Building Dreams. Ginna Gray
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bawling.” Mike sent his father a desperate look. “Do you think she’s hurt?”
“I doubt it. Women in her condition tend to be high-strung. That’s probably all it is.”
Tess cried harder. The sounds were piteous and unnerving and they served to exacerbate Ryan’s guilt. His jaw clenched.
Mike looked distraught. “Do something, Dad!”
“Here.” Digging into the back pocket of his jeans, Ryan pulled out a clean handkerchief and stuffed it into Tess’s hands. “Now, take her back to the Cherokee, son, and try to calm her down. I’ll lock up her car and bring the tires.”
“Calm her down? How am I suppose to do that?” Mike squeaked.
“Oh, for—Here. Like this.” Ryan wrapped his arms around Tess and pulled her close. He expected her to resist, but she sagged against him and burrowed her face into his chest, her fingers clutching his shirt. Her response was so urgent and wholehearted, he realized that she had no idea who held her; she was merely reacting instinctively, responding to the warmth and comfort of human touch.
Ryan’s guilt deepened. He had forgotten how precariously balanced a woman’s emotions were during pregnancy. Julia had been a basket case when she carried Mike. She had burst into tears if you so much as looked at her. If anyone had shouted at her, she probably would have dissolved into a puddle.
Expectant mothers needed support and reassurance. They needed to feel loved and cosseted and cared for. He had learned that much. And when you thought about it, simple physical contact and gentle words—that really wasn’t too much to ask, considering what they were going through.
Staring out into space, Ryan rubbed his hands over Tess’s shoulders in slow circles. He had given Julia all that. Willingly. Gladly. Hell, he’d been downright enthralled by the whole process.
He had held his wife’s head and commiserated with her during morning sickness, rubbed her back when it ached, assisted her when it became awkward to rise from a chair, tied her shoes. When advanced pregnancy had forced her to make several trips a night to the bathroom he had helped her out of bed and waited outside the door to assist her back into it. Many times in the small hours of the morning he had dressed and gone out in search of whatever special food would satisfy her weird cravings.
Tess Benson was alone, with no one to do those things for her. Ryan wondered how she coped.
Despite her swollen abdomen—which he could feel pressing against his middle—she was surprisingly slender. She was a little thing, he realized. The top of her head didn’t even reach his chin, and as he ran his hands up and down her back, he noticed that her shoulder blades and ribs seemed incredibly delicate, almost fragile. She was soft and utterly feminine, the kind of woman that brought out a man’s most basic protective instincts. He was surprised at how pleasant it felt to hold her.
Ryan’s nose twitched. She smelled good, too. Over the acrid odors of exhaust fumes, road dust and hot paving he caught an occasional whiff of the sweet, clean scent that drifted from her hair.
Mike, Ryan noticed, was watching him intently, just as he always did whenever he was learning a new skill. With a pang, Ryan realized that in the past eight years his son had not once seen him show concern or affection for any woman outside of those within their family. The boy probably truly did not know how to comfort Tess.
The thought was oddly troubling, and Ryan quickly pushed it aside and set Tess away from him.
“See, that’s all there is to it. So, go on. Take her to the car,” he ordered brusquely. “I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
Carefully, as though afraid she might break, Mike put his arm around her shoulders. “C’mon, Tess.” With awkward but touching solicitude, he led her down the shoulder of the road to the waiting vehicle. Ryan watched them go, his expression thoughtful.
Tess could not stop crying; she had completely lost control. The Cherokee rocked when Ryan tossed her tires in the back and she let out a startled yelp, but still the tears came. When he climbed in behind the wheel, all she could do was bury her face in his handkerchief and gasp and choke and sob.
She was mortified. She expected him to berate her, but he merely leaned against the door and waited with surprising patience for the storm of weeping to end.
After what seemed like an eternity, she managed to pull herself together. Gulping, she wadded his handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes and nose. “I—I’m…s-sorry,” she mumbled between watery sniffs. “I—I guess I over…re-reacted.”
“It’s okay. Don’t worry about it.” Ryan turned the ignition key and started the engine. “Where were you headed?”
“To the gro-grocery store,” she said without thinking. Her head came up. “Oh, but…if you’ll just take me ho-home, that will be fine. I’ll call the garage to pick up the tires.”
“It’s no problem. Mike and I were headed to the store anyway. We’ll drop off the tires on the way and save you a road call fee.”
“But—”
“Don’t worry about it,” he snapped.
Tess stared at his hard profile in helpless frustration. Short of jumping out of the moving vehicle, it appeared that she had no choice.
The next hour was the longest, most miserable that Tess could recall. Despite Ryan’s assistance, she was still seething over the nasty things he had said to her. During the drive to the store neither spoke. He stared straight ahead, his face so hard it looked as though it had been chiseled from granite. Tess held herself stiff and pressed against the passenger door and did her best to ignore him.
The instant he parked the vehicle, she scrambled out. She doubted that it would occur to a mannerless oaf like Ryan McCall to open her door for her, but she wasn’t taking the chance of him getting that close.
If he even noticed her hasty action he gave no indication.
“We’ll meet back here in half an hour,” he announced when they entered the store. “If you finish first, wait for us.”
“Fine,” Tess replied just as tersely, and sent up a silent thanks as they parted company.
Throughout the store she constantly bumped into the McCalls. She and Ryan tried to ignore one another, but Mike made that impossible. At every encounter he greeted her with a huge grin and a barrage of silly adolescent banter. Even when they weren’t in the same aisle, he darted back and forth between Tess and his father. She had the horrible feeling that to the other shoppers they probably looked like a family out for their weekly shopping.
When they met at the checkout stand, Tess could not help but notice that, other than a few staples, Ryan’s cart was filled with frozen foods and microwave dinners. She experienced a pang of sympathy that anyone would have to survive on a steady diet of such tasteless junk. Then she remembered Ryan’s rude and vile response the last time she had shown concern over their eating habits, and hardened her heart.
On the drive home, Tess and Ryan barely uttered a word, but Mike more than made up for her reticence and his father’s tight-jawed remoteness. Sitting in the back, the boy leaned forward between the front bucket seats and chattered away about anything and everything. He was so obviously delighted to have her along, it wrung Tess’s heart.
Never had she seen such a welcome sight as their apartment complex. She was all set to grab her groceries and make good her escape, but Ryan foiled her plan.
“Mike, you take our groceries up. I’m going to help Mrs. Benson with hers,” he said before she could get the door open.
“I can help Tess, Dad.”
“No, I’ll do it. I want to talk to her. In private,” he added pointedly when Mike opened his mouth to argue further.
The boy’s alarmed gaze skittered back and forth between his father and Tess. “About what? You’re not gonna hurt her feel—”