him. “What the heck was that?”
“I love you. You’re a pain in the ass, but it’s sweet that you worry about me.”
“Oh God. You’re not dying or something, are you?”
His laugh was rusty. “Of course not.”
“All right.” She raised up on her tiptoes to hug him. “Dave? Whatever is wrong, you should talk to somebody about it. If not me or Mom, then maybe Tanner. Or better yet, your wife.”
He’d tried to talk to his wife—and the disastrous results were why he’d been snapping at people all day.
THE PALE BLUE chairs in the OB’s waiting room were locked together bench-style, in rows of three, but Rachel and David managed to sit so rigidly that there was no chance of their bodies brushing. The silence reverberating in Rachel’s skull was giving her a hell of a headache. Yet despite all of that, she was perversely relieved by David’s presence.
She no longer harbored a molecule of doubt that she was pregnant, still, until she actually heard Dr. McDermott say everything was progressing just right, Rachel would remain a nervous wreck. Thank God she didn’t have to await the doctor’s diagnosis alone. So much for standing on your own two feet.
While she’d strongly wanted to throw something at her husband that morning, he’d been absolutely right on one point. It’s my baby, too, Rach. Let me be part of this. The memory was a raw wound, substantiating what she’d known but apparently hadn’t accepted: the reason she was suddenly getting the full-court press was because he didn’t want to lose his place in their child’s life.
Could she blame him, though? After all, he was the father.
“Rachel Waide?”
Her heart thumped against her chest. “That’s me.” And always would be. While she’d had her maiden name for far more years than her married surname, she didn’t think she’d ever truly be comfortable as Rachel Nietermyer again. She certainly didn’t want a different last name than her own child.
David had risen and was reaching automatically for her hand to help her out of the chair. She didn’t pull away on purpose, it was a skittish reflex, like flinching from something coming at you in your peripheral vision. David narrowed his eyes and swiftly looked away. She wished she could take back the moment. A strangled laugh caught in her throat—if she had the power to go back in time and change even small reactions, maybe they never would have reached this point.
They followed the nurse, who handed Rachel a clear specimen cup with her name written on it. After that was taken care of, the same nurse indicated the scale. Oh, joy, just what everyone wanted—to be weighed in front of an audience. She defiantly kicked off her shoes and stepped onto the platform. Ironically, her weight was lower than she’d anticipated. Her blood pressure, however, was much higher than normal. The nurse made a concerned tutting noise as she wrote the numbers on the chart.
“I’m, uh, a little more tense today than usual,” Rachel told the woman.
“Understandable. But it’s best for you and the baby if you relax.”
There were a few other minor tests to complete and medical questions to answer, although the vast majority of Rachel’s history was already well-documented in her patient file. Finally, she and David were shown into a larger-than-normal exam room where an ultrasound machine sat next to the table.
“Dr. McDermott will be with you in just a few minutes. She’ll most likely want to do a vaginal ultrasound.”
This would be to confirm fetal age and assess viability, Rachel knew, making sure the fetus was implanted right where it should be. Her nerves started to tie themselves into knots that would impress even the most seasoned sailors.
The nurse gave them a reassuring smile. “If we’re right about your being nine weeks pregnant, you’ll even be able to see the heartbeat today.”
Next to her, David swallowed. What was he thinking? His gorgeous face was alarmingly unreadable.
This time last year, although they were obviously having problems, Rachel would never have guessed there would come a day when he felt like a stranger to her. She had no clue whether he was remembering previous doctor’s visits, if he rued the unorthodox timing of this pregnancy, if he hoped for a son or daughter … Suddenly he turned, his gaze arresting hers. Whatever he was thinking, the emotion behind it was potent.
“I’ll just leave the two of you alone,” the nurse said. “Mrs. Waide, you’ll need to get completely undressed and put on the gown.”
Gown? Fancy term for a large piece of paper with two holes on the sides and a strip meant to tie in the back. When the nurse shut the door behind her, Rachel gulped.
David wasn’t meeting her gaze now. “I guess I should go wait in the hall.”
Considering that she was standing there pregnant with his child, that seemed a lot like closing the barn door after the horse already got loose. “You could turn around. Promise not to look?”
“You’d trust me?” He turned toward the wall and a pink poster about new Pap smear methods.
“Trust was never the issue between us,” she said. Whatever else his faults—or annoying lack thereof—it wasn’t as if she’d worried David would betray her.
“I don’t know,” he said after a moment. “There’s more than one kind of trust. What you said today about needing to protect yourself from getting hurt …”
There was a raw pain in his voice she hadn’t expected, and she paused in the act of unfastening her bra. He was keeping his word, not watching her, which presented an unusual opportunity to look her fill. He wasn’t basketball-player tall, but he was a nice height for her, strong and solid. His posture had always been correct; no one needed to remind him to stand up straight. Even so, there was a slight rounding to his broad shoulders, the tiniest sign of dejection. Or defeat.
“David, I wasn’t trying to hurt you with what I said this morning.” She folded her bra inside her discarded shirt, then reached for the waistband of her pants. This was a surreal conversation to be having while she stripped.
His laugh held no traces of humor. “See? We really don’t trust each other. You weren’t trying to hurt me, I wasn’t trying to hurt you. So why, instead of giving the other person the benefit of the doubt, do we jump to the worst conclusions?”
Because love made people vulnerable.
She