The Baby Season. Alice Sharpe
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marriage—now that was a different matter. Relationships changed. Nicole had changed.
The marriage should have worked; that’s what never ceased to amaze him. Nicole had grown up on the other side of Tangent. He’d known her for years, thought he knew all about her. They were both products of the same culture, with family roots stretching deep down in the same sandy soil. This should have made for a happy union.
He now understood that Nicole had decided he was her best bet for escape.
Truth of the matter was that neither one of them had leveled with the other. He’d taken it for granted she understood he was a man who was doing exactly what he wanted to do. He’d ignored the signs of her restlessness, of her darting interests and longing for wild escapades. If he thought about it at all, he chalked it up to spirit, reminiscent of his mother.
By the time their differences surfaced, Nicole was pregnant. Jack suggested counseling but capitulated when she refused. And after Ginny was born, he decided he would do everything in his power to make Nicole happy and thus keep his family together.
She decided she wanted to try sculpting, so he’d built her a studio away from the house as requested. Then, at a fund-raiser for the hospital, she met an avant-garde artist gaining fame with movie stars and politicians alike, and demanded having her portrait done. He’d moved heaven and earth—to say nothing of a hefty chunk of change from savings into checking—to engage the fellow. The rest, as they say, is history. The only good thing to come from those four years was Ginny.
Lifting her down from his shoulders, he kissed his daughter’s golden head. She was growing up so fast. Sometimes he had to remind himself not to hold on too tightly.
“Watch your pretty dress,” he told her as her feet hit the bricks. He knew it was a stupid remark; he didn’t give a damn about the dress. What he wanted to say was: Be careful. Don’t hit your head. Don’t scrape your bare knees. Don’t let anyone break your heart.
She caught sight of one of her little buddies, and scooted away without a backward glance.
The door opposite him opened, and for a second, his heart leapt into his throat. Roxanne. But it was Sal who emerged into the courtyard, her wizened face preoccupied. When Jack smiled at her, she lowered her eyes and glanced away.
Slightly alarmed, he strode toward her, absently acknowledging greetings. “Sal?”
Reluctantly it seemed, she turned to face him.
“Sal, what’s wrong?” She was pale and trembling and he reached for her wrist. His first thought was her heart. She’d had trouble the year before, even had a stint in the hospital. “Are you okay?”
“Fine, fine,” she sputtered, pulling her hand away.
“But—”
“Stop playing doctor,” she demanded, visually summoning her reserves. Sal Collins was a strong woman. She didn’t like to be coddled, and Jack knew from a lifetime of experience, if she didn’t want to talk about something, then she wouldn’t. For instance, before she’d come to live with his family, she’d been married and had a baby but lost both. She’d never mentioned them to him. Not a word. Jack had only found out the year before when Sal became ill and he dug up old records.
However, she wasn’t the only stubborn one living at the Wheeler ranch. “Not until you let me take your pulse.”
She extended her wrist and managed a smile. “Honestly.”
Her heartbeat seemed normal enough and there were color spots appearing on her cheeks as Jack’s actions began to draw attention. Her skin wasn’t clammy.
“People are looking,” she whispered.
“Any pain in your chest? Shortness of breath? Dizziness?”
“No, no and no. Let go of me.”
“Okay, but I’m keeping my eye on you,” he said, leaning down to brush her forehead with a kiss.
Sal patted his cheek before withdrawing to a wooden bench. She was well liked and immediately surrounded. Only his two elderly spinster aunts kept their distance. Jack looked around to find Ginny, saw her and three other children sizing up the presents and smiled to himself.
He glanced at Sal again, relieved to see she was returning to her old self. Whatever had upset her apparently was passing. With the arrival of more guests, he devoted himself to mingling and chatting, but each time a door opened, he held his breath.
Amid the ribbing and the laughing, he found himself wondering what had happened to Roxanne.
He was visiting with one of his favorite patients and her husband when Roxanne stepped into the courtyard. For an instant he didn’t hear a word of their conversation.
Nicole had loved to make an entrance, arriving in a flutter of flowing clothes, in a cloud of floral perfume, her laughter as big as she was tiny, like an exotic bird a man wanted to capture in his hands.
Tall and slender, long hair loose on her shoulders, Roxanne looked…well, real. Moving with the grace and ease that were undoubtedly the by-products of good health and regular workouts, she found her way to a quiet edge of the garden, off to the side and not in the center. She was shy, he realized, ill at ease amid so many strangers. Her oval face was devoid of makeup, even lipstick. Her skin was oddly striped with sunburn and—get this—she didn’t seem to care!
She was prettier than Nicole had ever been, he realized with a start. Or maybe she wasn’t quite as pretty. Maybe that was it. At any rate, he couldn’t take his eyes off her.
Roxanne fidgeted with the concho belt as she watched Jack approach. For a second, when their eyes first met, she could have sworn he’d almost looked pleased to see her, but the moment passed so quickly, it might never have happened.
He didn’t look angry—he just looked overwhelmed. It was a look she was coming to recognize.
“This is quite a party,” she said, deciding to take the upper hand. Ginny and a few other children wound their way in and out between the adults, a couple of whom were holding infants. Chatter and music competed with the soft sound of falling water. A haze of smoke in one corner announced the barbecue, and delicious odors permeated the air, making Roxanne’s empty stomach growl. Carl roamed the courtyard with a tray of appetizers.
Roxanne was aware of a bevy of raised eyebrows and wondered if Jack’s friends were curious who the stranger was. One woman in particular, the pregnant redhead Jack had been talking to, seemed especially curious.
Roxanne wished she could make an announcement: “My car’s broken down!” she’d say. Then she could try again with Sal.
“That’s Nancy Kaufman giving you the once-over,” Jack said.
“She’s pretty. Pregnant, too. As a matter of fact, I see quite a few of your friends are wearing maternity smocks. Has everyone here just given birth or become pregnant?”
“Not me. Not my two elderly aunts over by the fountain, the ones waving their hankies at you.”
Roxanne waved back. “You know what I mean,” she said. “Grace and Nancy are pregnant, as are those three women sitting under an umbrella, and at least one of your horses. There are babies everywhere—in their father’s arms, in slings, in strollers, not to mention the kittens and puppies and Goldy’s foal.…It’s like an epidemic.”
He smiled, perhaps for the first time. It was genuine and dazzling, and Roxanne felt her throat constrict at the pure beauty of it. “They don’t have babies up in Seattle?” he said, his lips still curved and so appealing.
“No. We have bypassed the whole pregnancy thing up in the great Northwest. You Southerners keep moving up, we don’t need to replenish the population from our own stock.”
“I’ve heard about you people and your regional biases,” he said.
She laughed.
“Nancy